The jazz underground has always been associated with Black people and drugs even from its early days in the 1920’s.
The drug back then was mostly marijuana which was widely demonized back then because it was mostly used by Blacks and Hispanics. Whites who used it were more or less White niggers or wiggers so to speak.
The Pot Makes You Violent Bullshit
My Mom has believed this garbage her whole life. She keeps bringing it up. She got infected with this propaganda way back as a girl. This shows how strong propaganda is and how it has the potential to override all reason.
This is where the myth the crazed psychotic violent pot crazed murdering maniac comes from – the fact that most pot users were either city Blacks or low-skilled Mexican workers. These people were considered to be violent types – and they are more violent than Whites. They also used pot, so it was assumed that the pot and violence went together except that it didn’t and if anything it probably calmed them down.
There were also a few notorious cases in which unstable pot smokers went wild and committed some savage murders. The relationship of pot with these cases is unknown but back then, few people smoked pot, but one thing was for sure – almost all criminals, even White criminals, smoked pot. In fact it was seen as a drug of criminals which is why a lot of people didn’t want to use it.
The completely serious movie (now a so bad it’s great movie) Reefer Madness is emblematic of the anti-pot propaganda of the time.
A man named Henry J. Anslinger headed the Drug Enforcement Agency back then, and he had some sort of a hard-on for pot for some crazy reason. He led the anti-pot campaign in the US for many years starting in the 1930’s. He was more of a brainwashed (and racist) fool than anything else, but he damaged the lives of a lot of innocent pot smokers.
Of course anyone who has smoked pot knows that it calms you down. I knew Jack Herrer, a famous post activist.
He told me that when he was in jail and prison, prisoners who smoked pot always calmed down a lot and became less aggressive and violent. He said some of the wardens even turned a blind eye to pot use for his reason. In fact, the passivity that this drug causes is one of its biggest problems, as people get lost in their bong hits and become apathetic as the world passes them by.
This amotivational syndrome is mostly an issue for teenagers and young adults and it is quite common among young potheads. However, I have hardly ever met an adult past age 23 who had amotivational syndrome, as most even very heavy pot-smokers develop the work ethic needed to survive in our society by that age.
Teenagers and young adults are notoriously apathetic and poorly motivated as it is, since they have not yet been beaten over the head with the Reality Stick of Life. Encapsulate such a young person in a perennial cloud of pot smoke, and it just makes the laziness and lack of guidance, direction, and purpose typical of this age group all the worse.
Anyway, the jazz scene lingered in mostly Black and rather sleazy nightclubs in ghettos where nevertheless a lot of lowlife White types who lived my sort of lifestyle liked to go to slum it up on weekends. White men have been slumming it up forever. There is a cool element to it as long as you do not get too taken in by it.
Ghetto Drugs and Non-Ghetto Drugs
Cocaine and heroin were also pretty widely widely used in this scene – cocaine all the way back to the 1920’s, when we were already getting warnings about the insidious nature of this drug. Heroin was always around too, as it’s always been in the ghettos. It got more popular in the 1950’s and many great Black jazz musicians become junkies.
Psychedelics were never popular, as not only were they not around then, but also people in the ghettos and barrios of big cities have never been big psychedelic fans.
Psychedelics actually do expand your awareness and exaggerate whatever environment you are in. This is great for self-exploration if you have a fairly cozy life, but if your life blows for any reason, you might just have a bad trip.
I kept a hit of strong LSD in my refrigerator for two years until I finally felt that my head was perfectly clear and sane enough to take the stuff. The importance of what is called set and setting is extremely important for drugs like this. Psychedelics are not escapist drugs – they are the opposite.
As Blacks and Hispanics in city ghettos and barrios are usually living anywhere from a hardscrabble to nightmarish existence, the last they want to is to take a drug that makes that very existence about 10 times as powerful as it is.
On the other hand, PCP was popular in the Black and Hispanic communities, but it is not a psychedelic per se, as it is more of an anesthetic – it was originally an animal tranquilizer, and people used to refer to it as “elephant tranquilizer,” which was exactly what it was used for.
Yes, that stuff was actually used to literally knock out massive elephants. Now think about a drug that is strong enough to put an elephant on its ass and try to imagine what it will do to a comparatively puny human.
The PCP experience can be profoundly weird, but I suppose it is also a form of escapism, as when you use PCP you are basically traveling to another planet right here on Earth. Going all the way to another planet while never leaving your own is about as powerful as escapism gets, I would say.
It’s been a longstanding shibboleth in the gay community that all men are basically bisexual and with straight guys, all you need to do is seduce them into their natural tendency. First of all, the common myth that everyone is bisexual, attributed to Freud, is just not true.
The best study I found, of medical students in Australia, found that 62% of men are completely straight, with the remaining 38% having some degree of bisexual attraction. If nothing else, this rather shocking figure should serve to normalize the notion of many straight men having at least some homosexual attraction. 40% is a lot of people. It’s almost half.
However, most of that 38% were made up of straight men with maximal attraction towards women and only minor or incidental attraction towards men. On a scale of 0-100, with 100-0 being completely straight and 0-100 being completely gay, most of that 38% were made up of 90-10 and 80-20 men. A very large number of these men will go their whole lives and never act on their minor homosexual attraction. As long as they are extremely turned on by women, there’s no need to feed your curiosity about gay sex.
Once you get to 70-30’s and 60-40’s, you are starting to get into more of your true bisexuals. But even these men are straight leaning. I would imagine quite a few of those men have at least tried gay sex. 50-50’s or true bisexuals are very rare in both men and women, constituting only 1% for each gender. The longstanding old wisdom about bisexuals, that I even learned from my own mother (born in 1932), was that most bisexuals tended to lean one way or the other, often strongly.
Anyway, of all men who have some attraction to other men, 80% of them lean straight. So 80% of “bisexual” men (in attraction anyway) lean straight. Which is quite an interesting figure.
But it makes sense when you realize that 93% of all men are maximally attracted to women. Heterosexuality or maximal attraction to females is nearly the norm in almost all human males. Only 7% of men are maximally attracted to men, and only 2% of all men are gay. So strong attraction to other males only effects a tiny number of men, barely more than 5%. Gay men or even gay-leaning bisexual men are extreme outliers among human males.
6% of men are either gay or gay-learning bisexuals, which is interesting as this figure is higher than what most surveys come up with.
But there is a good argument that a lot of people lie in phone or face to face surveys. In particular, many lie about homosexual attraction or behavior, and it is very common to lie about hard drug use. So there’s typically a lot more hard drug use or homosexual/bisexual behavior or even identity than the typical survey finds.
How do we know this? Because of one study which was done completely blind. Subjects were in a closed room with a computer entering answers. They were assured that they each would only be given a number and no one doing the study would know what any subject entered. So subjects felt that this was a completely anonymous survey.
Subjects were young college-aged men in Ontario, Canada. The results were very interesting.
