Snuff & Adrenaline - Jack Waxes Melancholic

The Fear permeates the city with a dense fog in the mornings. As the day lingers, the fog dissipates, but the Fear just stretches out over the people, engulfing us all in it’s decadence.

We stroll the streets, looking for some kind of trouble to get into. But nothing comes. Sometimes it’s like that. No matter what you do, or where you are, you can’t get anything done. Creativity fades and seeps through the cracks in the sidewalk and you are left with nothing but some sunburn.

Courting the muse is a long forgotten path. These days people don’t wait for inspiration, or even try to draw in inspiration. They just do. And so we end up with a bunch of crap that is passed for “art” or “poetry” or “fiction” or any number of other things. But when you see it, it just fucking bores you to tears.

Court your muse. Find your inspiration. Then bang out that piece of crap you’ll never be proud of. Life keeps on moving down the line. The train will not remember you, and it does not forgive. Walk out on the tracks and stare at the ground. See those are steel rails? Is this what we’ve become?

And so here I am, waxing melancholic, for no reason other than I know not what to write.

-Jack
I Listen.

Bottle Rockets & Sleeping Pills - Six

Six months.  Three months short of the birth of a baby, six months short of a full year…  The Election happens this November.  Already the campaign trail has began to rot and lose momentum.  The last four contenders beginning to get more cut throat and offensive in their campaign strategy.  Off and on the news goes, the current state of things being rather depressing and we’d probably get a better idea of what’s going on if we dropped some LSD and concentrated on any one candidate.  (Speaking of which - Albert Hofmann died yesterday.  Thank you Albert, you left your mark on the minds of the masses and you will be missed.)

To really get to the point of this entry, here’s my question for you all.

Are you going to vote?

Honestly, I could give a shit less if you did, but the truth of the matter is that other people DO care.  And YOU should too.  When November comes, are you going to go make an educated guess, or will you just throw your vote to the biggest media whore?  What will you do?  Tick tock, tick tock, tick tock.

I will not vote because as I’ve said before, I don’t believe in contributing to the delinquency of a nation in the depths of an Apathy binge.  That and I really don’t want to register to vote.  I’d rather not get called for Jury duty.  (I’m laughing alot right now.)

It seems not long ago that Dr. Hunter S. Thompson was on the Campaign Trail in ‘76.  I wasn’t born until ten years later, but I can still see and feel the ripples of his trip.  If downers didn’t come into fashion until Nixon entered the White House, speed came into fashion as soon as there was a feeling that shit wasn’t getting done.  There was a need for more hours spent awake to make up for all the lost profits from the Nixon years onward.

While it’s Hunter’s life that we celebrate, it’s his death that spurred me to continue my writing.

“This life would be a lot less bearable if I didn’t know I could end it any time I wanted.”  -  Dr. H.S.T.

With that line burned fresh in my mind, I realized that I was truly the one in control of my life.  Whether to continue it or end it, waste it or make something of it.  It was MY choice.

Well, now YOU have a choice.  Whether you will make your choice count or not is up to you.  What you choose is your choice.  Realize that.  Absorb it.  Let it become part of you.

When November comes, will you choose the lesser evil, or will you roll the dice and go for change?  Will you give up your freedom for a bullshit reason, or will you grow a backbone and instead of ‘taking the bull by the horns’, give it a good swift kick in the balls?

I’m calling you out America.

Bring it on.

“We’ve been bored for too long!” - Dr. Steel

Regards,
Scarab

Another Tale from The Road

Time: Unsure

Location: Swampers Bar - Florence, Alabama

Event: Jack and I listen to Christian Turner

——-

Music stirs the soul and heart. It helps us remember times and terms that our minds have forgotten. In the acoustic glamor, Jack and I forget our problems and pains, allowing the music to lift us to enlightenment and awareness. The beer is cold, the music deep, true, and well played. Perhaps it’s the ‘why’ of the matter… Why do we sit here? Why do we continue even when it seems impossible? The answer? If we don’t, who will? Where were you while we were getting high?

