today, I have no title...

Well howdy everyone! Look, there was a great outpouring of support…support? Is that right? Maybe that’s not quite right, but lots of people came and left comments telling me pretty much one of two things, 1. They too are old and dig where I’m coming from and 2. oh jesus! You can’t quit making music! Your band is to me what Fifteen was to you! (for a clarification of what either of these things are in reference to, check out the previous post, entitled “someone came and punched her in the face” which was named after my favorite lyric on Buzz [which is a record…that’s also explained in the previous post). Okay, firstly, thank you so much. That’s why we started doing this band in the first place. That’s the whole thing I was getting at yesterday. I wasn’t trying to cheapen what I think we’ve done, and I think I said that overtly, but I know how tone sometimes sweeps over individual sentences and all that. I also realize, and I hope we all do, that there’s very little more pathetic than reciting a big, lame woe is me story to a captive audience of like minded sympathizers and that was, please believe me, NEVER my intent. I was really just thinking about that time when I found the fifteen record, and how it changed my perspective, and that it would probably be a somewhat interesting read. This is in no small part due to the entry “brush yo toof” in which I recalled, by request, my wisdom teeth getting removed. Wow, this is what it feels like when typing is actually beating off, eh? Okay, I’m gonna get to the point.
The point is, I’m not quitting anything, nor am I regretful for (of? Who knows?) anything. Fuck man, I rode in a plane to a show in Perth Australia and got fucking PAID for it. I have no regrets at all, and I’d rather be from the Lawrence Arms than from any other band on earth, from AFI to Fifteen (and even bands that aren’t from Berkeley, for that matter). Shit’s just different now, and it can’t go back. It’s like eggs. You can’t unscramble eggs, man. At this point in my life, for the first time, I can’t just up and say ‘fuck it’ and start a new band with a clean slate, because I’ve been around for so long that people have preconceptions (NOT, by the way, that I have any reason to need to start a new band you fucking alarmists)…I can’t just say ‘fuck it’ and take off from Chicago and go live in Peru for a while if I want to. I have a kid. It’s strange, and I think this is the real root of all this, but after a life of complete freedom and transience, I’ve found myself somewhat locked into my spot anyway. And I feel like it happens to everyone, and those who it doesn’t happen to (or hasn’t happened to yet) are just delaying it to a point where it will be even more terrifying and shocking than it is for me right now. NOT that any of this is a bad thing, it’s just different. It’s super fucking different. I mean, five years ago I probably woke up on someone’s floor, cracked a beer and passed out in the van on my way to some crappy basement/other floor…And I wasn’t any happier or sadder than I am now, typing this while my baby peeks through his baby jail at me while he performs the valsalva maneuver (if you don’t know what that is, well, you SHOULDN’T know what it is off the top of your head, for sure…but if you don’t know, you should look it up. Who knew that kind of thing had such a great name? Not coincidentally, I’m starting a heavy, HEAVY grind band and we’re calling ourselves the valsalva maneuver, so no stealing it, parasites!)

Jesus. Okay, enough of that shit. I hope I’ve clarified some things. In short 1)no one is quitting anything, but… 2) shit is very different now. Yeah. On to fun stuff:
SO someone asked about serial killers before and I’d really like to get into that. I have a lot to say on the subject. Firstly, killing people is gross. Blood, guts, brains, removed ballsacks and brainstems (good name for a band too! “Hi, we’re Ballsacks and Brainstems from Cleveland. Thanks for coming out.”) they’re all disgusting to me. I get fucking ill when I cut my finger. I really can’t stand the sound of someone getting punched…not the crack of a movie punch, but that dull meaty thud of a real punch. I hate it. I’m not into violence in any form. I find it to be gross and disturbing. That said, the only good serial killers are the ones who are super creative/non squeamish/into the sickest, most perverted sex. That’s just a given. Dahmer was great. Saving dicks in the fridge, injecting hydrochloric acid into dudes heads to make them “sex zombies”…OH! and how about that time that the kid escaped, naked and bleeding, and Dahmer talked the cops into releasing him back into his (dahmer’s) custody. THAT’S fucking calm under pressure. He should be a sniper, man. Cool as a cucumber…or as a penis left in the fridge, depending on where you’re from. Gein was pretty rad, but he didn’t really do much killing. He was really just a farm boy handyman who liked skinning corpses. That’s okay, but it’s a little folksy for my taste. I think for a serial killer to really be, you know, awesome, for lack of a better word, he needs to have that je nes sais quois, you know? The whole package (which Dahmer had several of…HEYOOOO!)
Okay, best serial killer? It’s a tie. Dead heat tie between Gacy and The nightstalker himself, good old dick Ramirez. Gacy was great because he was inhuman in his monsterness and he went all the way for it, no fucking holds barred. He was crazy, everything he did was crazy and disturbing and there is no way to make someone more perverse. Buffalo Bill and Hanibal Lecter combined don’t have SHIT on John Wayne Gacy, man. Quick rundown: John Wayne Gacy was a clown for kids parties. He was also a painter (such a great and somehow disturbing detail). What he did was, dressed as a clown, he’d grab kids, mostly boys, I think, kill them, fuck the corpses and then bury them in satanic patterns in his crawlspace. Do you know how many bodies it’s gotta take to make a PATTERN? Much less patterns? Dude was a busy clown/landscaper/painter/corpse fucker/murderer. I will say again, I find this to be horrific and completely unacceptable and while I’m not a death penalty guy, I don’t see any reason why someone like Gacy should be allowed to live at all (actually, there’s a good topic…people who I think, based on what they’ve done, actually deserve death…a segment I’ll call “if I were the king”…hmmm. I’ll workshop it), but as far as the craft of making oneself into a hideous, horrifying embodiment of evil, dude, this guy NAILED it. Kudos.
Richard Ramirez was called the nightstalker because he snuck into people’s homes and he killed kids (kids…so EVIL. That’s a good touch, you know? Killing drunks is no big deal. Killing hookers is just something that happens now and then, like twisting an ankle, but KIDS, man? That’s just cold). [ED. NOTE: It's come to my attention that Ramirez was killing old people (not kids) and raping them too...which is great, too. There was all this lore going around LA while ramirez was doing his thing about locking your windows so the nightstalker wouldn't get in and kill your kids, and that's where my misinformation stemmed from. That is all] The thing that was awesome about Ramirez was that he just didn’t give a fuck. He got caught on a city bus, just cruising around the day that his picture was on the front page of all the papers. When he stood trial, he showed up with a pentagram etched onto his palm and showed it off, he laughed during the descriptions of his crimes and he promised that he’d get out and kill more, he invoked satan several times during the trial and then, and THEN!!!!!!! He got married in jail to a woman who’s obviously got a hell of an eye for fixer uppers. Hey, the nightstalker was good looking. He paved the way for the mars volta, man. He fucking invented that “I’m Mexican and I’m rocking a giant fro and some seventies clothes and I’m doing some pretty out there shit, man” thing that those dudes are totally co opting these days. For all these reasons and more, Richard Ramirez is also my favorite serial killer. He just went for it. They both did.
It’s confidence, people. Half stepping gets you nowhere. Take a lesson from Gacy and Ramirez and get out there and go balls to the wall, kay? Kay. Bye.