Life List: Common Pheasant

I’ve surely seen these before, in a zoo collection filling out a mixed flock of more exotic poultry.  The common pheasant is what you think of when you hear “pheasant” – green head, white ring neck, weird red lappets on the face around their eyes, spots and stripes in a motley of earth tones, long sweeping tail.  That’s the male, females more drab as usual.  I don’t remember a specific instance of seeing them alive.  They’re not from here, introduced as they were around the world.  There’s a different introduced species of fowl one sees far more often, despite it being more showy and likely having smaller numbers globally: peafowl.

Pheasants were put on this continent to shoot.  Whatever, colonizers.  Now they’re here, out in fields, doing whatever it is that a chickenish wild creature does.  I can only remember seeing them in the wild one time.  It was some kind of game farm, or game farm adjacent plot of land where the unwise go to look at birds.  On the way in, we passed a ditch with a pile of dead birds, submerged in yellowish murky water.

At first I thought they were hawks.  It was hard to make out individual details, but they were stripey and not too small.  My brother was with me and considered calling the authorities – killing hawks is not allowed, right?  But we figured it out.  Shot for the sake of shooting, and left to rot.

I don’t get the pleasure of killing.  Seems like the behavior of sick creeps.  One might point out that predatory animals get a pass, right?  It’s how they live.  Alright, but their behavior does little to dissuade me from the idea that hunters are sick creeps.  The most intelligent predatory animals are legendary for their cruelty – for playing with their food.  Cannibalism, particularly of cubs, is widespread within Carnivora.

The conduct of white hunters in particular is doing their reputation no favors.  Every time you look up a hoofed animal no matter how tiny, meatless, or rare, you will see a white man posing next to a dead one.  I swear, I saw a pic of a mouse deer where the proud hunter was posing over it with the tiny peashooter he had used.  Famous politicians who hunt have also been puppy murderers, or blast from helicopters, or use assault rifles.  Losers.  Get a spear and put your ass on the line like a real hunter.

But I do eat meat, and when the soup goes down, you will see me hunting as well.  You will not see me making a game of it or smiling.  I guess it’s no big deal if it ain’t endangered species.  You’re not doing anything a dog wouldn’t do, and we’re all supposed to like dogs, right?  Fine.  I’m not going to say no.  Especially since you assholes killed all the wolves and somebody has to keep the deer numbers down.

But pheasants.  They look alright.  And they probably taste like chicken.

–

The Lowest White Person

I recently had an injudicious rant about racism, chiefly that against latinx immigrants in the united snakes, and the very day after I composed that, I ran into a living example of the old LBJ quote “If you can convince the lowest white man he’s better than the best colored man, he won’t notice you’re picking his pocket.  Hell, give him somebody to look down on, and he’ll empty his pockets for you.”  OK, not the entire quote, just the phrase “the lowest white man.”

At the same bus stop where I once met a friendly narcoleptic dude, on another hot shitty day, there were two random things of note.  On the bench, a very well-groomed man was reading a tablet.  I took him for Middle Eastern but he could have been from anywhere medium-toned, as far as I can tell.  The other thing of note, a girly purple backpack sitting in the street, where the bus would be pulling in.

When you see an unattended bag, you might reflect on post 9-11 warnings about explosives.  It did cross my mind; was a bomber sitting in a car with tinted windows nearby, waiting for a crowded bus to pull into view before hitting the remote control switch?  Not likely.  I decided it was randomly dropped there by a drunk or high homeless woman.

Coming down the hill from the overpass, I saw two white people approaching.  The lady could have been conventionally attractive at that distance – thin, tan, whatever.  But a healthy person would have no reason to be in the neighborhood of that overpass.  I knew they were unhoused.

They reached the bus stop and she went straight for the backpack, adding it to the bags she was already hauling.  Up close, she was hard-lined, had a few witch warts, and had the expression of a pit bull that had eaten too many babies and was now bored with the experience.  She had pissed her pants, the wet area centered on the crotch was the size of a dinner plate.  This made enough of an impression I didn’t clock as many details in the man she was with.  He also had too much sun on his skin and was hauling a backpack or two.

They made their way to an empty stretch of parking lot nearby, to rifle through their stuff and make sketchy plans, then hobbled back to the bus stop.  I was listening to my headphones, but lifted them just long enough to fit the N95 over my face – the bus was arriving soon.  In that one little moment, I heard the lady say a racist slur against Mexicans I haven’t heard in years.

Man, I do not thank Satan often enough that I have the privilege of not being around nazis every day.  Thanks, Satan.

Was she referring to the well-groomed guy?  Some other random people she had encountered in her miserable day?  Didn’t matter to me.  I was just thinking, this slang term is based on a sense of disgust, yes?  How can a person living at the outer limits of what normies find disgusting devote her hard-won life energies to feeling disgust for anyone else?  Does that shit help?  Personally, the more I become disgusting to normies, the more convinced I am that disgust is not a value I want to base my own perceptions and judgments upon.

Lady, I get that every day of your life is hateful and desperate.  Everything you own is stolen by your fellow homeless people about as often as you steal everything another homeless person owns from them.  Pleasures are thin on the ground and largely poisonous; pains are constant.  Nobody loves you; I’m sure you don’t love yourself.  But still.  I wish you didn’t let that own your mind, change the way you treat others.  Shit’s a fucken mess.

