October 1999

Step Right Up. There's Something Happening Here...

2 years and none the wiser...

    Like so many eyeballs glued to the sloppy remains of some car crash victim, it's safe to say that your double globes will find their way back here. I've been waiting for you to evaporate, like an assassin who realizes too late that escape was never assured but rather implied to heighten resolve. And therein lies the entertainment. The lion and the malnourished Christian playing back and forth. One too stupid to realize he can't win and one too realistic to allow him to. It perplexes me sometimes, the reasons for choosing which houses to trick-or-treat at and which houses not to. Within the most brightly lit lies the cold heart of some frail, old, discontented granny that has labored ceaselessly to produce caramel apples with surprise centers. For all those years she put up with those damn kids running through her flower beds. Just one bite and you'll agree, modern medicine never looked so good. No tongue, no problem. If they can teach those 'stupid chimps' to sign then you should have no trouble. So maybe you never did take the time to run it through your mainframe and you just hit every house you could. Treats, after all, are what it's all about. Eventually you'll wind-up here. Everyone comes by sooner or later. Simply because I leave the lights off.

    Another year, another fifty-two weeks wondering where fifty of them went. It baffles me to no end how prosperous these little tirades of mine have become. It's like showing up at the beginning of every month to get kicked in the balls because someone said there'd be free ice cream afterwards. There never is of course and the ball kicking continues. One day we're gonna get that ice cream, but by then the only thing it'll be good for is bringing down the swelling. I've been better than this and I've been worse. But who's keeping score? Maybe I'm trapped in a jar, you're in grade six, and it's science period. Maybe I'm creepy and maybe I'm beautiful. Maybe you should just check your damn textbook and see what it says. Because I've been wondering about that myself...

Put The Kids To Bed. The Devil's In Town...

    It's official. I've become notably disconcerting. Not that I'm upset about it or anything. To be quite honest with you I think it's rather an honor to have written something that has to be accompanied by a warning label. It's like being a canister of rat poison. Good for killing rats and dangerous in the hands of children. I like that, metaphorically speaking. All you rats out there take care, the kids have got your number.

    In a way it's a little upsetting that one could get in trouble for reading Black Market Surgery in English class. On the other hand, there's something disturbingly fine about it at the same time. I'll be honest with you, publishing a book of the manifestos was not my idea. But comparatively speaking, I've harbored fantasies about having an actual book released longer than I've dreamed of making records. There's something far more internally satisfying about one's words being permanently captured between two covers. Even if one of those covers comes complete with a parental advisory sticker. Like everything I've creatively done in my life, I could care less whether or not anyone reads it or likes it for that matter. As long as I've got a copy sitting on my book shelf then it'll be alright.

    That's not to say that I disagree with the warning. I fully admit that some of the language and imagery I've used over the last two years might be a little much for young kids. But I'm not sure it's all that dangerous for teenagers. These days parents are continually surprised at what their kids know and understand. There's a downside to growing up too fast I'll admit, but deferring any kind of literature until a later date because of content is always a dangerous practice. Better that kids read than do nothing at all. And if it's something risky then so be it. At least there's a chance it'll cause some form of passionate response. There's been a debate for years about whether or not novels like Catcher In The Rye and other great works may or may not negatively influence children in various ways. But unless you're talking about something like Mein Kampf then I doubt that ingesting literature that provokes sociological thought or internal questioning can be damaging in any way. Even something like Mein Kampf or likeminded works can serve as a present day reminder of what happens when weak minded individuals fall prey to those that feed them bullshit. Better to be intimate with the ways of those processes that are not so easily detected than to be ignorant to them. Like the man said: Being awake is one thing. Realizing it is something altogether different. I always found it far more daunting to pick up something like The Iliad or War & Peace than I did Slaughter House Five, Native Son, or 1984. But one thing leads to another and sooner or later you come to the realization that there's nowhere else to go. So you read them and, piece by piece, you get it. That goes for anything really. It's all work until you realize that, in the end, there was something there worth discovering in the first place. That's the pure beauty of literature and music. Despite the fact that hundreds, thousands, or millions of others have read or heard the same thing as you have, it will always remain wholly yours in some unexplainable way. Pray that never changes.

    So that's that then. To be quite honest with you I do feel a little cheated by the whole thing in a way. All this time and I could have been doing worse. Much, much worse. So maybe this is the jumping off point then. Maybe this is where I get back to the basics and you do your best to cop a part. It's time to reverse the angles and make up for some lost time I think. It's time to take back the night from all those irritating 'take back the night' people. It's time to drive your car firmly through the wall of your local burger joint and reinvent the concept of the 'drive-in'. Let there be storms of impoverished malcontents raging through the streets of upper class enclaves and entire swimming pools filled with cool-whip where full-moon struck insomniacs re-enact the finer points of imperial Rome. It's time to get hammered, hit the highway, and turn off the headlights. There's nothing left but borrowed time and cheap excuses. So why don't you guys go get some guns, a shit-load of drugs, some liquor, some porn, and meet me on the roof. We'll have a better vantage point from up there. All filled with stars and the unexplained universe, we'll trip and fall to the grass below and reaffirm our birthright. The fact that we're always just around the corner from wherever it is we're going, and fully aware of the fact that we have no idea what we're going to do when we get there. How's my driving now?

2 Year Manifesto Table Of Contents:

    1] 5 Things To Remember While Intoxicated On Motion Sickness Pills.
    2] How Debbie Parks Drowned In Cherry-Jell-O.
    3] MATTOPIA. Trouble Abounds In Wonderland.
    4] That Whole Opium/Talking Animals Thing.
    5] Techniques For Faking Multiple Personality Disorders During Criminal Trials.
    6] Trade Secrets Revealed.
    7] Going Out Standing Up.

To Your Ceaseless Nagging...

    Over the past year there have been a number of questions that have been repeatedly asked. The most frequently asked question is about LO-FI-B-SIDES. The funny thing about that question is that I've answered it more than twenty times. If you take the time to pour through some of the older 1-900-Idiot Savants you'll probably find what you're looking for. And that goes for a whole slew of answers to other frequently asked questions. But I have this strange feeling that you're not going to do that. Why? I have no idea. Maybe you were dropped on your head as a child and your neural pathways were affected. Whatever the case, this is going to be the final time I do this. So read up and pass it along.

Finality at its Finest...