A whopping 13% of these men had had gay sex in the past six months, even though most of that 13% identified as straight or straight-leaning. That was considered current homosexual activity. So an incredible 13% of these young men were currently having gay sex. That is a very high figure for current homosexual behavior in men, one of the highest I have ever seen. This implies that there might be a Hell of a lot more gay sex going on than we think, and most of the hidden gay sex involves straight or straight-leaning men, and possibly most of those engaging in this hidden sex are very young men, with rates presumably dropping as men age.
And the rates of heroin and PCP use were also quite high. ~4% had used heroin and ~3% had used PCP. These figures were 3-4 higher than the typically found figures of 1%.
Anyway, no, all men are not bisexual, the difference between a straight man and a gay is not a six-pack of beer, etc. This is all just wishful thinking and solipsism on their part. The gay men are acting like solipsistic women. They are very attracted to men, so therefore all other men must also be attracted to men too. Solipsism is a problem with boundaries where the boundaries between the self and say half the population dissolve. People like this just can’t believe that anyone would think differently from themselves.
That is, I get loaded or drunk on dope or booze with women and then I fuck them. Of course the women and girls are willing participants, but feminuts say it’s rape anyway. Anyway, intoxicated sex is a blast, and I recommend it to all discerning degenerates. I have gotten high on a lot of drugs with women and then had sex with them, mostly marijuana and cocaine, and pills. The only pills were tranks like Xanax. They are ok for sex as they relax you.
I’ve never done psychedelics, Ecstasy or PCP and had sex. It sounds a bit frightening. I don’t do speed. I’ve never done narcotics and had sex, but that sounds like a bad idea anyway, and the only narcotics I ever took were pills, and I hardly ever used them. Narcotics kill sex anyway.
Don’t dose women. That’s as sleazy as it gets, and it’s quite illegal these days.
Do I feed women drinks to get them drunk? I dunno? As I usually drink along with them, I guess not. Don’t feed women drinks to get them drunk.If you want to get her drunk, I understand, but you may as well drink along with her. It’s only fair.
If a woman gets drunk and has sex, it’s rape and she’s not responsible, say feminuts. That can only be possible if women are children. So are women children? I guess women are children.
I would like to point out that a lot of females have sexual inhibitions, and they deliberately drink themselves to get themselves loosened up enough for sex. I have been a party to such self-dosing on many an occasion. Taking the feminut theory logically, I guess these women are raping themselves by getting themselves drunk, but even when women rape themselves, I guess men are still guilty.
After all, feminists insist that women are eternal children, objects who have no agency. I agree that women are objects, but I do not agree that they have no agency.
Repost from the old site.
For those who are worried, I would add a few pointers from my own life. I’ve been using drugs and drinking, one or the other or both, recreationally, for almost 40 years, and my health is superb. Of course, as with all things, moderation is the key.
There were some wild binges of drinking and/or drug use where I thought, “Wow, this time I have definitely damaged my brain for sure!”
At that time, I just stopped using whatever it was that had me worried and waited for a bit, and it seemed that at some point, all my brains came back, and then some. In some cases, I a number of cases, I had to wait for 3-10 days (average ~1 week), but in one case, it took a month to get back to where I was.
After almost 40 years, you would think that I would be getting more and more fried by the year, but it’s just not so. To be quite honest, in many ways, it seems like I am smarter than I have ever been.
Furthermore, no one who meets me or knows me ever thinks I am stupid in any way whatsoever. It is quite the opposite. Not trying to brag here but people regularly say things like, “You’re are one of the smartest people I know.” I don’t think they would say that if I was fried.
When you exercise or play sports, they say listen to your body. With drinking and drugs, that too, but also listen to your brain. If things start seeming foggy, slow down for a bit and see if things clear up. Most if not all cases of permanent damage from this stuff have occurred from people who did not heed the warnings and careened right on ahead.
To summarize my writings on the subject:
Methamphetamine and Ecstasy are terrible for the brain, Ecstasy so bad you should not take it even one time. PCP is quite bad for your brain and probably ketamine is too. You can play around with any of those drugs a dozen or so times in a lifetime (and possibly more), and you won’t suffer any permanent damage. Any more than that, and things get a lot dicier.
Heroin is easy on the brain but nasty in any other way. Opium, and all opiates, are also harmless to the brain but can be addicting. Use must be judicious and occasional, if at all. In particular, don’t mix with other downers. Long term alcoholic drinking permanently damages the brain.
With less heavy drinking, the permanence of damage is much less clear. At low levels, drinking causes no damage whatsoever. The widespread notion, proffered even by many doctors, that each drink “kills brain cells” is utter nonsense.
Cannabis, marijuana or hashish is one drug that can be used even very heavily by adults with minimal permanent effects on the brain. Occasional use by adults seems to be completely harmless to your brain. The question of brain damage by very heavy cannabis use has not yet been resolved, but even if it occurs, most of it seems to clear up on cessation.
Daily use of small amounts by adults can occur for years with apparently minimal damage. Any damage that occurs has not yet been proven, but if it exists, it seems to be quite subtle, and I am uncertain how significant it is.
Unfortunately, for minors, the question of little to no damage is much less firm, such that I recommend that anyone wait at least until they are 18 to begin using cannabis.
Of all of the drugs of abuse, as far as heavy use goes, cannabis is by far the easiest of them all on your brain.
Actually it is some kind of designer drug being sold over the counter as a bath salts or plant food. Apparently you can use them for those purposes and they work just fine and don’t get you high. You sniff it inject it or smoke it. The drugs in question are mephedrone and methylenedioxypyrovalerone, also known as MDPV.
Apparently these are stimulants something like methamphetamine, but I don’t know much about them. Looks like a pretty crappy and evil drug, I would say. It’s mostly in Louisiana right now for some reason, and the state has banned the sale of the drugs. But the Feds have not banned them yet since they are not marketed for human consumption. Banning them will take some time. Most users are apparently meth users looking for a new high.
I increasingly agree with the Neurosoup girl on Youtube. She hates meth, cocaine, PCP and heroin. She comes right out and says that they are crappy and evil drugs.She doesn’t like alcohol either. She’s up on marijuana and what she calls entheogens, which is something like hallucinogens.
If a lot of the people using coke, meth, alcohol and heroin started using pot and entheogens instead, our society would look a lot different. I would say that the damage from drugs would go way down. The hallucinogens are somewhat self-limiting in use. They are so strong, and people are so afraid and paranoid of them that people tend to only use them for a short period of time. People want a drug they can get high on regularly.
My generation promoted the use of coke and to some extent speed. I would say we screwed up bad on that one. Those drugs are just crap.
One thing I always hated about drugs were the anti-drug morons. They’re still everywhere; in fact, they’re the majority. Instead of being sensible like the Neurosoup Girl and dividing recreational drugs into different classes, the anti-drug morons just lump them all into one great big mess. They’re all the same. They’re all dope, and they’re all evil. Weed is meth is heroin is coke is LSD is mushrooms. It’s nuts.