–

Life List, Supplemental: Chill Geese

Every damn time I see this post’s title in my queue I think “grilled cheese?  What did I want to write about grilled cheese?”  It’s chill geese.  Chill geese, I swear!

I had to go on a long journey by bus and by hoof, on a hot shitty day.  I despise summer profoundly.  There were a few nicer stretches, though I didn’t have time to enjoy them.  The apartment complexes on 1st Ave had shade trees and grass near the road, which were a good environment for canada geese.

There were a few small flocks on this day.  I wondered that they might be mixed flocks because some of the geese were much smaller than the tallest adults, but I realized they had just recently come into adult plumage.  Stray bits of down stuck to the surface of those feathers like they’d been caught in a dandelion’s orgasm.  The white and black on their head weren’t quite 100% contrast yet.

Geese have a big rep for hostility and violence, but I’ve never experienced it myself.  The ones closest to the sidewalk, closest to me, were the youngest – of whom you’d think the largest ones would feel protective.  Nobody threatened me.  They all looked very peaceful and sweet.  I could have busted a professional wrasslin’ move and collected a goose dinner, but they felt no danger from me.  They got my number.

I just love beautiful animals, even if they muck up the sidewalk.  They looked so pleasant, like this was paradise, despite the proximity to the asphalt and speeding cars.  I look one way I can see the endless train of people going places, the other and it’s goose elysium.

Thanks, geese.

–

Kein Mensch ist Illegal

It’s easy when an issue is outside your direct experience to see it more broadly, to feel its impact less personally.  I dunno, these words are excuses for the fact that while I was always on the better side of the issue of immigration, I wasn’t passionate about it.  Recent events have changed that, which is good.  Of course, it feels bad.

My husband had a boyfriend once who was racist against Mexicans, and when that came out, my dude didn’t even process it at first.  How can you hate those guys with the oompa music and straw cowboy hats?  What did they do to you, rat-faced little creep?  I had a friend who emerged from the methed-out trailer park to become an itinerant goth queen, very cool, but one time she likewise exposed a racism against Mexicans that shocked me.  I imagine she has moved and improved since then.  Unlike my husband’s shitbird ex, my goth friend had decent values in the broad sense, was amenable to change.  And I did understand what was happening to call it out when I saw it, so she had a learning opportunity.

Now where are we?  I’m on the phone at my day job, full time talking to the breadth of amuriKKKa about the difficulties of obtaining and maintaining benefits of various social programs.  I had a front row seat to the effects of rethuglican propaganda, as late 2023 through the whole of 2024, there was a significant increase in the number of fools randomly blaming “the illegals” for the barriers they were experiencing.  Motherfuckers, those barriers were set in place by racists like you, who are convinced with zero evidence that there are a zillion little brown people getting buckets of welfare cash.  You are literally voting to make life harder for yourselves.  They did, and now my rate of fucked-up tragic phone calls where I can’t do anything to help a person has increased, because of this shit.  Cause and effect.

I’ve carefully come close to saying exactly that a few times, and the response from xenophobes is a surly nuh-uh, or silence, or whatever.  Doesn’t matter.  What’s really making them mad is that we can’t explicitly make a whites only pass for welfare programs.  When the revolution comes (if shit comes to that) I will shoot these people in the face.

The mobilization of the genocide machine has begun.  Of course it’s starting with immigrants.  Saw a comment at Mano’s that “people will die because of this situation.”  I regret to inform you they are certainly dying already, and had been under Biden and Obama as well.  It’s just going to get worse now.

Talk about “the illegals” has never been about the rule of law, or protecting your people, or whatever they imagined.  It’s the seed of mass murder.  Zero tolerance for that talk wherever you encounter it.  Fuck the motherfuckers.

Let us stay furious, block the bastards, be as proactive as we can be, protect those who need protection, and not sleep on a single instance of this ongoing horror.  I say that but I know it’s already too late for a full account of the fallen.  So many of those ghosts will never be named.

No more ghosts, no more genocide.  Fuck the USA.

–

Dreamposting: Annihilation

Been having apocalyptic dreams again lately.  A while ago I had a dream that alien colonizers had annihilated nature and enslaved all of humanity.  Was it conventional slavery or some kind of mind control?  I no longer remember, but I do remember it was at a preposterously cosmic scale – stars being arranged in rows.  I was in a spaceship, but I don’t recall if I was planning some suicidal resistance gesture or just trying to survive for a few minutes.

The newer dream was more of a supernatural apocalypse.  The entire world had corroded away under something like a super fungus, including rocks, earth, water, all physical substance.  Left in its stead was a sloppy approximation of the annihilated world, populated by sad and confused ghosts that were trying to convince themselves that there was still some kind of concrete reality that they could live in and depend on.

I was in a room where part of the floor had corroded away, and people were discussing what could be done to repair it.  I knew that was futile, that the place was on the verge of dissolving forever, but I let them have their plans.  Is it better to have a false hope or a hopeless truth?  It probably depends on the situation, but my dream self was leaning toward the former.

–

Does Bébé Want to Fvck Glenn Danzig?

