The Open Road...Rocky Horror Reconsidered, Living on Zoloft and other Strange Thoughts...

Well, that's a good beginning, isn't it?  Back in the Office on the 4th of July, and "Farewell to Arms" is playing by ELP.  A ballad for whatever this state of mind is I'm in.


I have a lot to tell you of, and also this is the cleansing of my twisted insides for what must be the millionth time.


I am actually in a good state of mind right now, and it feels good.  Of course, 30 minutes on the bike and another 10 or so in the sauna on a day that's pushing 95 in the shade will do that to you.


So, let's see...I was on the road early Saturday, once more to return to Boston and help say farewell to the Loew's Theatre in Harvard Square, Cambridge.  The theatre has been home to the Full Body Cast of the Rocky Horror Picture Show since 1984.  It's final turn is this Saturday.  


I am actually working on the 7th, so I did my turn on the 30th.  My first time in that theatre to perform was on April 5, 1990, as a "Rocky."  Yes!  I did not become Riff Raff until a couple months after that.


iTunes update:  "Hurtin' Me, Hurtin' You," by Steve Earle.  The music fuels my fingers, what can I say?


From my pretentious hotel (I have to have a little fun, dammit), where I can cause heads of the allegedly wealthy to turn when this maniac dressed like a biker with a guitar strides through the lobby; anyway it is a comfy place, and I do like a little of that when I can get it.  View of the Charles is lovely, and it's close to stuff.


Like I wrote last summer, Cambridge (where I was), Boston, the whole city...it's alive again.  I really miss the activity, and yet with that comes the concerns I have about being able to survive in a city with such high tension. With the activity comes the tension and the stress.


Six weeks plus off Zoloft is like detox; I am fighting off a drug addiction.  I didn't even realize it.  I am still having issues with it.  Tension rises, the E-string gets fucking wound, and then look the fuck out.


"Moby Dick," Led Zep.  Hmmm...


In a city of millions, you can still feel alone.  I have written lyrics for a new song, which will be called "Strangely Unfamiliar."  That's how I felt.  I knew the whole city like the back of my hand; been here for many years, and yet it is not the same.  The change is good, but how to comprehend it, and adjust to it.


I need change; lots of it.  I keep saying I need to leave PA; I have almost nothing to hold me here, but for the off-chance that I can prove to certain people that I have value.  It would provide the base for which I need to do every other thing.


Every other important thing in my life.


I popped into Magic Dragon Comics in Arlington, and I caught up with my old friend and Rocky Horror compadre Eric Carter.  Eric is the former lead singer of Rogue, and a brilliant artist.  He tipped me to some of the independent comic and manga work being done in the area, including that of George O'Connor, former Rocky and Rogue member.


George is author of a zombie type work that is getting some attention out there.  Fully independent, and no strings attached.  


I made my pilgrimage to Newbury Comics, and the Jewelry/Tattoo shop to get a new ankh.  My last one broke; very interesting omen there.


"Rock this Place," Fabulous Thunderbirds...now we're talking.


Getting ready for the show, I could feel a terrible depression come down on me.  Excited to be back, then crashing hard.  


I drifted over to the Harvard Theatre early, and sat across from the place at the church steps.  This is/was the gathering point for the Rocky people for years, before we could be let inside the building.  I thought back to years of being here, being with these people, my people and how it's all going away. Bittersweet memories.


I felt ill.  I didn't want to do this; I didn't want to perform, and I actually thought about no-showing.  But I had to get one last turn on the stage for fun, and to remind myself why I did it all those years.  It was fun; and it was okay to seek that fun out.


There's a terrible guilt trip we lead on people; to enjoy life is somehow a bad thing.  We have to work, make money, find a spouse, fuck the spouse and spit out a bunch of kids, etc., etc., etc.  Modern living.


Most of us never did that.  Well, a lot of the Rocky people are now married, have kids, real jobs, but they didn't lose their sense of fun.  


I had attributed this line to my friend Lisa Risley, but it was not written by her.  In a play Riz directed me in, her character says, "The theatre is a home for lost children."


Think about that.


We are.


I was.


A Lorenna McKennitt song came on...I skip.  I hate to say it, but I find her music annoying.


Carlos del Junco, "Don't Worry Your Pretty Little Head," is next...blues guy, but this is a slow, jazz type of thing with harmonica.  Different.


It's funny what makes the fog lift.  Two ex-cast members suddenly popped up in front of me.  They were not there to perform, but they dropped in.  Then two more.


