Cuddling a Killer
Have you ever curled up with a killer? I pondered this last night as Keyser Soze slept peacefully on my legs, and it became rather thought-provoking.
Think of your favorite dead performer. What if a person you had been intimate with confesses to being the murderer? How would you react?
Known as “the Big Easy,” even the “Big Sleazy,” New Orleans is just the place to find such a predicament, especially at Halloween. The former murder capitol is an everyday battle ground of good an evil, having strong bases in both voodoo and religion.
Literally, abandoned houses crumble beside newly restored million-dollar plantations. One billboard asks, “is it worth your soul?” The sign next to it promotes a voodoo shop. Hauntings are claimed to be everywhere. The “Detroit of the South” is such a place of irony and oxymoron that even the two prominent races are black and white.
After living in the land of The Saints and vampires, opposites tend to blur together into a shade of grey. Night becomes day, and vice versa, making an extended stay in the city more like an ongoing dream. Deliriums from random old souls make dreams reality.
It takes a few chicken fights to find the peacefulness of a leprechaun, but the 24-hour drinking is enough to make a person chase around trying to catch a tiny green creature of magical summoning skills. Just keep one eye open for cross-breaded mythological creatures with bad tempers and relentless hunger/greed.
Those can be found at the perfect kick-off for the haunted holiday, located in Metaire for the past 12 years, The House of Shock blows back wigs with balls of fire, having nightly pyrotechnics during the weekends of October. Touted as one of the country’s best haunted houses, first founded my Phil Anselmo (Pantera, Down and Superjoint Ritual), ghouls and goblins attack victims with chainsaws as they pass through a Satanic church with corpses on crosses.
Passing a man getting eaten alive by rats, a half-rotted body in chains, leaping snakes in a swamp and randomly trapped asylum members (on a toilet with a Baby Ruth), one must conquer spiraling rooms, a sensory deprived maze, flying objects and burly masked-figures to escape the interactive house. Yet, outside offers little sanity.
Performers lay on daggers, hang from hooks, let blood, twirl batons of fire and even scarier still – dress up in glam to play 80s cover tunes! Don’t worry, it’s no non-stop 80s music. Local and nationally recognized original and cover bands entertain with costumes and scantily clad girls while the line of victims trudge toward the house, similar to the Necrophagia video amongst others shot at the House.
Then again, music is not hard to find in the entertainment mecca known as the “Armpit of America,” for another October activity is Voodoo Fest, probably the biggest rock and roll even of the year in New Orleans.
Hearing about the festival for the past two years, I could hardly wait for the festivities to begin with a pre-party riverboat cruise. Members of Better Than Ezra (Kevin) and Cowboy Mouth (Fred) performed on alternating stages with some others as the boat tugged down the river.
The next night, Juliette Lewis and The Licks, Juliette Lewis’ musical venture, played a private party where Superjoint Ritual member Kevin Bond escorted the MTV2 girl. When the show and the free Southern Comfort ended, I left the House of Blues for Lounge Lizards across the street, where COC frontman and former Down member Pepper Keenan watched another female-fronted Voodoo Fest band, this time local.
Something must be said of the number of bands with female members at the Voodoo Fest, almost like Lillith Fair where breasts can be exposed, but we’ll get back to exposed flesh.
‘Twas a strange summoning that pulled me from Lounge Lizards down Decatur, perhaps a voodoo spell in the Vieux Carre. Sauntering alone, horror struck me as I found my drink empty. I glanced up from the liquid-drained cup to spy a dark-dressed figure in front of a bar. Unknowingly approaching a Secret Agent Bill member, I sighted with relief when I saw the Dr. Chud logo on his shirt and a bar serving alcohol.
Noticing my smile, he asked of my newly found comfort. Explaining my drink predicament, I giggled about his shirt and my previous interview with the former Misfits drummer. To which he outstretched his arm and responded, “Dr. Chud is right inside.”