This article is patently facetious.  Of course it’s problematic – imagine such an article written by some bro about a woman and that is apparent – and of course the person in question is a real and entire-ass human being with thoughts and feelings beyond his public persona, and of course he is to all appearances not interested in getting with fat middle-aged queers, and this fat middle-aged queer is married and also not interested in getting with people who are not interested in getting with them.  Proceeding with these facts in the back of the mind…

There are important questions we must ask of ourselves in this life, to prepare for all eventualities and exigencies, no matter how unlikely.  Given the outsized presence the music and persona of Glenn Danzig have in my life, one may reasonably assume I am a fan.  And as a fan, that I might come into contact with the old man in some way, someday.  And if that should happen, would I want to fuck Glenn Danzig?

Consider, if you will, the appeal.  Danzig is a blues man, part of the long tradition of howlin’ about your supernatural sexual prowess and affinity for death and the devil.  Said Bo Diddley, “I walk 47 miles of barbed wire, I use a cobra snake for a necktie, I got a brand new house on the roadside Made from rattlesnake hide. I got a brand new chimney made on top, Made out of a human skull. Now come on take a walk with me Arlene, And tell me who do you love?”  Said Glenn Danzig, “Come wrap my love in your house of ice, Melt you down more than once or twice, Make you shake till worlds align, See your body tremble with the blood of fire.”

Danzig is buff.  I used to draw musclemans when I was a child, inspired by toys and images in cartoons.  That was the body of the cool and powerful.  Once upon a time, comic nerds strongly favored Glenn to play Wolverine.  The fact he is short was a note in favor – comics canon Wolverine is short and thick.  But I lost interest in muscles, especially the more I realized I wanted to get with men.  Some bi people want mans to be buff and womans to be soft, but I’m more like, everybody be soft now.  Still, it doesn’t necessarily repulse me, as long as they’re not popping every vein like they do on muscle magazines.

The main thing is the Dark Sexual Majesty.  Brooding intense guy will own you body and soul with his grand satanic gifts.  Get destroyed and do so gladly, to experience and to serve a lust more powerful than god.  Realistically, no way he’s that good at fucking.  People get a limited number of talents and he’s already got his share before the bedroom door is opened.  The idea, however, can itself serve as foreplay – prime one to enjoy something more than they otherwise would.

This image is ripe for mockery.  Some rude indie comix nerds made arguably homophobic hay with Henry & Glenn Forever, a series featuring Glenn and Henry Rollins as gay lovers.  Reportedly Mr. Danzig is not amused.  I hope this article, should it find his attention (do not bring it to his attention plz), does not hit him the same way.

Would I mock his arch-macho posture?  Never.  Maybe a wee bit.  Let’s talk about that bassist from Hole, Melissa Auf der Maur.  She bought the act, and cut an extremely cringe-inducing duet with him.  The plot is about how cowboy bad boy Glenn shot her dad, but she’s cool with it, because he’s too sexy.  Like The Quick and The Dead, if Sharon Stone gave up on vengeance and boned Gene Hackman instead.  Does Melissa always sing like that, or was she trying to play the role of a pubescent girl?  Glenn played the part fine, if the part existing in the first place could be considered fine, but I dunt know what in tarnation Melissa was doing there.

So it works!  I could suspend my disbelief for it.  What other considerations are there?

Age.  He is now seventy years old – about my father’s age.  Looks a bit like Donald Rumsfeld with a facelift and chronic depression.  But I’m feeling my age and have always been cool with much older partners, so no prob there.  He once had a song about how he doesn’t want anybody to bar his entry to the afterlife when he’s “tired of being alive.”  Let’s hope he isn’t tired yet.

Height.  Some guys are smol, and try to make up for it by getting swole.  The bodybuilding can’t help but look napoleonic, as did his practice of escrima.  This seems Italian to me.  Glenn is Italian as hell, despite stagenaming himself after a place in Poland.  In college I had two professors of visible Italian heritage with Italian-ass Italian surnames.  One looked more northern, with the gold blond hair and impish lil’ napoleon face.  The other looked more southern, dark skinned and prominently schnozzed.  Cute fellas, but tiny.  Didn’t see them pounding HGH flintstones chewables, but different people get by in different ways.  This doesn’t bother me.  Nonetheless, his old drummer Chuck Biscuits could probably chuck him for distance, and it looks like that bothers him.

Erotica.  Glenn puts his erotic imagination into the world for all of us to see.  Part of the blues thing, but he goes farther.  Weird stuff.  He wore black vinyl kitty claws for one music video, a gimp suit for another.  Didn’t he have a video where he drooled on a lady, like we were supposed to think that was hot?  I think he did.  It’s been a minute.  This is all fine.  Sex nerds are fine.

But he also publishes erotic comic books.  I dunno if he has written or done art for any, but he publishes them.  This led to a wacky situation in my life.  Early in my relationship with my husband, he and his mother felt the need to get me christmas gifts that I’d enjoy, something personal to me, even tho there’s not many material things I want at all.  They knew I liked Danzig, so they got me Danzig things.  My husband crocheted me a Glenn amigurumi that was truly epic, while his mom just bought seemingly random shit from his online stores.

