Concerts in February and March

***CONCERTS IN FEBRUARY AND MARCH***

Do you ever feel like you have stage fright even though you’re part of the audience and not the actual performer? The closer I get to the day of a concert, the more I feel this way myself. Don’t get me wrong, concerts are fun to go to and I’ll always jump at the opportunity to see my favorites. It could be my introverted nature, but when I enter a room full of that many people, I just feel like hiding in a corner. I can quickly calm down once I get settled in, but introverts don’t really like big gatherings, especially party-like atmospheres. Maybe it’s the aggression of my fellow concertgoers. Maybe it’s the drugs and booze they consume. Maybe it’s the crowd noise. Regardless of what it could be, I always try to find the loneliest space in the audience so that my batteries don’t drain too quickly. I don’t talk to anyone unless they talk to me. It was like that in school and it’s like that at a performance.

Despite the social malaise, I keep going back for more shows because I want to cherish these experiences forever. I call them one-day vacations because concerts are just as special to me as traveling to another country for a week or so. I purposefully post concerts I’ve been to as Life Events on Face Book. It seems like an arrogant thing to do, but I don’t care if nobody else does it. You know what else I like to do? Keep a personal ledger of concerts I’ve attended on my computer so that I can remind myself of the magic I experienced. Even the concerts where I’ve had negative experiences with members of the crowd, fuck it, I record those anyways. Drunken asshole at Pain in the Grass 2016? Fuck it, I record it. Femme fatale at a Pop Evil concert? I’ll record that experience too. Concerts and foreign vacations alike are badges of honor for the one who needs experience the most.

That’s why I’m happy to announce that in February and March of this year, I’ll be seeing three different shows, maybe more if they pop up on my radar. In the beginning of February, I’m going to Tacoma with my brother James to see Jason Mewes perform standup comedy. We both have seen him before in late 2017 and it’s actually one of my favorite experiences of all time. He made me laugh so hard that I sounded like a James Bond villain and made everyone else vicariously giggly. Jason Mewes actually stopped his set after I laughed and said, “I fucking love this guy!” We got to meet him after the show and he was a cool dude, every bit as goofy and funny as he is in Kevin Smith’s View Askew movies. Round two? Here we go!

Later in February, I’m going alone to see Soulfly in Seattle. This will be my third time seeing that band in concert, but my fourth time seeing a Max Cavalera-fronted band. I previously saw Soulfly in 2009 and 2018 and I saw Cavalera Conspiracy in 2015. All three times, Max was a heavy metal berserker onstage. He’s got the barbarian look with his bulky body, long dreadlocks, and fuzzy beard. He’s got the barbarian attitude with the way he makes everyone in the building jump the fuck up and mosh like animals. When I saw Soulfly in 2018, I blew my voice out because I was screaming along with their songs all night long. It’d be an honor to abuse my vocal cords again in 2019.

And then there’s the middle of March, where for the first time in my life, I’m going to see Within Temptation perform. The first song I ever heard by them was “Angels” and it was superimposed in a You Tube video celebrating the romance between former Nightwish vocalist Tarja Turunen and her husband Marcelo Cabuli. I didn’t buy my first Within Temptation record until 2014 or 2015 and that was the Hydra album. One kick-ass song begot another and it wasn’t long until I completed my collection of their CD’s. I was even able to convince my late Uncle Brian to become a Within Temptation fan. In his words, “Sharon Den Adel is soooooooo gorgeous!” Unfortunately, Brian died in a car accident after falling asleep at the wheel back in November. He never got to see Within Temptation perform before he passed. I’ll be moshing in his honor.

I know every time I do a blog entry about concerts I’m attending, I always say that they’ll affect my creative schedule in some way, but they never do. At least with a foreign country vacation, I’m away from the computer for a week at a time. Concerts? They’re only one day long. I’m back on the computer when I get home anyways so that I can record the concert as a Life Event on Face Book. I don’t have the Life Event feature on any other social media platform I use, so these blogs will have to do. Wish me luck on overcoming my social shyness! I’m Garrison Kelly! Even when you feel like dying, keep climbing the mountain! Wait a minute, I’m not seeing Three Days Grace! What the hell?!

