The Dada Party
Soaking wet, Charlie and I pranced down to Frenchman Street, making a quick top in at the Alley Cat club to see our Brazilian friend spin for a few songs; you gotta love a 24-hour city. When hunger struck, Charlie avoided blood at my request, and we opted for Chicken Box instead, home of the 1,000 piece chicken dinner. With Fried chicken and mashed potatoes with warm the wetness, I could fall asleep peacefully in my own house.
I had not had such a fun evening since the night of the Da-da party when I had first moved to town. Strange how I was approached for it, a few different people told me that my presence had been requested, but I had to show up alone. “Are you part French and a freak, then how can you not go?”
Told to dress up, I had no idea what that meant at the time. Opting for a sleeveless black with white pinstripes dress, paten leather accented the outfit, while I worse the white invisibility cloak incase I wanted to remain hidden in the crowd. Though I tried to call as many people as I knew, nobody seemed to be available to escort me for the evening.
Buttoning up my white trench coat, I moseyed down the streets of the French Quarter, making my way to Rampart. At the address specified, there was a semi-abandoned house loaded with people. Money was taken at the door.
I slipped past the crowd, bumping past people and causing them to look around in wonder of who they had just felt rub up against them. One guy even yelled at the guy behind him for being rude, not knowing that it was me pushing him aside to gain entrance to the house. Invisibility really has it perks at times.
A large pentagram welcomed me, as did a guy covered in blood dollar bills. “Want some blood money?” He offered to any passing person, “take some blood money…”
There were broken mirrors to be pieced together to spell out a magic word for the evening. A girl lay on the floor naked, covered only in lunch meat and cheeses. Not thinking, I grabbed a round slice of cheese off of her body, exposing the crevasse of her thighs.
I ate the piece of cheese, which I would learn to be my mistake as the evening grew later. A band played naked, and many people danced around with minimal clothing. It was a true Freak’s Ball, making me feel comfortable enough to unbutton my coat as I walked upstairs.
Under a glowing large pentagram, a large man stood. There were pieces of paper spread out on the table before him, and he instructed people to grab three cards. I made my selection, pulling up a star, a blank card and a man’s face.
“Oh, Honey, I can’t tell you your fortune,” the man hissed as if talking like a snake. Why was everyone always afraid to read my fortune? “I can say though that you’ve been harboring a little pent up sexual frustration, and you, of all people, need to just go out and have sex.”
Ya know, it didn’t really sound like that bad of an idea. A man stood next to me in a long robe. “Can you believe that?”
“Can I believe what? Was my fortune accurate? Some might agree with it, why what did he say to you?”
“Well, we’re not allowed to tell our fortunes, now are we? I hope you don’t feel threatened by me in any way, I just don’t know too many people here. I’m Daren.”
“Nice to meet you,” I shook his hand. “I know what you mean about not knowing too many people here, as I just moved here. I was told to come along to this party, too, but I still haven’t figured out why.”
A skeleton girl approached me with an Irish accent, “excuse an old sack of bones if you will, Darling.” With such a friendly approach, the three of us began talking, and the skeleton suggested me going to Fat Catz sometime, a club just down the road. She was a tiny little thing, and though her face was pale and lacking skin, her hair showed beauty beyond control.
Out on a balcony lay the Ministry Ov Misinformation, selling books that would not be carried in normal stores. Catching my attention, I purchased a book on pirates. I needed some new reading material.
When I turned around from making my purchase, Daren was still behind me, and there was a girl next to me. The skin between her boobs held a ten-gage horse shoe hoop that dug through her skin. It was the first time I had seen a female sternum piercing, so we naturally clicked right there on the spot.
“You should meet my master sometime,” she smiled at me with glee. “I can tell just by talking with you that he’d love you. I have faith that you two will cross paths eventually.”
We were interrupted by two gentlemen dressed as cavemen, friends of Daren. “Da-da” was all the one said, signaling that we should show our best work. The slave girl, Andie, and I pulled up our skirts, flashing vaginal artwork.
“Da-da!” The one caveman pointed, as my metal had hers beat by sheer mass amount. She had one piercing that I did not have, however, that set us apart with distinction.
I let my skirt drop back down, and I noticed for the first time the other caveman. Staring at him, I felt like I had seen him before. He must have felt the same, as he asked, “do I know you from somewhere?”
We talked of tour and music, as he told me that he had worked on the Nine Inch Nails “Closer” video, but we could not make a quick connection as to how we both fit in. The best we could make out is that we were both involved in the music scene and may have met somewhere along the lines before. Previous meeting or not, his stark good looks shocked me into a dumbfounded state.
Words did not have to be exchanged, as we spoke to each other by not moving our stares off of each other’s eyes. Never had I felt so much instant peace upon meeting someone. His stark good looks also had me mesmerized momentarily.
Extending his had out to me, he said, “I don’t know why, but you need this. It’s Chinese death money. You burn it upon someone’s death or sickbed, as they will have the means to buy their way out of hell when making the transition of crossing over into the land of death.”
“I know of someone not doing too good at this time, too,” I lowered my eyes and accepted the offering. Still I was a big believer in all things happening for a reason. Though I thought I would use this money for one situation, another was just around the corner, but I had not known it at that point.
As the money exchanged our hands, I felt a breeze blow though, like a force passing between us. Neither of us could say a word, both obviously feeling it. Strange things abound in a house filled with pentagrams.
A girl pranced up, and circled around him. He did not seem to notice her, but she noticed me. Sticking out her lip in a pout, knowing there was little she could do about such a powerful association of souls, she said, “I think I’ll just go downstairs and dance some more.”
He didn’t look away from me when he answered, “I’ll be down in a minute.” He did, however, offer one last words of advice. “I’m Chris, and if you want to keep in touch with me, then keep in touch with him,” he nodded to Daren.
“Have you checked out the murder rooms upstairs?” Daren tried to cut in, breaking the spell of our stares. “There’s supposedly some rooms where murders took place upstairs, and rape; it’s supposed to be pretty cool if you’d like to see.”
“I should probably go downstairs and meet here anyway. Why don’t you guys go check it out up there? I went up there earlier,” Chris detailed.
When Daren and I turned to go up the stairs behind us, I thought Chris had gone upstairs. It was not until we were at the top of the stairs that I turned around and found him following behind us. I smiled at the sight of him, as it was like some unexplained comfort.
I felt a hand brush across mine, and I looked up into the eyes of Joel. A smile beamed at recognition of someone that I had actually known. “How are you?”
We embraced quickly, and he shuffled me up to the first murder room with Daren and Chris quick on my heels. A grandmother held a knife and rocked in a rocking chair. A dead body lay on the bed, slash marks through him, blood soaking the sheets and flies buzzing overhead. In the corner, a man was being eaten alive by rats.
Joel reached down to the bed, soaking his hand with blood. Fangs extending by the sheer smell, he lapped up the red drips from his palm and smiled. Open sacrifice for the community of blood-loving creatures.
In the second room, a rape victim lay with stockings torn and a wad of cum mixing with blood dripping from her twat. Her neck was slit, and there were pentagrams drawn on the walls with her blood. Another familiar face licked his bloody fingers, too, fangs also drawn; it was Mark.
Approaching me, he embraced me and whispered into my ear, “how long has it been since you seen your red-headed friend?” My stomach twinged with a sharp pain suddenly. “Don’t you think it’s time to make a trip to the 9th Ward?”
Doubling over, I held my stomach tight. “I need to go somewhere right about now,” I agreed. Turning around, Joel, Chris and Daren looked concerned. “I need some fresh air.”
Stepping out of the room, I found myself looking over a rickety stairway that was three floors high. A dingy alley could be seen below, and I did not want to fall all the way down there. Mark grabbed my arm and helped escort me down the stairs.
The pain had emanated from the first floor, right from where the band had been playing. I heard the chime of church bells signaling that it had turned midnight, and Mark insisted, “it’s time for you to leave here.” I was not about to argue.
Guiding me past my followers, Mark took charge. Daren handed me his phone number as I passed him, instructing me to call. I waved goodbye, still doubled over in pain.
Passing ladies dressed in only feathers and couples wearing only masks, we headed toward the door. Outside, mark offered me a cigarette to try to ease my pain. Lighting it, I whined, “let’s just get on our way.”
“It’s a good walk that far, like 40 blocks to his house. Let’s make a pit stop along the way. I know of somebody who might be able to help us.”
A few blocks down, we entered Melvin’s Bar, a nice stop that allowed me to clean up briefly in the bathroom, though my stomach had not calmed at all. Mark took a quick break with a drink, introducing me to the bartender, who was overly nice. The owner, however, was even nice, offering to drive us in his taxi to where we needed to go.
Quick chatting of music at the club, different things he had tried to do to bring customers in, passed the time while we drove to Kentucky and Poland. The red-headed one would be waiting for us. Was it true that even I could have a master?
The idea sort of eased the pain in my stomach. Breath began to come to me easier. Melvin dropped us at his front door, not even charging us for the ride, thanks to Mark.