I had to deal with this all the time while growing up as a pothead. As a pothead, I was said to be “into drugs” and was lumped in with PCP users, cokeheads, meth freaks and heroin addicts. It was all the same.
To some extent, this was true of drug users too. They weren’t so stupid as to think all drugs are the same – no user is that stupid – but since pot was illegal, and you had to deal with illegal drug users to get it, a lot of pot users were also using and promoting the use of other stuff, often along the lines that the other drug was as easy and safe as pot. Pure pot users were quite rare.
Legalizing pot would put it in the class as alcohol. How many people have you met who drink, often a lot, but won’t touch any “drugs” (LOL)? Lots. Making weed legal would increase the number of pure pot users who don’t mess with other stuff.
One thing I noticed that is people, often the older generation, will talk about someone who ruined their life on drugs, often the son or daughter of a friend. Often I will ask, “What kind of drugs?” A legitimate question, right? After all, I’m an old drug fiend, so I’m very interested in details like that! I always get this frustrated response, “I don’t know!” as if it doesn’t matter. Ok, so they got into weed, is that right? Is that how they ruined their lives? This is more of the, “All drugs are the same,” BS. Very frustrating dealing with this moronitude.
Tracks are Black Leather by the Professionals and Here We Go Again by the Sex Pistols. Sid Vicious was a complete asshole, but I love him anyway. He embodied the punk spirit very well. I still miss him.
The story of the love affair between Sid and Nancy Spungeon is a sad one. After the Pistols broke up, Sid and Nancy moved to the Chelsea Hotel in New York and Sid tried to get his career going. They were both very heavily into drugs, in particular opiates and heroin.
Nancy was found dead in Sid’s place with a single stab wound to the abdomen. Sid said he awoke from a drug stupor to find her dead in the bathroom. He gave conflicted reports at booking, claiming that he did it, then claiming that she fell on the knife, then saying that he loved her but she treated him like crap. They fought all the time and were both totally strung out on drugs.
There are other stories claiming that a heroin dealer killed Nancy that night. Rockets Redglare is sometimes named as the killer. A dealer, he had delivered heroin to them that night. Another dealer was supposed to come over later. Redglare said he thought that that dealer had tried to rip off the drugs from them while Sid was passed out and ended up getting into it with Nancy.
Surely the world of heroin dealers and heroin users in New York City is a sleazy one and ripoffs no doubt go down all the time. Most heroin addicts are after all thieves themselves. I would probably trust your average heroin dealer about as far as I could throw them.
However, Nancy was stabbed with Sid’s very own knife.
This mystery will probably never be solved.
Redglare died in his early 50’s from a lifetime of drug abuse. His liver and kidneys were shot. He was an interesting person, and a movie about him has recently been made. Nancy Spungeon was a very mixed up person. A beautiful young Jewish woman, dead at age 20. At age 15, she was diagnosed with schizophrenia, but that can’t be correct. Borderline Personality Disorder is more like it. She was despised by the rest of the band for her unpleasant and abusive behavior.
Sid was arrested for Nancy’s murder. Soon after, he attempted suicide by slitting his wrists.
Four months later, there was a gathering celebrating Sid’s being released on bail. Sid’s Mom (!) sent him some heroin, although he had been clean for some time. Sid had began using drugs as a boy when he took up using speed with his speed using Mom.
Sid shot the heroin that night in three doses. It was nearly pure heroin. He passed out with his new girlfriend and was found dead the next morning of heroin overdose.
This very strange and sad story was immortalized in a move called Sid and Nancy, which is highly recommended.
This article is pretty damn funny.
A lot of rockers are or were seriously nuts!
I’m having a hard time figuring out dx’s for a lot of these people. It seems to be something towards the more extroverted end. I suspect a lot of them are acting this way on purpose, sort of like a lot of artists act “deliberately insane.”
I only see a few who were obviously psychotic: Syd Barrett, Peter Green, Roky Erikson, Brian Wilson, Jim Gordon and Skip Spence for starters. I’m familiar with all these cases. They all had schizophrenia or schizoaffective disorder. It’s commonly said that they are all drug burnouts, but I doubt it.
For one thing, LSD does not appear to cause permanent psychosis. I’ve known too many completely normal folks who have taken it 100-300 times. It’s not even proven to damage your brain. The worst that can be said about it is that very heavy users sometimes do go psychotic and have to be hospitalized. Typically, they get better, but they often go back to heavy LSD use and become mentally ill again. No one has any idea how LSD even makes you temporarily insane.
All of these people simply developed schizophrenia. LSD can trigger schizophrenia, but no one knows how that works either. LSD-induced schizophrenia looks just like the rest of schizophrenia and it responds to the same drugs too. Since acid doesn’t damage your brain, I can’t see how it could cause schizophrenia. There are good reasons not to do acid, but fear of being permanently mentally ill is not one of them.
For the rest of them, dx’s are difficult. Some seem to have issues with narcissism and borderline personality disorder. Some were just seriously whacked out on booze and dope, often cocaine and/or heroin.
Ike Turner used cocaine for some 45 years until it killed him at age 76.
Sly Stone spent years on cocaine, even living on the streets smoking a crack pipe. No one quite knows what is up with Sly these days. He shows up at occasional performance, acts very strange, walks off stage in mid-show, gets on his motorcycle and rides away.
Rick James spent a good 15 years on a crack pipe.
Whitney Houston is ruined and is heavy into cocaine.
David Bowie went nuts on coke in the 1970’s, became full-blown psychotic and embraced Nazism.
Ol’ Dirty Bastard is on crack.
John Frusciante almost killed himself on heroin and coke.
Ozzy Osborne, Jerry Lee Lewis and Liza Minnelli were alcoholics.
Keith Moon was a drunk and a pillhead who liked to blow up toilets with dynamite for fun.
Elvis was a hardcore pillhead who apparently went insane from all the tablets.
Arthur Lee of Love spent 20 years abusing drugs heavily, became homeless, set buildings on fire and shot up his neighbor’s house.
Carlos Santana used acid heavily, then 20 years ago met up with an angel named Metatron who looks like Santa Claus who has been guiding his life ever since. He communicates with Miles Davis, a dead person, on a regular basis.
Miles Davis (while he was alive and not talking to Santana) spent years shooting heroin, beating his wife and just acting weird.
Little Richard spent years binging on cocaine, having sex orgies and sucking cocks in men’s restrooms.
James Taylor was a depressive and a heroin addict.
Some were suicidal.
Wendy O Williams sawed instruments in half with a chainsaw, then retired and blew her brains out.
Ian Curtis recorded some of the most depressing music ever made, then hung himself on the night of his US tour.
Adam Ant is a depressive.
Mariah Carey assaulted staff and reporters and slit her wrists.
Some like Courtney Love and Britney Spears simply cannot seem to function as adults.
Sinéad O’Connor is just a kook.
Lou Reed’s main problem is that he’s a terminal asshole.