***BEAUTIFUL MONSTER PROGRESS***

After days of psychological torpor, I finally got around to writing chapter nine of Beautiful Monster. I got all of Windham and Tarja’s talking points out of the way before the two of them were thrust into a battle with Shelly Atwood’s goon squad. Chapter ten will be the actual unfolding of that battle. If you remember in the first draft, the battle ended when Windham whipped the shit out of a bandit for making rape jokes about him. In this new version, the battle will end a little more realistically, but the intense drama of it all will remain the same. How will it end? No spoilers for you! Nee-ner-nee-ner-nee-ner! I know something you don’t know! Nee-ner-nee-ner-nee-ner! I know something you don’t know!

***LYRICS OF THE DAY***

“Vanishing point of the blacktop. Shithole venue smells like rot. A thousand nights I left behind. Another tribe, another time. A brotherhood at stage right. A circle pit night after night. A congregation packed full of sinners. Another road, another winter. Broken bottles thrown in a fight. Cannot move, sold out tonight. Stage dive, no fucking glamour. Tonight’s show, it’s all that matters. Many were cursed and many alive. Carry a torch for those who have died. Carve your skin, a mosaic forever. Never say die, never say never. Feedback, feedback, not a fucking regret.”

-Soulfly singing “Feedback!”-

Spiritual Medicine For Schizophrenics

***SPIRITUAL MEDICINE FOR SCHIZOPHRENICS***

In shamanistic cultures, whenever a fellow tribesperson is feeling depressed, anxious, or otherwise mentally ill, he would go see the medicine man. In order to fulfill his diagnosis, the medicine man would ask the tribesperson how his reaction to music was affected. Did he not feel like dancing? Was he too upset to feel the raw energy? Was his rhythm interrupted? Music was obviously a huge part of shamanistic culture and continues to drive the modern human being in today’s world. Music isn’t just mere entertainment. It’s spiritual medicine for the soul.

But for me personally, as a schizophrenic, my heavy metal music sometimes feels like an obstacle that needs to be conquered instead of spiritual medicine. Sounds backwards, right? Heavy metal legend Max Cavalera says he uses his music as a way to cope with life’s problems, especially the death of his stepson Dana Wells. I’d like very much to have the same attitude as Max, but my brain geography doesn’t allow that to happen. When I’m in the middle of a schizophrenic episode and I’m listening to a metal song, the hurtful voices and images are waiting for me at the song’s intense moments. So instead of getting fired up on guitars and drums, I get a head full of psychological garbage. As someone whose whole creative life is based on heavy metal music, I feel like my own mind is pulling a Clockwork Orange on me.

Music isn’t the only spiritual medicine for mentally ill people such as me. Other everyday activities could qualify as well. I’m currently friends with a Good Reads author named Deepak Charles, who by his own admission uses creative writing as a way of escaping the stressful world around him. Even when he’s mentally and physically exhausted from college assignments, he never misses an opportunity to write, especially when he knows about the therapeutic effects of such. For me personally, schizophrenia interferes with my writing sometimes and like listening to metal songs, writing can feel like an obstacle instead of therapy.

In order for something to qualify as spiritual medicine for my overactive brain, it has to have a certain calming effect and it can’t require a great deal of stress control. As of today, I have three different hobbies that I consider to be spiritual medicine: watching wrestling, drawing pictures, and listening to new age music. Wrestling isn’t the most sophisticated form of entertainment, so it doesn’t require that I max out my mental energies. That’s not a knock on wrestling, that’s just the way my mind works. Drawing a picture of one of my Dark Fantasy Warriors only requires that I have good awareness skills. I use reference pictures all the time for my drawings, so I don’t have to worry about being lost in the dark.

I talk all the time about new age music and how calming and sleep-inducing it is. The reason I continually talk about it is because it is my most important form of spiritual medicine. Heavy metal music is stressful in nature, albeit positive stress that encourages an energetic response. In order for a schizophrenic mind to calm down, the music has to be calm as well. It’s not just elevator music with randomized titles. It means something deep to me. It means that one day I’ll be calm and collected enough to return to what I love: rocking out and writing kick-ass stories. If you ever need a way to calm down, then read this song list I’m about to type out. They’re all new age songs and they’re so peaceful to listen to that they too can be considered spiritual medicine.