Mark was actually the first person to introduce me to the house, by way of Lonnie. As soon as I saw the barbed wire and waiting dog, my stomach pain seemed to pass as a wave. In relief, I gave Melvin a hug, a thanks for being the one to guide me to where I would not have pain.
The door had been left open for us, and when we walked in, the red-head greeted me with his long-haired companion Hans. I sighed and felt calmness wash over me as I made my greetings hello. The red-head and I embraced, and he chuckled, “don’t you know it’s never good to eat cheese off of a warm human?”
Cooking a Gumbo
What doesn’t kill you only makes you stronger, because what nourishes you also destroys you. Each step is only one closer to death. Each breath only brings death closer.
Even in the old days, people used to survive off of blood soup. With all those tiny nutrients already in the liquid, blood makes for a good base. Other substances are just a bonus, the extras lying around the house.
It’s sort of like making N’awlins jambalaya. Anything extra in the cupboards can be thrown into the mix. Whatever vegetables, beans or spices are there for the grabbin’, take ‘em and throw ‘em into tha mix.
Mixin’ it all up, it’s never made the same way twice. If something is on the verge of going bad, throw it in there just for fun. It’s better than wastin’ it, lettin’ it grow bad.
Take it before the rot gets too deeply infected into it. Take it before it’s too old, in the grip of death’s hands. Give it one last chance at life.
This is sort of how New Orleans cooks its citizens, in one big pot as one would cook gumbo. Boil them until they can’t stand the heat, then pull them out to be served on other parts of the country or world as entrees, the star meals. Boiling them under pressure of influences they’re not normally used to gives them that spice that can be so desirable to the eclectic diners of the world.
I was learning, and I was catching on to the ways that things worked. Some might have said that I was getting comfortable, which means its time to turn up the heat again, just to keep me moving. This came from flattery and rejection.
The lesbian landlord flattered me, and I rejected her. Again and again she tried, but I saw her attempts as feeble. Though they were of sparse interest, I did not like her total package offered, as it came with the strings that needed a puppet attached to it.
Feeling old, she thought that artwork would make her feel young again, that pain might offer her the sensation of feelin’ frisky. Though she had done it once before and taken them out, she wanted to get her nipples pierced. I could not help but wonder what had made her take them out the first time, but she answered my question with a far away girlfriend.
Red tape stretched across the place in thick lines that could not help but make one look for observation. It was sort of like one of those police lines, where it says, “danger, do not cross.” Just the order makes you curious enough to want to look around a bit, just to check the situation out before.
As I had a piercer, I agreed to go with her to get a piercing if she had the guts to do it. She wanted to know who my piercer was, so I explained a tiny bit. He was the master of the girl I met at the Da-da party.
When I went to see Drowning Pool perform with Damage Plan at their only show in New Orleans, she happened to be there, wearing a tiny black dress that flattered her figure so nicely. As if to be extra cute, Andie also wore pigtails in her dark hair.
At first, I had not noticed her, as I had been tied up in an interview with Stevie from Drowning Pool on the back of their bus. We had talked about the death of their former lead singer Dave Williams, how I was there when they found the body. CJ joined us in the back to reminisce.
We each sipped on glasses of spiked blood as I detailed what I remembered, and none of us needed to hide our fangs from each other. About an hour outside of Washington DC, the Harley Girls, of which I was included, stopped for a hotel room for the evening. Loaded down, we thought it was quite rude when a guy rushed past us as we were walking through the door, as he scampered as if on fire, not bothering to hold the door open for us.
When he reached the front desk and yelled, “we need an ambulance to the gold bus out back, NOW,” we understood a little better. The blonde, Tina, looked at me with her eyes dilated, flashing her fangs for a quick second in a way that made me understood that she was more than interested in finding out what was happening. Luckily, the girl with multi-colored dreds, Cristina, offered to take care of securing the room, knowing us to be more of little sleuths.
Dropping our bags and motioning for a bellhop, we scampered off in search of a pool, figuring it to be a natural gathering place. To our surprise, the pool was half inside and half outdoors, in the back corner towards the parking lot where all the busses were parked. As we walked through, all seemed normal, though uncommonly quiet.
It wasn’t until we had almost made an entire loop through the deck section that we heard somebody say, “yeah, I heard it was the lead singer of Drowning Pool.” Not knowing the people well enough to ask questions, as they looked to be in an intense conversation, we completed the round of the deck and did not speak until we were out of earshot of other people. “Let’s go get our swimsuits on.”
Returning to the front desk, Cristina was just handed the keys to our room, which was normally a suite, due to my love of Jacuzzi tubs. Snatching our individual key and glancing at the room number, we hot footed it over to put on bikinis. Sobbing guys could not resist being comforted by two blondes in bikinis, at least that’s what we figured.
Cristina played her natural role, hoppin’ on the phone to try find out what details she could. Clad in bikinis that accentuated our bouncing boobs, Tina and I, both with long blonde hair and light eyes, agreed to return when we found out what happened. Cool as could be expected, we returned to the pool, diving in for a quick splash, so as not to look obvious.
Giggling and splashing each other, our plan worked within a matter of minutes when we saw a large mass of colors crying. Tattoo Tommy, who had been working for Rob Zombie, was in tears, which was actually quite an odd sight to see. Covered in tattoos and piercings from head to toe, with a muscle bulk enough to scare most men, the sight almost seemed fake, as if it could not be possible.
Dripping wet, bikinis clinging to our bodies, nipples hard, Tina and I approached him. He sobbed, “I’ve never seen a dead body before.” Shaking his head, he covered his face in tears.
“Dave had wanted a tattoo, and I had promised him, as this was our day off, that I’d give him one when we got settled in at the next hotel. When I knocked on the bus, the guys told me that he was sleeping in the back, that I should wake him up. I mean, I touched him…”
Tears swelled in his eyes again, and as we talked, struggling to comfort the guy whose body was being ripped apart by waves of convulsive spasms from such an intense cry where the tears finally fell only after a levy breach, there was little we could do. As the sun dried our bodies slightly, and Tommy sobbed onward, we noticed van after van pulling into the parking lot. One after another, these vans kept entering, and none of them were associated with the tour.
Magnetic identification signs and psychedelic paint identified the news vehicles: ABC, NBC, VH1, MTV… The sight was enough to send everyone scampering like ants running from a foot plunging into an anthill. It made my stomach turn, and I felt absolutely sick, both from the news and the sight.
Not being spared, Tine and I scampered back inside to our hotel room, each recounting the tale to Cristina as we showered and changed clothes. She reported other details that she had heard from word of mouth, and the day began growing even more somber. When we turned on the television, there were already live reports coming from our hotel.
“What’s that?” There was a loud sound coming from just outside our hotel room window. Pushing back the curtains I revealed a helicopter landing in the parking lot, not too far from our window.
“We gotta get outta here,” Tina demanded. “I can’t take all this shit, and I don’t think anyone else can either. I didn’t see too much around, but there’s gotta be somewhere we can walk to.”
“You guys go ahead,” Cristina responded when we asked if she wanted to join us. “I’m going to make a few more phone calls and see what I can figure out. Really, I just want to relax and do some laundry.”
Her position was more than understandable, but Tina and I took off on foot. Down the long driveway, we saw our options were few, but we settled on having dinner at Wendy’s. Ordering up my Mandarin Chicken Salad, I found that Tina had already selected a table where we would be joined by a guest who went by the name of Grape. He also worked for Rob Zombie.
Hearing his version of the tale, it was apparent that tomorrow’s show in Virginia would be one that many might not want to remember, one that would mark the untimely death. One never knew when death would be lurking around the corner, even for the “immortals.” It simply could not be escaped, even by those who thrived off of blood.
There’s nothing quite like seeing sad vampires running from a situation. Disturbed in what should have been their resting place, it was like having a coffin torched by vampire hunters, the press. Seek them out and expose them for what they are!
At the time, we had thought that dinner with Grape was the highlight of our evening, but Grape regretted to inform us that he had other places to be, that safer shelter than a fast food restaurant needed to be sought. As I finished my salad, Tina agreed. All we could do was walk.
Perhaps it’s the luck of two blondes that we did not have to put more than a few steps out the door on our long hike of a destination. Somebody had called out our names, “hey, Harley Girls! Come over here and join us for a bit!”
Though we could hardly see who was calling over to us, Tina led the way for me to follow. Next door to Wendy’s was another restaurant with a bar area. We should have known to go where the alcohol flowed.
At a table, two seats were pulled out for us, and brief introductions were made to a number of people, most of which I cannot recall. Ozzy’s accountant, B, was amongst the group. When I turned down the offer for a drink, I also met up with a vampire named Dave, whose fangs glistened at the mention that I was not a huge fan of alcohol on a regular basis, more for special occasion.
The lights were lowered especially dim, probably for all the vampires clustered into one small area. As I looked around, other members from tour were also present. The press had forced all of us to hide from reality.
When it became obvious that Tina was making herself comfortable, Dave asked me if I would like to join him for a different sort of refreshment. Promising not to try any funny business, the guys at the table assured me that he could be trusted. We took the long venture to his hotel, which had been right next to mine.