Like I've endeavored to explain a million times, there were only 5000 of them made! Shit, I don't even have a copy (no word of a lie - someone lifted it) So, if you don't have a copy of it, here are some suggestions:

    a) Try looking in some used record stores. You never know what you'll find.
    b) You can try to buy it from someone on the internet but it'll probably cost a lot.
    c) Go get the Edgefest 99 CD and buy Beautiful Midnight. That way you'll have Fated and Born To Kill and will only be missing our cover of Enjoy The Silence.
    d) Home invasions.
    e) Walk through the streets naked with 'LO-FI-B-SIDES' written on your chest and see who responds.
    f) Try calling Dave Porter at Universal Music in Toronto and ask him. It was their idea in the first place. He might even do your laundry if you ask him nicely enough. Hell, he does mine when I'm in town.
    g) Start a political party whose only agenda is to have it put back into production.
    h) Find a girl or guy who has it, woo them, pretend to fall in love with them, steal the CD, and dump them flat.
    i) Walk into reception at the Universal Music's head office with a machine gun and start screaming demands. That way you'll probably get a whole whack of other free shit as well. (Such as the Rammstein Live video!)
    j) That's pretty much all I could come up with.

1. 5 Things To Remember While Intoxicated On Motion Sickness Pills. (Part 1: Condensed Research, 1989-1999).

    Yea, it's a tricky business all right. You've got to watch it when you're stomach tells you to do one thing and your insatiable need to cut loose and go off tells you to do something else. You might find yourself waking up on some tennis court somewhere in traditional Bavarian garb with some half naked chick who's collapsed in a puddle of her own vomit on the other side of the net. I speak only from experience here kids. Because this isn't something one fucks around with. There are always going to be good, solid reasons for not doing a variety of extremely stupid things. Things like sitting in a lawn chair on your 17th birthday and drinking 10 beers before deciding you have to skateboard to the local store to get some tomato juice. You should know better. But something within our nature disappears when inebriation takes hold of us. We are diminished in a way that mocks us and turns us into those people that stand side stage during festival performances and repeatedly shout 'PLAY SOME FUCKING HIP!' You know who they are. They're the ones who have hockey hair but don't play hockey. They're the reason classic rock stations flourish in this backwater country of ours. We could have been so much better than this if only beer wasn't our national pastime. But that's not the point. The point is NOT to abuse the secret powers of motion sickness pills. They look harmless enough, all beige and pleasant. But I assure you, they are the devil come dressed as the king of kings. Take care to read the following research carefully. It might just save your life someday.

    Research Key:

    MSP shall represent 'Motion Sickness Pill(s) throughout.
    MSPI shall represent 'Motion Sickness Pill Inebriation' throughout.
    DE shall stand for 'Delusional Episode' throughout.

    1] Sex and Motion Sickness Pills.

    I cannot stress this enough. If you're going to abuse MSP and expect to have sex you'll be in for some pleasant and not so pleasant surprises. The upside to sex while suffering from MSPI can only be attributed to males. There is a better than 50% chance that your staying power will be increased by at least 8 to 10 minutes. Unfortunately, due to the fact that I am not a woman, I cannot comment on any positives to the female sexual experience during MSPI. The negatives, on the other hand, are far more varied and troubling. There is approximately a 42% chance that you'll succumb to the affects of fatigue long before anything even happens. There is also a 12% chance that you will have a DE involving the person you are with. This usually involves your partner appearing to be a giant lizard of some kind. There is also the possibility that sexual stimulation might be reduced if massive amounts of alcohol have been consumed along with the MSP. In such cases it is highly unlikely that you'll be able to stand or focus, let alone have sex with a living person. Corpses, on the other hand, don't tend to move so they're a little easier to manipulate. If it's come to sex with the dead I wouldn't worry about it too much. You'll probably be so out of it that you'll be experiencing a permanent DE and will most likely think you're banging Carol Alt. (Carol, if you read this don't be angry. Literary license and all...)

    2] Operating Complicated Machinery And Appliances.

    By far the most dangerous aspect of MSPI. Attempting to drive a car, work a washing machine, or bake cookies can turn into acts that rival walking through a minefield. There is nothing worse that suffering from MSPI and trying to drive a car, train, boat, plane, or zeppelin. The affects of MSP can vary in such circumstances but the most common ones are as follows:

    a) Double vision.
    b) Loss of depth perception.
    c) Loss of peripheral vision.
    d) The affects of altitude are diminished.
    e) Having no sense of being horizontal or vertical.
    f) The delusion that you are Aqua Man.
    g) You will most likely NOT look good doing it.
    h) Onboard stereo manipulation while moving is unlikely.
    i) Comprehending the difference between D, R, and P will be impossible. They will all appear to be the letter Q.\

    When it comes to operating house hold appliances you've got to remember some fundamental things. Electricity, heat, and extreme cold are usually involved (radiation and extremely fast moving dangerous parts being a close second). You should note that the following affects may occur while attempting appliance use.

    a) A complete loss of vision (but that's usually because you've simply forgotten to turn the lights on).
    b) The inability to feel pain caused by extreme heat. Such as sticking a hot iron to your forehead.
    c) The inability to detect extreme cold or freezer burn.
    d) The inability to properly manipulate door knobs, handles, or buttons of any kind.
    e) The overwhelming desire to flip over the lawnmower while it's running and stare at the blades while they whip around. This usually leads to you trying to touch them.
    f) Operating any kind of power drill or tool will usually cause seizures.
    g) Locating ON-OFF buttons is near impossible.

    3] Speech & Motion Sickness Pills.

    Most people have difficulty speaking as it is, let alone doing it while engaging MSP. It's safe to say that you probably won't be making much sense while under the affects of the pills, though in rare instances you might find yourself saying things that far surpass the intelligence that you display on a regular basis. In such cases I strongly suggest that you just go with it. Because let's face it, when are you going to sound that fluidly bright again?

    That said, 99% of the time you'll probably encounter slurred speech and a complete loss of any vocabulary that consists of three syllables or more. This will reduce your ability to communicate to the lowest possible levels, leaving you with the mental prowess of a two year old. Such effects are bound to ware off in anywhere from 4 to 6 hours, though some people might experience a prolonged speech problem for up to three days depending on whether or not you've mixed your MSP with other drugs. If this occurs try to remain calm and, preferably, locked in a room without windows, sharp objects, or lava lamps.

    Anyone who bothers to abuse MSP is going to have to live with the fact that speech difficulties are just par for the course. There's really nothing you can do about it, so just relax and try your best to just nod and smile when someone says something to you. The fact that you're inner monologue is just as poor as your outer monologue will be freaking you out enough as it is. So trying to make sense out of it will be a waste of time anyway.

    4] The Affects Of MSP Abuse On Personal And Working Relationships.