That included two comics, one being a Devilman translation / reprint, and the other being a kinda disgusting erotic comic.  The dudes all had summer sausage schlongs and no balls.  I get it; people who aren’t attracted to men often think of balls as disgusting, but their absence was felt.  My mother in law is christian.  She did not look at these gifts before wrapping them, and I did not show them to her after I opened them up.  (holy hell he actually made a movie out of that foolery, looks terrible)

High school Bébé wasn’t over the “musclemans is cool” thing yet, and bought his image.  Long black hair, elvis sideburns, and giant meat titties.  What’s not to love?  I sometimes drew rpg characters to look like that.  The songs can still work for me.  Dude is a very good songwriter.  The Misfits without him were such a bad joke that they found jeezis.  Disturbing.  But yeah.  I was totally into Danzig, at the same time I was going big for grunge.  There was room in my heart for earnest heroin boys and meaty satanic posers alike.  I contains multitudes that I would be down to fuck.

And where am I now?  If I accidentally’d into the boudoir of His Satanic Majesty?  Yeah, I’d hit that.  But I’d probably end up on top.

–

I keed, I keed!  Is joak, da?  By the way, If the title of this post made you remember something from Blue Velvet, congratulations and apologies.  Have a nice day.

–

RP by Comment 00008

I will never be able to justify the number of zeroes in front of that number in the title.  This is a bonus post; see the adjacent articles for the regularly scheduled content.  You can still join this RP by comment, open for two more players.  Catch up from the beginning here, or whatever.  This is an “urban fantasy” in an earth-like world.  The characters are students at the equivalent of a community college, for the usual reasons a person might end up there instead of a more prestigious school.  What are you doing here?  What’s your major, something mundane or something adventurous?

~Previous~ 🏵️ ~~~

At Magic Boots, the party was certainly going to burn through the night.  Yes, the prudish human conquerors of The City of Romance had set a two o’clock closing time, but the hearty revelers had literally inhuman stamina, and would simply take the party out into the streets when the bouncers shuffled them through the doors.

It felt like everybody in the building had, at some point, danced with everybody else.  Some debauched characters found dark corners to do a bit more than dance.  What sort of biz might your guy have gotten up to, and with whom?  One of the crew, or a mysterious third party altogether?  Or more than one of the above?

What of the Cortellire Hall freshmen?  Div and Racker were the biggest party animals, in their own distinct ways.  Div took the club for its intended purpose, sharing erotic energy with the masses, experiencing the release of reckless dance, drink, and drug.  Racker partook of his share, but was also getting into other kinds of hijinks, making the bouncers mad and always disappearing before the hammer came down.  At one point he surfed across the dance floor balanced on a folded “wet floor” caution sign, at another he took over the DJ booth and played a bunch of sexual groans and bellows from a soundboard.

The meatheads Tollison, Liu-gon, Markud, and Grundr all had good times and bad – one minute making time with a promising fella, the next finding out it was bad news, the next minute onto another.  Grundr was easy to lose track of at his height.  The tallest meathead was Humuk, which meant he was the easiest to keep an eye out for – and this was good, because he seemed the most out of his depth.  Still, his muscles helped.  He could hold his own when the bawdy got too ardent for his experience level.  He’d find out about himself at his own pace, tho that pace would surely be accelerated by the night’s foolishness.

Josh and Keires were the easiest to lose in the crowd and it was hard to see how they were doing, tho at some point after midnight, Keires used his elemental powers to dance above the crowd’s heads – a spectacle they appreciated.  Ilenka and Kaldonia likewise became hard to see, shorter than the main run of manly dancers.

But trouble was brewing.  The freshmen kept catching haughty looks and threatening body language from a large clique of guys.  A few wore garments or accessories that gave away the source of their solidarity – they were from The University of Romance.  Mostly human and well-off, they seemed to regard the community college kids as a contemptible vulgarian freak show.  The freshmen were holding their own, not letting the insult get out of hand, but as two o’clock drew nigh, it was harder by the minute.

~Previous~ 🏵️ ~~~

Brainjackin: Silent Hill Good

I’m no kind of gamer.  I usually just watch other people play, and have since long before yewchoob “let’s play” videos were a thing.  When you first get to know somebody in a relationship, you share your interests with each other, and this was one my husband shared with me early on.  Silent Hill 4 had just come out a few years before we got together, and he still had a lot affection for that series of horror video games.  This would quickly sour, to the point that he refuses to look at anything related to the well-received remakes that are starting to happen.

So I’ve played a few.  I played one through three and part of four.  Four reached a point where it was too difficult for me, and I just gave up.  Those who are familiar will know exactly when.  But up until that moment?  It was a great time.  No complaints.  Up until SH, I had only extensively played Super Mario games on snes, Sonic 1-3+Knuckles and Eternal Champions on sega, and Soul Reaver.  Bits and bobs of other things, but nothing to prepare me for playing a video game of atmospheric horror.  (I had watched a homeboy play The Dark Eye on PC once.)

Silent Hill 1 was on ps1, and the graphics would not be acceptable to most gamers now.  Horror gamers are a different matter.  Indie horror has delved deep into retro graphics, some specifically aiming to emulate the graphic restrictions of the old playstation.  It’s a strange kind of impressionism, well deployed by this video game.  There were certainly a few games back then that made better use of the constrained art form than SH1 had, but looks ain’t everything.  Taken as a complete experience, it deserved its legendary status.