Talking with me about sound, working for the Super Bowl and soccer, Dave offered my choice of blueberry or white widow, then decided we would try them both. Relaxing back, it was nice to finally relax for a moment with no distraction and pressure. Even as a perfect gentleman, there was a small comfort in being with one’s own kind.
I’m sorry I don’t have more to offer you,” he flashed his fangs in a hint towards the blood of a fresh victim, but I was content. Simply blueberry was sweet enough. Giving white widow to the Black Widow seemed sweetly ironic.
Never once feeling uncomfortable, we joked and laughed for a while. Sex never even entered the conversation, which was a nice change. Even vampires like to sit back and relax every once in a while, rest without mindless distraction.
It took me a long time to want to rejoin the press after that. Covering the jam Cruise for High Times had been my first attempt, covering Rod Steward had been my second attempt, and my third attempt had been with Drowning Pool at the Damage Plan show.
Stevie and CJ could relate to my story, and it brought pain back into their eyes. “We’re just waiting for the other shoe to fall now. I can’t explain it, but I just feel like something bad is going to happen.”
CJ nodded in agreement as Stevie continued. “Mark that on the record now, at this point, our first show in the tour with Damage Plan. Something bad is going to happen on this tour; we can just feel it in the air.”
Drowning Pool Interview
Interview written April 25, 2004
It had been well over a year since I last seen the surviving members of Drowning Pool; I believe it was back stage for Tommy Lee on Ozzfest 2002.
After randomly winning the jackpot for Nick, the guitarist from Black Label Society, in Reno, he and I stood on stage watching Tommy Lee (you know, Motley Crue and Pam Anderson?), the replacement band for Drowning Pool after the unexpected death of their lead singer, Dave Williams. In fact, I was at the hotel when the body was found, watching the slobbering journalists flock in, literally landing a helicopter amongst dozens of news vans. Technically, I guess I was the first journalist on scene, finding out ten minutes after it happened from the guy who found the body (as my co-worker and I happened to be at the pool in our bikinis), but I refused to write about it, until now.
See, I was offered a job on Ozzfest 2002 the day that Ozzy returned to the tour after finding out Sharon had cancer, in my home town of Detroit. It was because Brady at Wind-Up Records, Drowning Pool’s label, that I was given last-minute passes to be at the show to get the job offer. Three days after I joined the tour, just after we checked into the hotel, Dave was found dead. It wasn’t until I was hiding in Key West, about four months after the Ozzfest 2002 tour ended, that I figured out that Dave and I had the same last name. Too bad my dad’s the last living male in his family, leaving me as the last with the name “Williams” from his line that went back to the Mayflower (like, the pilgrims). I have no idea if we’re related, and I guess I never will.
That’s the odd part, not knowing; being there when his body is found, after having met the guy two years prior and never thinking to ask. I mean, it’s not like he was that old. To look back at pictures I have of him when he was alive, or those of Bianca the lead singer of Betty Blowtorch who also passed away within a couple weeks of me seeing her last, it’s odd. It’s that smack in the face of reality, nobody being guaranteed a tomorrow.
Worse yet are the feelings of ‘what if it’s all for naught.’ Really, when I mention Dave Williams, Bianca Butthole or Shannon Hoon to many people, most have no clue. Look behind the scenes; instead of playing New Orleans, Hatebreed mourned their manager Steve, who was also on Ozzfest 2002. At death, or when faced with death, this becomes clear. In reality, we are like a flower. We grow, bloom and die. Perhaps we might help out a bee or provide oxygen, but we still die while the rest goes on, unconcerned.
As an entertainer, that’s a harsh reality. To live your life trying to entertain others, provide a mere moment of distraction from whatever hampers the mind, and it really not mattering at all. Then what happens if by chance you reach all the goals you’ve had? What is truly enough? What are you supposed to do? I’ve been told to try it all over with someone new, but it’s not really that easy, only in theory. That’s why I’m here in New Orleans. Stevie, the bassist of Drowning Pool, and I discussed that issue.
“I think we did it all,” he muttered painfully, then vowed; “this time around, I will stop, look around and enjoy it more. It can all be taken away. This time I’ll stop and smell the roses, not be so worried of the business, have a good time. We’ll tour, see some people we haven’t seen in a while and things like that. I don’t have too many expectations, what success to expect. When it happens, it’s easy to get caught up, but now I’m older and wiser. I’ll just try to take it as it comes.”
Sitting in the back of the bus outside of the Howlin’ Wolf, I asked Stevie what the transition was like between singers Dave and Jason.
“We kicked around, trying to decide for about six to eight months after,” he recalled. “We listened to a couple of demos and decided on one about a year later. Some of the first guys had no chance, as we were not over the experience or ready to give them a fair listen. We had to change over our mindset,” he paused in refection.
“Mutual friends recommended Jason,” he continued. “He was doing his own thing, but he had just some certain traits. We demoed songs, did lyrics and melody, but some of those original songs were not used. They were more to show us that he had the ability to contribute to the writing process. Then we’d go out to strip clubs, get loaded and whatnot. Jason has that outgoing personality that fits in well with our vibe.”
Though the vibe has been re-kindled by a new front man whose knuckles perhaps fittingly read ‘born dead,’ Stevie divulged, “the whole process is different. It’s the same, as far as we go in and bang it out, everyone throwing in their two cents. The process didn’t actually change so much as we did, becoming more critical. Before, we played for beer, and it was all we’ve ever done. Now we’re on our second record, after touring the world, September 11, banning our song and Dave’s death. Lots of growing up and hard times came out in the album.”
He chuckled, “another difference is that our first record was out in LA, where we would just party and go out to the strip clubs. The second record was in a Chicago loft. We were lucky if it was 20 degrees outsides, so nobody wanted to leave. Eighteen hours a day, every day, we worked, and it all comes through in the record.”
Seeing a smile, I decided to spare Stevie from the normal barrage of questions, skipping to my three psychological quizzes of creativity. As per usual, I asked, “if you were a unicorn, and you could be any color but white, what color would you be and why?”
“Black,” he said with a deadpan face, “because black is evil. People always expect unicorns to be happy and fun, but I’d be a demon unicorn.”
For my second standard psychological question of creativity, I pondered aloud, “if you were a yogurt, would you be mixed fruit, fruit on the bottom, what flavor and why?”
“Well, I wouldn’t be mixed, because that sounds gay,” he grinned. “Does fruit on the bottom sound gay? I don’t want it to sound gay, because I am not. Let’s just say Jager is my flavor. Fruit on the bottom I like, because chicks on top are fun, too.”
Finally, I inquired what flavor potato chip best described his personality.
“What are those chips with ridges? I’d have to be the chips with ridges, because that’s me rigidy and depressed…desensitized, hence the record, of course. We have nicknames of Doom and Doomer, because we keep waiting for the other shoe to drop. Eventually it will go down the tubes and be total disaster. Note that for the record in this interview.”
Bringing the interview back around, one can sense his training in responses, adding further to the strong sense of jade, but it has been noted. I was told once, “to lead, one must have lost,” so I could not help but ask Stevie if he had any wise words for musicians starting out.
“What we did was play all we could,” he replied with seriousness. “If anyone mentioned the opportunity to play, we were there, ready to go. Just a Dallas band, hanging out, getting crazy. It went from hanging out, to playing a handful of shows, to hundreds of people. We started at little dives, then, after a year, we’re playing bigger clubs with hundreds of people. The industry takes notice to that. The best thing I can say is to learn to entertain people, to get people to enjoy it when they don’t know your music. Besides that, I mean, I was given the advice to book sparingly, making sure it all goes off perfect; that’s anti-us. We’d show up on a minute’s notice and go.”
I closed out the interview with my survey question: What is biggest concern for theft while on the road?
“The number one stolen thing on tour? CDs would be at the top of the list. We had a camera stolen the other day, but it’s mainly CDs. But if anyone happens to find that camera, do not show the tape to anyone! It’s drunken debauchery!”
After the interview, I toured the abandoned buildings of the warehouse district, snapping pictures for my next book of photography. Soon, I found myself at a bar run by Elvis, being hosted a broken cigar and kamikaze by Cactus Jack. Another kamikaze, and I’m at Red Eye, slowly making my way back down to the show. The time was too long for me to wait without drink and access to a bathroom; besides, I had time before Unearthed.
Snapping pictures were part of the job, especially when I saw Vinny and Dimebag, formerly of Pantera, take the stage with their new band Damage Plan. Completing my photography of Pantera without ever going to a show was totally unexpected; I really should have read the bill. I knew the night was going to get crazy, as I ran into local hero Pepper Keenan, the lead of Corrosion of Conformity and guitarist from Down (another Ozzfest 2002 band); he’s like the Cheshire cat when I’ve been drinking here in New Orleans.
The club clears to the point where tumbleweed should have blown across the street, yet the hook-hanging slave of a Forbidden Art tattoo artist and I remained on Drowning Pool’s bus doing shots of Jagermiester and Red Bull, explaining the joys of sadomasochism. After a brief walk and a shot a whiskey, I had no choice but to get three new piercings, two inch-and-a-half long surface pierces and my triangle, all 12 gage and healing fine. Thank you, Michael.