These photos by the way are on my Facebook; there are two folders, so check those out.


So we all got to talking, like we did, and I felt awake again.  Thanks.


The gang slowly came in...Wombat, the techie for life it seems, and others...the dark, the scantily clad (all ages, haha), and the rest started to show up.  There is a kinship that will never die with these folks.


Another reason to go back.


The show was an all-star mashup of performers, tagging off as the night went on.  I had the middle part, which I fortunately remembered.  I look old...damned old in those pictures that were taken.  But it was fun.


Preshow was an extended set of performances, and a free for all Time Warp.  How do you do that?  All Riffs (4), all Magentas (3), all Columbias (2 or 3), and I got one last leap off the riser.


Fun.


That was something else.  The good news is, the FBC has a new home, in Boston Common, which begins on August 4th.


"Killer Queen..." -- do I have to tell YOU?!?


Sunday...I hung out with an old friend, Gretchen and I later had my collaborators' meeting with Riz and Jen (the latter the hand behind the Sweet Dreams Series).  


Jen is as crazy busy as ever...she's become a workout junkie, and looks remarkably fit.  We found our way (thanks to Jen's GPS) into the Medford Suburbs...yes, "Meh-fuh" does have them!


Riz's new home with her new boyfriend and his daughter is a wonderfully cluttered little home with lots of intriguing curiosities.  Al is a laconic New Englander, but a good guy.  I liked him immediately.  The youngest daughter, last one at home is Lex.  


Hardcore Otaku.  I love her.  Riz and Lex have bonded over Invader Zim, and numerous other such things.  I have not seen the woman so happy, and she deserves it.


"When a Guitar Plays the Blues," Roy Buchanan--THE SONG THAT STARTED THE SWEET DREAMS SERIES.  ALL OF IT.


So anyway...a certain press is looking at the SDS, manga version.  The possibilities that they will pick up the book could happen.  It's now a wait.


Meanwhile, the cover concept must be set, so we can make a second submission to a publication for previews and promotional purposes.  We're back in the business, again.


Another long night...Monday...I took a walk along the Charles, and for once saw that side of the river along Memorial Drive in a way I never had.  I needed the exercise, and damned if I would get any in the hotel pool.


Hotel.  Pool.  Tourists.  Kids.  Enough said.


I got a good walk into Kendall Square, which has grown up a bit over the years.  Found an indie coffee shop to hang in, and had a scone which weighted about three pounds!  The upwardly mobile, the MIT crowd and the rest all getting on here, as in every place through this city.  Indeed.


I kept walking eventually, back toward the river, and passed a coffee shop I could later go back to.  Voltage. 


This is a minimal, coffee and art place.  Art works hang on its bare walls, and while the coffee is pricey, it's pretty good.  


I did some shopping...yeah, guess what?  I do.


I do think some changes to my life will come; every now and then this snake (my totem animal) needs to shed skin, and I will do that again as time goes by.


Later, I had dinner with Riz, and we talked for three ours.  Another part of the world in Medford has changed:  Wellington Circle is gone.


I worked the Strawberries there from 1989-90.  It's all gone, replaced by a mini-city called Station Landing.  Weird.  It's kind of like Hunt Valley, for those who have never been there and live where I do now.


Riz is dealing with numerous issues, as always, but I feel a corner will turn with her.  About time.  I am hopeful to turn my corners as well.


"Victims of Comfort," Keb' Mo' -- now isn't this an indictment of not just the rich, but quite a few of us?  It is on his first album, great song.


Our modern world has taken us into a corner, all of our own making.  I wonder about what we've done, and what I have to do.


As it stands, I have no job.  I am on-call, for both WITF, Radio PA, and yes, Clear Channel.  There's no work; no unemployment, but I have lived quietly and alright.


I am not starving, and though I fear it, homelessness and being dead-ass broke is not going to happen.  I will not permit it.


"Come into My Life," Robert Plant.


Of course, you must think, "Well, he just took a trip to Boston to hang out with those weirdos from his past!  Blah, blah, blah."


Trying not to worry about it all.  But there is so much that we do think are like the necessities, when they're not really.


So anyway...zoomed outta Dodge early on Tuesday, avoided the holiday rush and bullshit and made it home before noon.  I have before me a lot of work to do, and a lot of changes to make.