I just have affection for the characters.  Maybe that was because of my dude’s fandom rubbing off on me, but the blocky pixelated protagonist Harry was swell.  He wanted to rescue his lost little girl, just being a good dad, but without the macho BS american bros would have put into the performance, or the mucus-dripping tearfest they’d have put on a lady protagonist.  The monsters were unearthly and disturbing in part because the graphics were so lo-fi.

There was a shitty British SH game called Shattered Memories that rewrote the events of SH1 to have Harry be a bad dad.  Fuck that shit a lot, especially because it has become such a played-out trope of “psychological horror” by now.  Harry was the goodest boy.  Like the Evil Dead series of films, where I’m a freak for preferring the first one, I am an outlier in enjoying SH1 the most.

Silent Hill 2 is the game that introduced the iconic Mr. Pyramidheadington of the West Gloucestershire Pyramidheadingtons.  Almost every game after SH4 stood in the shadow of that creation, or some beefed up steroidal version of it.  Nonetheless, he was very cool in that historic moment.  While I prefer SH1, I have to admit the writing approach used on this one was just superior.  The first game leaned into arcane lore and sideplots that meant nothing to the point of the game.  This one focused on one character’s tragic personal experience.  The former approach is a very common weakness of Japanese media, the latter is just a bit of common sense that is often forgotten in the field of video games everywhere.  Big movies about complicated historic events like the World Wars focus on singular characters because it makes more emotionally resonant art.

It was a great game, although some parts dragged for me, and I did feel invested in the family story that was left behind to focus on the new protagonist, famous James.  It was more elegant and powerful than the first game, but less evocative and slightly less fun for me, personally.

Silent Hill 3 is the most empowering game in the franchise.  Empowerment is the antithesis of horror, so it could come off less scary, but it also perfected use of the PS2’s graphic abilities.  Animated textures impressed, and overall there was more chiaroscuro and a rich juicy look to the horror – without getting tacky.  All of the games bore some influence of the art of Francis Bacon, but this one used that influence the best.

SH3 had the missing daughter from the first game as a cool teenage girl, ably swingin’ various weapons at shimmering monsters, and having amusingly awkward conversations with members of her deceased original mom’s cult.  Was the game actually easier, or did it just feel like it?

Silent Hill 4 is so different it has been suggested (confirmed?) to be a different product altogether, randomly given a Silent Hill makeover two-thirds of the way through the production cycle.  Weirdly, that was a very good thing.  The Silent Hill paint made the art cooler, this game’s lore made the Silent Hill setting richer, and this game’s play made the franchise fresher.  I enjoyed the part I was capable of playing well enough that I don’t rate it too poorly for being unfinishable.  The main monsters of this game are ghosts.  Fucking awesome ghosts, I tell you whut.

Some long years of insulting abuse of the brand happened – terrible games made by far-flung third party companies, fucking slot machines…  My husband’s hope for any possibility of good coming from the franchise is now long gone, but just before it was gone completely, we went to see the Silent Hill movie directed by Christophe Gans.  At one particular violent moment, a guy in the audience said “oh hell naw!,” which amused.

There were good people working on that movie doing good things, but the bad kept grating on my dude until he decided he hated it.  C’est la vie.  The worst person involved had to be the screenwriter, who co-wrote the legendary screenplay for Pulp Fiction, but at this point was just a few years shy of drunk-ass vehicular manslaughtering a guy, and lifted the cheesiest line in The Crow.  (No way in fuck the bum got it from where The Crow got it, Vanity Fair.)  I agree; that shit sucked.

I wouldn’t have experienced any of that if it wasn’t for my husband.  When we met, I was more unplugged from video games than ever.  I was spending much more of my time on art and TTRPG bullshit.  I appreciate the introduction.  Silent Hill good.

–

Fascism is Misogynist First

You can imagine a fascism without misogyny.  Many have, especially misogynist fiction writers in the 20th century – see the alien world where men have been enslaved by vixens in silver lamé.  Leaving aside that frivolous example and just daydreaming, you can see it, right?  Not from Shitler.  Maybe his sidekick, Couchfuck McBeardnazi, could in some world in some way be totally respectful to women, keep them close in his counsel in the tower of Mordor, march arm in arm with them to burn and oppress.  In practice, it never happens.  Misogyny is a first principle of fascism, in spirit and deed if not always in word.  As it happens, we also have it in word here.

As primary caregivers under patriarchy, women are primary authority figures over children.  To keep peace, rule one for the unruly kinder is “be nice to each other.”  Don’t hit people, think about their feelings.  Basic liberalism born of practicality.  To forge a brave new world without mercy, where violence can be wielded without restraint by the cool sexy stormtroopers, we must first remove the authority of anyone who would tell you to play nice.  We must chain mom to the house and beat her if she dares to speak.

Maybe that’s it?  Maybe not.  I’m sure you can find dozens of essays from antifascists like Umberto explaining the principle, or even writing from fascists telling on themselves.  I wonder if, in some unrealized golden future where all prejudices and bases of oppression are falling away one by one, misogyny may be the last one to fall.  Far more than racism, antisemitism, transphobia, etc, it has traitors within the oppressed group lining up to enforce its agenda.  Misogynist women are the fucking pits.  Not that there aren’t racist members of oppressed races, antisemitic jewish people, and transphobic trans people, because there are.  It just seems like a worse issue with women’s rights.