Greeting the Doctor with a smile and hugs, I apologized for not giving pictures to him as promised. See, the day after I interviewed him in 2002, I had been swept away by Ozzfest, then held captive in Key West. Laughing up the Detroit show at Alvin’s, where the Smashbandits slung their passed out poster child on the drummer’s shoulder, Dr. Chud and I passed the night with my celestial sister Gen and Davo, from local band (and Voodoo Fest performer) Only In It For The Honeys, and rounds of naked mechanical bull riding at Deep South Lounge.
However, it was not until the next day that I was decredentialed for my actions and lack of wardrobe (which led to me swearing off High Times); allow me to explain. Though people remember my coverage of the Testicle Festival and the Jam Cruise for High Times, many remember me from touring the country as a titty-bearing Harley Girl on Ozzfest. Even more people remember my tattoos and piercings, visible when I was a sales model for Rockstar Airbrush at Fantasy Fest and Mardi Gras for a couple years. Between being the token white girl in Lil Wayne’s video, being on Dave Attel’s website, Girls Gone Wild and Voyeur Video, people remember my nudity – though not sexuality, may I clarify.
Thus, when re-known airbrush artist Joe Carter asked to paint my tits, I let him. It was a free paint job for me in exchange for my being seen. No, I wasn’t going around like a whore, but I would be extremely visible being in front of the stage taking pictures for my magazines. I’m not model beautiful, so girls see me, want to one-up me with their bodies and pay to get painted. The painters make money, more girls show their breasts and everybody wins, right?
I mean, New Found Glory danced with me on stage, and the dude from Sonic Youth jumped into the camera pit because of me, so I don’t think the artists minded seeing my bare breasts amongst the other photographers that are old enough to be my parents.
Apparently, however, a pleasantly plump middle-aged woman and a bisexual make over zealously clarified that there had been multiple complaints about me and my choice of clothing. As the man bellered at me with a beer in his hand, the lady accused ME of being drunk when all I had was a soda. Don’t get me wrong. I love to party, but I had to run between stages to actually work, not having time for the joys of intoxication. Not only was my press pass stripped from me, they got the police to escort me out of the event. Not allowing me to gather my clothing, I was left shirtless and dropped off at an unfamiliar road after dark, being instructed to walk.
Want to feel fear? Close to the ghetto with boobs flopping in the wind, I did not feel safe at night having strange men stopping, and even stepping out of their cars, to comment. Running into the shadows, I wept and hid. With Voodoo in the air, my savior found me. The friend of my neighbor cheered me up by dinner, a warm shower, a vendor pass for Sunday and the courage to escort me in paten leather.
The lady who decredentialed me asked what my editors would say if they knew that I had been dressed that way. I told her that they would be shocked to see me actually behaving by wearing jeans instead of a strap-on, but apparently I had to prove what I was capable of. With six-inch heeled thigh-high boots, a mini-skirt, mid-drift top, mistress collar and studded bracelets, I stood outside the press entrance with six hot 504 Boys, each of us smoking a joint, slinging glowing whips and dressed head to toe in leather.
Having missed most of Sunday due to the credential hassle, I surfaced just before Kid Rock took the stage. Representing my hometown of Detroit, I took my g-string and had the boys hold me up to the crowd. I surfed spread eagle, exposing 10 of my 16 piercings, 12 if you count my tongue and navel.
Security applauded me the first time, but the second time they warned me that the lady who decredentialed me ordered me kicked out. Thus, I was given another pass and sent back out into the crowd. Waiting for the encore, I crowd surfed a third time, having the security guards take my picture before being thrown out, again.
The 504 Boys rescued me once again, as they have since I stepped foot in N’awlins. With every good, there is a bad, and vice versa. I may have had $10,000 worth of equipment stolen since I’ve been here, but I’ve completed five bodies of work, plays and novels, in a matter of months. My experiences since I’ve been in the Dirty South have proven the plethora of history behind the city. The French Quarter boasts its first profession to be prostitution, and it is known as a slave-trading center, but even Trent Reznor, another NOLA local, has said there can be Happiness in Slavery. It’s becoming clear to me now.