These will take a long time.  I do not know if tomorrow I'll have a job, if I'll suddenly have to move, or if something even bigger occurs.


I have had people criticize me for having "no life."


What does that mean?


Look around, and at you:  what do I see?  I see a life that I can't shit on, because I am a part of it.


What do we do in this world?  We make money.


Money provides a lot of things; "breathing room," as my old roommate Kevin once said.  Yes, that's so.


Too much will kill you.  Why make tons of money in a job you don't like?  For what?


To buy a new car, when the one you own runs just fine?  The Silver Saturn is 237,000 miles old, and while I know it's going to cost me to get it inspected, it's still cheaper than buying a new one.  I don't want a new one.


My poor old house that I rent is 90+ years old; the landlady did say that it would be better to raze it eventually, and put another on it.  I was surprised by that, because Alice and I, among others have considered it.


I do love that piece of land, and I would like it, but...with ownership comes responsibility.


Taxes.  Codes Enforcement Officers.  Township Regulations.


Not worth it.


I would rather rent, and know that being a good renter means not just to pay the rent, but to not destroy the house.  I admit, I've not been great to the old spot, but at least I'm not knocking holes in the walls and stealing from the landlord's garage, like a previous tenant is alleged to have done.


David Jacobs-Strain, "Kokomo Blues."  Local guy, really good musician.


I don't go to bars, I don't drink anymore.  I no longer smoke...holy shit, $10 a pack in New York State!  If that doesn't make you quit, I dunno what will!


I do have a membership in a health club, and that has been a good influence.  That plus the people around me.  After one year, I can see benefits.  I am healthier than I have been in almost 20 years.  It's a good thing.


I suppose I am one of the consumer generation, and I do wish I was not so much.  Then again, at this point, I've needed to live quieter, and more simply.


It's not an easy life, but we have to live it.  One has to shed the need to do things, 24/7.  We have to go here, go there, do this, do that, keep up with the Joneses, etc.


Sometimes, it's hard to even just survive, and I know all about it.  You have nothing at times, and you feel the frustration, the anger, the hatred of all who have what you do not.


We're seeing that anger now in politics.  I see people vote against their better interests and judgement, because it makes them feel good for one moment to stick it to someone else.


But what if that hurts you?  Two years later, you'll be screaming bloody murder about THAT.  And you still think it's someone else's fault!


I don't blame anyone for the place I'm in.  It's not about blame.  I don't blame me, or anyone.  I made my calls, and I don't regret it.


If there will be a big step, I will consider it, and take it if I feel it's right.


This is very hard to deal with, when you are considering the drug matter. Zoloft.


Katherine Sharp is the author of a book I'm reading, "Coming of Age on Zoloft."  It's her story, plus that of others.


Worth reading.  It is not an indictment on the drug industry, but it points a finger at it.


Since the 50's we've been drugging ourselves, or letting others do it.  We are a drugged-out generation of feel-good people, and yet we still feel like shit a lot of the time.


Zoloft is like many of these drugs; therapeutically they are satisfactory in the short term.  They help.  But they are NOT meant for life.


I have been on the Big Z 12 years.  I was led to believe it was okay; I was led to believe I'd need it all my life.


WRONG.


I don't fucking need it.  I am amazed that the most creative and productive period of my life occurred during this time.


I realize how hard it is in withdrawal.  My stress, anxiety, and fury return without warning.


I trashed the Vibe Room a couple weeks ago in a fit of rage.  Childish, stupid, immature...yes, but it made me feel better.


I nearly turned into a Road Rage incident in Boston Monday night when I could not find my way from Cambridge to Medford.  W/O the drugs, I get scattered, and I get lost sometimes.  Not good.


I have to learn to step back on my own.  It is very hard.  But I have to do it.


"Fire Woman," the Cult.  Nice.


I'm doing my best, folks.  Hard as hell sometimes, but sometimes it works.


Today, I feel fine.  Tomorrow, who the fuck knows?


My life is one long strange trip, but so isn't yours.


I'm gonna figure out the next step.  If I have to leave PA, which I admittedly want to apart from one chance at a brass ring, so I do.  


Where I go, will be where I'm meant to go.  Back home?  A new land?


Either way, it's gonna be fun, because you have to have fun.  I'm having it right now, telling you all this crazy shit that's going on.


Enjoy your fourth.  The park on a diagonal line from my back lawn is gonna host fireworks tonight.  I just have to go outside.  That will be fun.


Peace.

