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It is now Mother's day. I had taken my Mother to the Wildwood boardwalk over this weekend to celebrate Mothers Day with her and of course what she wanted to do is literally the complete opposite of what I would want to do.
It's my mom though. So I acquiesce.
I go to the boardwalk this weekend. I only spent one day in the sun. One day. Maybe ten hours give or take. Saturday; so yesterday. Well in the ten hours of me being out there; Im so fuggin pale; that I caught second degree burns on my arms and a little on my face. I thought it was wind burn cuz it wasn't exactly the nicest day. Nope. Despite the wind and the cold I got sunburn. I had lip gloss that was like 45 spf; I should have spread it around my arms and face. Now I look crazy. Can't move my arms. Had to cancel a Manhattan trip (to shoot a video); and I'm hungry but I can't find my credit card.
On top of that I'm finding a lot of horrible attitudes lately. Open hostility. Racism. Sexism. Weird accusations of racism and sexism from simple disagreements. When did everyone's new idea of winning in life start with demeaning and utterly dismissing someone else in distress? Picking mistakes out. Just grinding down people's self esteem. Does that really make you feel better? Maybe it does. It doesn't make me feel better.


Has anyone played assassin's creed Valhalla? What a long game. Utterly ridiculous. I'm one of those psychos that HAS to complete everything in a game.....but this is just tedious....damn sunburn...

My newest escapade runs me down to Wildwood; NJ. I was asked to accompany my Mom and keep an eye on her. She's a Trump supporter. He is supposed to talk today on the beach.
I don't support him. I don't support the other one either. I am an outside entity here for neutral observation. I really don't focus on politics at all anymore. I just want us all to enjoy whatever time we have left.
The boardwalk is stuffed with people. So many red hats and shirts you would think it's the national convention of Bloods. Lots of north eastern accents. I think the NJ/NYC accent is one of the harshest, nastiest, accents to ever exist.
Lots of USA chants. Lots of older people. I stick out pretty badly here. Lol. Let's hope i survive. I think he speaks at around 5. I got an ice cream cone with sprinkles. I love sprinkles. Someone is playing guitar and drums.
Screw the speaking engagement. My father showed up....so why am I even here? There's lots to do on the boardwalk though. I can people watch, listen to this makeshift band, eat ice cream, and listen to some more visual kei. I only know of X Japan and hadn't ventured out in the genre to listen to more of it until now. I'm thinking with visual kei; either I love the band I'm listening to or I can't stand it, with no middle ground.
Wildwood; NJ. Lots of hotels. Lots of boardwalk. You can go and not spend too much though. I would say you can survive a day here with 20 dollars. 50 dollars and you can have a pretty good time. Is it goth? No. Darkly inclined? No. For any alt people at all? Maybe. If you like boardwalks then of course. Arcades. Mini golf. Amusement rides. Bars. Games of chance. All that good stuff.
But it's still stuffed with normies. :( .

I stepped off the Path at 9th and turned right to Broadway. I then walk north to 14th. I do this all the time. I don't know why I have to do it. I just do. 14th and Broadway would be my cut off. I never venture north of 14th anymore. That's where "they" might be. 14th is amazing anyway. Over the years I've seen many many stores, even some iconic ones, open and close, reminding me that sentimentality in this city is meant to be acknowledged ruthlessly and quickly hushed. Today is the 7th of May. A particularly beautiful day that even I; who is so partial to grey skies and rain; concede.
First stop is Thrift NYC. Right now, instability has ruined many bank accounts and stifled many spending habits. Frugality is the new black. Thrift NYC doesn't have cheap clothes mind you. A T-shirt will steal a twenty off you. The reason I still shop in Manhattan is because a T-shirt also costs twenty dollars everywhere else. I know this isn't exactly true but lets run with it for sake of the authors lack of reason. As best I can explain it; I just do.
I picked out a Junji Ito shirt. A true diamond in the thrift shop. I only shop for black t-shirts obviously and the sheer amount of black t-shirts this place has, could probably clothe; and I swear this; my best estimate: 14 people. lol. You thought more?
A fuckin Junji Ito black t-shirt brand new! Has luck finally decided to come check me out for the first time in my life?....NO....
There's a Gracie Jiu-Jitsu place that opened up across the street. I know a professional fighter. He could beat me to death relatively easily,, in fact he's actually my workout partner. We are an odd couple (we're not a couple). Making fun of me for being so goth is a past time of his; and I love it. I'm a very very patient person. I don't get angry easily and most times if I am angry it's probably a front because I'm hurt. Words meant to mock me or get a rise out of me tend to be funny or stupid, and get no reaction. However; I did end up with all the other feelings set to high; except anger and testosterone; which isn't a feeling I know; but I also run low on that naturally. I'm medicated for the testosterone......what the fuck am I talking about?
Halloween NYC!!!! One of my fav stores in the city. Mannequins dressed as psychotic clown baby killers. Mannequins dressed as weird hybrid Satan Santa's. I might have a few on my Instagram reel ( lol. you like how I plugged my IG...how cringe.) Really it's just to show that these things are real and you can go visit them in NYC. It also carries fangs. Real ones. They're cheap as shit, but not cheap like party city cheap, I mean they're fairly priced legit fangs. The girl that works there was wearing them and she was showing me how to mix the cement stuff to stick it to your teeth; and she looked great with them.
My ex-gf was at Search and Destroy. Search and Destroy is this Punk store thats been on St.Marks forever. I wrote this huge thing on the history of punk and the East Village but erased it cuz who gives a shit.
My ex-gf was at Search and Destroy with her bf. They're cute. I wished them well. I stay amicable with people I dated (unless they rob me or something), and I'm very happy to see her with someone who is decent. She cheated on him with me around nine months ago. I hope she doesn't tell him. I'm certainly not. Before you judge me; she hadn't told me until after; and I didn't continue pursuing it any further. Am I wrong for that? maybe. Patches are 9 dollars. A fucking patch???!!!!
I strolled down to Christopher and I'm watching couples. Love must be in the air around here. I think that's my cue to leave. It's hot anyway and I can feel my inner diva starting to stir.
Beautiful night on the train. The hum of the car on the tracks soothes me like a glass of red wine. The night time trains are always filled with drunk younger people. Sometimes they're very funny. Sometimes not so much. Sometimes they throw up on the floor of the aisle of the train. The seventh of May was such a night.
I was gagging on the smell of vomit for twenty minutes until the night air hugged me stepping off the steel whale.
9 dollars a fucking patch.