    Make no mistake about it. It's going to be a rough ride. If you've come to the decision that MSP are going to be a permanent part of your life then you're going to have to deal with a few facts. First, you can forget about entering into (or remaining in) any kind of romantic relationship. There's just no way that someone else is going to be able to put up with your habit. There is always the chance that you'll stumble across a fellow MSP user and life will be grand, but it's unlikely. It'll start out all right at first. You'll just do it on the weekends and everything will seem okay. But as time passes your significant other will begin to notice some ugly changes in you and will eventually call it quits. So you're going to have to decide pretty quick: the pills or the person?

    Hiding a MSP habit from coworkers will also be impossible. There's just no way to keep something like that in the dark for long. So you've got two choices. Either you throw yourself down some stairs while on the job and get worker's comp. or start enjoying the benefits of welfare. Because there's no way you'll be able to function at work after a 36 hour MSP binge. No one said that substance abuse was going to be easy. So, once again, you're going to have to make a choice: MSP or employment? Your call.

    5] Mixing Your MSP With Other Substances.

    It's a well known fact that effects of MSP start to wear off after a while if you're doing them straight. So the next step is to start mixing them with other substances to elevate their potential. The most common mixer is booze, preferably liquor. Most hardcore MSP addicts will usually mix their pills with either whiskey or vodka. You should stay away from rum, gin, wine, and beer as these tend to make the ride either too rough or not rough enough. If you're new to the experience you should know one thing through. No MSP user ever takes more than one pill when mixing with booze. It's just foolishness. Well, the whole thing is foolishness really, but we're all fools here, so what's the big deal?

    When it comes to mixing MSP with other drugs I'm at a loss. It's an extremely dangerous practice to say the least. One of two things is going to happen in such circumstances. One: either you're going to go way too low, or Two: you're going to go way too high. Let's just say that there's a difference between the normal MSP addict and those that are just destructive. Have some class, if you're going to bother making the most of an over the counter drug then why fuck about with ones that aren't. It just doesn't make any sense now does it? When it comes to mixing with other over the counter drugs (and prescription drugs) here's a short list of ones that are okay (and may even enhance things a bit).

    a) Nyquil (never Dayquil)
    b) Ornade.
    c) Fluticasone.
    d) Cefaclor (250mg's and up)
    e) Extra Strength Nytol and half a table spoon of cough-syrup.
    f) Allegra-D.
    g) A full table spoon of Cough Syrup.
    h) Muscle Relaxants.

2. How Debbie Parks Drowned In Cherry Jell-O.

    Strange things happen all the time. Stranger things than this even. Just last week they found some guy in New Jersey in his bathroom with a garden hose stuck up his ass. He thought it felt good when he turned the water on. He forgot that the rules of pressure rarely conform to the rules of pleasure. So there he was. Dead. With a green garden hose stuck in his ass. When his wife found him she wasn't too sure what to make of it. On the one hand she was extremely saddened because they had two kids and bills to pay and all that. On the other hand she was extremely saddened because she had a deep seeding thing for kink but thought her husband was one of those 'by the book' kind of guys. Funny how shit like that happens. You think you know someone and then one day you realize that all the while you could have been taking home plumbing to new heights.

    That's not to say that Debbie Parks was a sex fiend or anything. Well, at least not when she was sober. Debbie was one of those young girls that suffered from what is known as 'a split weekend personality'. Most of the time she was just a regular high school kid. But on the weekends she tended to turn into someone completely different. And that someone was so drastically opposite her usual self that it led some to believe that she was easily influenced. That's how the whole thing happened. But let me make something clear right now. There's tragedy and then there's a tragedy. This was neither. What happened to Debbie was nothing short of the universal definition of 'oddity'. That's the only way to say it without sounding callous. If bad things happen to good people, and visa versa, then what happened to Debbie was nothing short of Roald Dahl-like divine intervention meets the movie of the week. First time lucky. With luck being the equivalent of getting pinned in the head your first time to the plate.

    That said, I should revisit something I mentioned earlier. Debbie was known to be somewhat of a lush on weekends. It was one of those things that wasn't all that out of the ordinary for a girl her age. The weekends were for partying and everyone did just that. Debbie's problem was that she was a horrible drunk. And by horrible I'm inferring that she did things without thinking about them first. Most of the 'things' I'm referring to were just stupid, crazy things that kids tend to do when they're plastered and feeling somewhat free spirited. Things like truth or dare, streaking, skinny dipping, and the old 'locked in the closet' trick. Debbie did them all and regretted it each time. Every Monday morning she'd walk through the doors at school and hear whispers about her weekend escapades. All the guys loved her because they could get her to take her clothes off in front of everyone at the drop of a hat and all the girls hated her because they didn't have the guts to. But what you have to remember is that it wasn't hedonistic or anything. There wasn't anything seedy going on between the lines. Debbie wasn't entering into situations where she'd end up blowing the entire football team or anything (even though she was the main figure in that urban myth, as variations of it exist at ever high school in the known world). In truth, Debbie had only ever slept with one boy. And that was when her family went to Disney World. It was one of those last minute deals when you know you're never going to see the person again because you're too young, live too far away, and know in the back of your head that given time you'd probably become quite annoyed by them. So she was rather good about things of that nature. But that doesn't mean that she wouldn't get naked and slip into an outdoor hot tub filled with cherry Jell-O in the dead of winter now does it.

    And that's exactly how Debbie met her end. Face down in a frozen, cherry Jell-O filled, hot tub. It's how the tub got filled with Jell-O that's the thing. You wouldn't have any interest in reading this story if it was simply about some poor girl that drowned. It's no different than some kids re-enacting Full Metal Jacket in the hallways of their school in some white, suburban enclave. You're glued to your TV because you think 'Oh my god! How could this happen? Why did this happen! Who's fault is it?!' wa, wa, fucking wa. Three hundred people get hacked to bits in their sleep in some village in North Africa and it gets a blurb in the news paper. But when something happens in the quiet confines of our perfect little world then it's a sure fire sign that chaos is about to break loose in the streets and Satan is possessing the kids. The only thing that it is a reflection of is our society's egomania. We figure we're so socially superior to everyone else that things of that nature should be uncommon. What we forget is that, like every great society, the barbarians will one day be at our gates and we will slip quietly into the confines of some coffee table book about ancient civilizations. And like those civilizations we were just as violently prolific as we were creative, ingenious, and compassionate. Because it all comes in a neat little package that has yet to be altered during our tenure on this rock. If you think I'm full of shit then you've just proved my point. Welcome to life in the blind man's utopia. Hope you're enjoying the ride.