R. Keely is just a weirdo with a taste for underage girls.
Sid Vicious assaulted fans, carved up his chest onstage, murdered his girlfriend, then OD’d on heroin as a grand finale.
Jaz Coleman, George Clinton, Captain Beefheart and Julian Cope are unclassifiable.
No one knows what’s up with Sun Ra.
GG Allin was just nuts, dx’d as narcissistic, Borderline PD and masochistic.
Michael Jackson was one of the weirdest of all. No one seems to know what was wrong with him. He seems to have been a homosexual pedophile. I’m familiar with most of his weird antics, but I never knew that he said he had fathered 2 “Aryan” babes named Prince 1 and Prince 2. Weird!
Just because you aren’t psychotic (and most of these folks are not) doesn’t mean you’re not nuts. You can be plenty nuts without being psychotic, plenty.
I’m not sure I had ever heard of this case before, but it’s really bizarre! Robert Pickton and his equally bizarre brother owned a pig farm in British Colombia. They had a building built next to it for “charity events” hosted by the “Piggy Palace Good Times Society.” These events were actually wild booze-fueled bacchanals with up to 1,800 partiers and “entertainment” by plenty of prostitutes from Vancouver’s raunchy and drug-ridden Downtown Eastside district.
The Downtown Eastside has one of the West’s most concentrated populations of drug addicts, mostly using crack and heroin, but increasingly also meth. Most of the female addicts there support their habits by prostituting themselves. There are an estimated 5-10,000 drug addicts living there at any given time. Despite a vigorous needle exchange program that hands out 2-4 million of free needles a year, the population has one of the West’s highest HIV rates: 1/3 of the population and 80% of the prostitutes are HIV-positive.
Around 1983, three years before the Olympics, prostitutes started disappearing from the area. They continued to disappear until Pickton’s arrest in 2002. In 2007, Pickton was tried and convicted of six homicides, all Downtown Eastside prostitutes. He was charged with 21 more homicides of more Downtown Eastside prostitutes, but he may never be tried for those deaths.
He is also implicated in another five homicides of young British Colombian women. He claims 49 murders. He really wanted to hit 50, but he says he got careless and got caught. He really regrets not hitting the big 5-0.
Some of the testimony coming out of the case is outrageous:
The star witness in the trial of accused Canadian serial killer Robert Pickton testified on Monday that she walked into the barn at his suburban pig farm to find him covered in blood and a woman’s body hanging from a chain.
“There was blood everywhere,” Lynn Ellingsen told the court.
“He told me if I was to say anything, I would be right beside her.”
Good Lord! Ellingsen, a prostitute and crack addict, lived on Pickton’s property for a month. Earlier on the same night when she saw the horrible sight, she and Pickton had gone to Eastside Downtown to pick up crack and a prostitute. They went back to Pickton’s place and smoked crack.
Ellingsen had fallen asleep when she heard a noise. She went into the barn and saw Pickton, covered in blood, with a woman hanging from the same chains he used to hang up his pigs when he slaughtered them. The woman on the chain was the prostitute they had picked up earlier than night. Pickton was skinning the woman when she walked in.
The arrest was not his first brush with the law. Five years earlier, in 1997, a young woman had barely escaped with her life. A drug-addicted prostitute named Wendy Eistetter was handcuffed and stabbed by Pickton. In a wild melee, she somehow got out of her cuffs, disarmed him and stabbed him before escaping. A motorist found her by the side of the road at 1:30 AM, wearing only a coat, with multiple stab wounds and took her to the hospital. Charges were mysteriously dropped.
While the investigation into the charges was going on, an acquaintance came forward and fingered Pickton as a suspect. His description of Pickton was riveting. Pickton spent most of his time downtown picking up whores. His farm was a bizarre and creepy place, patrolled by vicious dogs who roamed the property with a 700 pound boar. The dogs and the boar would all attack you if you came onto the property. Good God. Then there was Pickton’s trailer. What were all those women’s pursues and ID cards doing in there anyway?
Pickton’s brother, David, was also a strange guy. In 1992, he was arrested on sexual assault charges. He had attacked a woman in his trailer at the pig farm, but she managed to escape. He was given a slap on the wrist. He looks menacing in his photo.
Police found all sorts of horrible things in their investigation. Women’s heads were found in the freezer, sawed in half vertically. Female hands and feet had been stuffed inside the severed heads. The body parts were sharing freezer space with unsold pork.
Female remains were found in a wood chipper. Women had apparently been chopped in the machine and the meat was fed to the pigs on the farm! In 2004, it was revealed that some of the women were ground up and their flesh was mixed with pig meat from the farm. Thankfully, it was not distributed commercially.
A .22 pistol with a dildo on the end was found, apparently a murder a weapon. The dildo was used as a makeshift silencer. Blood-stained clothing was found in the trailer where Pickton lived. A woman’s remains were found in a trash bag at the bottom of a trash can on the property. A woman’s jawbone and teeth were found near the slaughterhouse on the property, where more than pigs were slaughtered. Another jawbone was found in the mud of one of the pigpens.
Night-vision goggles, Spanish fly, fur gloves, .357 ammo, and a syringe with blue windshield wiper fluid inside were also found. Pickton had injected some of the women with windshield washer fluid to kill them. Pickton had told a friend that women were stripped, handcuffed, gagged and taken to a bed where he had sex with them doggy-style. Afterward, he strangled them on bed using a looped wire. Then they were bled and gutted with the main body parts being fed to the pigs and the rest mixed up with pork offal and taken to a rendering plant to be disposed of.
Prostitutes and other guests were invited to the farm. There Pickton cooked for his guests, offered them drugs and hosted wild, neverending parties. It now appears that some of the food he was cooking for them involved pork mixed with ground up female victims.
He had taken the remains of some of the women, mixed them with pork offal, and taken them in barrels to a rendering plant, where the rendering machines like this one were used to grind up his victims’ remains.
After a huge investigation involving 54 anthropologists and huge earthmoving machines, the DNA of 30 different women (some say the figure is now up to 80), was found at the site. 27 were identified, all prostitutes.
It now appears that Pickton, aged 52 when arrested, had been killing women for at least 11 years before he was caught. His first known victim disappeared in 1991, when he was 41 years old. However, as early as 1988 and 1989, he was already regarded as dangerous to women. In 1988, women were warning other women to watch themselves around him. In 1989, people were warning women not to go home with him, admonishing them with terrifying tales.
He had apparently grown to hate prostitutes, whom he had been using for years, after as he put it, they infected him with Hepatitis C, attacked him with a knife, stole from him and used him. His rage at prostitutes did not develop until relatively late in life, which is why he did not start killing until age 41, which is quite late to begin a serial killer career.
There are other unconfirmed aspects of the case, with Ellingsen accusing Pickton of having sex with a dead woman’s corpse. Ellingsen and other drug addict-prostitute, Dinah Taylor, lived with Pickton for a while and helped him to pick up prostitutes and bring them to the farm. There is also a possibility that Taylor may have been involved in some of the killings, but she has never been charged. Pickton told his brother David that Taylor had killed some of the girls.