　

“Always Good News” by Bruce Becvar
“Amanda” by Aisha Duo
“Arati” by Rasa
“Bibo No Aozora” by Ryuichi Sakamoto
“The Children’s Garden” by Tingstad and Rumbel
“Cristofori’s Dream” by David Lanz
“Desert Skies” by Scott August
“The Dreams of Children” by Shadowfax
“Heartsteps” by Tim Wheater
“Last Train Home” by Pat Metheny
“Longing/Love” by George Winston
“The Lotus Eaters” by Darshan Ambient
“Mare Residuelle” by Aura5
“Moon Temple” by Karunesh
“Morning Coffee with Grandma” by Donovan Johnson
“On a Bright May Morning” by Loreena McKennitt
“Places in the Heart” by David Arkenstone
“The Room of Ancillary Dreams” by Harold Budd
“Saraswati Dreams” by Ananda and Jaya Lakshmi
“Watermark” by Enya
“Wing and a Prayer” by Mike Stern
“Your Heart Can Sing” by Bruce Becvar

　

I took each of these songs and made two CD’s out of them for my mother. She loves them. You’ll love them too if you seek them out on You Tube or any other music distributor.

No matter what form of spiritual medicine you choose for yourself, know that you will one day realize what it means to be healed. If you don’t feel like it’s been a perfect recovery, don’t worry, because you’re perfect to me just the way you are. We’ve got ears, say cheers!

　

***THE GIRLFRIEND WAGER***

If you follow me on Good Reads, you’ll know that in addition to “Silence of the Lambs”, I’ve also been reading “The Girlfriend Wager” by my good friend Edward Davies simultaneously. He did me a solid by reading and honestly reviewing Occupy Wrestling, so now I’m returning the favor by doing the same thing for his sex comedy. I’m 55% done with it and I originally had plans to blitz right through reading the rest of it. Why not? It’s fast-paced, easy to digest, and it’s easy on my eyes. Unfortunately, my plans took a detour when I dumbly decided to watch massage videos on You Tube instead. As much as I need a good massage, “The Girlfriend Wager” needs attention. I read 30 pages of it today, so I can definitely manage the other 45% of the book.

　

***POISON TONGUE TALES***

As soon as I get back into the writing groove, my next independently-written short story will be “Sage Against the Machine”. Here’s the synopsis for it:

　

CHARACTERS:

　

Eli Magruder, Hermit Sage
Caitlin Sparks, Swordfighter

　

PROMPT CONFORMITY: Did I not just say this will be independently-written?

　

SYNOPSIS: In an apocalyptic future dominated by authority, Caitlin goes to the mountains to seek advice from Eli on how to combat the oppression. The answers she gets are so unbelievable to her that she considers walking away and trying her own brand of justice. But the more time she allows Eli to speak, the more he makes sense.

　

***DARK FANTASY WARRIORS***

Since drawing these characters is a secondary form of spiritual medicine, I think I owe the internet a nice picture of Leif Kampmann from the short story “Gates of Hell”. He’s a demon mask-wearing MMA vampire who used to be one of the lead characters to a novel I wrote in 2011 called “World of Darkness: Washington”. That novel met the same fate as every other crappy piece of literature I wrote during that time: it’s gone forever. Now Leif will have new life (see what I did there?) as a lead villain from “Gates of Hell” and in my drawing of him, he’ll be wearing his demon mask.

　

***LYRICS OF THE DAY***

“A cloud of eiderdown draws around me softening the sound. Sleepy time when I lie with my love by my side and she’s breathing low. And the candle dies. When night comes down, you lock the door. The book falls to the floor. As darkness falls and waves roll by, the seasons change, the wind is warm. Now wakes the owl, now sleeps the swan. Behold a dream, the dream is gone. Green fields, a cold rain is falling in a golden dawn. And deep beneath the ground, the early morning sounds and I go down. Sleepy time when I lie with my love by my side and she’s breathing low. And I rise like a bird in the haze and the first rays touch the sky. And the night winds die.”