    But that doesn't explain how a hot tub got filled with Jell-O. It's quite simply really. All it takes is for your parents to go out of town for two weeks, filling the hot tub with clean, boiling water, adding multiple packs of cherry Jell-O, and allowing the freezing affects of mother nature to run their course. The secret ingredient, of course, would be the eight large bottles of vodka that you also threw in. Presto! Instant drunksicle. So the next thing you do is decide to throw the biggest party of the year and invite the whole school. As the night progresses everyone munches on the Jell-O and gets really hammered. This leads to all kinds of strange events, including the part where someone dares Debbie Parks to get naked and jump into the hot tub filled with the Jell-O. She's very drunk by that point (of course) and ends up going in rather awkwardly and with some momentum. This causes her to hit her head, but she pops up just the same with a big smile on her face and everyone cheers. So Debbie starts munching on the stuff while she's in there and eventually everyone decides they're cold and goes back inside. Debbie remains in the hot tub. Then she starts to feel a little woozy. Maybe because she's drunk, maybe because she's got a concussion. The next thing you know she passes out, her body temperature has melted the Jell-O enough so that there's some liquid in there and her heads slips beneath the crystallized surface. Add two eggs, cook at 450į for one half hour, and you've got yourself one frozen dead girl Jell-O cake. Simple.

    About ten minutes later some guy who had wandered outside to relieve himself happened to notice that there was a naked girl in the middle of the party's booze supply. This was a bad omen as far as the revelries were concerned. It would definitely mark the end of the night's proceedings and our boy didn't want that to happen. There was a girl inside that he was convinced wanted to sleep with him. He was mistaken of course, and quite intoxicated, so he just went back inside and didn't mention the fact that Debbie Parks was frozen-dead within the icky confines of a hot tub filled with vodka laced cherry Jell-O. So Debbie's body remained there for twenty more minutes before it was discovered by two girls who had ventured out onto the back porch to smoke. And that's how Debbie Parks drowned in cherry Jell-O. Sad but true.

    At her funeral nobody knew what to make of her death. Her parents were the most distraught and confused, seeing as their little baby's booze soaked corpse had been pulled from a frozen tub of fruitiness. The youngsters of the town learned a valuable lesson that day as well. They realized that going too far was something that wasn't always a controlled experiment. There aren't any static factors when it comes to the unknown forces of what we dub 'fun'. After a certain critical mass is reached a whole set of volatile factors begin to alter the experiment. This leads to the creation of chaos and the loss of confidence. In a nut shell, it's an equation that can be applied to much more than just a girl drowning in cherry Jell-O. It's something that engulfs us all as time passes and makes fools of us without our knowing. And in the end we become so accustomed to seeing ourselves as fools that we think nothing of it.

3. MATTOPIA. Trouble Abounds In Wonderland.

    It was a year ago this month that I unveiled the utopian dream that was to be Mattopia. A roller coaster laden paradise whose citizens roamed freely in bikinis and Star Wars apparel, my island realm of the south Pacific was to become a homage to some of mankindís greatest achievements. Of course the most significant of these would have to be the roller coaster. Others included water slides, futuristic tree houses, and a sewage recycling facility that looked good on paper but bad in reality. I received thousands of applications for citizenship and poured through them all trying to weed out the undesirables. In the end I selected 1000 people in all to populate the island and an additional 266 went on the waiting list. Someone once asked me if I actually read all of the applications that I was sent. My answer was yes. To this day I have over 5000 of them in manila envelopes stored safely in secret vault somewhere in the wilderness that is my apartment.

    But that was then and this is now. Having attempted to put my plans into affect I came across certain obstacles that proved too much for me. The cost alone exceeded one hundred and twenty three million dollars. Then there were various problems concerning transportation to the island (due to the fact that I was unable to purchase the land that I had originally intended to). It seems the French have plans to do some nuclear testing on it so I was left with a choice. Move the location or wait a couple thousand years until it was inhabitable again. I chose to move. And thatís when things started to get complicated. No airline in the world would agree to fly to the island. The nearest landmass was too far away to accommodate small aircraft so I was forced to add an airfield to the islandís design. But following the failure of a last ditch bid to get Bengali Air to service the destination I was forced to face the fact that it would be impossible to fly citizens in. This left me with only one option: sea travel. The nearest major port from which a passenger ship could sail was over four days away. This then forced me to scrap the construction of the airport and begin constructing a docking area large enough to accommodate a ship of that size. True, the Mattopian naval docks had already been planned, but they were designed to be in a secured area that was off limits to international vessels. To make matters worse, I couldnít find any major cruise lines that would service the island. Like the airlines, they felt that it was too far out of their way. Due to the fact that Mattopia was only open to people with citizenship it wasnít considered to be a viable vacation destination. So I was screwed again. I briefly looked into buying my own ship until I realized how much it was going to cost. Leasing a ship would have been possible but without a decent return on itís use I would have no way to make the quarterly payments. So that was that.

    Near bankruptcy, and on the verge of a nervous breakdown, I was forced to scrap the entire thing. So now Iíve got this deserted island in a remote part of the south Pacific and nothing to show for it. I own the land outright, so I figured I might as well do something with it. And thatís when it came to me (in the shower, of course). So hereís what I did.

    I tore down everything that I had built to date and sold it off to various impoverished countries and international scrap merchants. I then hired the worldís best mini golf course architect and set him to work designing the most grueling 18 holes of miniature gold imaginable. Following that I had twelve small cabanas built, all of them equipped with modern fixtures, and linked them together with state of the art video phones. I then rented a plane, kidnapped 12 of the Dallas Cowgirls, flew to Los Angeles, got on a boat and sailed south west. When we arrived on the island I burned the boat, drugged and brainwashed the girls, and started living out my days playing continuous rounds of mini golf using one Cowgirl at a time as a caddy. Since my arrival on the island I have played continuously for three weeks, three days, and seven hours. My goal is to play until I either drop dead or score a perfect round. That means that I have to get a hole in one on each hole consecutively. The odds of that happening, knowing how difficult the course is, is somewhere in the neighborhood of 50,000 to 1. So thatís whatís happening. If you guys see me on tour in October then youíll know I pulled it off. If you donít then thereís a good chance that Iím dead and 12 Cowgirls are going to give birth to the first generation of a new super race. A race of people that will dominate miniature golf for the rest of human history.

4. That Whole Opium/Talking Animals Thing.

    It was in some rat infested flop house in Calcutta if my memory serves me correctly. I was lying in a dirty, sweat soaked bed, dimed on opium when there came a knock at the door. I was alone, of course, because the turn over in those places is rather unbelievable. So I got up and went over to see who it was. Now, itís not like I hadnít met talking animals before that night. There was that time in Shanghai when I had a four hour conversation with two mice and what appeared to be a badger. But I later convinced myself that it was all just a dream because it seemed strange to me that a badger would be on vacation in China with two mice. And then there was that time with Todd in Vegas when we were held captive by that porn star and those two strippers. They had a snake. And Iím pretty sure that it could talk. But there again I canít be 100% sure that it actually could. A lot of weird things happened that night and a talking snake wouldnít have been the weirdest. But on this occasion it was all very clear. I got out of bed, went over to the door, opened it, and stood there gazing down at a mongoose wearing a safari get up and tinted glasses. And thatís how I know it really happened. Because none of the other talking animals Iíve come across ever had luggage.