A Few Piercings
Andie had insisted on me meeting her master Michael. The man was a sight to behold, having a split tongue that forked like a snake and horns of metal implanted into his skull. Sure, he had tattoos on his face, along with piercings on most of his body, but he also had brandings and other outlandish work.
Meeting him was not a shock for me, as t would have been for some normal people, depending on the average definition of normal (as I think I’m fairly normal, but many disagree). Not bothering to hide his fangs ever, nor his sharp claws, I felt instantly at home and comfortable with him. When Andie insisted that I show him my artwork, he at first was only mildly amused at the idea, but when my pussy was revealed, his eyes were instantly locked.
“You have to let me work on it,” he begged. “There’s so much that can be done. You’re seriously a work of art.”
“Do whatever you think would look good, as there’s still some open space,” I shrugged. “I’m open to suggestion. What do you think would look good?”
“Well, let’s see what you have exactly,” he put on a pair of black latex gloves and inspected my twat’s flesh. “You have a hoodie, a double hoodie, both inner labias and both outer labias. That’s six total, and I’m envisioning more.”
“Like what?” I was curious to see his suggestion, as most artists told me that I had enough work at this point. “Desire for pain made my fangs grow, and I was unashamed.
“Well, we could do a triangle, which goes actually underneath the citreous. Basically, I would be going underneath both of the piercings you have on your clit now, even underneath the urethra. It’ll help get you off better though.”
“I’m all about more pleasure on my end,” I said wistfully. “The four labia piercings I got for a guy’s pleasure, and I’m about sick of pleasing other people right about now. What else do you suggest?”
“A couple surface piercings would be cool, too,” Michael nodded as if inspecting a painting. “You have the nice tribal artwork, and we could put a few long piercings that would accentuate that. I actually just made some barbells, totally custom, that I’ve been interesting in using.”
Digging into a toolbox, he held up two two-inch bars of metal that had large balls on either end. Flat for most of the length, the ends were turned up in right angles where the balls would be the only evidence of the long piece of metal rammed through the flesh. “Do whatever you want,” I offered.
He grabbed a long needle. “We might as well go for size, so let’s do a ten or twelve-gage, just to make it look more interesting. It might take a little longer to heal, but it will be worth it; trust me.”
“That’s fine,” I agreed. “It’ll just give me an excuse to not have sex, which I really don’t need to be doing at this point and time. Fuck it; do it up.”
The artists at Forbidden Art gathered round, each inspecting what he was about to do. Many nodded in agreement, eager to see the before and after. A few were just shocked at the sight of what I had already.
“Are you ready?” Michael looked at me as lovingly as a father about to pull a sliver from his daughter’s wound, but he had the lustful intrigue of a teenager having sex. For some reason, I trusted him.
Nodding a confirmation, I began to breathe slowly. Putting clamps around the underside of my clit, I was unaware how much flesh he was going underneath. Surprised that it did not hurt worse, the cold metal of the clamps could definitely be felt more than when I got the hoodie pierced.
Andie stood by as the beautiful assistant, handing him the tools and jewelry he needed, also wearing black latex gloves. I looked at her sternum, and remembered seeing her frechette piercing at the Da-da party. With her pigtails, she almost looked like a gothic cheerleader, because her short skirt flared out in pleats.
Two triangles in the ends of the clamps allowed space for a needle to be shoved through. As he held onto the clamps with one hand, his other hand held the rather large hollowed out needle. My breath became deeper and heavier.
The poke of the needle into my flesh caused me to inhale even deeper, and as he pushed it through the underside of my clit, I exhaled. The flesh could be heard in a slight crunch from where a circular size piece was taken out of my body.
“You okay?” I nodded to his question as he grabbed a large horseshoe. Twisting off one ball on one end, the hollow needle was still through my clit’s underside, still between the triangular ends of the clamps.
Sticking the end of the horseshoe ring into the end of the needle, he pulled the inch-and-a-half circumference ring through my flesh as he pulled out the needle, guiding the way for the jewelry. My breathing remained steady, and I thought to find a zen moment within. He twisted on the ball on the end of the ring, then grabbed a black magic marker.
“Ah, that looks really cool.” Andie commented with a smile. A group of artists stood behind her, peaking over a privacy wall, and each agreed with nodding smiles.
Putting a dot between the curves of my tribal on each side, Michael marked off where he wanted the balls to poke out of my flesh on either side of my twat. Above the actual lips, by the side of my clit, these bars would be going through the main chunks of meat from my vagina. He settled the clamps on the first side, squeezing up a huge chunk.
“That’s a lot of meat to go through,” I noticed a wad of flesh above the ends of the clamps. He looked at me to ask if I still wanted to do it, and I wriggled my head up and down eagerly, causing Andie to smile. The needle was back in Michael’s hand.
Quickly, I tried to adjust my breathing to that of a meditative state. When the needle poked through, it was felt, to say the least. Luckily, Michael pushed hard and quickly, causing my breath to inhale sharply and quickly, while a shiver ran through my spine.
I could feel myself growing wet, though I did not know why. Perhaps it was the simple stimulation from the vaginal area. The whole process was better than sex.
Knowing the pain to be more intense, he grabbed the barbell, again sticking the end into the tip of the hollow needle, pushing the barbell as he pulled the needle out. When everything was in place, he looked up at me and smiled, “you still okay? Ready for the other one?”
“That hurt a bit more, but it wasn’t as bad as I expected. Let’s do it. We’re on a roll, right?”
The clamps still had not been warmed completely by my flesh yet, so it still made a slight shiver as they touched my skin again. The pressure of them clamping down caused me to get a bit more wet, the sweet sensation of pleasure mixed with the pain from not only the clamps but the two new chunks of missing flesh that had come before this point. Closing my eyes for a moment, I breathed deeply and slowly again.
Opening my eyes just in time to see the needle, it poked through my flesh for the third time, causing me almost squirm. Before my body had a chance to shiver, however, Michael had it poked through the other end. My breath exhaled as he grabbed the final barbell.
With the smile of the love of torture, Michael pulled the barbell through, carefully and slowly securing the ends of the barbells with ball tightening. His fangs gleamed in the light as he smiled at me. “You’re all set.”
Needing a Shower
Not even a week later, hell broke loose. My apartment was broken into, all my work and equipment was stolen, and my water was turned off, just in time for my birthday. When I needed a shower, I learned that masters provide for their slaves.
Randomly, again, I was walking around, and I ran into Andie. Drenched with stench of a couple days, she asked how I was doing, wondering if there was anything I needed. Humiliated to tell her the truth, I could not keep it inside.
“I need a shower,” I broke down, sobbing out the whole story. “It was weird, because I just got done writing a memorabilia story involving the Gambino family that an old Sicilian had told me in an interview a while ago, then my house was broken into; they took everything, including all the pictures from the Drowning Pool and Damage Plan show. I had made a backup disk, but it was in the computer, and to top it off, they turned off my water.”
No questions asked; she took me back to her and Michael’s apartment. Part of me felt like a slime ball, not only from lack of shower but for the simple fact of not being able to provide for myself. Like a mother, she babied me, pampering me with lavish soaps and shampoos that seemed like exotic jewels.
It was the first time I had really not been able to find a shower, to literally have to rely upon somebody else to give me such a basic need. Water is an essential element of life, and it is taken for Granthraxed on so many levels. That is, until it is not around, then the need of its dire use is at the forefront of the brain, undeniably.
The splash of warm water onto my body was like bathing in the Holy Grail or the Fountain of Youth. I could feel dirt leaving the pores of my body, along with the sweat that had layered on for days. The sensation was more than nice.
The simple process of shampooing, digging the nails into my scalp while bubbles foamed about, seemed like a magic process, something that had been made up by wizards in ages past. How often have I performed this process and thought nothing of it? The process of having it taken from me made me realize its value, such a treasure of modern technology.
Never had I used so little conditioner, as my hair had already been so oily from not being washed. My fingers slid through my straight hair more easily with the slippery substance, however. Rinsing it completely, I almost did not want to leave the shower.
I soaped my body twice, just to make sure everything was completely off. Not knowing the next time a shower would be available, I figured it was the right thing to do, too. The warm water was more comforting than a warm blanket in winter.
Reluctantly, I turned off the water of the shower, knowing that I could not stay in forever. A soft, plush towel awaited me, set to the side by Andie, who waited patiently for me to complete my bathing process. Such a gift, so simple, yet one of need, is not easily forgotten.
The next shower I took happened almost as oddly. Again, I was randomly walking the streets. By this time, Jazzfest was in full effect, and I was doing the rage on Frenchman Street, having nothing better to do and not wanting to be at my house where the toilet had no water to flush. At least being at a bar, I could go to the bathroom and wash my hands.
Unfortunately, that did little for the washing of my body. Luckily, God helped me out. As I stood on Frenchmen Street, outside of the Blue Nile, water began to pour down from the sky. Such a sight as I, one would have to picture.
Most people were running from the rain, but not me. Dressed in a short yellow plaid jumper that Mikey had bought for me on one of our shopping sprees, I ran into the rain, prancing around in the middle of the street. It rained harder.