-Pink Floyd singing “A Pillow of Winds”-

Kill, Cut, Scalp

Buildings crumbled to rubble. Oceans flooded the streets. Volcanoes burned this once great Earth. Lightning flashed in the gray skies. And who did the people of Earth have to thank for all of this? Their new master, the necromancer Dark-Law. Those who agreed to Dark-Law’s leadership survived long enough to live as slaves. Those who didn’t were tortured with spikes and fire or decapitated with a skeletal minion’s energy saber. Dystopia was an overused word to describe situations such as this. Hellish nightmare would have been more appropriate. The worst part about this? Nobody was powerful enough to slay this sorcerer and restore peace to this destructive landscape.

The wicked magician spent most of his free time in his bone-constructed temple bathing in a pool of blood, which he would also use as a screen to monitor his minions’ handiwork. The blood was warm and bubbly, just like a Jacuzzi. The skull decorations and tribal masks lining the walls of his personal room were relaxing as well. The blue-fleshed, baldheaded, sharp-fanged wizard draped his arms across the edge of the pool, threw his head back, and let out a peaceful sigh.

“Excuse me,” said a tired and dull voice.

Dark-Law lifted his head and opened his weary eyes to see that a young gentleman with a plump stomach, sweat pants and a T-shirt, a bald head, and droopy jowls standing on the other side of the bloodbath. The poor guy looked so tired and uncharismatic that he could have fallen over and passed out at any minute. But he didn’t. For all of his lack of charm, this gentleman had some kind of reason for being here.

The blood pool showed visions of the skeletal guards outside the temple in perfect shape and standing stoically. They appeared to be doing their jobs, but they obviously weren’t considering this poor excuse for a hero just showed up in Dark-Law’s private chambers. The necromancer would deal with their insubordination later. Until then…

“What’s wrong, young lad? Are you lost? Did you stumble into the wrong room? Leave my chambers, post-haste! You’ve seen what I’ve done to this world, so killing off an everyday loser like you would be a cakewalk!” threatened Dark-Law.

With his jowls swinging freely from his chin and cheeks, the boring hero said, “I didn’t make a mistake. My name is John Bush and I’m here to take your scalp off with this pocket knife.” He indeed had a pocket knife in his hand and it looked about as long as his sausage-like pinky finger.

Such disturbing threats would normally be met with a lightning bolt or a bone spear from the deadly wizard. Instead, Dark-Law burst into monstrous, throaty laughter and pounded the edge of his blood pool with his fists. “Are you serious? Your name is John Bush and you’re here to kill me? And here I thought you came all this way to file my taxes!” He laughed some more.

Maintaining a stoic and dull aura, John Bush said, “I’m not kidding around, Mr. Dark-Law. Everything I tell you is the truth.”

“The truth?! You want to know what the truth is, laddie?! You’re a big pudgy idiot named John Bush and you’re carrying a pocket knife the size of a goddamn toothpick! No wonder my guards let you in so easily!” said Dark-Law as he continued to pound the edge of the pool and laugh like a hyena.

“Okay, Mr. Dark-Law. I warned you,” said John before kicking off his sandals and touching the blood pool with his toe.

“HEY!!” shrieked the deathly wizard, which caused the unlikely hero to jump back in fright. Dark-Law stood up in the pool and waded across it while maintaining an evil stare. “I’ve tolerated you up until this point, Mr. Bush. But nobody, and I mean nobody, bathes in my pool of blood except for me!”

Instead of tiptoeing his way in the pool, John Bush jumped in and created a huge splash with his hefty body. “What now, Mr. Dark-Law?”

The sorcerer growled and teleported over to John’s position. Face to face with stale breath invading his opponent’s nostrils, Dark-Law wrapped his claw-like hand around the top of John’s head and shoved him under in an attempt to drown him. The hot temperature and acidic taste of the blood weren’t enough to make Mr. Bush put up a huge struggle against his suffocation. He either really was a passionless hero or he was enjoying the bubbly feeling like he was in a hot tub.

As John’s oxygen bubbles got smaller and smaller, Dark-Law screamed at him, “I rule this world with death and destruction! This planet is my plaything! But you, John Bush! You are my one and only bitch!” It was at that moment when Dark-Law felt a jab of sharp pain in his leg and jumped backwards underneath the blood while John Bush stood back up coughing and gasping.

