Friday, September 27, 2002



This is just the lowest I think I've ever gone in an attempt to fall asleep.
I'm switching channels back and forth between Phantasm: Oblivion and The Nine Lives of Fritz the Cat. Just shoot me now instead of putting me out to pasture.

OOOOOhhhh waait!!! The Phantom of the Opera starring Julian Sands is on! I am saved!
I don't think Julian Sands is capable of a bad movie. Strange movies, yes, but bad? Hardly. The eye candy factor alone is worth every second of his screen time. Yum.

And in this version of Phantom, he's not horribly disfigured, he was just raised by rats. And wow, what a good job those rats did with him. It's not Gaston LeReux, but it's just as skippy. I honestly couldn't even tell you anything about the rest of the movie except that I believed Mr. Sands was truly the Phantom of the Opera.

I was chatting online with a friend of mine, and realized I seem to attract some of the most poetic people ever. Or the most sensual, or both. It's all good. I like that. Keeps me sane. And speaking of insanity... Check this one out. This is why I stay up at night and fight sleep until I'm exhausted.


I'm at a party, and it's a huge party, and there's all these people all over the place.
At first I'm having a good time, hanging out with a few people that I know and chatting with new ones.

At some point we opened a window that looked more like a sliding glass door, and a bat got in. Chuck was trying to pet it, and I had to keep pulling him away because it looked like it had rabies.

I walk away and out into the party, and I'm having a good time. People are taking pictures, and a friend of mine is there. We hang out and have our pictures taken. I pose next to a statue of a smiling wedge of cheese, and comment on the cheesiness of it all. I think Kevin Bacon was the one taking the pictures.

The party seems almost like it's held in a mall, and there's got to be about two hundred people walking around. The colors are very vivid, and people are wearing costumes, but I can still see their faces. There's no masks.

I have a drink, and as I'm at the bar getting my drink, I see this chick (who looks like she's got nothing real on her, and a very obvious nose job) with MY wool sweater hidden under about three other coats from the party. So I tell her to give me back my coat. She denies it's my coat, saying it's cotton. I'm like, no it isn't, it's wool. We start to argue, and the bartender just looks at her and says, "Give the coat back."

I take my coat, and say, "It's a shame, for someone who spent so much money getting their face changed, you can't afford to buy your own coat."

I walk through the party, feeling vindicated, and Kevin Bacon is walking around trying to be the "life" of the party. He grabs me and he's hanging all over me, and at first it's funny. I push him off and keep going. I see a man sitting on a couch, watching the party, but not really interacting too much. I wonder who he is. He's dressed in dark clothes, but not black clothes. He doesn't seem to be having a good time, more like he's there to observe.

I walk past the man, and I can feel him watching me. I start to look for Chuck, and see him as he walks around a corner, headed around the bar toward where I had come from.

I pass through the area again, looking for Chuck, but I can't find him. I seem to remember we had two bats get into the house and he had been trying to play with them like they were our new pets. I assume he went off to get rabies shots.

As I'm going through the second time, I see the man sitting on the couch again, and he's watching me. I figure I'll go over and talk to him, see what's up. As I'm making my way over, Kevin Bacon once again appears out of nowhere and grabs me. He whispers in my ear something about me putting it out there and he's gonna take it. It wasn't intelligible, he seemed drunk, but I got the meaning and it scared me. He put his arm around my neck and pulled me close to his mouth, saying something in my ear.

I look at the man on the couch, and even he seems disturbed by this behavior. He looks as if he's about to get up to help me, but doesn't. Kevin Bacon has now started to pull at my clothes, and I tell him to get off me, but he laughs. I feel embarassed, ashamed, and angry. I tell him again, and smack him, but he hangs on. So I finally punch him in the face to get him away, and he falls off me.

The man on the couch salutes me with his drink and a small smile. I'm so embarassed that I run away without ever talking to the man. Now I just want to go home, and the party seems to get more out of control. People are dancing all over the place, most of them completely drunk. I run into my friend that I had been hanging out with, and we're sitting off in an alcove. She's trying to calm me down, and Kevin Bacon comes in. He walks up to me and apologizes, and I'm afraid he's going to try to get even.