I haven’t been perfect on feminism by any means, especially the deeper you go into my foolish past (pre-blogging), and am not trying to pose like a saint of the practice.  Just pointing some shit out.  The real meaning of “woke” is “maintaining awareness of oppression, especially for self-defense.”  I want the world to wake up to the insidious omnipresence of misogyny and do some real shit about it.  We persist in our fascist coma.  Big sigh.

–

Discolology: Nirvana II

This is the second part of my track by track review of Nirvana’s discography.  See the first here.

According to Kurt’s letter, he didn’t feel like writing or performing music, hated it, and thought that faking it was a disservice to the fans.  That’s interesting he felt any obligation to us at all.  We didn’t know him; he didn’t know us.  What does an artist owe to the people who consume their art?  How does that math change if the artist is toiling in obscurity like our FtB writing man William Brinkman, versus selling platinum records?

I don’t know.  Certainly no artist owes anybody their life.

–

Incesticide (1992)

When I reviewed the discography of The Dead Milkmen, I had to omit a dozen self-released tapes, to avoid spending a year on the subject.  Likewise, with Nirvana I chose to not even look at most singles and compilations.  Big exception made for this one.  I didn’t even know it was a compilation.  To me, this was the album in between Nevermind and In Utero.

It makes sense that Incesticide was a compilation.  It is, overall, weaker than the other albums, and has more cover songs.  Even so, I listened to this one a hell of a lot, way more than Unplugged.  When my oldest niece was somewhere between one and two years, she used to “dance” to this album by running in circles in my bedroom.  She called it “The Ducky Song” because we flipped the CD insert rubber ducky side out.

That young lady went through a lot of hell, and was a conservative christian last time I looked.  I hope she isn’t hurting anyone, and I hope she’s OK.

Classics

***** “Been A Son” returns to the unintentional trans undertones from “Negative Creep.”  This one could be read transmasc or transfemme, tho leans hard toward the former.  “She should have stood out in a crowd, she should have made her mother proud, she should have… been a son.”  Well, what if she turned out to be a son?  Wouldn’t that be just as shitty of an experience for the child in question?  In the transfemme version, the song isn’t misgendering our heroine.  She shouldn’t have become a daughter, she should have remained a son, right?  Neither of these interpretations was remotely intended.  It’s a basic early ’90s male feminist track, and that’s cool.  Thanks for trying to be a good boy, Kurt.  Still, if anybody wants to feel trans about this song, nobody’s going to stop you.

***** A Devo cover, in my grunge album?  It’s more likely than you think.  “Turnaround” somehow totally works with the Nirvana treatment.  I never would have guessed this was a Devo song in a million years, as much as I might have guessed it was a cover, eventually.  I never did guess -I found out- but it is unusual enough that I might have.

***** “Molly’s Lips” is the second of three cover songs in a row on this album, and they’re all bangers.  After Devo we get two songs written by The Vaselines, this and the next.  The Vaselines are like, how do I say this?, dark twee.  They are excellent songwriters.  Their original songs are brilliant, but like I always say about a well-written tune, they cover well.  Nirvana made these rock, and that rules.  Similar theme to “Sliver” (see Good Stuff below), but the druggy teenager version?  I don’t know if it’s romantic or infantile or diseased.  Cool.

***** “Son Of A Gun” is romantic with no trace of darkness in sight.  Nirvana deserved to have at least one song like that, even if it had to be a cover.  Again, The Vaselines low key improved by making it rock.

***** I have a feeling many of you have never heard “Aneurysm,” the last track on this album.  It is one of Nirvana’s best.  I wonder if I can find a good cover…  How about these very sweaty dudes?  I think they’re Indonesian.  The laziness fits the spirit of the song well, the way he just doesn’t bother with bits when he’s taking a breather.

Good Stuff

**** “Dive” ain’t the power kickoff of “Smells Like Teen Spirit” or “Blew,” but it is a really good song, and sets the mood for this album.  It’s a compilation album, yes, but it hangs together extremely well.  This song kinda manages expectations.  You know it’s not going to be an album of big bops or aggressive speed, more of a fuzzy grind to soothe your grungely spirits.

**** “Sliver” is like my big poasts about childhood bullshit; it is an acknowledgement of the sickly confusion and social bondage that all human larva must experience.  It feels like Kurt’s take on a Vaselines song (see Classics).

**** I have no idea what “Stain” is about, but it rocks well.  “He never bleeds and he never fucks” reminds me of “I don’t piss I don’t shit” from a Dead Milkmen track, but has no relation, I’m sure.

*** “(New Wave) Polly” just speeds up “Polly” and amps the drums.  Like the original, I recognize this is a very good song, but don’t enjoy it as well as I could have.  Give me themes of self-destruction, not destruction of another.

***** “Downer” has some ingratitude toward god, which I always appreciate, and includes the lyric “don’t feel guilty masturbatin’,” which is also agreeable.  Cranky little teenage man of a song, but excellent.

***** “Hairspray Queen” don’t make a lick of sense and may well be even more diseased than “Mexican Seafood.”  I fucking love it.  A favorite.