Dark-Law also stood back up and had a fresh scar running across his leg compliments of the “toothpick” in his opponent’s hands. For such a small weapon, it created quite the gash. But this wizard wasn’t going away that easily. His wound healed quickly and new skin formed over it. Despite the hopelessness ahead of him, John didn’t look the least bit disappointed.

“You see that, Mr. Bush! That’s what happens when you sell your soul to the devil himself! I traded a normal life for these godlike powers and now this world is brought to its knees! But you, Mr. Bush. You won’t have the luxury of living on your knees much longer. Instead you’re going to die like a whore on your back!” threatened Dark-Law as he gathered black energy in the palm of his hand.

John didn’t look too impressed with Dark-Law’s magical abilities, but probably would be once the shadow ball was tossed his way. One hard throw and this charade was over. After a cannonball-like shot from the sorcerer’s hands, the bullshit was indeed over, but in a different way.

John Bush swatted the energy ball away and revealed that his pocket knife hand had turned into a burning red skeletal hand. He had been playing mind games this whole time and Dark-Law was just now figuring it all out. The blue-skinned sorcerer backed up into his pool in sheer fright of what he was seeing, his body shaking and his head barely above the blood.

“The games are over, Dark-Law. And now it’s time to see who the real bitch is!” said John in a demonic scream unlike the medicated voice he was using this whole time. He began to tear his own flesh off until all that remained underneath was a fiery red skeleton with steel angel wings and a crown of spikes.

“No…no, this isn’t happening! Where the hell are my guards when I need them?!” screamed a fearful Dark-Law. The blood pool showed that the skeletal guards outside the temple were also part of the façade. Upon gazing at them a second time, their bones crumbled into ashes and dust.

“For god’s sake! If you worthless minions can’t handle this, then I will!” shouted Dark-Law as he leaped out of his pool and started throwing green energy balls left and right at the death angel known as John Bush.

Every ball found its target in John’s bony chest and he appeared to be bending backwards in pain. Dark-Law raised his arms and cheered in hope that he had won this battle. But victory wouldn’t come so easily for the deadly wizard. Instead the green energy projectiles caused John’s death angel body to grow larger and fierier. The red skeleton shouted a demonic cry before firing his own projectile straight through Dark-Law’s heart: a fire spear that drained his black blood into the already disgusting pool.

The evil ruler screamed his last scream of pain and thrashed his last bone-breaking thrashes. His now hollow corpse was tossed aside and John Bush’s death angel form had transformed back into his uncharismatic chubby body, still with the pocket knife in his hand.

John waddled over to Dark-Law’s corpse and sat his big ass down to start cutting away at the man’s scalp. “This will make for some awesome scientific research.” Indeed it will, John, because this dystopian nightmare shall never happen again. And to think, it was all because the almighty Dark-Law refused to take his most unlikely opponent seriously. For shame.

"My Bloody Roots" by Max Cavalera

Max Cavalera is without a doubt one of the hardest working metal musicians in the industry. He’s fronting three bands (Soulfly, Cavalera Conspiracy, and Killer Be Killed) and he was the founding member of one of the most successful metal bands today: Sepultura. He’s not going to flaunt his greatness in public because he’s a humble and friendly guy, so I’m going to do it for him in what little space I have in this blog entry about his memoir, “My Bloody Roots”.

The reason he can keep a frenetic pace in his work life is he has an unrivaled passion for heavy metal music since it basically saved his life. His father died while Max was only nine years old. Without him, the Cavalera clan lived in poverty in autocratic Brazil. He knew he could never make it as an ice cream salesman or a schoolchild because he was too pissed off about his father being gone. So what did he do? With what little money he had, he bought heavy metal albums and let them inspire him to become the hardcore rock and roller he his today.

All of this energy in his music didn’t come without a price. Aside from his father dying, he also had to deal with the death of his stepson Dana Wells, whose murder remains unsolved to this day. Max’s wife and Dana’s mother Gloria spent the longest time in despondency and all Max wanted to do was to be there for her while the guys of his band at the time, Sepultura, wanted to go on tour right away. One thing led to another and Max eventually left the band along with his wife, who was their manager.