Outside of the alcove the crowd starts to cheer, and Kevin Bacon is distracted by the cheering and goes to look at what's going on. My friend and I walk over, pushing our way through the crowd, and we see that they've made a milkshake fountain. It was some kind of chocolate vanilla mix. For some reason I feel insulted by this fountain and I look to see if Chuck can see this, but I don't see him. I tell my friend I'm going to look for Chuck.

Now I'm running through this insane party, trying to find Chuck, and see him at the end of a hallway. He's having such a great time that I feel bad telling him I want to go home. I walk over to him and decide at any rate, I'm going to stay by him the rest of the night, that way I won't get into any more situations.

The dream changes, and Chuck and I are looking at the Brady Bunch, and they're digging in the yard outside the house. They end up either hitting a water line or break open the septic tank, and all of this nasty muddy water gushes out.

Then there was something about someone getting into the house through that open window that let in the bat, but I don't remember the details. I think the phone rang at that point.

Wednesday, September 25, 2002



Weird title, I know, but it must be said.

Ghosts that laugh like loons in TV shows. What does it mean? Seriously. You ever notice how the evil ghosts on Scooby Doo laugh ALL THE TIME. They are some of the happiest people shown on television. My question is what is UP with that? Do I need to wait until _I'm_ dead so I can start laughing like that? Or does it make me evil BECAUSE I laugh like that while I'm alive? Think about it. Evil seems to laugh a lot on television. Does it enjoy its work? I'm thinking, yes. Yes it does. Evil has a lot of fun with what it does, AND it enjoys the work. Is this sending an adverse message to the youth of today, namely that happiness is evil? Hmmmm.....

It's not just a Scooby Doo phenomenon, either. Apparently it's a well-known fact somewhere in history that evil ghosts laugh uncontrollably and at the wrong times, and with no good reason. Is there nothing better in the afterlife, or is there some really great joke about life that they finally get the punchline to when they die, so they laugh and laugh and LAUGH? Maybe they were happy in life and decided to switch career paths. They could be deciding to branch out in another direction, like, say, a pious church-goer decides to branch out and work the dark side for a while. Just for a change of pace. Or maybe they all realized life was this really sick joke, and they DIED LAUGHING. Oh, irony. The very thing that killed them is what they have to do for eternity. Someone's got a sick sense of humor.

And if there is some unwritten rule that ghosts have to laugh maniacally, why do real hauntings not laugh? Maybe they're not getting a paycheck for their appearances?

Or... What if there's no real haunting anywhere? It's just ghosts assigned to work the circuit and it's a different ghost every time someone sees it, and the psychics are running around confused because there's ten ghosts in a house, and the ghosts are all laughing and sitting around the poor psychic playing Marco Polo??

When people say I have issues, I say, "No, I have SUBSCRIPTIONS."

Monday, September 23, 2002



OK, for all you church-goers who have experienced Communion. Haven't you done the math? Honestly. With what the church gets, not to mention the tax exempt status, you'd think they could afford to give you at least a light lunch in the name of God during mass, I mean, Jesus gave the people fish and loaves of bread, not thin little wafers of what tastes suspiciously like rice cakes.

But no, you sit there, never realizing until much later that the entire mass is actually a throwback from ancient witchcraft. Think about that one. Altar cloth, two white candles, a symbol of the faith, a bell, a book, a goblet, cross-buns... just think about it. Not to mention the four elements used in ceremonies: Incense, earth, water, and candles. Got all your basics for a nice coven right there. Only thing missing is a circle, and the priest saying, "Blessed be." at the end of the mass.