This is a Korean translation of the One Boy One Needle post. The translation is by 넝근넝근, who does fine work.
Some people have found this video pretty upsetting, so exercise caution in viewing. WordPress has not explicitly told me to take this down yet, so I will leave it up until they do, but I’m not sure if it’s ok with them.
이 비디오는 실제로는 몇년 전에 등장했습니다만 지금까지 유명했는지 아니면 아마 지금부터 유명해질 것인지는 모릅니다. 몇몇 이름들이 나오지만, 히로인중독 소년들을 제외하고는 누군지 기억이 나지 않습니다.
이 비디오의 뒷이야기는 매우 이상합니다. 그리고 누구도 이 비디오가 가짜인지 진짜인지를 모릅니다.
뒷 이야기인즉슨 마약의 위험성을 알리기위한 한 러시아인이 촬영된 비디오를 편집한 영상이라는 것입니다. 러시아의 어린 소년들이 히로인을 주사하고 있는 장면을 포함해서요. 촬영된 소년은 8살 입니다. 처음 비디오를 촬영한 사람은 실제론 마약상이었습니다. 이 편집된 영상은 아마 8살 소년이 히로인을 맞다가 결국 그것때문에 죽어갈것이라고 묘사하는것 같습니다. 그는 이 비디오로 마약재활원 건립 자금을 받는다며 비디오를 서방기구에 공개하였지만 그는 돈을 받고는 재활원을 건립하지 않았습니다.
그는 나중에 경찰에 체포되었습니다. 경찰은 저 소년에 대한 살인 미수를 적용했습니다. 그는 수감되었고 러시아의 감옥에서 죽었습니다. 교도관들이 그의 죽음의 관해 말하기를 “그는 끊임없이 벽에 머리를 박다가 죽었습니다”라고 합니다 그렇겠죠 아마도 교도관들이나 다른 수감자들에게 맞거나 아니면 둘다에게 맞아 죽은듯이 보입니다.
어떻게 이런걸 아냐고요? 왜냐하면 다른 버전에는 뒤에 러시아 말로 설명이 있거든요(저는 설명이 없어 보기 좋은 버전을 가지고 있습니다.) 그 러시아어 설명이 제가 위에서 말했던 것입니다.
어 쨋든, 아무도 그 이야기가 진짜 인지는 모릅니다. 저 죽을것처럼 보이는 8살 소년의 이름도 모릅니다. 몇몇은 저 소년이 죽지 않았으며 저 죽어가는 것 처럼 보이는 건 단지 “헤로인을 주사하고 나서 보이는 정상적인 반응” 이라고 합니다. 우리는 저 마약상의 이름도 모르고 그가 체포됬는지 감옥에서 죽었는지도 모릅니다. 간단히 말해 이 뒷이야기는 아직까지 사실이라고 결론이 나지 않았습니다.
몇몇은 이 비디오가 90년대 러시아에 헤로인이 급속도로 퍼질때 등장했다고 보고 심지어 어린애들또 주사했다고 합니다. 그 후로는 잠잠해졌습니다.
어 쟀든, 가짠든 진짜는, 이 비디오는 8살소년이 헤로인을 주사하며 죽어가는(진짜 일수도 있고)장면에 놀랐습니.다. 이건 인터넷상의 아주 저속한 비디오 들중 하나입니다. 폭력적인게 없어서 전 별로 큰 충격이 없군요. 저는 스스로 저 소년이 죽는게 아니라 잠에 들며 다른 문제는 없을 거라고 생각합니다. 물론 어린애가 마약주사하는게 좋지많은 않군요.
불행하게도, 제가 찾은 다른 복사본은 처음 시작할때 King of Cordia’s Den 웹사이트의 한 멍청이가 써놓은 온갖 난잡한 설명으로 뒤덮여있더군.
Look at how great he looks at age 40 here. I saw him in 1981, or yesterday, at the Palladium in Los Angeles. I’d been drinking, smoking dope and sniffing coke, and I was high as a fucking kite. There were beautiful women and young chicks everywhere, real friendly too.
The concert opened rather suddenly. I was with a friend of mine, or my worst enemy, or someone…
I was working as an editor of a magazine at the time. I told some of the girls in the office that I was going to see Iggy Pop, and one girl wanted to go with me. She asked if she could go with me.
Then she took it back, “No way. My boyfriend will kill me.” He was a redneck macho fucker with a great big truck. The office girl was hot, 24, big tits, nice looking. Her best friend was screwing the magazine artist, F. They would go out for two-hour lunches every day and come back with big smiles on their faces.
My boss was a faggot who kept trying to fuck me. He kept buying me lunches all the time. I got my paycheck and tried to pay him back, and he flipped out and started screaming and yelling. “I didn’t buy you those lunches so you could pay me back!” I guess he wanted me to pay him back on my knees or something. The perverted asshole eventually fired me because I wouldn’t suck his dick or whatever he wanted me to do to.
He was sure I was queer for some stupid reason. It was sort of my fault for doing the Mick Jagger (No wait! Iggy Pop-androgynous) thing I guess. If he had eyes, he could have figured out I wasn’t.
Fags don’t look at women. This is the dead giveaway for queers everywhere. There were all these beautiful women in the office hanging coming around my cubicle all the time for this and that. The queer acted like they were part of the walls or the floor or the furniture. They may as well have not even been there. Furthermore, the fag looked at me like I was a Filet Mignon medium rare.
There was another guy in the office, from Europe, macho but sort of faggy in some weird way. He acted like he would screw anything if he was loaded enough. He was dating some Black chick. Sometimes he was my best friend, sometimes he was tearing me up and insulting me to my face. In other words, a typical hyper-competitive super-aggressive young male weenie. He used to trash-talk me for being a pothead. Then he would come buy pot off me. What an ass.
One time in the lunchroom he took me aside and told me the best high of all was speed, injected directly into your arm, preferably after 9 or 10 drinks. This guy wore a jacket and tie to work in an office every time. I tell ya, dopers are everywhere. This guy shoots fucking speed after drinking himself under the table, but I’m a loser for smoking dope.
As you can see, young males are sort of hopeless, so, assuming chicks like you, just shine on the Y chromosomes and hang with the ladies.
After a while, I quit eating with the fag and the other idiot males in the office and just ate lunch with the office girls every day. Back in those days, I was said to be very good looking (male model type). Now I’m old and ugly, but it was fun at the time.
If you’re a guy and you look that good, and if you’re very pretty, most people just assume you’re a fag anyway. You can try to screw your way out of your public image, but even after scores of hot chicks, it’s kind of useless. Usually you get this wonderful consolation prize called, “Wow! Now we know you’re bisexual and we really love you for that!” Damn. I will return that prize, thank you.
Back in those days, a lot of guys always seemed like they either wanted to have sex with me or kick my ass, or a lot of times, oddly enough, both at the same time. I’m telling you, we’re Cavemen. Strip off the Calvin Kleins, give us a bearskin and a club, and we’re the same.
