by popular demand, i am nesting in the hidden treehouse of doom perched atop the tallest tree at the top of a long ridge in the northeastern united states. the sneegles are expected at any moment, and we are ready: armed to the teeth.

aiden is in full detructo mode. there are toys and books all over the living room floor. the first book he destroyed was kathy acker’s empire of the senseless. obviously, he’s not into “po-mo”. the second was tolkein’s silmarillion. he has impeccable taste. that book sucked. currently, he’s communicating his displeasure with 3rd edition ad&d. roy would be proud.

he’s got the cars’s first album blasting, and every so often he’ll stop to bop or tap his toe or break into a full-on dance groove. bostonian new wave is music for destruction. it’s no wonder the mooninites began their invasion in bean town.

yesterday, he hooked us to our harnesses and whip-stung our backs all the way to loews and back. even worse, on the return trip he had us haul cast-iron porch appointments and home agricultural accroutrements: window boxes, potting soil, moss, and plants.

i’ll let debbi tell you about the outdoor furniture for the porch. but the plants!

a menagerie of poisonous hernage, flora, and verdure. we know he expects the sneegles, but he is a consummate tester. last night we dumped our dinner portions into the small latrine hole he affords our cells and subsisted on a salad of tart lichens and bitter steaks carved from the underbellies of cockroaches. our candles were the cooking fires and our chains, the grills.

but i am not sure how long we can hold off from eating the tuck he painstakingly prepares for us each night. just now, he’s asked if i would share a banana with him. i will let him take the first bite.

Debbi and I’ve been watching a lot of movies lately. That’s nice. I love stories, which is one of the reason I love people: they all have such wonderful stories.

Last night we watched Chinese Ghost Story. It was recommended by someone, somewhere, based on something else we liked, and it really was awesome. Over-the-top Chinese, 80s, sci-fi horror acting and terrible 80s music video special effects, but we loved every minute of it. It was kind of a mix between horror and slap-stick. Combined with the effects, it reminded me several times of Evil Dead, minus the kick-ass, supernatural kÌung-fu choreography.

Tonight, we watched Stranger Than Fiction, based on recommendations from several people, including the Zombie, prime. Personally, I love Will Ferrel. He’s been great in everything I’ve seen him in (though didn’t enjoy the newscaster movie so much). However, I really liked the way this movie combined meta narrative with quirky, but believable characters. Maybe it was Dustin Hoffman, but it reminded me in bits of a less zany I Heart Huckabees.

Yesterday, we watched Man of the Year. That was pretty good, too. Definitely much better than it’s limited run suggested.Not really the comedy it was billed as, but more of a satire with a heart-warming, reaffirming, realistic end.

Inbetween movies, I watch the Aiden. He wiggles. All the time, he’s moving, feeling that stillness is insufferable. Too many things to touch. And everything goes into his hands and then into his mouth. He purposefully tastes on anything he comes across. It’s made me wonder what part of the world Ówe’re missing by not tasting more things.

He smiles a lot. Talks a lot. I’m not sure what he says, but he has his own language. He must, because he talks all the time. He talks to the air, to the couch, to the dog, to me, and sometimes just to pass the time. His language has Ds, Hs, and kind of a foreshortened L, all punctuated with vowels of varying lengths and changes in pitch and volume. His favorite seems to be louder.

Yesterday, I watched him climb into the chair in the living room. Today, he climbed onto the couch. Friday, he stood beside the kitchen table and stretched to grab bolts from the table-top. In a matter of days, all of our safe places have become unsafe. The laundry basket we’ve used to fence him into the main living area? He climbs on top of it now and likes to sit there and bounce.

His falls have become more acrobatic. He’s still trying to master standing, so his gyroscope still isn’t correctly dialed in. Yesterday, he was standing by the coffee table. He started to lean in one direction, and I think he tried tor each out with a hand and grab the edge of the table. And maybe tried adjusting his posture to regain his balance. Whatever he tried to do, the end result was he went up on one leg, spun a instantaneous 360, and slammed the his eyebrow on the table’s edge before landing flat on his back.

He falls a lot, and most times, he’s ok, so I just let him be. But he fell so hard this time, I jumped up immediately to make sure he hadn’t cracked his skull open. He lay there for a second, started to cry, and then stopped much sooner than I expected a fall like that to let him.

It’s almost one a.m., now, and the Aiden’s still up. We have to be careful now. Everything’s so interesting, if he’s given the chance, he’ll go from sleepy baby to indefatigable world explorer in about two minutes. He’s conquering the world right now, as I speak. Hopefully, I can calm him down and let the sleepies bring the dreams to his head.

Back in the mid-90s, zombie and I caught Tracii Guns during one of his breaks from L.A. Guns. He was touring with some new guys playing this heavy, punky, mean, rockin awesome shit under the name Killing Machine. The Living End opened. It was one of the most awesome shows I’d ever seen.

We each peeled copies of the set-list from the stage. They had these cool red picks with KM on them. Every song or two, the guitarists would each toss a pick they’d been using away in to the audience and grab another one. We bought t-shirts. Even the t-shirts rocked. They fit perfectly. They were the perfect weight, and they had the kick-ass Killing Machine KM logo plastered on the front in HUGE letters. It was one of the most awesome shows I’d ever seen.

They played an entire set of new material, and it all kicked ass. They kept saying the album was done and would be out in a couple of months. Religiously, zombie and I would don our KM shirts once a week and head into the Tower Records across from campus. Each week, the answer was the same. No Killing Machine.

But we have picks, we’d say. We have set-lists! Tracii Guns glanced at us dismissively bÙefore returning to eyeing big-chested band sluts! But the clerk was always non-plussed. Check back next week, he’d say.