COMMENTS

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Cadrewolf2
06:17 May 09 2024

wow excellent descriptions, except the smell of vomit, but great words

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POST COMMENT

The Blackfoot. We live on rough stretches of land strewn haphazardly across the plains. Or we used to. My family was taken to Alaska when my father was a boy. The problem with that is were not Athabascan; and Alaska is filled with them; and not us. Not my tribe. I'm not full blooded (thankfully) as my mother met my father as a peace corps rep when she was in college. They met on the reservation. I was born there. If I were full blooded I probably would have stayed. I'm thankful I didn't and am damn grateful for my Irish blood.
I never loved Alaska as a kid. I loved NYC though. And when we moved there from Alaska I was ready and willing to grow up very quickly. I grew and I forgot my cousins and uncles; aunts; other grandparents; who languished away on that fucking reservation. As I grew my blonde hair turned very dark; my once blue eyes now a grey with tiny touches of brown in it. I looked more like my people. my broken people. When I formally became a man at 18 I decided it was time to go back. Just to visit; of course.
Tramps like myself don't go through life without starting problems every place we go. Even when we mean the best. Going through this much death. So much death; that in my youth I just couldn't help but sneer and spit. Be angry. Damning everything and everyone in sight. Even love; as wild and fulfilling as it is; didn't ever slow down the ache. Alaska is a great place to go wild in. If you ever feel like disassociating fully with reality then just go off on your own in Alaska for a couple days. I did that; and the worm consumed the boy.
My people are broken. My grandfather has drank himself blind. My uncle has glaucoma that he never took care of....also near blind. My aunt did too much cocaine and is a ward of the state; the drugs triggered schizophrenia. Her husband; my other uncle (Blackfoot as well), smashed his motorcycle into a tree and now has the brain of a 4 year old. It seems like my father only inherited the "dickhead" part of addiction, and not any actual habitual drug use. He IS extremely fat though.
So I meander along. Hopefully letting one or two people know that I've been knee deep in shitty despair as well. Just here to help or lend an ear. My penance; my burden; my broken people.

It's night. It's hot. It's slightly annoying. Lets talk about something. What should I talk about? Lets see. Talk to them about Manhattan. Tell them something fun.

I am twelve years old and I am scared. No one will talk to me because I don't really want to talk to them. I don't really like them. I like black. I like blood. I like night. I like screeches and cobwebs and witches. I like watching the older college kids in Washington square. My mom and dad work a lot and want me to experience things on my own. I grew up reading a lot of books and not going outside much. All I wanted to do was read. And I only wanted to read about things I liked. I liked black. blood. night. I thought suffering was an oddly curious thing. I read books with those things in them. My mom thought I needed friends. It's not healthy knowing no one my age. She says that when her and dad are working that my brother is going to stay at grandmas but I am now to go and find myself some fun in the city. I like that idea.
No one my age talks to me. But I don't talk to them. I'm in Washington Square and there they are finally. What I had been searching for. With their porcelain skin and huge black hair. With their tattoos and spikes. And look at the girls. All lace and red lips. Black dresses and huge boots. I don't have any of those clothes. In fact I have khakis on....and I am embarrassed. I pinch my cheeks with my teeth and keep my eyes down as I try to approach the group of them.
"What the fuck do you want kid?" his voice was velvet smooth and sexy and I just looked at his boots. He had these black boots (pre Demonia days) that were like motorcycle boots with chains on them. I had never seen anything like it. They were the coolest things I had ever seen. His boots gave way to the tightest black jeans. Zippers, spikes, and chains adorned him like he was Hell's own personal christmas tree. He couldn't have been more than 150 pounds, all sinewy muscle and lithe thin, a face defined with sharp edges and hair that was so long it was longer than my moms. I wanted him. At least I think I did. Did I want him though? No that's not exactly true.
"I want to be like you."
Little did I know just what these young adults were into. The "If I had Known Then" argument. I didn't know though. I found out within a few months. I followed them blindly as sort of their "mascot" for a long time. Years. When they had graduated college I was in high school. When some of them were to be married I was graduating. I even dated one or two, which was particularly terrifying when I was so immature and they were not.
But years turned into a decade which became two. I drifted off and moved away. Came back and moved again. Until the tides took me all over the country. Some stayed in the culture and even now I'm still their adopted son. The wild one comes home every so often and I'll still ask them to dress up and come out; to accompany me to whatever awful fest or concert; goth night in some club hours away......and they still do. They're in their 50's now.
Someone asked me what "this" looks like when we all get old. It looks pretty fucking good. If we all could be so lucky.