There’s something about live accoustic music that touches something in the soul. It brings back those feelings that we’ve been avoiding or have forgotten over the years. You hear the hear the heart and soul of the musician as he weaves the songs before you. Jack and I are ‘home’ right now. We are seeing someone else chase their own dream and doing a damn good job of it in the process.

This was all written on a menu from Swampers at the Marriot in Florence. Alot of the time I will write other things that will be posted once I have time to put them to the nets. It feels good to be able to relax and actually blend in with the world. That comfortable medium between drunk and enlightened. Jack and I are enjoying the hell out of the expensive beer and free music. This is a piece of the American Dream.

The crowd doesn’t exist… We don’t exist… All that is in this world is the music and how much of his soul he puts into his songs. To say that he is great would be an understatement. To really appreciate Christian’s music, you must see him play live. It was a special treat. Christian seems to blank out the world to ‘live’ in the melody. Acoustic, live, performances are closer to the American Dream than even the Statue of Liberty can see during her slumber. Jack and I? Well, we’re the holders of the American Dream, only with insomnia. This is the America we want you to see; other people chasing and living their own dreams.

Dream on ye children of Earth. We’ll wake you when the dawn of a new age comes.

Thanks for the great show and memories Christian, you’ll see us again eventually.

***

Do you know the sound of Freedom? It’s laughter. In those few moments, all pains and problems disappear. All the chaos of our lives fade away as we chuckle away our problems. And in the end we forget about our problems to simply live, to feel, to create. In those rare moments we are totally Free. While reality slowly creeps in, we become sullen, forgetting the joy of seeing someone excelling in their medium.

Everyone is good at something. Most seem to think that if you can’t do the job you’re given, you’re useless. Those who fail on one job should try again, and again, and again. Until success or surrender. Sticking out the ride to the very end. And if you DO fail despite it all, keep in mind that you tried and that is a victory of itself. Many don’t even do that. To not give up is the ultimate success.

In closing, Jack and I are in part of the Heart of America, finding the unknown, seeing the unseen, doing the un-done. We’re here for you whether you want or need us or not.

Truth is eternal, why shouldn’t people have it?

So long from a drunken Scarab, we’ll see you on the road.

Regards,

Scarab Susanti

Hazy Happenings At The Smokehouse

Another bar…

Beer ordered… (Killians)

This is the Smokehouse in Florence, Alabama.

Sitting here sipping the beer, we begin to truly get to work. The hops send us into a journalistic frenzy before unleashing ourselves on the unsuspecting Florence.

I’m not really drinking to get drunk. Jack and I drink to get back to base line and relax before the storm. It’s as if we, like Commander Vimes, were born two drinks below the normal limit.

Mmmm… Killians… Drink it well…

The five pool tables cal to me, but cash is tight and it’s just a game that would amuse me for only so long. The Smokehouse is a nice place. Fairly quiet, no crackle of some football game or the drunken growls and groans of over enthusiastic patrons. My first opinion of the Smokehouse is a good one. It’s worth a stop if you’re hungry or thirsty. The establishment offers a few distractions. Events that they host cover everything from billiards and poker tournaments to a live DJ that Jack and I had the pleasure of hearing.

After the beer, we’ll probably head for the water. Check out the Marina to see if we can get a boat ride from someone. Dunno where, but it would be fun. Need to be near some water…

Happy hour at The Smokehouse is from 4pm - 7pm. It’s been around since the 1800’s, so it’s got a bit of history behind it.

One small note about the Smokehouse that sorta irritated me was that there were no toothpicks. As you know, I have failing teeth, and sometimes need small slivers of wood to rectify the problem.

Upon returning to the Smokehouse after a failed trip to the 360 Grille where the Nazi behind the bar refused me service for having a expired I.D, we had to find an ATM to get some cash to get back into The Smokehouse. Another adventure followed where we had to walk nearly four blocks before realizing that we could have just went 100 yards behind us. Figures, neh?