**** I don’t know what “Big Long Now” is about, if anything, but it feels important, miserably soulful.  Well placed near the end of the album, and right before an epic rocker – “Aneurysm” (see Classics above).

Filler

***** “Beeswax” is pure nonsense, pukey delivery, good rock.  I like it a lot.

**** “Mexican Seafood” is probably a racist title by intent, pukey delivery, and a sicker flavor of rock than its fellows in mid-album ignominy.  “It only hurts when I pee, It only hurts when I sing.”  Mexican seafood is pretty cool actually.  Maybe Kurt always got his from the worst gagwagon in Tijuana.  Still, it’s a fun song.

*** “Aero Zeppelin” ain’t bad at all.  The album benefits from this trip downtempo, still I can’t help but rate it less than the rockity rock.

Garbage

Nothing!  No garbage.

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In Utero (1993)

Part of what made Kurt’s death so shocking and disappointing was that this album was fucking amazing, and that was it.  No more.  That’s a venal thing.  Of course it was a terrible thing for the usual, human reasons.  One cannot help but wonder, as good as this was, what could Kurt have achieved with a full life?  I wonder that, but more I just feel bad that another victim of depression lost that fight.  It’s personal for me; lot of at-risk people in my vicinity.  Also, his death happened when I was seventeen, so I went through the stages, y’know.

Classics

***** “Scentless Apprentice” did not feature Kurt in a writing credit, but these lyrics really feel like his.  Maybe he just wanted his name off of it for some reason.  Had to be some sour experience with the process, or just that artist’s temperament.  The pounding drums, the ill lyrics.  This could also provoke trans feels of a non-biney nature, despite the he/him pronouns – “he was born senseless and sexless.”

***** If you had MTV at the last gasp of its withered worth, you remember the video for “Heart-Shaped Box.”  Epic song, strong visual art.  One of a number of songs on the album sharing the theme of human reproduction as corrupt and diseased, as a biological process that embodies exploitation and abuse.  Is that cool with you?  One could take it as misogynist, but that would be facile.

***** “Frances Farmer Will Have Her Revenge on Seattle” introduced me to the story of that young actress who was railroaded into confinement and mistreatment in the psychiatric system.  I saw a small part of a biopic about her randomly on AMC one night, had to do some chore or go somewhere before it was over.  Anyway, “She’ll come back as fire to burn all the liars, leave a blanket of ash on the ground.”

***** “Dumb” is one of those alternative songs that refer to inhalant abuse as heavenly.  “My heart is broke, but I have some glue.  Help me inhale, mend it with you.  We’ll float around, hang out on clouds…”  Compare to The Dead Milkmen’s “Would you like to come and sniff some glue?  We’ll fly to where the skies are blue.”  This reminds me of an article I read in a Seattle weekly newspaper about gas huffing from a former huffer.  It reminds me there was a second-string alternative band in the 1990s called Gas Huffer.  It reminds me of how I heard street kids in the Philippines huff rubber cement, and how I heard there was a documentary about the plight of indigenous people in Canada that included a scene of reservation kids huffing and screaming about how they want to die.  It reminds me of selling a homeless dude a can of compressed air when I worked at walmart, and how I watched him take turns with his friend going into the bathroom to inhale.  My husband used to sit at the lunch table with boys who went from gas station to gas station huffing until they got kicked out, then going to the next down the block.  Reminds me of my old home boy Try-Anything-Once-Todd doing a game where you make yourself pass out, how he collapsed like death and his sinuses instantly drained.  I’ve never done these things, but I feel this song.  It’s beautiful, even if it’s up to no good.

***** “Very Ape” fucking rules.  It does have Kurt being snotty about fame, which is a bad look for rock stars, but the rocking is so good.

***** “Milk It” might be my favorite song by Nirvana.  I don’t know.  It again hits the theme of biological relations as corrupt and nightmarish.  But, y’know, “DOLL STEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAK, TEST MEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAT.  Look on the bright side is suicide, lost eyesight I’m on your side, Angel left wing right wing broken wing, Lack of iron and/or sleeping, Protector of the kennel, Ectoplasma ectoskeletal, Obituary birthday YOUR SCENT IS STILL IN MY PLACE OF RECOVERY!”

There is probably a beautiful and amazing cover of this song, but instead check out this sweaty freak.  He’s a really good dancer.  I recommend keeping a hand on the volume slider for when he starts singing.  In fairness, his vocals might be less yikes with good mixing.

***** “Tourette’s” opens with one of the dudes (Krist?) saying “moderate rock” in a pharmacy DJ kind of voice, before erupting into bargling pandemonium.  Great shit.  I don’t understand one word of it.

***** “All Apologies” is the last song of the last album, really.  You probably know the “MTV Unplugged” version better.  A gentle groan, an emotional crescendo, a goodbye vibe.  Completely classic.

Good Stuff

**** “Serve the Servants” is the opening track and it’s excellent, but this album’s strongest songs don’t do it any favors, in one to one comparison.  A lot of great lines, and you can actually understand them, so that’s cool.  One in particular could be the theme of the album: “Teenage angst has paid off well; now I’m bored and old.”  But, y’know, in a best-album-of-all-time kind of way.