When rainwater began to pour from the downspout, I stood under it, my natural shower. Most people thought I was just fucked up, drunk and having a good time. They see a young girl dressed in a skimpy little jumper playing in the rain, and they don’t normally think she is doing it out of necessity.
It wasn’t to be cute, though most insisted I was very cute in the process. Guys approached me, ringing my dress into their mouths for gulping drinks. I’m sure it also served as a reason to pull my skirt up, to have their mouth close to my vagina in a manner that was not so sexually aggressive.
I had been waiting on friends, but the shower took precedence. The “friends” I guess I should say were none other than the nitrous guys, blowing gas right in the open street. At least, I thought they were my friends, until they left me.
While his stuff was at my house, he ran off with some other chick. My purse was in his friend’s car, along with my cell phone. I was helpless, sopping wet on a street corner in New Orleans.
The car, which had just been parked a second ago, was now no longer anywhere in sight. I ran into people, begging for them to let me use their cell phone. It didn’t take too long for a couple of guys to have sympathy for a soaked girl in a short yellow dress.
My phone rang, but nobody answered. Depression hung on me harder than a storm cloud in the sky raining down on me. Everything was already lost; first all my work and equipment, then my purse and phone.
Every cloud has a silver lining, right? The headlights of the car pulled around the block, and my heart skipped a beat. Waving my hands like a lunatic, practically jumping in front of the car, I felt joy wash over me when it stopped.
It was not the guy who had stayed at my house, but another friend of his. This guy held the key to my heart in the form of my purse and phone. “I started driving to leave, then I realized that this purse wasn’t mine, especially when it started vibrating.”
I wanted to drop down to my knees in thanks and praise, as I could feel a tiny ray of moonlight shining on me. The rain had stopped. To top it all off, he offered me a ride home.
“I thought he was going to be staying with you, that the two of you would arrange for a ride back to your house, but I see that he left with another girl,” he detailed. “I thought you knew her or something, that all of you would be meeting up later. I didn’t know that he just left you.”
“Yeah,” I smirked, “and all his shit is at my house.” It was like his little way of telling me not to touch his shit, as there was more of mine that could be taken, even if I did not know it. Later I realized that this took the form of my birth certificate, driver’s license, a letter with my signature, my debit card and an old pay check stub with my social security number.
Luckily, I did not have time to despair, for as we were pulling away from Frenchmen Street, my cell phone rang. It was the best phone call I had ever received, somebody wanted me to visit. “Can you take me to the vicinity of Kentucky and Poland in the Ninth Ward?”
Passing the cell phone to the driver, the caller gave him directions on where to take me. When we pulled up, I was never so relieved to see barbed wire. A growling dog calmed when he saw the sight of my figure, wagging his tail to lick my fingers, while still keeping an eye on the driver who was pulling away.
When I walked in the door, looking like a drowned sewer rat, the man with long red curly hair extended his arms, “come here.” The feel of his arms at that time is indescribable, better than the best sex I had ever had, just sheer comfort. Muscles enveloped me, letting me know that everything was now going to be alright.
“Are those your teeth chattering? You’re shaking you’re so cold,” he commented. Taking a step back, he observed, “your lips are almost blue, but it can’t be that cold outside…”
When I stepped back, I noticed that he had a houseguest. Chris from California was introduced to me, and I tried my best to be pleasant. The men understood my position, however, and escorted me into the bathroom.
“Run a bubble bath if you’d like; you know where everything is. There’s the toothbrush from last time if you need it, and apricot scrub, too. I hope Pantene is good enough for you.”
Again, the heavenly sensation of warm water sent shivers down my spine. It rinsed away the goose bumps that had formed from the cold rain and wind that my body had been exposed to. Literally, it warmed my body from my blood to my bones.
By the time I was out of the shower, my red haired savior had taken a shine to the idea of sleep, leaving me to entertain his guest. Chris had heard of my artwork and wanted to see it. I showed him, but that was it.
It’s art that most people don’t have, and most people won’t see. If somebody knows enough about it to ask me to see it, why not show it? You can look, but you can’t touch.
Once that was out of the way, we sat back and talked about investments. We had real estate interests in common, and hours passed on possible investments, whether each was worth it or not. He was sure to tell me that he had done well for himself in California, raking in over $800,000 a year, plus.
That was all nice and good, probably even tempting to the average girl. Blood was offered, too, and I sipped at the offer, eager to wet my fangs; how could I resist? My heart was set on one guy, as it had been for a while, regardless of if he had wanted it or not; he had become my master, able to control me at his beck and call.
Closing myself off as politely as possible, I bid Chris farewell for the evening. Tiptoeing into the master bedroom, I whispered, “can I sleep with you?” He did not have to answer me with words, as he merely pulled the covers aside for me to slip in.
He had given me his boxers and a t-shirt to wear earlier, so I was already wearing him from head to toe, but he wrapped himself and the covers around me. The sensation was more than beautiful, the simple answer of a need. I was head over heels.
Curling up to me, his body molded with mine, as if it had belonged there forever. He was bound and determined to keep me safe when I needed it. Though he might make me wait until the last moment, thinking all was lost, he was still there.
Warm and fuzzies were only temporary with vampires though. Sure, he pampered me for a few days, wined me and dined me, but something was not right. This became evident after Jazzfest, when we went to see Santana, when I was dropped off on the side of the road.
It had been my decision, as it was time for me to leave, but it hurt. It was not he first time I felt hurt, but it still twinged like a knife stabbing into a wound. It was actually evident the night before, as I sat up and wrote him a poem for him to find upon his return home.
I knew I would not be returning home with him after the concert. Somehow, I had known that before. It was just the sensation in the air, perhaps even my mood from excessive loss, but it was there.
Not Good Enough
Written only days before my birthday in 2004
Believe it or not,
I love you.
As much as I resist
and tell myself not to,
I am helpless against
natural attraction.
Having you in mind,
I was acquired
by your friend,
limitations tested.
When he left for Austin,
I was your offering –
weak under your power.
Upon return from Texas,
Lonnie knew I loved you,
instructing me to watch
and care for you,
To not give up on you.
But my heart is twisted,
being a diamond in the rough –
Somehow, I’m not good enough?
2:41 a.m. November 25, 2005
House of Shock
After the rejection, Granthrax’s rejection followed. Frustrated, I was fed up. I had made up my mind, and I was interested in neither the lesbian landlord nor her cousin.
Still interested in trying to be young and get her nipples pierced, I decided to take her idea one step further. It was time for another piercing all right, just in a little bit more sensitive area. Most cannot understand my logic in piercing my twat shut to not give into temptation.
When lust is not on the mind, one can think more clearly. Without the distraction, it gives a strength that cannot be denied. At least, that’s what I thought.
Perhaps the idea was not all the credit of the lesbian landlord. Though she had wanted to get freaky, even wanted to perform lesbian lovemaking on film, the thought of a new piercing had been on my brain since Granthrax left. Sure, sex was good, but I wanted to focus my brain without the distraction of intentions.
The idea was cemented when Norris invited Rob and I to the House of Shock just before it opened. Taking us around the lot for an inside tour, he introduced me to Ross, who at first I thought was another vampire. Turns out, I was wrong.
The night was on the eve of a full moon, the night before the moon was to be entirely full. Though it was my first time meeting Ross, I noticed he shared some characteristics of Granthrax with the deep voice and mass of thick hair, though his was long black and curly. The fangs were slightly extended, but sort of stuck at a half-way point, as were Norris’ fangs.
As the toured us around, explaining the pyrotechnics, how many videos and movies had been filmed in the location, and all the publicity it had garnered through the years, I took note of how Norris was a lot more hairy than usual, too. Ross and Norris detailed how the press had had a field day when the house of shock first opened, sighting that the props seemed too lifelike. Snorts and chuckles on the snide followed after the explanation of a slaughterhouse scene.
Apparently, a gutted deer dripped blood that looked too fresh, too real. Animal rights activists became livid. All was in jeopardy at one point.
They showed me the plastic animal covered with special effects. The idea of using real props seemed like so much better an idea though, and I when I commented as to such, Ross lifted his eyebrow at me in a curious manner. The evil grin that crossed his face was barely visible when we turned the corner into a church with live corpses on the wall.
Hanging from crosses, tied up and barely wriggling about, Ross grabbed a leg and bit just behind the kneecap. Hardly a moan escaped the lips of the victim. Having followed the lead, Norris also bit another individual, and signaled for us to do the same.
Rob did not have to be told twice, eagerly digging in for some fresh blood. Shaking my head, I rolled my eyes at the actions of the vampire who supposedly did not survive on blood. Perhaps it’s only polite to try an offering; I bit into the top of an ankle, digging my fangs in to the point where I hit bone, but the blood drained out of the body and into my mouth.
With full tummies, I noticed that both Ross and Norris had seemed to grow a tad more hairy, with fangs extended even further. I thought I must have been hallucinating, that perhaps it was merely the reflection of them in the moonlight shining in from the window. Shrugging it off, I merely continued on my way through the tour.
“It looks totally different filled with people,” Norris explained. “This is a pretty big space, but it gets filled up really quick actually. Do you want to come out for opening weekend, as there’s a lot of events happening then?”
