Ay, in the very temple of delight
Veil’d melancholy has her sovran shrine. - Keats
So, I’ve been out of touch all week because of work. My alter ego has to pay the bills, so I’ve been busy doing responsible adult things. Yech.
Be sure to check out things over at Tarr and Fether’s Psycho Cinema. They’ve posted my first article over at their ‘S’newsletter’ section! I am sooo looking forward to working with these guys and contributing to their unique and kooky vision!
And watch for more reviews, as I intend on catching up on some long overdue horror movie viewage over the long weekend!
So, Last weekend I had an epiphany. Now that I’m older, more responsible, and otherwise burdened with a mortgage, car payments, the lovely Mrs. Zombie, and the zombie kids (Zombie Boy and Wolf Girl); I really don’t have that much me time. I remedied that some last weekend by going to see Ministry and The Revolting Cocks at the Cleveland House of Blues. Our local House of Blues, by the way, is the single best venue for concerts I’ve ever been to. And, it was at about the point that RevCo was performing ‘Do You Think I’m Sexy’ that I had my epiphany. I was standing there at the edge of the pit and watching some beautiful and very tasty looking Goth girls dancing on stage, and feeling the throbbing and unrelenting waves of music go around and through me. All around me were the pushing and jumping bodies of a hundred or more people dancing to their own orgiastic and pagan rhythms, the primal and sensual feel of our sweat soaked bodies moving like the excited atoms of some strange, polymorphic beast. I inhaled deeply of the smell of sweat, and smoke, and alcohol and I felt myself grabbed by the inevitable certainty that doing what I was at that moment ( i.e.; seeing a hardcore show from this perspective) was one of the few things that bring joy to my cold, undead heart. That moment was an encapsulation of all that is perfect to me. No matter how old I get, I will always love the thrill of an alternative Industrial/Goth show, much to the disdain of Mrs. Z. You see, she doesn’t like that side of me. She hates the part of me that thrives on the darker things in life. And she hates the primal joy such things bring me. I love her more than life itself, and I know she feels the same, but sometimes I think she wishes she’d married a conservative banker who really dug country music and the Backstreet Boys.
And, by the way, I can still hold my own in a mosh pit. Except for the fact that I may have broken or chipped a bone in my elbow falling during Ministry’s set. I can’t touch my elbow it’s so sore; and I have a purple and red and green bruise that looks much like a spiderweb prison tattoo. That’s the first time I’ve ever really fell hard in a pit in all the years I’ve been doing this.
And I can’t tell Mrs. Z about it, either. I’d NEVER hear the end of it… Besides, I have tickets to see Rob Zombie in three weeks…
Some cool links I found:
The first one is this one about a military coffin that was found in the middle of the desert. I’d read a story about it earlier in the week on a major network web site, and thought it was kind of weird. I also thought it might have been somehow terrorist related. The linked article above puts it all into perspective though. It could be nothing BUT zombies.
And there’s nothing better than a good grave robbing story. Thing is, if you’re going to go to the trouble of digging up a casket, lopping the exhumed corpses head off, and making off with it; at least have a plan for afterwards. I’ve stolen my fair share of body parts, believe you me, and I can tell you that it’s all in the details. This kid is an example of how NOT to do it. Dumbass.
Excuse me while I squeal like a teenage girl! This is exactly the reason why my wife wants to take away my credit cards. But I ask you, how could I not buy a CD set with over 50 horror classics on it?!? Impulse buying be damned … it will be a good few weeks at The Midnight Theater of Terror as I indulge in some classic horror goodness. And I guarantee there will be reviews of some of these because, if you’re any kind of horror movie fan, it’s good to go back to the roots of the genre.
That’s all for now, dear reader. I’m off to torture and eat a door to door salesman who made the mistake of knocking on the good Doctor’s door. Foolish, foolish, man…