Well, I figure about a week's gone by since the drill, enough time for me
to have completely forgotten everything that happened that fateful weekend
in 1997, and it's 3 AM and my hands are tingling, so either there's a big
boulder about to whack me in the face or I ought to write that drill
thing.
I completely made this up on the spot, and am surprised by its coherence,
accuracy, and overall niceness. Oh well, can't win 'em all.
July 2- Finish baking the last couple loaves of bread. Kevan (Cuthulu) shows
up around 10 PM, with some tapes he dug up of his old band and his new pop hit
"Alan Keyes is Made of Beef".
July 3- Hit the road at about sometime or other. Notable events on the way
up include a truck dumping out shitloads of money as we pass by, leaving
frenzied motorists to grab frantically at it. We listen to shitloads of
King Crimson & suchlike. Arrive around nightfall. I've overpacked
tremendously, wanting to prepare for every possible contingency. Immodium
A-D, bug spray, sun-tan lotion, I've brought just about everything. I
even brought shorts. I'll never use any of it. Everything sets up
fairly easily. It's fucking cold, and will remain so all weekend. Most
people seem to have arrived early. Someone is snoring thunderously as
I bring in the rest of my stuff. Turns out to be Ms. Sakamoto's mother.
I've never heard a woman who snored like that before. P-Lil is in the
vicinity as well, I believe. As is QPM. I mainly remember engaging in
a hideously convoluted and mostly improvised greeting ritual with him,
after which he stands off to the side and mutters strange things about
Nazis. At the pavilion there's music. As it turns out, the best of
the whole weekend, and that's saying a hell of a lot. A playground set
serves as percussion. The whole thing, I will remark fairly continuously
throught the weekend, reminded me a great deal of the vibe Sun Ra gave off.
(Reminder: get tape from P-Lil) I can't remember much after that. At
some point I think I slept, but not very much.
The next day I try to get
my gear in better order, but in fact the tent I borrowed from Brian is
big enough for me to make a total fucking mess of all my gear. It's
raining. I know I'm going to catch hell for this. I brought ten loaves
of bread as my sustenance for the weekend. There's nothing I'd rather
eat than homemade bread. It is of course way too much for me to consume.
I tear off huge chunks and offer it around. At 11 or thereabouts I am
directed by Legume, marching around the premises with a bullhorn, to
register. I do so. People are still arriving- The Shining Path of
Least Resistance, with a veritable cornucopia of Japanese cultural flotsam
and jetsam, porn, and all-around slack. He's every bit as cool as his
travelogues posted to alt.slack would lead you to think. I engage in
international commerce with him. Pee Kitty, RevUni, and the previously
unknown to me Godfather Gillian and Betsy Fuckin' Ross arrive, the latter
with an anatomically correct "Marilyn Manson" doll. It was probably the
most anatomically correct thing there all weekend, in fact. Dynasoar,
Lurch, & several others are putting up rain tarps to protect their gear.
Jehovah Hates Phred practice their set, and offer beer all around.
I weather the weekend sans beer and frappy; the medicine I'm on makes me
damn tired if I touch alcohol, and frappy does that to me anyway.
Maybe it's ChrisLee who had the beer. I don't recall. I'm too busy
trying to rid myself of bread. P-Lil tapes an especially loud conversation
underneath one of the tarps. A lot of Subgenii are shy by demeanor, but
get 'em all together and you'll never get 'em to shut up. And nobody
ever does. It's beautiful. I think it's Talysman who shows up, though
the astute of you may've noticed that I don't exactly have a way with names.
He sports a druid-haircut; presumably from the days when he was a druid.
The druids are in fact the ones sharing the campsite with us. Despite
the fact that many of the activities that went on during the drill were
tasteless and highly disturbing, to say the least, the others there
never batted an eye and had great senses of both hospitality and humour.
Talysman hands me several tapes of great import. By the end of the week
I will have picked up quite a few tapes by the great Bill T. Miller, Jehovah
Hates Phred, and the Hentai Santas.
I take a short restocking trip with Kevan, who BTW is one of the best
traveling companions anyone could ask for, not to mention putting up
with the fact that I can't fuckin' drive to save my life. When I get
back, the evening's festivities are getting kicked off. I won't do
any of the preachers the indignity of rating them, especially being the
harmless and inoffensive chap I am. Thematically the sermons center on
hate and the necessity of destroying the humans by force. Seems all quite
silly, not to mention misapplied, to me, but WTF, I'll be able to rant
later. Perhaps someone will take all of this "kill humans" stuff too
seriously and the Church will enter the phase of issuing categorical
denials of any of that sort of thing. In some ways it seems like a
pretty desperate ploy for credibility, but religion is supposed to be a
desperate act. Notice that no religion never really gets recognition
until people DIE for it. I suspect that this is perhaps the direction
the Church is hoping to take; however, it's not something that has to
be forced. Spread the doctrine far and wide enough and people will kill
for it in any event. A natural byproduct, so to speak, not a necessary
Machiavellian-style step to take. These things can't be rushed.
