This Weekend, My Place. March 20, 2007
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Solstice Eve Plans?
So now that we’re old hands at getting up an hour early, we should have no problem heralding (ok, maybe for some of us just intellectually) spring. Although it’s been years since I attended a proper Wiccan potluck, I’ve noticed a few other rite-heavy events circulating. If you’re tabling your sage for some other occasion, or if it would take too long to polish your chalice, maybe you should consider walking over hot coals. 
I did a fire walk back in 2004 when my friends and I crashed a prom on the Jersey Shore–the beats were lame, so we shuffled one banquet room over and joined the beatific masses who’d gathered for a chiropractic convention. An overhead projector prepped us with some AA-derivative mantras, and before I could say subluxation I was in the Radisson parking lot watching an understudy rake a brief landing strip of burning coals. I’ll have to admit: there’s nothing like it. If you’re ready for the walk, or if it’s been awhile, you might want to glean some inspiration from the avatar of fire walking, Amanda Dennison–she’s 25, an identical twin, and holds the Guiness World Record for walking over 220 feet of burning hot coals. And for when you’re ready, here’s a list of places to walk, places that’ll bring the walk to you, and places that’ll stamp you ready to host a walk.
Getting Older, Settling Down. March 15, 2007
Posted by misterbuckets in Nonfiction.1 comment so far
My schedule constantly shouts in my face, “You’re old! Why so early to bed? What does the morning have that you need so much?” I have no answers. I have only excuses. “Well, I need to fix my sink.” “I like to drink coffee and watch the birds.” “I don’t want to sleep the day away.”
I am getting old. I creak and yawn much longer than needed. I constantly worry about sleeping. I worry about digestion and getting my vitamins.
I don’t worry about being alone. You see, I don’t care.
I like going to the bar at 4:00pm. That way I am home at a descent hour. I like getting up early. I can enjoy the sun. And I tell myself that no one else is up then.
Worrying about getting old is just another goddamn lie to get over, maybe. Or maybe I don’t really care about this either.
Prescription For a Hard Days Work. March 15, 2007
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1. Buy a six pack of beer.
Grab one and hold it. A relaxing one. A liberating one. That one. Listen to the Pssssssssst! and know that the day is over. That first sip. The night is here. And it is time to take it back. Let the first sip wet your lips in a satisfying gurgle and know that everyone else is dead at that slurp. Close your eyes. Relish it. This time will not come again. This feeling will not be reproduced with the second beer, no matter how hard you try. Swim in it.
2. Draw a Bath.
Turn on the water. Feel it with your hand (but keep in mind that your hand is less sensitive than the rest of your oh so sensitive body). Sip the beer and watch the tub fill halfway. Remove clothing and step in. Your ankles feel the warmth and you close your eyes again in complete relaxation. Lower the rest of your body into the closest thing you will ever get to the womb. After placing both buttocks on the bottom of the tub, remain there for a few seconds to acclimate the body to the increased environmental temperature. Lay back. Immerse your head and face (the water will cool your sweat glands), take another swig, and think think think. It is all uphill until you realize that the water has turned cold as fuck.
3. Go to a Metal Show.
If you are in a place worth living, there will be one going on in an agreeable radius. You’re clean, relaxed, and ready to take on the night. What a better way than witnessing those that own it? Grab a beer. (It won’t be as rewarding as the first. Maybe a shot of whiskey could make it special again.) Yawn through the opening bands and see the pinnacle of the night. Hover in the riff. Make love to the blinding noise. Yawn your way home and remember why you didn’t kill yourself when you were twenty.
Empty Stomach and Full On Hallucinations March 1, 2007
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The pleasure of being sick. Lying here popping Nyquil 
LiquiCaps and rediscovering my taste for electronic music. Machine made highs couple with machine made music lovingly. Luckily, on what I didn’t know would be Flu Eve, I cleaned my room top to bottom. Removed the painter’s tape that straightened the Iced Lemonade walls against the Arctic Snow ceiling. All the stuff that was stored in there (boxes of clothes, VHS tapes, hi8 tapes that I refuse to throw away even though I don’t have a hi8 camera, video games for a system that I don’t have, etc.) have been relocated to my dining room where it will wait for a nicer day to take the rest of the journey down to the storage unit. All that remains in the room is a bed, a table, a lamp, and a plant. It can be quite disconcerting while ‘Quillin and going in and out of consciousness but the cleanliness overshadows all uncertainties. Now there’s room for the truly haunting Soundtracks to my Sickness:
Planningtorock: A Berlin woman, named Janine Rostron, that has made a goddamn frightening, lovely masterpiece entitled Have It All. Think vaudeville starring one-eyed crows driving down the Autobahn.
Joakim: A French guy who makes really relaxing, melodic electronic music.
