I know it's rough out there, but for those in the biz, here's a new freelance writing opportunity. Good luck, all.

Hey, no one died today, least not nobody I felt like Googling (or as we used to say in the 90s, "Jeevesing"). This is merely a notice to say I found a full-length copy of a film I've been curious about for some time, a no-budget French gorefest called Ogroff, The Mad Mutilator (click the link for a cogent explanation of facts via the Bleeding Skull fellas). It's a cheap amateur job at best, but makes for  truly subversive environmental stimulation ... maybe if you spoke French it would make more (or possibly less) sense.

It's available thanks to a YouTuber calling hisself GoodOldeDaze ... there's plenty of nuthin' up there, including the absolutely wonderful American Gothic (Yvonne DeCarlo, Rod Steiger and Michael Pollard as a murderous backwoods family and a good surprise ending, again, click the link if you need more encouragement). This one I can heartily recommend, that is, if you're still reading ... those with horror interests should sit down for it, things get very weird here.





As for all else, I feel refreshed by summer and ready to tackle my windmills again. Cover art for BSH-003 is at the printer, vinyl pressing plants have been alerted, website prepared for extreme overhaul, and the outside doesn't feel so outside anymore.

PS. Should have also mentioned Mausoleum, which I've been waiting to see since a juicy Fangoria puff piece back in 1983. Features two of my heroes, Marjoe Gortner and LaWanda Page in service to full-on absurdity. Thanks again, GoodOldeDaze, whoever you are.

Seems like I never post anymore unless someone dies, and usually someone I've never met. Whatever, dude ... Bob Welch's suicide inspired me to seek out some awkward-stage Fleetwood Mac, and some of it is beautiful. So here we are.

The mass murder that occurred in a Seattle cafe yesterday took place somewhere I am very familiar with ... The End Times played many times at Cafe Racer circa 2007/2008, I lived nearby in the Greenlake neighborhood and it was a convenient stop any time I was walking to Scarecrow Video or the music store next door. I do not know the victims, nor could I claim to be a regular in the same way they were, but the events disturb me deeply regardless. Racer is indeed a warm, welcoming space, and as many others have said, the last place you'd expect sudden violence to erupt. I experienced many triumphs as well as minor agonies there, and to have this happen somewhere so important to my own past development is jarring.

My sympathies to the friends/family of the victims and the employees/management of Cafe Racer, who now have the overwhelming task of carrying on. I suppose there's nothing left to say. I feel numb and alone.

Goodnight, Donna. The On The Radio compilation LP was a favorite of mine circa age 13 ... I still have my original copy (plus poster). Probably haven't spun it since the 1980s, but I can recall every note to this day. That is all.

I extend apologies to anyone I owe correspondence to ... I feel very uncommunicative these days, and actually, let me amend this sentence without deleting and re-keying, I do not apologize for the state I'm in or my behavior, just the results, because this is just the way it is, I am here as I am right now with these particular blocks and hang-ups and what else? I do not know, but to Kris, Pat, Tim and others, I simply cannot communicate in a traditional manner thus far in 2012. My writer's block is deep enough that even the most basic one-line email response feels beyond me (never mind my more lofty designs, which currently languish in hopes of inspiration) ... I fight even through this paragraph, some kind of blanket apology to those it may apply to (you can decide for yourself if you fit this category), in hopes that more productive personal missives will surface in days to come, hopefully as a result of this exercise in blowing out cognitive cobwebs (and descriptives of such caliber). No?

I have wholly ignored Facebook for about two months now, and the change has been refreshing. I can't articulate what it is that feels discordant and dissociative about living that fully online, for so many years it felt freeing and seemed to add to rather than sap my real-world energies, but right now, no. I can't know or share daily moments in real time as I used to, they actually make me feel lonely and disconnected rather than engaged. So many people I have loved who I cannot be with in real time, constantly updating me with the minutia of lives I cannot take part in ... it's addicting in the true sense of the word, creating desperate cravings that can never know satisfaction, and my separation had to be severe. I'll be logging on again soon to take stock and evaluate future Facebook needs (I'll likely continue monitoring various band sites via a proxy), but even that final act feels oppressive.

As I mentioned in my previous, clumsily poetic entry, the Spring months of Michigan are upon us and the air is beautiful. My batteries quietly charge as long as I don't watch the levels rise. Discussions about future Great Tribulation experiments are underway, I return even tonight to Backseat to continue work on a handful of new End Times tracks, and spontaneous visits to friends in the flesh no longer confound or conflict. I stagger upwards.

It is inexplicably summer in Michigan, within days the air went from balmy to boastful and I fear there won't be much of a spring this year. The middle months can be so aggressive, but as of March 22 we know cool, damp mornings and optimistic afternoons, it's all too beautiful to regard the moist bite of sweaty air that swims past while the sun peaks as the harbinger of extremity that it most surely is. I pledge to breathe as much of the outside as I can ...