If you’re like that, you may as well learn to love women (They’re not that bad after all) and just hang around chicks all the time. Young men are idiots anyway. All they want to do is fight and fuck, and they often aren’t getting enough. Just hang around chicks all the time, and pretty soon, the less idiotic of the guys will try to make friends with you just so they can join you hanging with the chicks.
What could go wrong hanging around with chicks all the time? Nothing really.
Only a couple of things you need to know. One, make the ground rules clear. No woman, not one, is ever safe with you, not even for one minute. You’re a million times better than her faggot friends who she loves for their harmlessness. In order to differentiate yourself from them, you must be dangerous. Sexually dangerous. At all times. And don’t ever let em forget it.
In addition, I would be mysterious. If you’re out of luck, don’t ever let them know you aren’t getting any. Just be Mr. Mystery With a History. As soon as they find out you aren’t getting any, none of them will want you. If they ask, say, “None of your Goddamned business,” and laugh at them. Say, “Well, I’m not a virgin,” “There’s usually a woman or two in my life. Sometimes one, sometimes more than one, sometimes none. Life is interesting.”
If they ask why you don’t talk about your dates, say, “I’m a secretive guy. I don’t talk about that stuff.” Then when you start dating someone, don’t tell them. Just act the same as ever. If you have a good history of good game, talk about it in the past tense, as if you are talking about drinking water or something, very calm and non-bragging, as if you are embarrassed.
You just need to learn how to act around chicks. You can even talk dirty to them, touch them, grab them. But you need to learn to read body language. Know when the lights are red, yellow, green and changing, and act accordingly.
…It was November 1981, or long ago in another world, and I was wasted at the Palladium. There were all these hot, barely legal rock and roll chickies in Spandex and not wearing a lot of anything. It wasn’t exactly a punk crowd. It was more of a Runaways crowd.
Suddenly there was movement on the stage. Spiderman! Spiderman was running around the stage with a mike, singing something. Who the fuck was that? No one knew.
“That’s him!” I shouted to my friend, who was way more wasted than I was, and was also just starting to recover from the throes of a violent manic-depressive psychosis…
…A few months earlier, he had burned holes in his arm with a cigarette.
“Don’t do that!” I had screamed.
“I can’t feel pain. I feel no pain,.” he had shrugged, shaking the shaggy, puppy-dog hair out of his eyes.
I had accompanied my buddy to a meeting with his psychiatrist. He wanted some moral support.
“I live off hate,” I said. It was the punk era, and that was a cool thing to say. “I love hate. It gives me energy. It makes me live. Makes me get up in the morning. Gets me right out of bed. Gimme some of that hate! It’s life juice!” I almost leaped up in the shrink’s office. The shrink was looking at me like I was seriously disturbed.
My friend jumped up. “See? Even my friends are sick! Look at how sick they are! And they call me sick!” He pointed to me: “He worships the Devil!” Then he jumped out off the couch and ran out of the mental health center and across six lanes of heavy traffic at 3 PM, dodging cars all the way.
The shink looked at me with these eyes, like wells, with thousands of years of sadness in them. Neither of us knew what to say.
I told the shrink I had a Kabbalah Tree of Life on my wall and black candles on the shelves. Weirdest thing about that Tree of Life. Everyone who walked into the room stopped in their tracks and stared at it.
I got my buddies together and chanted evil curses against my enemies and carried magic talismans, like amulets, ankhs and crosses, in my pocket. I rubbed them all the time, took them out and flashed them in chicks’ eyes to freak them out and spellbind them, to spread the magick around, brainwash chicks and try to get laid.
“I’m not nuts. I’m just into magick. Is that ok?” The shrink nodded his head solemnly.
The diagnosis of my friend was “manic depression with schizophrenic overtones.” This was the era of “Family Systems Therapy,” and the family was making my friend nuts. Really the guy’s brain was having some sort of a brownout or hard drive crash. Either that or there was spaghetti code in his brain that needed a serious rewrite.
A month earlier my buddy had smashed a bathroom window at his parent’s house and climbed in the window. He was bleeding and wrote Helter Skelter on the mirror as a joke to freak out his folks.
His folks called me, alarmed. I told them it was a joke. They didn’t believe me. Cops were getting called all the time. There were wild fights in the living room. Hell, it must have been a barrel of laughs at that place!…
…”No way! That’s Spiderman!”
“That’s him! That’s Iggy Pop! Iggy Pop is Spiderman!” I was laughing so hard I almost fell over.
Indeed, the maniac was running around the stage, dressed in a Goddamned Spiderman suit. It was Iggy Pop! This was the Party tour, and Iggy was 34 years old. I don’t remember much else about it, but the show was great.
Back then, Iggy Pop was still extremely underground. No one had really heard of him all that much. He was pretty subversive, underground, druggy and forbidden.
Metallic K.O. is insane; it’s a total mess. You can hear beer bottles flying and all sorts of insane stuff. It’s pretty cool though in a bizarre way. The Stooges were extremely underground, even in the early 1980’s. They were always one of those love em or hate em bands. Most people had just never heard of em.
At 60, Pop has several injuries in his body. He dislocated his shoulder and has lost a lot of cartilage in his hip. Both knees are near shot. He was cramped on economy air flights all the time, and then he took a fall dancing on a fucking amplifier. Now his spine is twisted.
The drug days are in the past. When the Stooges were being formed, around 1969, the 22 year old Pop and the rest of the band was frying on acid all the time. It was the era, you know. Later, in the mid-Seventies, Pop was on heroin, as was the rest of the band. So he spent much of his 20’s on heroin, from 1970-1975 at least.
The drug days mostly ended 20 years ago, around age 40. By age 51, in 1998, he had snorted his last line of coke and smoked his last jay. The heroin was over by age 36, in 1983.
He has an exotic light-skinned Black model babe for girlfriend like his old friend David Bowie. She’s half his age of course. He lives in Miami Beach where he tools around in a Rolls Royce. He’s got life dicked, as my surfer-stoner friends used to say, growing up on the beach.
In an interview at age 56, his model-babe girlfriend was 31, and he was fucking her 10 times a week. Hell with this “dirty old man” shit! Down with Viagra jokes. You tell em, Iggy!
Iggy met his girlfriend 12 years ago in Miami Beach, in 1998. He was tooling along, and he saw her with a friend, both knockouts. The went into a pizza joint and Iggy went into the joint next door to look at them. Iggy admits he has no game when it comes to picking up chicks. He can only get them once they figure out who he is, then they all line and take numbers up to fuck the big hot shot rock star.
Iggy was in his car and they came out of the pizza joint, and he asked them if they wanted a ride. They’ve been together ever since.
He was 48 and she was 23. You see, if an ordinary 48 year old guy makes a play for a 23 year old woman, United Cunts of America, millions of cunts strong, stands up and screams that he’s a pervert, a creep, a weirdo and a dirty old man.