    His name was Basle. Basle Montcliff the Third. And he was passing through Calcutta on his way into South East Asia on a hunting expedition. Basle was a professional tracker and killer of snakes you see. The kind of expert that had spent a lifetime doing his job meticulously. Now Iíll admit that I had my doubts about the entire thing at first. After all, I was so high on opium at the time that my own mother could have come to the door and I probably wouldnít have recognized her. Then again, there was the off chance that the mongoose was my mother and my entire sense of universal good and evil had been messed with to such an extent that women were now from Mars and men from Venus. Who knows. Itís difficult to recall with any accuracy. The strangest thing about the incident, in my mind anyway, revolves around the fact that Basle seemed like the kind of fellow that commonly lodged at far better establishments than the one in which our conversation took place. His refinement dictated better surroundings. I, on the other hand, am at my best whilst doused with shit. So thatís how that one happened. Just a me and some mongoose held up in a dilapidated brothel somewhere in the growing gloom of the coming Indian night.

    There have been stranger times Iím told. Iíve been assured by some of my closer friends that, on occasion, I have indulged in far more perplexing behavior than speaking with animals. As one might suspect, I really have no recollection of such activities and can therefore not comment. But letís just say that Iím convinced that half of what they tell me is accurate and the other half is crap. But that doesnít mean to say that talking with animals is an irregular thing for me to do. Since my encounter with Basle I talk to them all the time. Like the night I spent in Hanoi with a tiger named Henbob and his elephant friend, Dalafoo. Excellent characters both. Dalafoo, for example, spent most of his life serving the indigenous mountain folk of the interior before escaping into the wilds. An elder statesman of the wilderness community in South East Asia, he was a survivor of both the French and American wars. Sadly, he was hit by a vegetable truck some months after our meeting and left lame. Henbob, in an attempt to save his friend from certain death, tried in vain to mount an animal offensive to rescue the ailing Dalafoo from the clutches of the poorly equipped Vietnamese Veterinarian Society. But alas, too little too late Iím afraid. Dalafoo died some weeks later leaving Henbob no choice but to attack some field workers out of frustration and face certain death at the hands of professional wild game hunters such as Mr. Montcliff. To everything turn, turn, turn, I suppose. Or whatever it is they say in that annoying song.

    So itís safe to say that it isnít the opium at all. That it is, rather, just something that I am able to do. Is it just coincidence that I am able to speak with animals whilst on opium? Maybe. But I firmly believe that if I were to give it up long enough to spend a handful of hours sober I would still have the ability, and privilege, of conversing with my animal friends. So let it be said now, and forever more, that it is not the opium that causes this ability. Rather, it is the ability that causes the opium. Therein lies the strange balancing act that is my life and the knowledge that not all things are as easily explained as VCR instructions.

5. Techniques For Faking Multiple Personality Disorders During Criminal Trials.

    Multiple homicide. Always annoying when it comes to that uncomfortable time between your arraignment and your trial. Itís during this particular stretch that most defendants begin to slip a little and those guilty feelings begin to surface. And letís face it, you damn well knew what you were doing so donít try to convince me otherwise. Theyíre gonna hook you up to a polygraph and get what they want so there ainít no point trying to polish up on your poker face. It may have been enough to convince all those college girls to help you look for your lost dog in the woods but it doesnít fly when it comes to Ďthe machineí. But donít panic just yet. Youíre still miles from the maximum wing and years from the big gas up. Thereís gonna be weeks of debating your mental state as it is, not to mention the fact that your lawyer will probably be able to fend off the District Attorney with promises of a full confession that youíll provide once theyíve agreed to cut a deal and let you do your time in a loony bin instead of a prison. If that fails then thereís always the chance that you could conveniently remember where you left some bodies or that there were actually more names on your kill sheet than originally thought. Such tactics are common place in these situations. Lawyers need to exhaust these options so it looks like they did their best before they come in and admit to you that youíre fucked and youíre gonna get shot up with enough wacky juice to light up a medium sized town. So this is where I come in. Iím the ray of sunshine in your otherwise abysmal and rotting inner hell. So relax and just do what I tell you to do and everything will be okay.

    Itís no secret that temporary insanity is the most widespread cause for juries doubting all sanity based cases these days. Temporary insanity is a contradiction in terms. To be insane temporarily is to admit that youíre actually sane most of the time. Who, in their right mind, is gonna believe that? Just look how that reads for Christ sakes: Ďyes I did gun down eight people in a fast food restaurant but I wasnít myself at the time because my dad didnít take me to ball games when I was a kid and my boss puts too much pressure on me so I snapped there for a second but I feel better now? Holy shit! You are fucking nuts. You can forget about any jury taking you seriously when it comes to weak ass defensive shit like that. Theyíll send you to the shit house simply because you thought they were stupid enough to buy it in the first place. But there is hope. And it comes disguised as many voices and a complicated mosaic of inner turmoil and struggle. Psychiatrists call this particular malady Ďmultiple personality disorderí. Welcome to the psychological land of milk and honey. All six of you.

    So Iím gonna walk you through this step by step. But itís important to remember some things while weíre going through this so you donít get ahead of yourself. First of all, Iím no shrink. Far from it. So donít blame me if you donít have what it takes to pull this off. Iím just giving you the background. Everything after that is up to you. Secondly, always remember to put your own personal spin on all of this. Youíll come to the realization that itís much easier to create your own alternate self than it is to use my examples directly. Then again, you might be a complete idiot in which case youíre probably screwed anyway so what can it hurt.