Max was an emotional wreck to say the least, so much so that it affected his ability to continue his music career. So what did he do? The same thing any passionate metal head would have done: he formed Soulfly and became an instant success. The first Soulfly album was released in 1998 and they’ve been in business ever since. Add to that workload Cavalera Conspiracy and Killer Be Killed and you’ve got the recipe for true heavy metal badassery.

I won’t go into too much detail about Max Cavalera’s life (I fear I may have done that already). All I’ll say is that he came back from so many hardships and he did it all through the power of heavy metal music. It’s aggressive, fast-paced, and hardcore music straight from the soul. Without it, not only would Max not have found an escape, but those who listened wouldn’t have either. He doesn’t just rock out for the hell of it; he touches lives.

　

***MOVIE DIALOGUE OF THE DAY***

DR. CUSHING: Jerome, it’s not too late to be saved! You won’t get another chance!

CRAZY K: I don’t need another motherfucking chance! You want to know why?! ‘Cause I don’t give a fuck! I said I don’t give a fuck! I don’t give a fuck! I don’t give a fuck! I don’t give a fuck! I don’t give a fuck! I don’t give a FUCK!!

"Outro" by Limp Bizkit

“I’m here to tell you why the new Limp Bizkit album is so important. That’s because CD’s like this one spare you from all the chart-topping, teeny-bopping, disposable happy horseshit that brings up the bile from the back of my neck. I have no time or tolerance for those shitty whack acts like that. I wouldn’t piss on their CD’s to put out a fire.”

If you’re fortunate enough to own the Significant Other album by Limp Bizkit, you know about this gem of a rant at the end the CD by Matt Pinfield. In his words, we need some rock and we need something that has balls. Now, just imagine for a minute if you were an author and somebody gave you the kind of praise that Matt Pinfield gave to Limp Bizkit. Wouldn’t you like to be known as an author who spares people from disposable happy horseshit? I’d jump at the opportunity in a heartbeat.

But that can’t always happen. After all, authors aren’t known for being as aggressive as heavy metal bands when it comes to their craft. Let’s take Stephen King for instance. Everybody knows how brutal he can be when he puts his mind to it. He’s even brutal in his criticism of Twilight by Stephanie Meyer. But you have to admit that Stephen King’s aggression and Fred Durst’s aggression are two very different things. Authors have a quiet rage that settles down once pen is put to paper. Musicians and singers? They just scream it out until they’re mentally and physically exhausted.

When it comes to my writing, I will admit to being just as laidback and mellow as any other author. Yes, I can get down and dirty with the best of them, but there’s a reason why I’m not on stage right now strumming the hell out of an electric guitar. Aside from the obvious reason that I can’t play guitar, I don’t have the kind of aggression it takes to be in a metal band. I hardly even like it when I go to a concert and some rowdy asshole is yelling in the most obnoxious tone possible.

However, if you’re a literary critic and you feel like giving my e-books Matt Pinfield-style praise, I wouldn’t be against it. In fact, I would be grinning for the rest of my life. Deus Shadowheart and Dr. Scott Cain already have reputations of being literary badasses, even when their new home (Fireball Nightmare) is still under construction. If Deus heard that he spared people from disposable happy horseshit even during his most emotional moments, he would scream like the heavy metal freak he was meant to be.

Readers and heavy metal fans are two different groups of people. And yet, I represent both sides of the fence. I just might…you know…bring them together! Actually, no, I won’t. Alice Cooper, Max Cavalera, and Rex Brown have already done that with their published memoirs. Phil Anselmo will do it too once his book comes out in 2015. I’m not much of a fearless leader, but if Phil Anselmo and Max Cavalera bring me to the promised land, I will follow them every step of the way. Same thing goes for Fred Durst and Matt Pinfield.

　

***INTERNET DIALOGUE OF THE DAY***

JAY HOWARD: Now come on, own up. Who really wrote “Sitka the Nose Biter”?

ME: I did, Jay-Pie.

JAY HOWARD: No blood and gore, explosions, or shootings? Not even poison? What happened to you while I was gone?!