“Sure,” I agreed. “If it’s okay, I’m going to bring a cameraman out with me to do some filming, too. I’ll bring my 35 millimeter, but video might be good, too, if that’s cool.”
“That’s fine,” Ross said in a voice that sounded just a tad more gruff than earlier. “You’ll get to see the difference that all the people makes then, too. It really is quite exciting.”
His eyes seemed to flash red, as if he knew something I didn’t. Soon, I would be finding out, that much I knew. Making our way out to the main parking lot, I thanked them for inviting me out, and Rob and I bid our farewells.
Just the mere sight of people in pain got my mind reeling. It made me long for the paint hat I have been depriving myself for so long. It was time to make a phone call, especially since I would have a video camera at my disposal.
Rob opened the passenger door to his Camaro for me. When we were inside, he looked at me with a gleam in his eye. “I didn’t know that you hung out with werewolves.”
“Huh? I looked at him dumbfounded. “What do you mean?”
“Well, a lot of vampires are not accepted by werewolves and vice versa. Werewolves form packs and have families, while vampires are mostly loners, like you and I. It’s just rather amusing that you hang out with werewolves, that’s all.”
“I don’t understand,” I stammered. “Are you saying that Norris and Ross are werewolves?” He nodded at me smugly, “Are you sure?”
“You didn’t know?” He put the care in gear and spun out of the driveway, throwing up a bit of gravel. “Honestly, you’re going to tell me that you didn’t know that both of them were at least part werewolf?”
“I mean, it kinda makes sense, now that you say it, but no. I mean, sure, they’re both more hairy than me, and they both do have families, unlike me. I just thought they were a different breed of vampire, somehow just a tad different, like they knew something I didn’t.”
“Uh-huh,” Rob’s fang gleamed in the light. “Didn’t you notice their reaction to blood was a tad different from ours? Didn’t they look a little bit different, perhaps having a little bit more hair than us?”
“Well, yeah, but…” I could not think of any smart remark to say, so I folded my arms and sat back in the seat. “Okay, you’re right again.”
“I’m sorry,” he chuckled, “I thought that was obvious. It’s cool, because I hang out with some werewolves, too. I think those who crave blood bond better than those who do not, ya know?”
“So does that mean that vampires cannot have families? I thought that Norris was a vampire, and he has a family. Does that mean that vampires really cannot have babies?”
Making a Movie
I had arranged everything that she said she had wanted, a camera, a piercer, a secluded evening. I let her think that it was all done for her, for her and her alone, but it wasn’t. I had another agenda, as was usual.
When push came to shove, the lesbian landlord was not interested in getting any piercings, and she was not interested in making a short film. Just as I had suspected, at least she could not say that I did not offer, right? Merrily, I went on with my evening as planned.
It was a full moon, and I had arranged for a cameraman to pick me up. This was an individual that I had worked with on The Latelys project, where we tied up Bebe Shawn on a gym bench in the back yard at three in the morning, using squirting ketchup and medical tools to make it look as if I was beating him. With nylons on his arms holding in speaker wires, it looked as if I had him in a massive torchure device, using red lights and shadows to mask the actual scenery of a regular backyard.
One of the roommates was a doctor, and he offered us a mass of medical tools, scary looking objects to play with. Boy, was he surprised to wake up at three in the morning to find me dressed head to toe in paten leather beating the hell out of Bebe Shawn. Too confused to argue, he wondered if it was all a dream, until he saw the video for “The Temptress” edited by drummer Casey.
The Doctor was intrigued by me ever since, so when I needed an actor to pull around while videoing at The House of Shock, he was eager to volunteer to be my bitch. It seemed that finding bitches on a moment’s notice was something I had a knack for. Don’t ask me how.
The cameraman, like I had said, worked with us on that project, filming the seduction scene between Bebe Shawn and I, where I picked him up off the road. Chilling on a couch laid out by the side of the road, I called over to him, grabbed him up by the collar after short sweet talk, and escorted him into the house. Little was the character to know that he would soon be tortured in the backyard, but it felt good to write, star and direct a short film.
I can remember how the cameraman approached me about it, calling me up with Bebe Shawn an hour or so past midnight, asking if I wanted to make a movie. Not having anything better to do as the technical time for St. Patty’s Day passed, I agreed. He asked me what kind of outfits I had to wear, and what we could use as props.
Adam, his name was Adam, and he worked for A.M. Productions, the opposite of Norris’ company, P.M. Productions. When he saw my wardrobe, he about creamed his jeans, and then he asked to see my equipment. He was only one of two people to ever know where I kept my stuff.
My video camera was stored inside a zipped piece of luggage in my closet, while my digital camera was stored in a box inside the second drawer of my dresser, and the laptop was shoved underneath my bed, with the wires inside a box in the closet and the case underneath a table in the living room. Pretty diverse locations to keep such assorted items, I know, but I was paranoid, and apparently for good reason as it all got stolen, with the thief knowing exactly where to go for each of the said items. The filming at the House of Shock was the first time I had seen him since all the equipment got stolen, as he mysteriously left town shortly after.
Like I said, there was one other person who knew the location of the equipment, so I’m not pointing fingers. The other guy stated, when confronted, “don’t you think I’d take some of your roommate’s Rolex watches, leather jackets, golf clubs, tools and other easily pawn-able shit if I was going to waste my time breaking into your house? Why would I only target specifically you, because you know I like your pretty ass a hell of a lot more than I like your trust fund roommate?”
Maybe it was really all about the nostalgic Gambino family story I wrote, but I doubt it, seeing how the story was a memorabilia piece that I had permission to write nearly seven years ago. Either way, what did it matter, as it was all gone? All I knew was that my equipment used to be nicer than Adam’s, but when he picked me up for the House of Shock shoot, he had some crazy nice equipment that he recently “acquired.”
Adam and I picked up The Doctor to do our shoot at the House of Shock. The plan was for me to guide the doctor through the house, beating him all the way through as like a bondage tour guide, torturing through the torture rooms. Letting us in the house before the event opened, once again, even the staff jumped in to make our filming experience as lifelike as possible, with Ross only asking for a copy of the film when finished, the same request I had had of Adam.
Throwing the doctor down into a half-eaten deer, kicking him up against the shit-filled toilet, hanging him on a meat hook, coming at him with a butcher knife in a blood-spattered room, pulling him by a rope around his neck through the swamp, tossing him against the walls where other bodies hung on chains and tossing him to a be eaten by a large snake, I beat The Doctor as a good preacher yelled in a Satanic church, bodies slamming against the walls on crosses. It was good. It was like a quickie in the bathroom, quick and passionate to the point where everyone gets off and feels so much better afterwards.
Just as they were about to open the doors of the House of Shock, The Doctor got a page to the hospital. Luckily, we had filmed him wearing scrubs, so he was already pretty closed to being dressed. The experience he would brag about for years to come.
With just Adam and I, we were able to watch the full chaotic event take full force on the full moon opening night. As people poured in, the sun began to set, and the creatures surrounding us took natural shape that many mistook as costumes. For the first time, I saw both Norris and Ross take natural shape.
Hair growing to the point where I could barely make out the red glare of their eyes, what I thought were fangs were really canine teeth, sharp and pointy. They seemed bigger, pumped up as if on strong steroids, with claws that made mine look like a baby, perhaps a puppy. Walking with them on either side of me, Adam trailing in the back, they looked at me simultaneously, reached out to the side and grabbed the closest victims.
An old man and a lady in her mid-thirties, hair poofed up high, both were snatch in the blink of an eye, before they even knew what was happening. Simultaneously, Norris and Ross shredded the flesh of their neck and shoulders, viciously as if they had been holding back for quite some time. Not even bothering to suck their blood dry, they flung their half-dazed victims back out into the crowd, and I could hear the screams from people passing by.
“It’s all part of the show,” Norris smiled smugly, not bothering to wipe the dripping blood from the hair on his chin. “It’s just show business, I swear. I love this time of year.”
Ross sniffed at the air like a hound, “ah, I love the smell of fresh flesh eager to be eaten. I’m going to have to pace myself, as this is going to be a long night of feeding. Ya know, fuck it.”
Reaching out farther than his arm seemed able to extend, Ross had another victim, this time a pompous teenage boy. Growling straight into the boy’s face before gnawing on his neck, Ross stopped after only a moment, “where’s my manners?” He tossed the boy’s carcass over to me, “try some.”
At the sight of the blood, I could not help but feel my fangs extend, even though I tried to hold it back. “Don’t waste your time trying to fight it,” Norris advised. Following directions, I licked my lips and plunged my fangs deep into the already bleeding flesh, just getting the taste of a sweet buzz before throwing him back to Adam, who merely looked at me in horror as the body fell to the ground.
“Don’t try to act like you don’t do it, too,” I hissed at Adam’s shocked face. “Just because you’re still in the closet about how you really are, don’t look at me like that. I know how you really are, because I’ve seen you do blood with me before.”
He gave me a snobby look, as if to say mere mortals were not good enough for him, that he dined only out of necessity, but I caught his bullshit bluff. If he wanted to pretend that he was normal, a mortal like the rest, let him. What did I care, but why be fake?