It’s like you’re a slave to the noise when wakened by a parade passing by your house, but if you can look past the aggravation of being woke up against your will, you can enjoy the passing parade, as I did the Friday before Halloween. Heck, something had to wake me up after the VIP party at the Dungeon the night before.
Saturday, Devil’s night to be exact, had been reserved for MOM’s Ball with performers Johnny Sketch and the Dirty Notes, along with Papa Molly, who also found the scariest costume to be a black 80s glam band wig over his light brown dreds. The Misfits of Mayhem, otherwise known as MOM’s crew, are responsible for three annual gatherings at Halloween, New Year’s Eve and most well known Mardi Gras. All costume-oriented, people are told to come in “out of the box” costumes or simply naked. The fest of nude drunken debauchery involves share trade, mixing and infiltrating, slipping in and out of various energies, only to melt together into another.
Being held at The Howlin’ Wolf bar this year, the freedom for drugs and exhibitionism was not as open as the Decadence Halloween Party at the Country Club where many members wound up swimming naked in the rain. I was included as one of these participants, but I kept on my sheer white lace dress and thigh highs, undergarments not being required.
Of course, on All Hallow’s Eve, I was awoken to a band performing in my front yard. Walking onto my porch to observe the music’s origin, I was halted by kids jumping in an inflatable moonwalk at the foot of the porch. What was I to do? I headed towards the kitchen, pointed out the strawberry caked and cream cheese frosting and got dressed as Mr. 504 baked. Heading to our neighbor’s party with the cake, we chowed on barbecue, and danced with the tiny primadonnas while the DJ spinned some tunes.
Some might say it’s odd to be the only white couple in a crowd of rowdy blacks, but if energies meld beyond he existence of judgment, enjoyment can be found, same as with nudity. Walking through a murder capitol, such as New Orleans or my hometown of Detroit, you never know if the person next to you is a killer.
How would you react if you found out the person sleeping in your bed had killed someone close to you? It’s easier said than done, but I’ve learned to take a deep breath and befriend my demons. Isn’t it better to have enemies close to you? Afterall, it was Halloween.
Meeting Keyser
The events that happened at Voodoo Fest had gotten me decredentialed from High Times, when I was not even on assignment. Before Voodoo Fest, I had been credentialed for the small publication I had found out in Texas, Austin Daze, along with a couple other randomly small magazines. High Times had nothing to do with me being there, but I could not help that people remembered me from writing for their publications.
Can I help that my reputation proceeds me? Perhaps I probably could have, but my first assignment through them was just after September 11, 2001, when I was scheduled to fly out September 12, 2001 to Montana to cover the Testicle Festival. On my first assignment, I was able to get on HBO and win the wet t-shirt contest.
Wouldn’t they expect that people would remember to see a person who pulls such antics as this? My bad. I didn’t mean it; perhaps it was just my vampire creature, to seek out and destroy, always being mysterious yet remembered in a strange way.
It’s not my fault that I dwell all night, but sometimes I can dwell during the day, too, when given a reason. If needed, sleep is not necessary, as it is for the average human. Okay, I might bite someone every once in a while and get freaky, but what am I supposed to do?
If people remember me, it’s just because I stand out, forget how to act sometimes. As a beast, it’s hard to remember the exact nature of human species. What can one expect when guided by a man they call Keyser Soze?
I had seen him that first day at Voodoo Fest. Just before getting kicked out, I had given him my cell phone number. He had mentioned something about getting something to drink later.
Some people might remember a man they call “the Devil” from something that inspired the ending of “Scary Movie.” Keyser Soze was a vampire of power who slipped by as a commoner by choice. He picked me up that night and took me under his wing.
Giving me the strength to go back and fight, to feed off of the energy in the air from the people, he took me back to my apartment to change clothes, but when he dropped me off there the next time, things were different. The lesbian landlord had made amuck. What I would soon find out is that she paid people to move my apartment while I was not there, friends of Adam and Casey who had wanted to move into the main house, next to Travis.