    As far as the actual disorder goes there are typically two or more different personalities involved. So, depending on your retention and standards of precision, youíll want to choose a number thatís right for you. Take this into account though. The two personalities thing is always weak. If you only have one alternate personality to fall back on itís not so easy to convince a jury that you had absolutely no control over your actions. Theoretically it shouldnít matter, but thereís something about the number Ď2í that just doesnít fly with juries. Maybe itís because they fail to realize that disassociation can occur quite easily no matter how many voices are yammering in your head. As far theyíre concerned in just doesnít make sense for one personality to be fully in control a part of the time and another to be in control the rest of the time. This is possible of course, but to a bunch of relatively sane people who most likely just want to see you fry itís a little sketchy. Thatís why youíll want to baffle them with a little bullshit. Two personalities can easily be diagnosed as Ďa split personalityí and thatís just not the game weíre playing here. So introduce another personality, or voice, into the mix and youíve got yourself a mediator of sorts. This represents an inner struggle between the Ďgoodí you and the Ďevilí you. Call it what you like, this third voice is your is the best way to confuse the issue by turning a half ass defensive grasp at straws into what appears to be a complex and quite involved medical condition. Once a jury is confronted with any aspect of confusion, such as the kind created by three independent personalities, youíll begin to realize that theyíre just as confused as you allegedly were when you went postal. And thatís the crucial element. Once they equate the complexity of that confusion with their own thought processes then youíre half way to home free.

    Unfortunately the other half of a winning strategy relies solely on your ability to perform. And by perform Iím inferring just that. You have to act the part to such a degree of precision and detail that there can be no loose ends. No prosecutor should be able to find holes in your performance. So let me make this painfully clear. If, at any time, you slip up and do something that might indicate that there are discrepancies in your portrayal of metal deficiency then thereís no getting the loony train back on the tracks. You are, for lack of a better phrase, completely and utterly fucked. It is immensely important that the appearance of your instability remains water tight. So after youíve decided on a strategy of your own, start living the part immediately. Donít wait until you get into the courtroom to start working all those newly devised inner voices. Donít even tell your lawyer what youíre doing. Itíll be better if they donít know. That way, when they come to talk to you, theyíll begin to see signs of your malady and will hopefully request a court appointed psychiatrist to come in and evaluate you. If you can convince a shrink then you can convince anyone. But before we continue letís clear something up right here and now. Itís highly unlikely that this particular method is going to get you off free and clear. A not guilty verdict just isnít in the cards when youíre slinging mental conditions like this around. The best you can hope for is a verdict of guilty by reason of insanity. Temporary insanity isnít going to show itself. If youíre going to try and convince a jury that you committed a horrific crime because there are a multitude of other people living in your gear box then thereís no way theyíre going to let you walk. So you should take some time now to decide what you want to do. Because if you are lucky enough to be sent to a mental institution for the criminally insane instead of death row then youíre going to have to feign this illness for many, many years to come. And, if there comes a time when they discover that you were bullshitting, then theyíll probably put you on an express elevator to hell so fast itíll make your head spin. You might be an evil genius, but itís a pretty big undertaking. So take a second and mull it over.

    The Faux Faces.

    If youíre still with me youíve obviously decided to stay with the program. Smart. This section is going to give you a little insight into how one goes about creating a believable faÁade. These are just examples, mind you, so remember that youíre going to want to create your own profile after youíve examined this one.

    For my profile I decided to go with five personalities. Little Johnny, Pete, Bob, Steve, and Omen-Damien. Using these five different personalities Iíll hopefully be able to provide you with a good example of how best to utilize this mental construct. But remember my warning. Youíre going to want to create characters of your own.

    Little Johnny: This is the part of your personality that represents you when you were a child. Maybe daddy beat you with a pipe wrench, maybe mommy locked you in the basement for the winter, I dunno. But thereís a better than even chance that you actually did suffer through some form of child abuse (or, according to those politically correct types, you wouldnít be in this mess in the first place). So all you do with this personality is slip into it when youíre being threatened. Try your best to act like youíre nine years old again and scared shitless. Crying can also come in handy. This is the personality that you use to evade any line of questioning that causes anxiety. Either this one or the violent one. Your choice.

    Pete: The trick to this personality is that it doesnít know there are other people living in your head. You think youíre sane and donít understand why all of this is happening to you. As far as youíre concerned you just woke up with blood all over your clothes and couldnít figure out where it came from. Get the picture?

    Bob: This is the irrational personality. Youíll most likely want to make it somewhat illogical, quick to violence, and impervious to physical posturing by others. This is the personality that likes physicality (such as rape, bludgeoning a victim, or dominating them in some overtly brutish way). If the whole thing (the trial, the questions, whatever) starts getting to you, you can always use this personality to strike back. Simply fly off the handle and attack the prosecutor. Thereís nothing better than being tackled to the ground as some maniac and coming up Pete. Works every time.

    Steve: Every psychotic killer needs their charming side. Charisma isnít always a given when it comes to criminals, but for some reason mass murderers seem to have a corner on the market. This is the personality that lures, persuades, temps, and baffles. It will show no sign of intent and will always come across as being almost too friendly. Of course, the goal of this personality is usually to slowly strangle their victims whilst listening to Barry White and drinking boxed wine. This personality can be useful and can be harmful. A killer yes, but always sexually motivated. Rape is out of the question, by the way. Steve is too good to stoop so low. Heís actually able to score before he gets to the killing part. Hence the term Ďlady killerí. Use Steve if thereís a female on the prosecutionís team. Itíll start to creep people out before long and will provide you will hours of endless fun.

    Omen-Damien: Those that possess a limited intellect dare not attempt to utilize this last personality in fear of making those of us that are evil geniuses look bad. This personality is the mastermind personality. This is the hidden voice that controls the vocal voices. Typically, this personality has constructed the others to provide a buffer between it and what it sees as Ďaccountabilityí. The problem with that, of course, is that itís still the same body committing the crime. But this personality doesnít much care about that. As far as itís concerned it was brilliant enough to get the others to do the dirty work. Whether it be Steve or Bob it doesnít really matter. On occasion Omen-Damien will pop up and do some of the dirty work himself, but only when the situation calls for something Ďartisticí. This is the personality youíll want to use to baffle people. Using big words and comparing murder to art is always a sure fire way to make the whole thing hit home. You can use this personality to call up the others if you like. But make sure itís the only one that has direct contact with them. The other four should not realize that theyíre a part of a much bigger picture. The only personality that Damien will not attempt to contact is Pete. Pete is off limits because heís useful in times of crisis. Itís always good to keep someone around that doesnít know anything and Omen-Damien realizes this. So use this personality as the mastermind behind the whole thing and see what happens. Shrinks will be trying to pull him out in an attempt to gain some insight into methodology and intent. Give them nothing! Trying to turn things back on others is always a good policy when it comes to the criminally genius. Make sure you never answer any question without being evasive and egomaniacal about the fact that you think everyone else is too stupid to trick you. Unless, that is, you are stupid enough to be tricked. If so, youíre done for.