Norris took position by the side of the stage, and I directed Adam what to shoot. As an opening act, Rat Poison took the stage, dressed in total 80s garb. Playing hair rock music, most of the crowd did not seem to notice that the act was supposed to be a scary sight.
Other bands followed, and I pointed Adam where to stand to get the best footage, helping him line his shots, telling him to get in for close-ups. He did not seem to like my style of up close and personal, preferring to get more of the background as opposed to tight shots that I was used to. Whatever, it was a difference of shooting style, or so I thought.
Next up was the Atone Pain Tribe. Sticking needles in their faces, hooks in their backs, they hung from chains, pulled each other around by hooks through the flesh of their backs and had fire breathers dancing around with lit torches swinging in the air. Andie and Michael used to be affiliated with the troupe, and it seemed fitting that I would see Michael again tonight, after the events.
With a knife balancing trick, a guy juggling machetes, the crowd oohhed and ahhed, not noticing that every once in a while one of the distracted members would be plucked away for dining purposes. Vampires and werewolves lurked in the shadows, pretending to be part of the act, actors merely strolling around, putting on a show and scaring people at random. They were scaring people all right, taking mothers from their children to be bitten, sending them home with new bite marks that would heal before they were of full-mind enough to notice.
Like a herd of cattle, the crowd began to form a line towards the entrance of the house, herded in a semi-orderly fashion. I thought it was a fabulous idea to feed alcohol to them, offering a bar on location, as it was better distraction from what was really happening, a feeding frenzy. I had to hand it to the guys; they had the idea down pat.
With all the underlings running around, feeding at random in the open, Norris explained, “Phillip and a lot of others don’t do the House of Shock anymore. For Phillip, he hurt his back chasing after some people a while back, and for others, it’s a hassle. There’s really no telling what could happen on any night.”
Gnarled teeth bit into a limp body that was tossed at him by another worker, an offering for his superiors in charge. Ross had seemingly disappeared from sight, but Norris assured me he would be seen soon. Taking me up to a tower control room in a warehouse opposite the actual haunted house, Norris tossed his offering aside and swooped me up a fresh one just before we got inside.
Tipsy with all the different fresh blood, it was almost like mixing alcohols, never knowing the reaction one could get, as some bloods are stronger than others. We climbed up steps to our tower control location, where the good preacher who had acted in the church for us earlier would perform a stunt. At the time, I was not sure what he would do, but I was told to stay clear from a specific area.
Fire blasted to the sky with enough force to seemingly wipe out a small country. Ross appeared on stage in a black robe, not even attempting to conceal his true appearance, as he was the Antichrist preaching to the people. With another blast of pyrotechnics, a cross dropped upside down and a pentagram replaced it, bursting into flames.
The good preacher, a black man in a white suite, took a running start and leaped out of the tower window, landing on stage with Ross the Antichrist. Such a leap could only have been made by a vampire, and it was impressive. In a quick battle, they rumbled on stage, dancing around flames of fire.
Suddenly, a door opened and a large creature came out, scooping up the good preacher, leaving the Antichrist victorious. The people ranted and cheered, totally supporting the fact that some of their friends were being plucked away, assuming it was all part of the act that they be attacked. To be chosen for a feast was an honor, and some people volunteered to be bitten, merely craving the attention.
More bursting flames that licked up into the depths of the sky, with heat that could be felt from over 500 feet away, the doors to the House of Shock were opened, and I was ushered to the beginning of the line. Sending in groups at a time, only I seemed to notice that there were not as many people going out as there were coming in. Those who did walk out seemed to be sort of dazed and confused, more than shocked and scared, seemingly pale from blood loss.
Even when people enter the house, they inform them that they will be touched, that actors will walk up and scare them. When they enter, they agree to be touched, eager to be willing victims of what they did not care to know the reality of. Some even pushed to get in first, longing to be taken by surprise as a victim.
No wonder the creatures of the night ran this event. As people traveled through the doors, walking into dark abyss, it was easy to snatch them up, feed from them, toss them on their way and grab another. Even I could not resist the temptation while in a desensitization chamber room, where there’s no sight and no sound.
It’s a maze that you have to find your way out of, and I merely sat in a corner for a while, picking off the people that walked to me, one by one. No, I would not suck on them until death, but I would take tiny blood shots. Sip and go, down the line; boom, boom, boom.
By the time I finally made it out of the house, finding Adam waiting, I was more than ready to go give Michael a visit. I was so full of blood, I had some to spare. Eager was I to get pricked by a needle; let me bleed like the others.
With the camera, we headed to the shop on Canal Street, and Michael did not seem even the slightest surprised to see me. Though when he greeted me, he gave me a hug and dug his nails down my back, just barely drawing blood that he gathered on his fingers and licked. “I see you’ve been eating; rather well I must say,” he grinned devilishly.
Taking me into the back room, it had been previously decided that I would get the frechette piercing. In his own words, “it’s kind of like when you finger a girl, then you rest your thumb on that space between her pussy and her ass. That piece of meat you grab, beyond that tiny skin, is what the ring goes through.”
In celebration of it being my tenth vaginal piercing, we decided to use a ten-gage needle. Wearing a short militant skirt outfit that Mikey had bought for me on one of our previous outings, I also wore fishnet stockings that were crotchless, allowing the convenience of me not having to take them on and off. I figured it would all look that much better on film, too, especially when accentuated by six-inch paten leather heels.
Once again, the clamps were cold that Michael put on, and it made me wet, the mere stimulation of activity down below. Breathing as if I was in a lamas class, I tried to enjoy the moment, savoring it as I knew it would be one of my last. Before I had been asked when enough was enough, and I knew that this piercing would finally be enough.
When the needle poked through the skin, I inhaled sharply and shallowly, involuntarily. I almost felt light-headed, but my body shivered instead. “Wow,” I sighed.
Michael smiled at me, exposing his fangs and his pleasure at my pain. Ramming the ten-gage ring through my taint, I inhaled again at the sensation and felt my body quiver with excitement and shock. This was it, the end.
It took me a minute to be able to stand up, still half-dazed from having so much blood, and the half of me was dazed by the sweet sensation of pain, the new metal object rammed through my vagina. While I caught my breath, Michael showed his cock on film, showing where piercings had split the tip of his dick and how far down a double-zero gage ring dragged his balls, while his penis sported a ladder of barbells.
Michael treated me with lustful kindness, seeming honestly concerned with my wellbeing. As I assured him that all was good, he smiled. With another hug that led to me biting his ear lobe as he bit my neck for good measure, we parted ways.
In the car, I begged Adam to let me view the video, but he would not let me. We met up with Bebe Shawn, Casey and his girlfriend Tara at Miss Mae’s, and he said that we could all watch the footage but it never happened. He mysteriously left town again, and I have not seen him since.
What’s a Thrill?
Article written in October 2005
What is a thrill? It is something that gets the blood pumping and the adrenaline flowing, eliciting that fight or flight signal in the brain. Sometimes, it can cause the reality of death to emerge into the brain, resulting in the realization that we are all mere mortals subject to an end.
Thrills remind us of the joys of life, even going so far as to create a momentary thankfulness. It reminds us that we are alive and that life is short. Make the most of it.
Thrills can take place in a variety of forms, from sheer excitement over the sight of something, to a slight brush with death. For years, I have sought out thrills, from cliff diving to roller coasters and everything in between. Now, I want to recap some of the thrills I have found in my life for whoever should chose to read this piece.
To feel the extreme, I became a diver, a highly underestimated sport. Most think of diving as a foo-foo sport, so to speak, one that focuses on balance, agility and poise. Many do not think of the dangers involved in the sport.
When first learning how to do a twist dive in middle school, I popped my ear drum. If you whip your head in mid-air, it causes you to do a cartwheel effect, something I found out the hard way when I heard my name called while in mid-air. Landing on the side of my head, I emerged out of the water only being able to hear this loud thumping sound.
At first, I did not know what had happened. Somebody tried to speak to me, but all I could hear was my heartbeat. I thought I was deaf for life, but bless the modern day technology of medicine.
You’d think I would’ve learned my lesson, but no. In high school, I watched a girl break her neck by hitting the diving board. Many smacks on my back and belly left bruises and welts, but I still did not learn the lesson I would when I went cliff diving.
Up 65 feet in the air, I jumped off the side of a mountain in West Virginia; I forgot that hitting the water over a height of 50 feet was like hitting concrete. My body convulsed, numb and unable to connect with my brain’s signal for movement. I compressed my spine and shattered my pelvis, messed up both my knees, ankles and shoulders.
With water entering my lungs, I had to choose life over death. When I did this, doctors told me I would never walk again and never be able to have a child. Luckily, I proved them wrong on one of their theories, being able to walk after a year.
Since, I’ve concentrated on the thrills that are not quite as dangerous. Music journalism is a thrill in itself, going to concerts every night, but it has its dangers, especially being a girl in the music industry. We’ll not go into all that at this time though.
Let me back up a bit. See, my first job out of high school was a lifeguard at this little place called Cedar Point. You might have heard of it, as it’s in the Guinness Book of World Records multiple times for its record-breaking roller coasters. I must admit, I had a great summer in 1997.
