If I had my choice of what, or whom, I could grab by the tattered sleeve and pull from the grave, it would not be anything over the loss of which this blog has previously lamented.
It would be my friend Jesse Morris.
I wonder if he knew how much he would be missed, if he would have changed his mind and stayed.
The world is emptier without you, Jesse. I hope you’ve found peace.
One winter, years ago, I was at the Elbo Room for Anton LaVey’s daughter Karla’s annual Black X-mas party. Upon my arrival upstairs, a random, small toilet plunger flew from out of nowhere like a me-seeking missile, and bounced hilariously off of my chest. A direct hit! As I turned, laughing, to head back towards the stage, Miss LaVey (who also seemed to come from out of nowhere) bumped smack into me and spilled my drink all over my shoes. Apologies, names, and pleasantries were exchanged, then, with no more than a snap of her fingers, she had my drink replaced. And she even made it a double!
And THAT, kids, is the story of how I was baptized by the sweetheart Spawn of Satan(ists).
Now, please enjoy this video of Anton LaVey’s hauntingly beautiful rendition of the suicide classic, “Gloomy Sunday,” set to scenes from Polanski’s masterpiece of madness, Repulsion. It’s the final track off of his album Strange Music (which can be heard in its entirety here), and features the vocals of his then special lady friend, Blanche Barton. It’s amazing.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4uAeWST9En4
Big thanks to icoulddietomorrow for turning me on to this treasure.
I would like to share with you today a great fucking song about my beloved city by the infamous Black Randy, off the album “Pass the Dust, I Think I’m Bowie.” The vocals are a little hard to understand at times, (like good punk should be,) so I have posted the lyrics below. Enjoy!
SAN FRANCISCO
Golden Gate and I’m ready to jump
San Francisco, you’re playland at the dump
Cable cars gone to rust
Skinny faggots smoking dust
Many boys on Castro Street
Lumberjacks are fun to meet
Late at night they like the Stud
Buffet suppers, foodstamp crud
10 to 12, at the disco
12 to 2, fetch the Crisco
Some of them are masters
Some of them are slaves
Some wanna do it in freshly opened graves
All the drugs I bought did not get me high
Til I met a guy at the Mabuhay
He was very kind, he gave me some green pills
We saw the Avengers and part of the Dils
Ran into a guy with lipstick and a beard
When he took me home it was everything I feared
He lived in a house, it was runs by ferns
We sprayed their leaves and we polished their urns
The ferns were anarchists quoting Chairman Mao
Now I want to leave but I don’t know how.
. . .
-Me neither, Randy… me neither.
Last Call, San Francisco 