*** I don’t love “Rape Me” because of the subject matter.  I know; I go in for other edgy content he sings, so why not this?  I don’t know.  I recognize it’s a strong song, just can’t rate it better.

*** “Pennyroyal Tea” is folk abortion medicine.  This is a first person song about giving yourself an abortion, and seems to be judgmental against our heroine.  Or is it?  I dunno.  Feels preachy in a way that is successfully uninteresting to me.  But I recognize it’s a very good tune; YMMV.

***** “Radio Friendly Unit Shifter” is a great fast-paced rocker from late in the album.  Really shows off Kurt’s mastery of using guitar like a necromancer.  “What is wrong with me?,” he asks.  In the middle of this hard rock, he makes me sad.

Filler & Garbage

Nothing.  No filler!  No garbage!  This album is too good.

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MTV Unplugged in New York (1994)

I have never been any kind of fan of live music, so I avoided this one – except for the tracks you can’t get elsewhere, the covers.  I don’t mind the rest of the album at all.  Maybe it’s the motherfucking MTV branding that pushes me away.  I don’t like that shit, or the fact this was released a few months after Kurt died.  Feels scummy.  But it is essential listening.

Classics

***** “Jesus Doesn’t Want Me for a Sunbeam” is a Vaselines cover, bringing the Nirvana’s Vaselines cover total to three.  Big influence for Mr. Cobain, it seems.  The original of this song has bitter gay energy that lends it power Kurt doesn’t quite possess, but it’s still a very worthy cover of a great song.  It’s what it says on the package.  Jesus doesn’t like me.  Fuck him.

**** “Dumb” is a great song.  This version is alright, but I ding it a star.  Some people like the off-kilter fragility of live tracks like this.  It can work on me, in the right mood, but usually I prefer the original version.

***** “Plateau” is the first of three Meat Puppets covers in a row on this album, and they had a genuine Meat Puppet or two on hand for the performance.  None of these are better than the original songs, but if you want Kurt’s voice, accept no substitute.  The Meat Puppets were clearly a huge influence on him.  Check them out if you like Nirvana.  The bands have much more in common than Nirvana has with the other big grunge names.

***** “Oh Me” is my favorite of these three Meat Traxx.  Just desolate.  Perfect sadness.

***** “Lake of Fire” is the showiest of the three Meat Traxx, with fancy guitar licks and an edgy, ambling, witch-house spirit like a Fleischer cartoon about hell.  If the abrahamic faiths are right about the afterlife, the world is even shittier than it looks from our current and deeply shitty vantage point.

***** “All Apologies” is bringing up the end here like it did on In Utero.  Did they do the standard concert fakeout where they leave the stage then come back for one last song?  I don’t remember, not looking it up, just noting there’s one more song after this on the album, tho this one was played with a note of finality.  The frailty works well on this track.

***** “Where Did You Sleep Last Night” is what they call a standard – a song with no clear origin, tho the earliest known recording is likely by Lead Belly.  An essential Nirvana track, only available on this fuckin’ MTV branded album.  Get haunted tho.

Good Stuff

**** “About a Girl” leads off the album, which is cool, because more casuals got to become acquainted with the song.  You know Cibo Matto did a cover of this?  The Japanese accent is intense on it, haha.  Anyway, original Bleach version still the best.

**** “The Man Who Sold the World” is a David Bowie cover.  Kurt said, “I will fuck this up,” then he did, but it was alright.  It’s a good performance but worse than the original.  Still, if you prefer Nirvana to David Bowie, you win here.

*** I don’t like “Pennyroyal Tea.”  The arrangement on the live version works well for the song but still, it’s not for me.  I recognize the qualities others may appreciate more than I do, so it’s on Good Stuff list.

Filler

*** “Come as You Are” does nothing to improve the Nevermind version, feels like it’s just here because it’s one of their classics.

*** “Polly” likewise, and I didn’t love the original.

*** “On a Plain” likewise.

**** “Something in the Way” is a song about being broke down and sad as hell, so a live performance is a good way to communicate the feeling.  More than that, this gets props for not being any kind of hit, just being something they included because they wanted to.  Artists know what’s important in their material.  Still, I’m not sure it works for everyone.

Garbage

Nothing!  No garbage!  Everything I’ve ever heard from Nirvana was at least good, if not great.

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I wonder why, in reviewing the works of Nirvana track by track, that I found less fault than I had with the worse tracks of The Dead Milkmen.  Perhaps it’s because the punk rock novelty act of the latter just opens them up to more failure – something ventured something lost, bravery is sometimes rewarded with booboos.  Nirvana, as out there as they may have seemed compared to mainstream rock circa 1991, were still making music that was about the music, not about the lyrics.  I rate the few Nirvana songs with shitty lyrics (that I could understand lol) more highly than DMm songs with the same weakness, because the music was the larger part of the experience.

Even adjusting for that, it’s interesting to be reminded that yeah, I really love this band.  Nirvana was great.  Kurt didn’t have to be a genius to have a beautiful voice and a beautiful guitar style.  Might not be the beauty most seek, but if it works for you, it really works for you.  You don’t have to say requiescat in pace because there’s no afterlife, but you feel the need to say something.  We loved you, dude.  Good night, again, from a million unthinkable ridiculous years in the future.

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