For 52 weeks, we continued our pilgrimage. For 52 weeks we held out hope. For 52 weeks, we awaited rock’s resurrection. The second coming, that promised rock rapture. We dismissed post-Nirvana comebacks by Skid Row, Love/Hate, Faster Pussycat. Even Guns N’ Roses. Guns N’ Fuck’n Roses! Even they sucked. Killing Machine would save us. Killing Machine. Killing machine…

And then there was the house on French street. Crazy math chicks. Cloves. Ohms. Bondage shows. Drugged out red heads in suits. Slash Palace. Parties. Parties. Parties.

When L.A. Guns reformed and released a new album with several Killing Machine songs, we noticed, but barely cared. I think zombie was learning why you should never date chicks who are big in the black metal scene*. I think I was crashing out of life.

Browsing the web today, I found that Tracii actually put out that Killing Machine album in 1999, long after zombie and I had abandoned the church of rock and shacked up with crazy goth chicks. We both still remember the show. It was one of the most awesome show I’ve ever seen. I may just have to buy the album so I can put it on the shelf with the rest of the old hymnals.

* Whatever the reason, chicks into black metal are fucking crazy. The theory goes like this: black metal is crazy. To be big in the black metal scene, you have to be really crazy. If you’re a chick and you’re big in the very heavily male-dominated black metal scene, then you have to be really crazy. Like really really really crazy. We have actual field research on this phenomenon. One subject goes all Apocalypse Now on some peeps. It’s crazy. There was blood.

BONUS TRIVIA: On Metalocalypse, when one of the band members was flipping burgers at a fast food joint, the place was called Dormir Burger. Is that not awesome?

Happy new year!

Seems like a lot of people are complaining
about how their year went. That sucks. I’ve
had years like that. 26 SUCKED. So much
so, that I’m suspicious of any 26, so if
any of you turn 26 this year, be forewarned.

My year rocked. I’m an editor. I’m in a
book. I got a new job. I got married. I got
a kid. Tiga’s album came out. I finally got
to see the Sisters of Mercy. And most of the
year was spent having pregnant sex (which
was awesome).

This next year will be ok. Harder than last
year, but the kid will make up for it. He’s
cooler than TV.

(He can roll over both ways now — not just
to to his left. And, and, and he can go
forward in his walker if he wants something
enough. And, and, and he was singing in the
car yesterday!!!)

---

NYE was mellow. We got all snazzed up and
headed out. We were supposed to go by the
Engine Room, but we never made it anywhere.
Too weird. Too many freaks on the road. We
stopped by to harass Roy and Renee and then
went to Taco Cabana. It was like a little
fiesta in Debbi’s mouth. :-P

Thursday at Numbers was cool. We were
supposed to DJ early, but we blew it off to
visit with people. I got to sit and chill
with Anna and Kat which was especially nice
since one is in Poland and the other is in
Illinois. But it wasn’t long enough. And
besides being cut short there, I didn’t get
any quality visit time with anyone else.

The surprise guest that night was Brandon,
and then he disappeared.

—

LSD snuck out of town before seeing the
munchkin, but maybe she’ll see him soon.
Similarly, the Zombies were sick and didn’t
come down. Punks. I have a housewarming gift
for them. And it’s too heavy to mail.

—

We took Aiden down to see all my dad’s aunts
and uncles. All the ones who pinched my
cheeks and called me mijo for so many years.
They pinched his cheeks and called him mijo.
It was great. We got pictures of him with
everyone.

Dad and Diane gave Debbi this beautiful scarf
and I got these neat port glasses (perfect
for the gift of port from Roy and Renee). The
weather was beautiful and Debbi and I got to
take a walk down the beach at night. It was a
perfect moment.

—

We have some great pics of Aiden’s first time
at the beach. I’ll post them later. Or Debbi
will.

midnight. snakebite. caught me in the back of my neck. everything reminded me of debbi tonight. i enjoy dc. i enjoy being a stranger. going out drinking. dancing. not responsible for anything. but sometimes just hearing a voice is all i need, and calling debbi is like roulette. i hope she’ll answer. that i get to hear her voice. the rest of you fuckers are so undependable with the phone.

hopefully, we’ll have a place by thursday. a real place. not one of these balsa wood homes for balsa wood boys, but a real home for a real boy.

debbi’s supposed to drive up here this weekend, and i can’t wait to see her. i’m going to buy a couch. i’ve never bought any furniture ever. but i’m gonna buy a couch. it’s gonna be awesome. i miss every last one of you crazy fuckers, but i’m kind of glad debbi and i have the chance to start over in a vacuum.

i’m different here. not totally different, but definitely not the scene guy i’ve been. no obligations. no responsibilites except to myself. it’s nice. i’m looking forward to debbi being here. laying next to her in our bed in a new city, her smell the same as it’s been for eternity, something to drown in.

we spend so much time enjoying the holidays, getting drunk, seeing everyone, dancing, that we forget their holy purpose, their sublime celebration of the divine earth. it’s mad to think we only every touch the one divinity. mad, selfish, and humanly foolish. every lover, every smile, every uncontrollable laugh is like lightening from the divine, striking the devil down from your soul.

up here, away from every foolish human, all your love, smiles, and contagious laughter, this stupid holiday takes on even more meaning. cloves for incense. vodka for holy water. and today for the holy day it’s always been.

debbi will be here soon, and ensconced in her touch, draped in her smile, swimming in her laughter, suffocating in her smell, her skin like wind brushed across mine, i’ll mark a new holiday. every day is a high holy festival when in your love. fail to celebrate and blashpeme your love.