At least the music has a good beat. Aside from the fairly good beer, great food, great service, and the live DJ, the Smokehouse seems like a worthwhile place to loiter and massacre time. Still… That trunk was comfortable… Almost too comfortable. I’ve been toying with the idea of spinning some glo-stix, but I doubt that it would be very well received.

Most of what the DJ is playing is urban and remixed rap. I’d love to hear some ATB or perhaps Infected Mushroom. But that’s a hopeless dream.

With a Philly Steak on the way, I ponder the eating and whether or not I’ll be able to eat it. If nothing else I can probably get it go. (Which I did.)

***

We could be anywhere. Any state, any city, any country. From inside this bar, the world is a small place with a scarred but well kept wooden bar. Not far away, people play pool, the green felt worn pale by ages of hands and balls passing over its surface. Some local teens dance to the music, the bass nearly high enough to satisfy even me. Odd place this is, to be sure.

The DJ switches between rap and other well known classics like ACDC. (He’s also using a Mac to do so.)

Bars are nice, but darkened taverns are more to my liking. The ability and option of handing someone a few dollars for privacy is a good addition to any establishment. The Smokehouse is a good place to chill. Nearly no one bothers you, and the employees are nice and do their jobs well.

The Philly Steak & Cheese sandwich was great, though as noted before, I wasn’t able to finish it. It will be eaten later I’m guessing.

The beer flows freely and the Muse is quite ‘out of it’.

***

Money got tight due to the damned stupid fee for withdrawing money from another bank’s ATM. So we’re trying to compensate in other fashions, as best we can. Sometimes being broke is an adventure in itself. After the bar, it’s back to home base and to throw it all online. (As I’ve just done.)

Personally, this is the American Dream. Traveling, talking to kick ass people, etc. Finding people I don’t know enjoying themselves makes ME happy.

If we’re happy, then it’s worth it.

Regards and more updates tomorrow,

Scarab the Exhausted and Tipsy

P.S:  I have photos of 3 of the people working there tonight.  I’ll get their names and pics up after I’ve transferred them from Jack’s phone and such.

P.P.S: To The Smokehouse -  Thank you guys for showing us a good time.  We’ll be back eventually.

Further Thoughts From Florence

The world was build on broken dreams and innocent blood.  It does not forgive, forget, and it never stops.  A single growing orangism that drifts through space.  Todays trip began the journey into a world unknown, forgotten, abandoned…  We seek the Truth among the lies and bullshit.  Only coming into society to barter our wares for food and lodging…  So far…  So good…

The U.N.A campus is beautiful.  It even boasts its own pair of Lions.  I imagine myself walking the campus, past buildings supposedly haunted and looming in the night.  The mist in my imagining rising glowing in the light of the lamps, a fine dew eginning to form on the grass.  To one side and back in this misted world.  A silent and pale world, cool and still in the wee hours of the morning, a few hours before Dawn.

A few birds twitter from the shadows of the nearby trees.  Finding a bench, I sit and stare at the mist intently.  I’m pretty sure it stares back.  I blink and the images are gone, the fantasy broken.  As the last bit of glamour fades away, I yawn and glance around.  It’s still ‘Here’ and there seems to be no threat.  Another good sign.

Green in my system, relaxation too, I struggle with the sleep dep.  I’m tired and life continues.  We had a chance to see Helen Keller’s Birth Place.  It was nifty.  (Though it might NOT have been her birth place)

I find the thought of a blind and deaf ghost trying to get around the house, tripping, falling, screaming incomprehensible obscenities at whatever…  It’s amusing to me at any rate.

Alabama also needs to raise the taxes so as to funnel that cash towards road work and fixing the road system for it is made of FAIL.

Well, Jack and I are back on the road again.

Know what time it is?  BEER TIME!

Regards and such,

Scarab