For those not familiar with the park, picture taking a lunch break at work, riding on a roller coaster that is over 200-feet tall, then going back to lounge in the sun, yelling at screaming brats running around the pool. There were roller coasters all around me: wooden, metal, incline, vertical, spinning, fast fun. Perhaps I should be a bit more vivid.
You sit down and get buckled in, being totally at peace with yourself and the world around you. With the flick of a thumb being held in the air, the cart you are in begins to lunge forward, creeping at a slower pace than some granny in the fast lane. All seems calm with the sun shining as you begin to crawl up a large hill.
Looking around, you see a vast array of colors swirling about, all roller coasters on a private peninsula. The clam waters of Lake Erie lap the shore, and people begin to look like ants the further the car clinks up. At the top of the hill, you almost seem to pause, as if nothing is going to happen.
Arms raise up and screams fill the air as the train seems to plunge into the depths of beyond. Your stomach seems to have left your body, stuck at the top of the hill, and the skill of your face is pulled back so tight you can barely see. Before you can gather sane thoughts, you spin to the right, then the left, the up-side-down in a loop, followed by another twisting, turning whirl of motions that can no longer make sense to the brain.
Your heart is pounding, threatening to leave your chest to be with your stomach. For a moment, you forget any thoughts of this world, caught in a rapturous moment between life and death that you cannot escape. Lunch threatens to heave up and out of your mouth.
Just when you’re sure death is upon you, the car jerks to a halt. You look around and hear the claps of people eager to experience what you just went through, and you realize this moment of horror, the brush with death, was only for fun. No real threat was upon you other than the thoughts in your mind.
When you try to stand, you body shakes just a bit, still comprehending that it contains all the organs it takes to function. You walk slowly, enjoying the act of breathing. Still dazed, reality begins to sink back with the stomach.
Six flags? Yeah right! Cedar Point would eat Six Flags for breakfast and still be hungry for lunch!
Any ride that you can find at any fair or theme park, they have a better, faster, taller version of it. Awesome does not begin to explain it. You really have to check it out for yourself.
As if scaring people daily on roller coasters was not enough, the year I worked there, they decided to bring a new attraction for the end of the season, haunted houses. With more than a few million dollars invested, I was actually on the crew of one of the first three haunted houses, strapped into a straight jacket and screaming my head off at unsuspecting passer-byers. When that wasn’t enough, I’d jump over a wall in front of a group, seemingly dropping from the ceiling.
The element of surprise holds a different scream from that at a concert, and I loved scaring the wits out of people. That first year, they extended the season and went all out, decorating rides and playing scary music through the park. They handed out candy to children driving cars, had ghouls walking the park, had costume contests and crafts for kids, everything.
It amazed me that first year, because the normally filled park was only at about a quarter capacity. Rides that took hours to get onto now took only under an hour. For roller coaster junkies, it was a secret time of year, a special treat for those twisted souls that love to be scared by people popping out of darkened allies.
This year, I went back, only to find that my secret had gotten out. The park was just as popular as the summer season, filled with guests who wanted to seek the Halloween spirits while losing their lunches on rides. What can I say other than it’s a great place to go?
Three different haunted houses still stand during Halloweekends at Cedar Point. Now, they have gypsies riding around telling fortunes and Snoopy dancing with his friends in Halloween costumes for kids. Skeletons fill the causeway, as do sign spouting of scary rhymes. Three or four hearses were spotted this year, along with a few school buses, tricked out with skulls, cross bones and ghoulish figures behind the wheel.
As cool as that may sound, I must give props to the other side of the country, New Orleans’ House of Shock. Now that is one haunted house that true horror fans must visit. This goes above and beyond the call of entertainment in a not as family friendly manner.
In 2004, the Pantera camp welcomed me to the haunted house, and my first shock was a concert put on by guys dressed in 80s glam drag. Come on, that alone brings back scary memories that are worse than most movies. If that wasn’t enough, the act on stage was followed by the Atone Pain Tribe.
First a guy comes out to lie on a bed of knives, then there’s people twirling around fire and blowing great balls at the crowd. Another man comes out with two-foot long needles, jabbing them through his face repeatedly in a manner that cannot be faked. On stage, a man hung from large hooks in his back, feet dangling above the ground with blood dripping down his spine.
Two chains connected two people by the large hooks in their backs. Pulling each other back and forth, a tug of war causes blood to gush down their pants. The ring leader comes up and pushes them around, reefing the hooks tugging at their flesh.
Just when you think it’s safe to walk away, a man tackles you with a chainsaw, and a blood-covered girl laughs at you. You try to run, but you find yourself in a line, unable to move. That’s when fire fills the sky.
A normal looking church is over taken by devilsh souls, a cross crashing and turning up-side-down. While a Satanic preacher bellers of doom, a good preacher rides a pully chord like Batman onto the stage, only to be attached by a 12-foot creature of darkness. With enough pyrotechnics to blast away a small country, the doors to the House of Shock are flung open, people rushed into darkness.
In a slaughter house, crazy people threaten to butcher you alive. A man gets eaten alive by rats, and corpses attempt to rise from the grave in the sight of the former church. Bodies on racks are ripped apart.
Since the House of shock is in Louisiana, a bayou scene takes place where a huge alligator rushes out from the swamp with a rush of air that blows back the hair. Snakes and spiders creep out of nowhere, and crazy Cajuns chase you around into a desensitization chamber. Safe from the swamp, now you are in utter darkness, unable to tell who is friend or foe.
Silence thuds in your ears, and you feel warm breath on your neck. Extending out your arms, you feel the flesh of a body and hear a deep chuckle that sends shivers up the spine. You try to run, but you crash into a wall.
Unable to find your way, you begin to whimper, slowly inching in any direction that does not have a wall or body stopping you. It seems like hours have passed, but perhaps it has only been seconds. You begin to wonder if you are still on the same planet.
With luck, you find your way into a dark void where glow stickers light a barely visible path, leading you to a tunnel. Swirling around, you feel as if the floor is being moved from beneath you, spinning you in circles. You can’t figure out if the room is spinning or if you are!
Trudging forward, there’s only more scares waiting. Outside the house, find the future in a fortune or have a drink at the bar. This is one place that tops a true Halloween lovers cannot miss list.
What other seasonal must sees have I found? Fast forward back to the summer, and let’s move over to Texas’ Schiltterbahn’s Water Park. This is one of the biggest water parks in the country, a must for water loving thrill seekers.
They accommodate children a little better than the House of Shock, having a story book theme to welcome kids into a lazy river, which flows out into a real river where water rafting can be had. With different sections all connected by water, this park has everything from water roller coasters to pseudo surfing. Literally, they worked with surfers to create the perfect wave, give you a board and let you hang ten!
Slides are a given. Whether you want to grab a tube for yourself or share one with a friend, they will take up stories high, only to let you slip around in swirling circles of gushing water. With different ratings, there are slides like that ridden on as a child and a whole new level of technology-induced rollercoaster meshed craziness.
The thing that impressed me is that the water runs out into a river that connects different areas of the park. Literally, you can stay in the water all day, avoiding whatever lines may form if you so choose. If you want a faster way to travel, they even have a shuttle.
Okay, the rollercoaster water hybrid impressed me a lot more than the convenience of the location. Grab a tube and a friend, climb up a few stories and slide up a tube. Gushed water really shoots you upward, then down, around, back up, spinning around and in all sorts of crazy angles, to the point where you only want to do it again.
Not as adventurous? Ride the tide. Pressured water pushes you into man-made rapids that can be ridden without a tube, very cool.
Schlitterbahn is a place I discovered while evacuating from Hurricane Ivan, rather ironic to leave the threat of water to seek the thrill of water. Either way, it’s highly recommended, worth taking a cross-country trip to experience. The gift shops are actually pretty cool for a theme park, too; I’ll give credit on that, especially when the end-of-season sales are on!
Bringing us back full-circle, Cedar Point also has a water park, Soak City. It’s similar to Schlitterbahn, but completely different. Sure, there are scary slides and fast water rides, but none that shoot you up like at Schlitterbahn.
For one-stop thrill seeking shopping though, Cedar Point is the place. Heck, they even have jet skis to rent, parasailing and the cure for those who would like to jump from a plane, sort of. The Rip Chord takes you up into the air in only a harness, releasing you with the pull of a chord to glide through the sky as if free-falling, much safer than cliff diving, take it from me.
If you want a family vacation, Cedar Point responds better than Disney World. I mean, Disney is cool and all, don’t get me wrong, but they keep kids in the forefront of their mind. Space Mountain pales in comparison to Cedar Point’s Magnum, Raptor and Mantis.
People will continue to seek thrills to test their humanity, just to make sure that the adrenaline can still flow when needed. When the heart starts pumping and blood starts flowing heavier than normal, the after-effect sense of relief washes the body over with peacefulness. Trust me, theme parks and haunted houses are safer than cliff diving and jumping from planes…just ask my dad who broke his leg trying it!
2:23 a.m. November 26, 2005
Craziness with Keyser
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