Opening my door, everything was shoved into the tiny back bedroom, from chairs to tables and couches, all stacked on top of each other, everything in random piles. There was a nasty message stating from the lesbian landlord that her girlfriend was coming to visit and I needed to leave town; apparently, she had been fantasizing possibilities to her girlfriend, using me as a jealousy clause as she liked me. Not to mention, she had found out that her lesbian lover got pissed off and got a man, even moved him into her house.
I didn’t even do anything, and I was the cause of controversy, or so I had thought. More likely is the fact that I had talked with her cousin, Dred, who had been trying to marry me. Apparently, a year’s time was soon to be up, and he wanted to get a ring ready in hopes of my saying yes.
I had made it clear that I said no, that I was not interested, but he still clung on to the hope, giving him something to believe in to help him keep moving forward. When I told him that I did not want him to get a ring ready, as he planned on making it with his own hands, knots of platinum and emeralds, he got mad. Turning down the advancements of both family members, the lesbian landlord being pissed off that I missed her son’s birthday which happened to fall on Voodoo fest after she knew I would be gone and was not interested, I soon found myself being kicked out of the apartment.
There was some Irish guy protecting me though, so I moved in with Keyser, the Russian-Irish. Even the first night I had met Keyser, introduced to me by Andy at Voodoo Fest, he had said that I reminded him of some guy’s girlfriend. “You say you don’t, but why do I just feel you have a boyfriend?”
I could almost feel the pressure of his thumb massaging the palm of my hand, or him biting onto my ear lobe, breathing deep to the point where shivers would run down my spine. Glancing up at each other, we’d lock eyes and smile. I couldn’t help but think of the one I had not seen since Jazzfest.
I attempted to substitute him with Keyser, as Keyser was a Scorpio, too, but it was not the same. As it turned out, I could not help to phone him, to let him know the situation, and I found out that they knew each other. Plain and simple, Keyser was not to be trusted, and I would be watched for my reactions.
Keyser and I had a short fling, but that ended when I refused to give him anal sex, saying that he should earn such a privilege. He was too much of a chauvinist for me; heck, he even tried to take out Andy’s girlfriend, the girlfriend of the guy who had originally introduced us. Still we lived together, as roommates of another individual who was actually in charge of the house.
Dada, Darkness, Tat and Keyser
The Darkness of my last apartment had watched over me with desire and inquiry, but the lesbian landlord took a stance against both it and myself by kicking me out. I remember the last night in that house, when all my belongings were shoved into one room. Darkness let me know that its presence was with me.
Nobody to protect me, no boyfriend nor cats, the eyes of the Darkness looked down at me with pity, knowing it would be one of the last times to see me. Without saying a word, it thanked me for the strength I had given it, the power it had taken from within. My dark tendencies strengthened it, and it appreciated my being there with it, not always being completely scared of it.
It also appreciated the fact that I had brought witchcraft back into the house, by nightly reading tarot cards and doing the small spells. The true test of power, one where I had used the Darkness to help me, involved the blood money, the Chinese paper that had been given to me from Chris the Caveman at the Da-da party. It was not done too long before I moved out.
A phone call had been made to a friend back home, whose name was also Chris. He, like the Caveman Chris, had told me to keep in touch with a friend if I wanted to keep in touch with him, Vamptasia. One thing was for certain, Vamptasia and I had kept in touch.
Chris had filled my head full of beautiful promises, claiming that he never wanted to marry anyone until he met me. His dream was for us to have twins one day, have a happy little family, and I loved the idea of that dream, even if I knew it would probably not ever be possible. Chris, like the Caveman, had a girlfriend.
One day, they broke up, much to everyone’s surprise. He said he wanted to be with me, but I was too far away. With depression settling in, he used a substitute.
A girl, Dye, had befriended him for his intoxicating nature. Sure, she had a boyfriend, but she also wanted Chris. Playing along, Chris started a fling.
Always one for uniquely intoxicating natures, Dye also formed a sexual bond with another one of Chris’ friends, finding them to be unique in a way that was hard to find. I’m not sure if she knew of their true nature, blood lusters.
That did not matter, however, as she had tried to go back to Chris after being with his friend. Breaking down, Chris told her that he was waiting on me, that I would be up soon and that their sexual thing should not continue. She had a boyfriend, for Pete’s sake!