But if Iggy Pop does it, it’s suddenly ok because he’s a millionaire. In which case, I guess a lot of the legions of United Cunts of America seamlessly morphs into United Whores of America and lines up to screw the Ig.
Iggy has a great big huge dick, not that I’m interested. It was legendary. He wore pants that showed off the boa constrictor as part of his image. He used to whip it out on stage for various reasons and non-reasons. Once he laid it on top of an amplifier and let the amp vibrate it. Another time a fan leaped up on stage during a show and gave him a blowjob. The stories never end.
Back in the day, Iggy needed a stick to fight them off. After a typical show, Iggy would have five girls with him heading back to his place. He would call women up, give them a time to come over. They would show up, he would have sex with them, and he would tell them to leave. They would leave, smiling. Some guys have it tough.
The Pedophile Mass Hysteria Losers may be interested to know that of course Iggy is a Pedo too, like many fine upstanding citizens. At age 21, he married a 14 year old girl. Then he knocked her up and had a kid with her. Nowadays, that qualifies for Pedophile.
A bit before that, maybe around age 18-19, he had a 13 year old girlfriend, and yes it was consummated. Now he’s a fucking Pedo for sure! Iggy gets the Roman Polanski Seal of Approval for that starring role.
Despite what you think of rock stars, Iggy was frequently Impotent during much of the 1980’s and 1990’s. He doesn’t give a reason. Interesting that even famous guys often Can’t get it up.
Pop has published an article in a journal of classical scholarship, Classics Ireland (1995). I always knew he was a brain. Just like Mick Jagger and David Bowie, you just know those guys have high IQ’s.
One more thing! Anti-Semites, this means you! Iggy Pop is not Jewish. Old legend, due to his name, James Osterberg. He’s actually Norwegian.
Sure there are lots of photos around of heroin addicts shooting dope. That’s not so shocking. But what is amazing about this photo is that the guy receiving the shot of heroin is actually getting shot up in his dick! His penis, that’s right. The veins in his arms and legs are all collapsed (this is what happens to addicts), and his dick is one of the only remaining places where he has good veins.
The addicts are Serbian. The photo was taken two to three months ago in Serbia. The two guys are junkies who don’t even own a TV set, so we don’t have to worry about them getting upset about seeing their pic on the Net.
I know that this pic is real because I know the photographer, Loocid, who took the pic, and he vouches that it is real. Heroin is quite popular in Serbia and probably in all of Eastern Europe and Russia these days. It’s quite pure and relatively cheap. Cocaine, on the other hand, is fairly rare, and it’s heavily cut with all sorts of stuff. There are a lot of heroin addicts in Serbia, contrary to what you might think.
This video actually came out a few years ago, but it is still going viral in a pretty big way, or maybe it is just starting to go viral, I am not sure. It goes by all sorts of names. Most of them, other than Heroin Boy, are not memorable .
The story behind the video is very strange, and no one knows if the video is fake or real.
The story behind the video is that a Russian guy wanting to showcase the dangers of drugs arranged the shooting of the video, which involves some young boys shooting heroin in Russia. The boy who gets shot up is 8 years old. The guy shooting the video was actually a drug dealer. The video supposedly depicts the 8 year old boy shooting heroin and then dying from the heroin. After he shot the video, the dealer pitched it around to Western agencies to fund his drug rehabilitation clinic. He stole all the money and never set up any clinic. He was arrested by police later. The cops decided that he was guilty in part for the supposed death of this boy. He was imprisoned, and he died in a Russian prison. Cause of death described by officials: “He repeatedly banged his head up against the wall until he died.” Yeah right. Looks like he was beaten to death by guards, other inmates, or both.
How do we know all of this? Because another version of this video has Russian dialogue running in the background (I got the less annoying “no dialogue” version). A translation of that dialogue reveals the story I just repeated above.
Anyway, no one knows if the story is true. We don’t know the name of the 8 year old boy who supposedly died. Some are saying that he didn’t even die, that his supposed death in the video is “just the normal, expected effects you would get from mainlining heroin.” We don’t have a name of the supposed dealer, nor any proof he got arrested or that he died in prison. In short, nothing behind the background story about this video has yet been verified.
Some say that this video is probably from the 1990’s, when Russia was seriously flooded with heroin, and even little kids were taking it. Since then, things have calmed down a lot.
Anyway, fake or not, this video is really freaking out a lot of people who think they are watching an 8 year old boy die from shooting heroin (And maybe they are, who knows?). It’s in competition as one of the worst videos on the Net. This video doesn’t really bother me because it’s not violent. I just tell myself that the kid is going to sleep and not dying, and then everything’s OK. Of course it’s troubling to watch little boys shooting up.
Unfortunately, the only copy I could find has this stupid semi-literate written dialogue crap at the beginning, written by the moron who runs the King of Cordia’s Den website. He’s the one who made this video, and my video-editing skills are not sufficient to get rid of his ads and lame illiterate copy in the video.
Repost from the old site.
That question is directed to Thistle Harlequin.
I won’t upload the movie, and I think it’s copyrighted anyway. It’s pornographic, and we don’t host porn on the site. Rarely, we link to it, if there is some artistic or political reason. In this case, it’s more art or performance art than porn per se.
It’s called Putrid Sex Object, a movie performed by Thistle Harlequin (adults only, and don’t watch unless you want to be horribly grossed out).
This is part of what my artist brother calls the new art – “that gross, sick, fag shit.” He says this is the new thing in art, because everything else has been done already.
Examples include Aliza Shvarts’ abortion jelly exhibit where she gave herself repeated miscarriages via morning-after pills after inseminating herself and then filmed the miscarriages, bottled them and exhibited them in an exhibit. Except the whole exhibit never came off, but that was part of the performance.
Our very own Who Dares Wings is an artist in Seattle who makes Disasterware and something called Spone Funerary Ware – granulated calcified human cremains (cremated bones of dead people) over a porcelain slip in a riff on the time-honored tradition of bone china, which was made in part with ground human bone.
He also makes things like porcelain vases and teapots with Hitler’s face on them with things like “Forgiveness” inscribed below.
There was a guy in New York who was doing some of this art using dead embalmed bodies. He would take the bodies and then pose them in all these weird positions and then take pictures of himself intermingled with the dead bodies. The cops finally had enough of the publicity and raided the guy – I guess what he was doing was illegal. He was getting the bodies from Mexico.
Along the same lines are Andres Serrano’s Piss Christ, a crucifix photographed in a jar of urine.
There is another fellow, Hermann Nitsch, who takes cow carcasses, slits them open, then makes himself look like a crucifix with the cow carcass as a “cross” background. He ends up covered in blood. His friends stand around him and they all get covered with blood too. There’s blood all over the ground and they shoot a photo of the whole thing and voila, instant art!
Women are bottling their own menstrual fluid and using the blood to make blood paintings. It’s called menstrual art.
