My Name Is Starship Cobain

VERSE 1

My name is Starship Cobain and I’m from Washington State

The capitalist kiss of death is something I fucking hate

Lost my job at the Amazon warehouse, tossed out like trash

Now I live check-to-check by slaving away for Door Dash

I can deal with my pain with a roll of medical Mary-Jane

I’d smoke that shit regardless of what the lawmakers say

It’s as legal as whoring yourself out in the city of Las Vegas

Until the feds catch you with your pants down playing Sega

VERSE 2

My name is Starship Cobain and I’m from Port Orchard

They should really think about changing the name to Poor Tortured

Everybody’s got a truck and they all voted for Trump

They got the bumper stickers to prove it and the sense of a tree stump

Everybody’s transmission sounds like a smoker’s cough

If you turned it up to eleven and exploded their heads off

Not much to do here but sit in line at the Burger King

And order a hundred whoppers with a tank of onion rings

VERSE 3

My name is Starship Cobain, let’s all go to Seattle

And pray we don’t get caught up in a gangster gun battle

All I want out of this city is a show with Pop Evil

Fuck around in the mosh pit with some drunk ass people

I miss the days of Nirvana and that whole damn scene

A generation depressed when Kurt blew his head off clean

There were many imitators, but none of them could compare

To the gravelly voice that made your hair stand in the air

VERSE 4

My name is Starship Cobain, what does that even mean?

Hell if I know, it probably came to me in a dream

Or maybe it was chosen by my schizophrenic voices

Because from here on out, they’ll always make my choices

"Alley Kat Blues" by Karen Kijewski

BOOK TITLE: Alley Kat Blues

AUTHOR: Karen Kijewski (pronounced “key-EFF-ski”)

YEAR: 1995

GENRE: Fiction

SUBGENRE: Murder Mystery

GRADE: Pass

Kat Colorado is a California-based private investigator who suspects that an ex-Mormon college student named Courtney Dillard was murdered rather than the victim of a car accident. Kat’s boyfriend Hank is a Las Vegas detective who’s obsessed with finding a serial killer known as the Strip Stalker. Kat and Hank’s relationship hits several pot holes when Kat finds a stripper named Amber Echo in Hank’s bed and also when Hank can’t make time for his girlfriend anymore, constantly working the Strip Stalker case. As Kat digs deeper into both cases, she finds how much in common they have with each other and how they could both potentially destroy not just a relationship, but also Kat’s sanity.

In pretty much every detective book I’ve read in my life, the narrator always feels the need to point out that the mystery isn’t as easily solved in the book as it is on TV. DNA evidence, quick legal procedure, technological superiority, and open-and-shut cases can all be thrown out the window for Alley Kat Blues, because this is another example of that. As cliché as it is to rip on TV crime dramas, I also agree with this method of writing. Mysteries should be well-researched. Laws and procedure should be known by heart. Kat Colorado comes off as someone who could easily pass the bar exam if she wanted to. She also knows when to tell little white lies and how to get information out of her suspects in a deceptive way. If you want to read about a woman who knows what the hell she’s doing, this book is for you.

Another thing I enjoy about this book is Kat’s narration and dialogue throughout. Hard-boiled detectives have always been portrayed as fast-talkers and smart-asses, so why should it be any different with Kat Colorado? When someone in the book says she doesn’t look like a private investigator, she says, “I left my trench coat and fedora at the dry cleaners.” It’s not just one-liners that will grab the reader’s attention, but also the intrapersonal dialogue she has while having conversations and confrontations with various characters. And then there are certain attitudes she takes with the more difficult characters, often coming off as sarcastic, condescending, and clearly in control of the conversation. She doesn’t back down from anybody whether it’s a posturing male, a filthy gun salesman, a religious zealot, or even a guy on the edge of killing her. There are a lot of qualities one could enjoy about Kat’s character profile; pick one!