No matter, she tried to commit suicide, injecting poisons into her veins. With tears, Chris called me up, explaining that the girl was in a coma. He tried to say it was my fault, my doing, as he was waiting for me.
We had only been talking briefly since Granthrax moved out and Mikey stopped calling again. It’s not like we had even seen each other, as I was nowhere even close to him, but somehow this girl he had fucked was in a coma, and it’s was my fault. With the weight of life resting on my shoulders, it was time to see what the Chinese blood money could do; after all, it was given to me by a Chris, so why not use it in the honor of a Chris?
Gathering a few white candles and a chunk of cream colored marble, I prepared a makeshift alter, using the craft for the first time in years. Turning off all the lights, and guided only by that of the candles, I summoned the Darkness to guide me and my forces. Skulls and bones were uncovered, placed around my alter in watchful protection.
Crystals, like amethyst, quartz and bloodstone were set up in the corners, and an incense was lit to mask any smell and provide an aroma. Light music also illuminated the backgrounds, the sounds of rain falling in the forest, with cracks of lightning and thunder. My hands were covered in baby powder, as to not stick to anything I was handling.
Gazing into the crystal and dancing flames, I felt the eyes upon me, not bothering to distract me. It were as if the Darkness was across from me, also gazing into my tools to obtain a meditative state. There seemed to be an electrical charge in the room.
In the depths of my throat, I started chanting a mantra, and the sound seemed to echo through the room, as if the Darkness was absorbing my words and repeating my voice back to me. Engulfing the room, the Darkness swelled in size, and I lit sage to keep it at bay. Aromas wafting past my nose, I could begin.
Carefully, I lit the bill of Chinese blood money and chanted my mantra, focusing my mind on Dye. The Darkness did not scare me, as for once we were working together on this, mutually focused on something. The focus and direction seemed to give it a different sort of power, a validating power; it was the power that let it know it was still alive.
With the bill burning on the chunk of marble, I watched the flames change colors from orange to blue and green, almost with a hint of purple. I concentrated on the beauty instead of the pain, and urged Dye to do the same. The Darkness empowered me.
I could almost feel a group of women joining hands, circling around me in the room. My mantra was repeated by all of them, the ghosts of memories passed. Faster and faster they seemed to spin in the circle, gaining speed the further the bill burnt on.
As the last of the bill was consumed by fire, ashes like dust replacing what once was, I began to feel dizzy, as if I had been the one spinning. It felt like I had joined hands to spin in the circle, gaining speed to an ungodly momentum. My head rang, but a deep inhalation of breath before the flame burned itself out cleared my head and heart.
Somehow, my heart was beating faster, as if I had put out physical exertion. It was as if I had been running around, body increasing the circle speed. The Darkness had been spinning too, as I could feel the weightlessness of a void within the room.
Still as a rabbit not trying to be detected, I sat for a moment, merely observing the sensation of the weightless feeling. The darkness was sucking the remaining smoke upwards, absorbing it and sending it somewhere new. As the last trail of blood money smoke disappeared into the sky, a small breeze flowed through the closed room, snuffing out the lit candles.
Again, I was surrounded in total Darkness, becoming one with it for a moment. It was almost like sex, an exchange of energy and souls, but there was no penetration involved. The Darkness was merely absorbing my energy, as I was letting it, and a different power was being given back to me, one of raw intention.
I could feel my eyes glowing, and I could see in the Darkness as if the room was fully illuminated. It took me a while to find the desire to stand up, to turn on a light in the room. What was the use?
Within a day, I had heard the phone call that Dye had pulled herself out of a coma where she had only 14 percent brain use and less than 10 percent usage of her lungs. When I heard the news, I could not help but chuckle and feel a little surge of power within. It felt good; it really had not been my fault, but it felt good.
Return to Grey
Or
See the Darkness
Marisa's Web sites
Black Widow Online Book home
Marisa's home page
books by Marisa
Marisa's myspace page
Email: thorisaz@hotmail.com