Along the same lines, in Putrid Sex Object, Thistle Harlequin, a gay man, plays a woman who is wandering through a haunted house at night getting more and more frightened. Finally, she comes into a room where they are some severed cow’s heads on the floor.
She falls to her knees, starts licking the cow’s head and then starts playing with it, getting blood all over her body. Then he pulls out a penis and it turns out it’s just some fag drag queen. He then puts his penis in the cow’s head and fucks it for a while, pulls out, and jacks off while covered with cow entrails. That’s it.
That’s called art I guess.
Wow, we really are reaching the end of civilization, are we not?
My opinion on all this sick art is much the same as my brother’s. I’m not impressed.
This is just gross, sick, fucked up stuff. Art is supposed to make you react, and in a way, it is supposed to be “beautiful.” It’s not supposed to be ugly, sick, repulsive and nauseating. Yes, we are all familiar with shit, puke, wet farts, mucus, snot, piss, blood, dead stuff and dead people, menstrual fluid, on and on. Why frame it up and call it art? Color me confused. Plus it’s not even funny; it’s just gross.
Truth is, modern art has just clean run out of ideas. There’s nothing left to do. This is all that’s left, pushing the final boundaries. After this? I have no idea. Kill people? Kill yourself? Who knows.
Seriously, there’s nothing left.
Buy a famous sculpture, call the cameras in, gather around you and your artist friends, and smash it to bits? Done. The Surrealists were doing this stuff back in the 1930’s.
Duchamp made a sculpture of a toilet and then he shipped it to a museum. He called it “Toilet” or something dumb like that. Along the way, it got partially destroyed via shipping. The museum called him up all apologetic and said, “Oh, we are so sorry that your sculpture got so messed up.”
He rushed over to the museum, looked at his ruined sculpture and said, “NO! This is perfect! Better than the original!” It went on to become a famous sculpture. Surrealism was always a bit of a joke. The destroyed sculpture is better than the real one – OK, that’s funny.
The Surrealists would run out in the streets of Paris in the 1930’s and assault priests walking by in their habits. Assault them, with fists and kicks. No one got seriously hurt, but the Surrealists called that Performance Art – assaulting a priest in habit. OK, that’s funny too.
There are artist – musician types out there now who hold “concerts” where they show up on stage and then lower these sound speakers from the ceiling. The speakers dangle about ten feet above people’s heads, just out of reach. Then they turn up the speakers really loud with this extremely annoying noise playing right out of reach of the audience.
The audience gets more and more angry while the performer stands up on stage, laughs at them and insults them. OK, I have to admit, that’s pretty funny.
I believe there are similar artists out there who will schedule a show and advertise all the cool stuff they are going to do during the show. They cover the stage with all these props and it looks like a good show is going to happen. The theater fills up with suckers who shelled out $20/ticket.
The performer’s not there.
After a bit, someone comes out and says that the performer was delayed but will be there shortly. This goes on for a bit, and the big gag is that the performer never shows up. On purpose. The audience slows drifts away angrily over about an hour demanding a refund, but there will be none. That was the show. No artist. You got burned. Performance art!
I have to admit that’s pretty humorous. Man Ray would have looked at that and said, “Two thumbs up.”
I saw the Germs at the Hong Kong Cafe on December 31, 1979. It was Darby Crash on vocals, Pat Smear on guitar, Lorna Doom on bass and Don Bolles on drums.
Joanna Went, performance artist, opened for them. She came out looking totally nuts, all made up like a clown, wearing some stupid outfit. Shrieking, “Catatooooonic! Schizophreeeeeeenic!” (that’s all I remember), etc. etc.” with these really wild eyes.
She had on what looked like a football jersey on top with what looked like shoulder pads. She tore open the shoulder pads while screeching incoherently. Inside, the shoulder pads were packed with vast quantities of shredded cheddar cheese. Then she started to throw it at us, the audience. We threw it back at the bitch.
I went to the bathroom.
Darby Crash came in, saw me, and asked in this totally gay faggot voice, “Heeeey, you got any Tuuuinols?” Tuinols are a depressant pill.
I thought for a second, looked up and said, “No, but I have some Tuinol cigarettes. Want to buy any?”
He got this sneering smile on his face, and snorted, “Tuinol cigarettes!?” and walked away.
That was my only encounter with the famous Darby Crash.
Pretty soon, the Hong Kong Cafe was full of flying shredded cheese and you could hardly even see anything. Through it all, Joanna was screeching away. OK, that was pretty funny.
The Germs played next. They all wore black leather jackets with a blue circle on the sleeve – that was their emblem. They were out of this world, of course.
Darby Crash was crouching at the back of the stage with a sneer on his face. Everybody was throwing stuff at him – that was the idea – throw stuff at Darby. We took the ice out of our drinks and threw ice at Darby Crash. He crouched down at the rear of the stage like a tiger, loving the abuse and singing like a maniac. Germs (GI), produced by Joan Jett, is one of the best albums I have ever heard. There’s also a great cut, Lion’s Share, recorded by Jack Nitzsche, on the soundtrack to the movie, Cruising (1980) – good movie, starring Al Pacino and directed by the great director William Friedkin. The Cruising soundtrack is a great album, too. Re-formed band, The Germs Return.
Don Bolles turned into an alcoholic and goes to AA meetings with his alcoholic girlfriend. He has a long history of drug abuse and run-in’s with the law. Darby killed himself (see below). Pat Smear went on to form the Foo Fighters.
Lorna, Don and Pat re-formed the band, with actor Shane West as the new Darby Crash, and they go on tour. Here’s the new band, and Lorna is as beautiful as ever. Myspace page. They must be pushing 50 now. Punks til death. Heck, why not?
Later, Darby Crash deliberately OD’d on heroin as part of a suicide pact with some idiot punk chick. I never hung around with these nuts, but some people I know did. They would do stuff like get drunk and hit people over the head with beer bottles – supposedly Pat Smear did that once. Great article on the Germs from the Orange County Weekly.
We were leaving the Hong Kong Cafe at 2 AM on January 1, 1980. The LA punkers, drunk and menacing, were outside the cafe throwing beer bottles against the wall and watching them smash. We moved away quickly.
We were walking through an alley back to the car, drunk and stoned. Someone came reeling behind us, walking very fast. We turned around. There was a young man about 25 years old. He had glasses on, but he had been hurt somehow. One of the glasses lenses was smashed over his eye.
He was holding his eye with the smashed glasses lens, and there was blood pouring out of the area around his eye as he reeled drunkenly down the alley. We didn’t know if he had gotten beat up while drunk, or if he was really drunk and had fallen down, but he was in bad shape. We got out of his way before he would have crashed into us. He moved past us, careening back and forth down the alley, dripping blood all the way.
“Let’s help him,” I said.
We looked at each other and both said, “Wow! Let’s get out of here!”
We hurried to the car and drove home on the empty LA freeway, dodging the drunken vehicles along the way. It was the end of the Seventies, but it may as well have been the end of the century.