I’ll tell you something about the book you won’t like, but only in the sense of discomfort and not because you genuinely hate it: the way Karen Kijewski portrays rightwing fanatics. I’m not just talking about run of the mill Republicans who are all about family values and lower taxes. I’m talking about the fringiest of fringes and the cringiest of cringes. I’m talking about cult-like atmospheres where the men are in charge, the women and children are obedient, and anybody who questions the men’s authority will be beaten, raped, or psychologically tortured. Education is stripped away and all that’s left is brainwashing and zeal. The men in charge don’t need all the guns that they have, because they’ve already got enough power over their families to turn them into weapons themselves. It’s scary to think about, so much so that even Kat got rattled a few times in the story. No matter what your political stance, you will be shaken to the core. Why? Because zealots in the real world are just as terrifying. Remember, folks: this ain’t HBO.

Alley Kat Blues is a fun little read that goes by rather quickly despite the three hundred plus pages. Sometimes you might have to think carefully about how the clues connect with each other, but that’s why we read in the first place: to think critically, unlike the Mormon cults portrayed in this story. Once you think you have the answers, Karen Kijewski pulls the rug out from underneath you and you’re all out of whack. A passing grade will go to this wonderfully-crafted mystery that leaves no stone unturned.

"Heaven" by Otherwise

As I’ve said in a previous blog entry about Skillet, I’m not a religious person by any stretch of the imagination. I don’t believe in God and I wouldn’t follow his demanding rules even if he existed. Even so, the concept of heaven has always been special to me. To my way of thinking, heaven isn’t a place we go when we die. It’s an idea. It’s the perfect utopia. My idea of heaven doesn’t necessarily have to do with clouds and harp lessons. It has more to do with a place where I feel like I’m not only welcome, but also wanted. I’ve tried to find heaven in lots of public places. I’ve looked in college classes, bus stations, bars, grocery stores, concert halls, bookstores, and not one of those places could ever be called heaven because nobody even knew I existed. I even tried to look for heaven on the beach. The cool blue water, the gorgeous pink skies, the lovely ladies in bikinis, the fluffy puppies running around, it seems like the perfect place to look for heaven. Even the beach thought I was just an invisible ghost. Could it be that my awkward behavior is keeping devil horns on my head instead of a halo? Or maybe it’s true that heaven doesn’t exist in such shallow place. The only real place I’ve been able to call heaven is my home. At home, I’m free to be myself without any limitations. I can tell as many offensive jokes as I want, I can toss around my liberal beliefs without backlash, I can speak in a monotone voice whenever I’m not feeling energetic, and I can write my stories as frequently as I want to. What does this have to do with literature, you ask? It’s simple. Every character I write about should have their own version of heaven (even if they don’t find it until the end of the story, which is usually all the time). For example, I recently wrote a short story for Good Reads called “Prozac Nation 2”. Dustin Spears is an insensitive boyfriend in a time where sensitivity and love are both needed to cool down his sorrowful girlfriend Morgan Penn. By being a jerk as a last resort, Dustin has taken away Morgan’s version of heaven and she is forced to bear her soul to him in order to get it back. Maybe I was secretly saying negative reinforcement works. I hope not. I hope it doesn’t contradict my reasons for boycotting a TV show called “Friday Night Tykes”. In any event, the story was met with a warm reception, so I’m happy about that. You know what else should be met with a warm reception? The song “Heaven” by Otherwise. Band members Adrian and Ryan Patrick’s idea of heaven was their mutual brother Ivan, who passed away a few years before the song’s release. What can they do to bring Ivan back? Keep his memory alive through their gorgeous song. With Ivan Patrick’s memory alive, the imaginations of Otherwise’s fans will be alive as well. Those are two things that will save us as a society: imagination and love. Rest in peace, Ivan Patrick.

　

***LYRICS OF THE DAY***

“I never believed that your soul could be stolen from me. Who can save me from the monster that I used to be? So if you hear me now, won’t you just send me a sign? Do I make you proud? Tell me that I’m doing fine. If I could, I’d fly away. I’d talk to the angels and beg them to please let me stay. ‘Cause heaven, no heaven, I’ll never see. What can I do to bring you back to me?”

-Otherwise singing “Heaven”-