So Much to Do, and Yet Nothing to Do Just Now...

The roller coaster ride continues...been on the whole a good day, a really good one.  Slept in, which was not by design, but I suppose I needed it.  And got some exercise.


For those who don't know, you really don't need a car in Boston, if you live and work in the city.  The "T" may not be the best transit system in the world, but it does pretty well under the circumstances.  You can get about anywhere, as long as you're willing to be a little bit patient.


I chose not to try and drive the short distance from my hotel into Harvard Square, because of the time, cost and stress.  A fair walk up to Kendall Square, then the Red Line into Harvard is more than reasonable; while waiting for the business lunch (haha) with Riz and Jen I did what I do when I come to Boston.


I hit Newbury Comics for some "Market Research."


NC is really the spot to go...new, used, this and that...and they were playing the Stones when I got in there, "Exile on Main Street" I'm pretty sure.  Quite alright.


As usual, I dropped some cash in there.  New John Hiatt CD, new Seasick Steve, and bunch of used stuff.  I'm also intrigued by a 2-CD set of John Cale shows from Rockpalast in the 80's...interesting indeed they look.


Well, Jen arrives, and I do love her company.  Jen is a 23-year-old ball of happy energy, and she is the template for Mima in "Parasite Girls," one of my many unpublished works.  She is just fun to be around.  We also hit up Hootenanny, a retro clothing shop in the Garage, also owned by Newbs.  


Riz rolled up in the Blue Bomber, but not after nailing someone from behind who probably deserved it.  Traffic in Boston, Cambridge, hell anywhere here is dangerous.  And Riz is extremely dangerous behind the wheel of the Bomber.


Okay...lunch at Pho Pasteur (the good one), and over to the Harvard Square Office (aka Morebucks) to have a long overdue discussion of the manga version of "Sweet Dreams:  Searching for Roy Buchanan."  Been working toward this for a long time.


This meeting lasted 3+ hours, and over a lot of coffee.  There were digressions of course, but the aim will be for Riz to storyboard out the first chapter.  Jen will then translate it into her own amazing style, I hope, and soon something else for the agent and potential publishers to chew upon.


Oh, one can hope.


Again reminded of why I just need to leave Pennsylvania...the PEOPLE.  Now, I've written of how Burlington, VT has had a Renaissance, a rebirth or whatever.  Despite Harvard Square turning into "Bank Square," as someone calls it, there is still some character and life there, and in the surrounding parts of Cambridge, to whit, Porter, Davis, Kendall and Central Square.  It's still vital and vibrant, and I have to get back here.


I miss the diversity, the coolness factor, the way people young and old can live together, go about and be entirely NON-SELFCONSCIOUS about all of it.  I love hearing different languages being spoken about me, even if I don't know what they are talking about; not my business, anyway.  


I love the fashion, the style, and the air of the people in this part of the world.  I am from here, these are my people.  It is at times painful for me to not be able to remain here.


Again, nothing against my friends and my people in PA, but it's not where I am from.  I never fully understood you; yet I do appreciate that most of you accepted me for who and what I was.  


There were only two places in this world that I have ever felt welcome and accepted:  that was in theater (Rocky Horror and elsewhere), and in the Pagan Community.


Now...Rocky has changed over the years, and the Pagans do as well.  The latter is what I focus on here...we have changed, we have had to adapt to changing times, and we do what we must do to preserve ourselves and our families.  We don't have to like it, but we do it.


The practical consideration is this:  I cannot afford to move from PA.  I have no job prospects (yet) in New England, and I can't expect any to magically appear.  When I will have time to really look, I cannot say.


The one last chance I have to secure real, meaningful employment in the business lies where I work right now.  I have to hang in there, continue to do my job to the best of my ability, and hope that the powers that be understand that I will stay there if it means I will have a reason to.  That means:


Make it worth my while, not just in money; I didn't get into radio to make a ton of money or become famous.  I did it because I wanted to.  I wanted to do something different with my life, and so far I have.


If there's nothing more for me, I accept that.  I am glad to still be in this business; if I commit, I'm giving my word to not take the next thing smoking.  


It is hard, though, to live in a place where you don't feel a part of it all.  You feel disconnected, cut off from what you know and are comfortable with, and despite your best efforts to tone up or down to the present situation, you know it's never gonna be enough for most others.


