That drifting on the seas of time, with each wave’s rise, when crested at the peak, I may scan the horizon for thee, and gaze upon your unfurled sails silhouetted against the distant sun, I am given strength to take the plunge down the wave’s steep trough, to the sea’s valley, deep and shadowy, and sail on knowing that one day you shall sail with me.

(written after a spate of Melmoth. That book is sooo looong…)

I get like this.

A mental thrashing about, tearing at the psychological chains that hold me back, a softly diffused anger permeating everything, insomnia, manic appetites and cravings, angst, disaffection, malaise, a perverse and cruel desire to be mean mean mean to those close to me. Times like this I hate. Me. You. Everyone.

So, I laugh really loud. A loud, head back guffaw. I can laugh louder than any of you. I can laugh longer. My laugh is so real. I am so much more happy than you could ever be. My laughter is so much better. You are so much less.

Three times a year I am like this. Maybe more. Approximately every four months as my four week cycle oscillates from manic to mopey. Almost like clockwork, some chemical calendar whose moods I can log. Emotional seasons. Winter spring summer fall winter, again. This is the winter of my discontent.

This is kind of ugly, and I can’t believe I wrote it, but the archives do not lie.

I’ve been around the scene for a little while now. Heard every failed pick-up line, seen every bad approach, know all the different species of goth girls. I felt I should share my wealth of observations with you normies seeking to slide into a goth girl’s pants.

1. Depeche Mode

You must know how to dance to Depeche Mode. Goth girls will interpret this as your sensitive side. Goth girls like to pretend they appreciate sensitive men. Really, they just want to fuck Martin Gore.

Sometimes Depeche Mode is like the prom night slow song, but for goths. This also means you need to be able to dance with a girl to Depeche Mode: let the girl lead, and follow like the good little bitch you are. They get to pretend they’re dancing with Martin Gore, and they also get to see how submissive you are. Goth girls like to pretend they appreciate submissive men. Really, they’re just self-centered whores.

2. Boots

As a normie, you could never compete with even the saddest poseur’s shoddy footwear. Do not try. Instlead buy a pair of Docs. Your expensive purchase of this mass marketed symbol of non-comformity will mark you as a happening member of the underground, with cool boots. Goth girls like to pretend they appreciate nice boots. Really, they want to know you will drop $100 on something in the hopes you will get laid.

3. Obscure old school music

Music is an important part of contemporary goth culture. Ok, not really. But goths like to pretend it is. You need to form a fasciniation for some old school goth band. Preferably it will be the same band your goth girl likes. This will demonstrate how hard core you are. Goth girls like to think they dig hard core guys. Really, they just wanna know they can borrow the album from you indefinitely.

This will also get the goth girl back to your shag palace. Do not bother throwing away the used condoms, hiding your porn, or stuffing your blow up doll under the bed. The excessive sexual paraphernalia will make you seem experienced and knowledgeable. Goth girls like to think they prefer experienced and knowledgeable men. Really, they don’t want to feel like the easiest person in the room.

Once you’ve got the goth girl home, she will naturally drift towards your CD collection of Brooks n’ Dunn and P Diddy. Do not fret. These are your roommate’s CDs. He is gone. For a long time. Your CDs are boxed up in storage somewhere in the northwest where you used to live with the love of your life, that cocksucking bitch. Lament. Reminisce. Cry a little. This will make it seem like you are vulnerable. Goth girls like to pretend they like vulnerable men. Really, they just want to know you have been properly broken in.

This will also give your fling some longevity. If you are going to get her to do anal, you will need a couple of weeks to persuade her to the idea. Tell her your ex will be shipping your awesome music collection down any day now. Goth girls will always give head if they think that rare Birthday Party 7 inch will soon be theirs. Goth girls like to pretend this makes them committed. Really, they all should be.

Conclusion

As you wander out into the world of bad goth nights and meat market 80’s clubs, remember these three easy lessons. As a normie, breaking in to the ranks of a gaggle of goth girls can be a daunting task, but if you follow these guidelines, you will not only bed the goth girl of your dreams, but you will fuck her best friend, too.

I had a dream that was not all a dream. I stood, my back to Commerce street, the pressing thorn milling behind me. The wall of television screens behind store-front gglass broadcast the throng and the barricaded Commerce Street Square, police officials alternately staring the crowd back and nervously wandering like ants amid a rubble of bodies draped with grey coverings. From the vantage point of the news helicopters overhead, the dead littering the square seemed scattered detritus, no different from the decomposing newspapers that tumbled through the early morning streets.

The crowd’s hazily reflected backs stood like ghosts reflected in the storefront glass, a wash of disappointed spirits, backs pointedly turned to the carnage reported live on the news.

At this point I had awakened.

It was rare for me to be called to any homicide. Meat driven indiscretions were the banal daily grind of the regular police force. Nor was I used to being called at night when the yellowed street lamps washed the crime scene in sepia tones. There had been a rash recently of suicides among the various government agencies. For some time we had all been playing down han ensuing epidemic of Regressive Information Disorder slowly dismantling the city?s psyches. It was much like watching a metropolis of grandmothers slowly forget themselves in delirium. And the violence of our murders had become correspondingly more horrific.

The news led with reports and theories, but we suppressed as much as we could, and played off the rest as hysteria and superstition.

It was the homicide officers who were the first to break. Those who could muster the reason fled with what families they had to less urban areas. As if they believed evil somehow uniformly congregated amongst the city?s immoral throng. Other took their lives. At first, seasoned detectives would simply not appear at their desks in the mornings. After a long day or so, a squad car might be dispatched to check on their residence. After the first few, it was merely assumed they had died. Officers merely went to confirm. Then their desks came at their desks, amidst busy afternoon offices, in their cars in the garage, on the benches in front of their lockers.

The youth advanced to replace them broke even sooner not having their elders’ seasoned perspectives. I do not think they were adverse to death. In a world where your comrade’s death is broadcasted and recorded, death comes very naturally, in all manners, in all guises.

It was not long after this the shortage of any homicide detective necessitated the call of just any detective. This was my assumption when the phone wrested me from my dreams of Commerce street during the languid, darkened hours of early morning.

By the time I had arrived, the news anchors were oddly absent. The alleged murder of a notorious prostitute was worth little more than a few words on a local news ticker. Two patrol officers had barricaded the alley’s entrance with yellow police tape. They agitated as I approached. They knew my office by the long grey coats we wore. Their gate-keeping was desultory, automatic, and policy.

Some would call me boisterous. How else should one be?