    In Conclusion

    You might want to spend some time reading a variety of books about criminal insanity and psychological methods of discovery. You also might want to think about injuring yourself on a regular basis to re-enforce the fact that youíre nuts. Thereís nothing better than hitting your head against a wall for a while until blood is drawn to make others wonder if youíre going to try and bite their ears off. That said, I can only wish you the best of luck in your endeavor. Iím confident that youíll do just fine. Look at me. Iím living proof that it can work. Instead of spending the rest of my life in prison I get to spend it loaded up on drugs in a mental institution for the criminally insane. At least I get to be examined and interviewed by a whole bunch of sexy female grad students a couple times a year. Ahhh. Now doesnít that bring back some memoriesÖ

6. Trade Secrets Revealed.

    I knew that it would come up sooner than later, so I might as well give up the goods. Iíve received a lot of e-mails asking me what the passage on the front, back, and insert of the new CD says. Conveniently enough, theyíre all the same thing. So, for those of you that have been wondering, hereís what it saysÖ

    Öand the monkey flips the switch>you gotta hate this place thereís nothing to do at night just sharpen my 3 in 1 knife for those 2 victims and 200 potatoes for potato salad>poor is the man that relies on hearsay to bet on an imaginary horse>weíre slashing prices everything must go>call it what it is you call it what you want to itís all semantics>I am just a man and a stupid one at that for this I watch you sleep for this I am invisible they say the world is round but our four corners keep if flat of those 2 sides to every story one just generates more commercial dollars>so SHUT UP that big guy in the skyís talking through the schitzoís again and itís getting so it hurts so theyíre giving him up I heard and unto us everything>whyís everything gotta go like this>and the monkey flips the switchÖ

7. Going Out Standing Up. (A Request Fulfilled Against My Better Judgement).

    Not long ago I received an e-mail asking me to include some poetryí in the manifesto. You know, thereís isnít a word in the English language that I detest more than poetry. It just sounds so fucking gay. But thatís not to say that I wonít capitulate. Iíve always been a little apprehensive about including such works due to the fact that Iím not really a poet (and have never considered myself one). If anything, Iím guilty of simply jotting words down and revisiting them months or years later in an attempt to construct something useable. But since you asked so nicely Iím not going to be an asshole about it.

    The following blurbs then are from a variety of journals that Iíve kept on the road and at home between 1994-1998. To be democratic about the whole thing I decided to simply open a book up to a random page and wildly point at something. Whatever that Ďsomethingí turned out to be, I used. Furthermore, Iím not going to bother spending time applying the proper rules of Ďpoeticí grammar. Iíll just stick them in like they went down. For some fun Iíve also decided to include a little background on each of them (which will be endlessly amusing for me, if nothing else) Who knows, maybe youíll recognize some shit and realize that most of the time Iím just ripping myself off. So grab an air sickness bag and letís rock and roll.

    Rapturous Assassin

    This is definitely an older one because it was actually saved on a floppy disc. In my own personal chronology, the use of the floppy disk indicates that I did not have a computer of my own to save it on. Thus, it was definitely written before 1996. Most of the things that I jotted down onto a variety of disks during that time found their way into notebooks simply to ensure that they wouldnít be lost. This was one such security measure.

    Every time I forget
    I lie in state
    the thing that sent you
    the one inside you hate
    likes the darkening time
    and will let you pass
    if you humor it with the word
    God above likes hell enough I suppose
    if he alone recognizes it
    every time I forget
    I lie in state
    and thieves for me I pay
    their duty to fail at the foot of the stairs
    rapturous assassins all
    like butterflies in wet pavement
    stuck and fossilized under the noon sun
    it makes me forgetful of the suicide blueprint
    that like your heart never had a failsafe
    never could fine the time to liberate itself
    from the computer on your shoulders
    that eats binary lust like a locust
    every time I forget I lie in state for no nation
    rendered under a heaven that was never meant to be
    for a rapturous assassin whoís life is made of all the unending moments
    before the final freedom


    I wrote this at home one night after a lengthy conversation with one of my older friends about the past (specifically the New Years party we attended on December 31st 1989 and the hellish debacle that ensued). Four months later I would discover it while looking for something else and realized that I had some music that it would fit. The next day it became Giant.

    Shake me
    Iím waiting
    in your new ark theyíre saying
    Iím the creature in your sick thing
    Iím our future, whoring
    when the bad moon in your heart sings
    and your wind-up gears start grinding
    your teeth when youíre sleeping
    Iíll be here
    planning my escape

    Hit me
    Iím bleeding
    in your lounger
    on your grooming
    Iím captain of the wrong team
    when the bad moon in your heart sings
    and your wind-up gears start slipping
    you breathe while I dig
    the last few feet
    miles away


    I wrote this in the early hours of the morning after watching a film. For the life of me I canít remember what film it was.

    What men are we
    that do these things
    under the cover of cowardly darkness
    feeble to resist the temptation
    that of these hands was born newly broken
    and blamed on the blind manís son


    Of all the things Iíve thrown down while on the road, I remember this piece of crap the most. I wrote it while consuming crepes in Quebec City a day after playing a show there (to all of ten people). It was one of those things that you write when youíve come to the end of your rope and the only thing thatís keeping you going is the fact that you canít remember how to stop. From it came Everything Is Automatic and Invasion 1.

    Dropped off the face of the earth
    Bobby is my hero for that
    there is nothing more to say
    the gig is up
    and itís time to pay the piper
    thereís a kingdom of mice eating pied pie
    his flute they use to beat the children
    into the ground
    frozen from October through to May
    love is a summer thing
    and summerís gone away

    I have memories of being somewhere with poor reception
    and a pool with a three foot deep end
    easy to go off
    the mice swim casually and drink lite beer
    life is like a station wagon that will never know a port
    this karma machine only takes quarters
    new age soldier

    Dropped off the face of the earth
    down a hole where Bobby has a shack
    with the mice and the kids and the Grinchís antler dog
    nightmares of Yukon Cornelius, Silver and Gold
    this ceiling has no paper moon
    the mice have got a hold of Mein Kampf
    and Bobby is worried
    I miss my TV, my lazy boy

    Dropped off the face of the earth
    I fucked it up
    so if Iím done here then let me sleep
    even for just a little while
    in peace


    This, like numerous things that I throw down and never look at again, was written while looking out of a bus window at whatever countryside was consuming us at the time. You can only play video games, listen to music, and sleep for so long until you have to find something else to pass the time. Since reading in a moving vehicle makes me sick, I just stare out the window and write. Sometimes, when I look down, I like what I see. Other times all I find is ĎIím a fuzzy bunnyí repeated two hundred times. Maybe I should try it in the daylight and see what happens.