But I digress. I was raised Catholic, so I remember all too well sitting in masses on Sundays, back aching from those hard wooden pews, and STARVING. The priest would drone on and on about Jesus and those loaves of bread, and the fish, and I'm like, Hey, _I'm_ hungry, too, how about a filet-o-fish for me? By the time communion came along, I would have eaten the church pews, I was so hungry, so those tiny little wafers were pretty damned tasty at that point. As I got older I wisened up, though. Apparently it's not christian to ask for another body of christ or something... so I started to eat BEFORE I went to mass. No longer was my mind weak with hunger, and when I got the communion wafer I could analyze it. It tasted a lot like a certain breakfast cereal. Rice Crispies, in fact. And you're not supposed to CHEW the body of christ, so I had to sit there with this thing stuck on the roof of my mouth, waiting for it to dissolve. And the whole time I wondered two things to myself: Will the Host REALLy turn black and fly out of my mouth if I didn't confess before communion? was my first question, and the second was Does Jesus know he tastes like Rice Crispies?

As I got older I stopped going to church, needless to say. Yes, I still believe in a Supreme Being, just I have my own thoughts on the subject. It was just a lot more convenient for me to stay home on Sundays and eat a bowl of Rice Crispies, and listening to the three wise men, Snap, Crackle and Pop, I found they sounded a lot like the priest. I guess I was just born to be a heretic.

Sunday, September 22, 2002



The NyQueen rides again! Screaming brilliant into a haze of cough and cold. Huzzah.

I know you'd laugh too, but it's not that funny anymore. Is it real or is it Photoshop?
Oooh.. the questions that float in the flow of our existence. Is this right or is it necessary? Oh, I could go on and on.

So here's some fun stuff I came up with last time. Granted, it's no Footie Pajama Trauma, but hell, it might be poetry worthy. At any rate, it isn't often I get to pull out the old NyQuill and put my thoughts to electronic paper in this way.

Dreaming dreams of forgotten things
Dead ghost streams
Leaves of skeleton trees
To be beyond the screams
In knowing is the Knowledge
Automatic writing
Words of dead men tell no tales
on bathroom walls
Secrets of Crowley in bathroom stalls
Preaching LaVey on street corners
Pushed by dead ears
away from the mainstream
Abstract and irrevocable
words of mindless drivel
dripping sliding into useless consciousness
Downward through the caverns of discontent
into the spiral
Into the fire
Rabid thinking
Thoughts unpurged
And impure
Defragging the frag
Out of my mind



Maybe my siblings and I were the only ones to suffer this torment, but did anyone else out there have this happen as children? They were called BLANKET SLEEPERS. I swear, someday this will be put into my memoirs....

My parents were and still are good parents, I love them dearly. I just don't know what they were thinking putting small children into footie pajamas. ESPECIALLY when they KNOW we're gonna have to pee at least once in the night. And it's not like those pajamas were comfortable... it was like wearing fuzzy burlap! Yes, now that I'm a grown-up, NOW IT CAN BE TOLD!

The only thing worse than the blanket sleeper was getting into one after a bath. EEEeeeeewww. Like nails down a chalkboard it was. That nasty material would stick to me, and if I was REALLY lucky, my grandmother would put LOTION all over me after the bath. I never had the heart to tell her that it was worse than torture to be gooey with lotion and stuck into a blanket sleeper. Or should I say, stuck TO the blanket sleeper.

The worst part of the blanket sleeper was finally adjusting to the scritchiness, falling asleep all nice and warm, and then having to go to the bathroom. For the un-initiated to the blanket sleeper, there's a zipper that runs from the crotch to the neck. For boys, I dunno what they were thinking with that zipper placement, all I gotta say is, thank Gawd I didn't have body hair at the time. This zipper thing is supposed to make the sleeper more convenient, except no one stopped to think about the fact that if you're WEARING one of these things, it's because it's COLD. So in order to go to the bathroom, you have to unzip the whole thing and pull it off. So now you're nekkid and trying to pee on a cold toilet after this pajama just had you at 100 degrees. Riiight.

The only ones who seemed to be thinking were the inventors of the original footie-pajama. You know, the ones with the backdoor to them, so you didn't HAVE to take the whole thing off. The ones made of flannel and cotton instead of polyester. The ones that wouldn't melt onto you if you happened to spill really hot liquid on yourself, or melt into your skin if your cousin happened to have a magnifying glass and the sun was shining... but I digress. My point is that blanket sleepers were evil. The original cotton/flannel footie pajama is awesome.

So while I know my parents had the best of intentions, I suspect the intentions of the inventors of the blanket sleeper.