This may sound foolish, but if I was offered a good job there, with gave me stability to do the other important things in my life, I'd do it.  I can write, refine and continue on my literary works anywhere; I can play music anywhere, though I'd certainly miss my old bandmates.  But we come and go, that's a fact.


"Tarkus," by ELP is going on my iTunes right now...it's been running and I can't even remember what I heard before.  Oh well...


...I must be practical, as awful as the truth is.  Where I live is good.  The work I have is good; I want more, and not just to pay my bills.  It makes my living down there worthwhile to know that I can make a difference in that job.  That propels me, and lets me carry on with every other thing I have to do to survive.


It's not so bad, really; but again, I have more searching to do of myself, and I am doing that.  I am considering what I need to do to make myself feel fulfilled.  It can't just be the job.  It has to be other things.


Now, I'm gonna probably get more personal here than I should ever...but I don't think I'd say this to anybody to their face, but most of you probably already have thought it.  I see a chance to continue my broadcasting career in Pennsylvania; I see a chance to be able to use wherever in the area I live as a base for all the other works.  It's portable, it's easy.  If I didn't have to move, that'd be great, because I hate moving.


Problems beyond employment:  living standard.  Living in New England is not cheap, folks.  Massachusetts is one of the highest taxed states, though their sales tax is ironically lower than Pennsylvania's.  Isn't that interesting?


But yeah...Vermont's prices for things like gas are not much different than PA for example.  But cigarettes are $8 a pack across much of New England; well, I don't anymore, so that's fine.  Most people though...bite the bullet, or quit?  


Gas in Mass. is nearly $4 a gallon on average.  Costs are higher here, they really are.  Like in NYC and other places, your pay tends to be geared toward what you have to pay to stay.


In the 90's, I lived in a rundown house in Watertown for $200 a month.  The only reason we could get it that low was because there on average were four to five other roommates.  Most of us could not afford anything else.  


So...get a really good job, or sell the book?  One or the other, and that's about fucking it.


I have to stay where I am...but coming back keeps me from going insane.


Other problem:  in PA, I have almost ZERO chance of finding someone to have a long, and meaningful relationship with.  I will not go into my rel. with Alice, whom I've spoken of; we are great friends, and I adore everything about her.  We may not be "it," though.  Doesn't look it.


Everybody always says that whomever I end up with (at least in the wake of my marriage) is perfect for me.  NO, actually not.  Never has been; I know a lot of that is me.


But there is no choice down there.  I am too different, in most cases too old, and others tend to want more than I can give.


Marriage?  Do you actually think I want to do THAT again?


Children?  You're joking, right?


I have enough trouble keeping myself alive, let alone the responsibility and obligation of that subject.  Years ago, I was aware that I am an unfit parent, temperamentally.  I lack the patience.  Some of that I think runs in the family, but some of it also is just me.


My health is another matter; I cannot father a child because my illnesses, one physical, one mental are both hereditary.  I wouldn't wish either of these on my worst enemies.


Religion?  What am I, anyway?  How do you explain that to more mainstream, conventional people?  You can't, not really.  I certainly don't expect anyone to convert to what I am, and I don't plan to change myself unless I feel it is right.  What I am right now, is right for me.


I feel my luck would be better in another place, maybe even in another lifetime.


Now:  I don't tell you this because I am feeling sorry for myself; not at all, I'm actually feeling very relieved that I'm writing this.  What I can't speak in words, I can write.  If you read any of my writings, you'll see a lot of strange, dysfunctional characters.  They are not all me; some are amalgams of others I've viewed, some of whom deal in the very same things I have.


I also write what I want to see, what I hope the world could be, if we really made an effort. Either way, this is what I deal with, every damned day.


I do what I do because yes, it makes a living, but because I love it to death.  I think to my dying day, I'd do something in radio, if I felt it made a difference, and I could perpetuate some form of it the way it should be done.  I can't change it, but I can make it better, even in a small way.


I write because I must; I have stories to tell, and it's really good therapy.  If I didn't have this outlet, I probably would be dead right now.


Music is another; after years of listening and DJing it, I like making my own for others.  We'll see where it goes.


"Hold on My Heart," by Genesis just ended...I never like Phil Collins' singing...I greatly admire his drumming, but not his sappy songs and his narcissistic need to have that dome of his right up in your face of nearly every record.


"Future Primitive," by Santana...ah, neat.


Well, I think that about does it for my therapy this evening.  Time to get back to whatever work I am doing on my vacation.  One more day in Boston, and NH...must get ready for it.