    There is nothing here of worth
    worth protecting
    worth defending with that impossible life
    just a dereliction of duty
    since the bright lights of the delivery room
    split your eyes to your brain box
    years later you still have the same headache
    as used to it as you may be
    it never goes away
    maybe even when you do the big fade out
    walking through equations of whyís and hexes
    sober for the first time
    a watcher waiting for a bank to built
    so you can take it down
    and in the perfection of that seamless transaction
    of bullet promise tension and one hour seconds
    you think you recognize yourself
    lying on the floor, bleeding from the head
    strangely your headache is gone
    along with the hammer man in your guts
    the guilty impatience and tense years of pacing heart beats
    there is nothing there of worth
    no currencies save the frivolous necessities
    and while youíre standing around looking at all of this
    for the first time, for the last of that first
    the immortals eat the key to the safe
    and youíre fucked


    One of the worst things about thinking is that, most of the time, you either record it so you can reflect on how much of an idiot you were at the time or you donít bother and run the risk of losing it forever. Therefore, one must be prepared at all times to drag their ass out of bed and write something down haphazardly in the dark. This, along with many others, was conceived half asleep and intermingled with thoughts of enjoying ice cold milk.

    Kept thing
    keep the weapons warm
    the monster I am
    the monster I planned
    has lost control
    this art of reduction
    seems easier now that Iím cold
    so secretly devised itís my outsides
    and to ourselves an alibi of sorts
    that none should be like this
    that werenít so before it was certain
    that there was enough to destroy for charityís sake
    in place of them

    Near Fantastica

    A song that was written in 1996, Near Fantastica is a cross between Suburbia (musically) and Every Name Is My Name (vocally). Itís popped up now and again over the years (as itís a favorite of mine) but it never found a niche on any of our records so itís never been recorded. You never know though.

    The pink pills are for your sanity
    we are buried in the earth because we canít beat gravity
    and you are still here because youíre an important part of the computer
    you are still here because you couldnít bring yourself to pull the trigger
    I am your fuzzy bear
    picture everyone in their underwear
    I am your fuzzy bear
    picture everyone
    down in the valley where no one ever sleeps
    someone is having a yard sale and man those wings are cheap
    you could get away
    I think itís time you took a holiday
    I am the only one who cares
    and I will always be right here
    near fantastica

    Dream the dream of your attrition
    we have no name for your condition
    we will be needing you for a little while longer
    you are an important part of the computer
    after this mission we will let you go
    after this mission we will help you to forget everything you know
    I am your fuzzy bear
    picture everyone breathing real air
    I am your fuzzy bear
    picture everyone
    down in the valley where the lambs grow into sheep
    someone is saying something thatís sinking because itís too deep
    but you could get away
    I think itís time you took a holiday
    I am the only one who cares
    and I will always be right here
    near fantastica


    The forgotten verse of some song I was working on a couple of years ago. I always liked the last couple of lines so I never got rid of it.

    Made a man out of me
    a killing machine
    your babyís gonna die ma
    your babyís coming home
    you know, they put a man on the moon
    simply to prove
    that we all need some place to go
    where weíre not known


    I wrote this initially as an encore number that I could perform by myself. Unfortunately, I wrote it in an open tuning on a guitar with three missing strings and thatís just too much of a hassle.

    Bet dark
    fake smile and wave
    Iím guessing that youíre not the same
    and there it is
    sometimes you get one right
    maybe enough to last you for your whole life

    The man I walk as is the man I hate
    a fire coal, the prize fighter mold, if the bull is gold
    I donít know, but there it is
    Iíve seen you fall, Iíve seen you break
    I held your head when the world was sold and calmed the coma
    calmed the coma
    cause all there is
    is reliance

    Our trick savior
    my black monkey heart
    I concede the second part
    and there it is

    Shouldíve Been A Super Villain

    The lost track from Underdogs, I wrote this song in England when we were mixing the record. About a week before we were finished Warne asked me if I wanted to record it. Due to the fact that we were pressed for time I decided against it.

    Iím ready for tomorrow
    the wormís turned for today
    sell the kids to K-Mart
    and give yourself away
    shouldíve been a super villain
    live up to your game
    a pilot for the parasites
    running through your veins
    a cool for our connection
    a savage for your saint
    mileage for the missionary you sent us that we ate
    a coma in our camouflage
    every second that you wait
    is every second that you ainít

    Iím ready for the break out
    the wormís turned for today
    take the space between us and kill it off some way
    shouldíve been a super villain
    live up to your game
    spin it for the regret
    and go out just the same
    sleep with eyes of diamond
    dream of mining in your brain
    if peace can feel so strange

    I donít feel any different
    I donít see any difference
    miles all around you
    maybe you should break and run

    My Life As A Circus Clown

    Ah, hereís a treat. Iím glad I landed on this one (and not only because I had forgotten that the handwritten copy located within the book in front of me is the original). This is a song that I wrote way back in 1995. Like Near Fantastica, it too has come up on numerous occasions (the most recent of which was during the demos for Beautiful Midnight). We recorded a version of this song in the fall of 1998 and were quite weirded out by it. The chorus was cool but the verses sounded as if Frank Zappa had been hired to write the theme music for Circus Vargas. I intend to release this song, along with a few others, on a b-sides disk entitled ĎLoser Anthemsí sometime next year (if theyíll let me). The song itself is about my life with a certain girl a long, long time ago. Itís rare for me to capture personal shit in songs with exacting measure. Usually I like to throw up some smoke and mirrors. But this oneís oddly clear. And I like it because of that.

    The lights go down
    the knife man sleeps
    and I wonder where you are
    trapped inside a burning mini
    and I wonder where you are
    you never used a safety net
    I never thought that far ahead
    I wonder if you think of me
    while I wonder where you are

    The new girl does your show at eight
    and I wonder where you are
    the human cannon hesitates
    and I wonder where you are
    if you can make me disappear a little
    can you make me disappear a lot
    well I wonder if you think of me
    while I wonder if youíre not

    The lights go down
    the knife man dreams
    of missing

    Well, thatís enough psyche-warfare for now I figure. Thereís stuff in some of these books that I havenít looked at in years. Itís kind of strange to flip through them and wonder what the hell I was thinking at the time. Do you ever get the feeling that youíre constantly repeating yourself using slightly different terminology? Like youíve spent your whole life eating Apple Jacks for breakfast only to discover that your parents replaced them with granola and the entire time you thought you were eating a cool cereal. Lifeís funny like that sometimes. If you slip up with yourself Iíve got some wool for your eyes. And if youíve managed to keep it together all this time then youíre a liar. Either way, Iím still going to have to ignore the fact that Iím inherently redundant. That way everything remains somewhat undiscovered and reachable. Long across a great body of water awaits some unknown paradise that should never be found. So why donít we suit up and go ruin it for ourselves. Iíll row. Thanks for the year.