There's music. I forget by whom. Bill T. Miller put on an absolutely
INCREDIBLE show that proved why he is the KING OF SLACK. QPM told us
he felt like he was at an AA meeting. We honored his feelings.
He fell off the stage and pissed himself. I did everything within my
power to clear up the weather and it didn't rain for the rest of the
weekend. Many other people ranted, and they were all good. Oh, except
for that one guy who TOTALLY SUCKED. There was also Brainwash Soda
courtesy of a gentleman whose name I've had the courtesy to completely
forget. It was a useful blue dye as well as turning your shit green
and filling you with every drug that has not been made illegal yet.
The next morning, Lurch made some profoundly excellent cherry and blueberry
pancakes. Dynasoar was still stuck shuffling around from place to place.
He did, however, find the time to explain to me some of the finer points
of self-medication, most of which I promptly forgot. I was still going
on extremely sparse amounts of sleep, so I relaxed with Lurch and some
California Guitar Trio CDs for a while in the morning. The weather had
cleared up nicely. Later, I headed off to the naked baptismal where
several beautiful mutants were already waiting. With no further ado I
dumped myself in. My eyesight is shit, and I'd removed my glasses, so
I did not actually get to SEE any of the lovely naked women. Ah, well. I
was much more blessed, indeed. I and about thirty others had the sins of
the Conspiracy washed from us. Or something like that. Anyway, it was
fun. Posters announcing the Subgenius Orgy were everywhere. "By
Invitation Only". It turned out the only _formal_ orgy involved just
Pastor Craig and _both_ his hands. Later, there was wrestling. I missed
the headline matches. I did get to see some fine, fine sumo and the
Nickie Deathchick/Siouxsie Sakamoto match. Pastor Craig led the freak
parade. I happened to have a mask with me. I'm sure there will be
pictures somewhere. Earlier I had offered Jesus two loaves of bread and
a couple extremely foul "fish". For some reason, these were postponed
in favor of a grotesque breaded gloop that was supposed to be fish sticks.
Everybody was too polite and reserved to throw it at Jesus.
Oh, yeah, and Jesus got arrested, carried away, crucified, blah blah woof
woof.. you've read this part already, haven't you? I had, so I went off
to check the barbeque. Myrkury had come up with some mighty fine ribs.
And I mean that in the fullest sense of the word. These were nothing less
than profoundly excellent. After that there was music by some sort of
Discordian band. They didn't interest me. I couldn't tell whether they
were playing or not. And they weren't naked. Much better things awaited.
More music- Pink Phred were not even stoppable by the crafty wiles of
NHGH. More ranting- mind and gut blowing. Pee Kitty's rant in particular
kicked total ass. My rant was an inadvertent (though I'm told that's the
best kind) example of the DIVINE SUBGENIUS STUPIDITY, a nonsensicality of
Woodsian proportions. I came on stage and played tambourine very badly
to a bluegrass or something version of "Schizoid Man". Later I played
inaudible keyboards very badly in a noise jam. TheCharlie probably has
pictures. He was instrumental in this regard, as can be seen on
alt.binaries.slack. I broke a rib at the Subgenius dance party, but it
was miraculously replaced by the rib of Adam itself.
So I finally turn in, and just as the sleep's starting to catch up to
me the honourable Rev. Myrkury performed the invaluable service of getting
me up for the drill itself- thanks again, Myrk! The drill itself? I
think everyone was perhaps a bit too tired either to do anything spectacular
or I was too tired to remember it. There were PILS. Stang got shot.
We all went home happy. A radio station on the way back is playing a
German cabaret hit by "Uncle Lou & Hansi".
Anyway, it was highly slackful, a wonderful taste of the world to come,
and I thank all of you who made it possible and all of you who were there.
You were all great, even those of you I left out due to my sorely overtaxed
memory, except for that one total asshole, of course.
The really scandalous parts have of course been edited out of this
document for public consumption.
--
Brrr-woowoowooowooowoowoo-brrrRRRRRrrrrr (Galaxians 7/83)
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