Thu, 19 May 2005

lucifucked (one)
1993.

I had flunked out of school and moved back in with my family for a few months, unwilling to talk to anyone, not leaving my room, until Jezebel Decibel called and told me I should move into her house. I could stay in the basement and pay fifty bucks a month for rent and help her make her film. In the first book, there was a character named Seth, and that was basically me, so I moved in with Jezebel and her friend Loyola and Loyola’s boyfriend-dealer Frank Sinatra, who was actually hardly ever there (I don’ think he ever really knew I moved in, but he was pretty busy at that time) in the house out by Hickory Hill in Iowa City. This is when I started making puppets and learning what I called Attack Guitar and renting tons of weirdeyo videos from Tofu Hut and doing lots and lots and lots of LSD. Our goal while high was to weird each other out as much as possible, which was actually a lot of fun and made me feel better (and also helps explain my later aversion to “let’s sit in a circle and listen to hippie jam bands” experiences I’d have in Chicago a couple years later). We’d devise elaborate and malicious headtrips to play on unsuspecting high school kids who drove down from Waterloo looking to score, from playing horrible Japanese noise and heroin-damaged stoner dirges from speakers hidden behind the furniture to instant “What the fuck did you do?” interrogations to mock demonic possessions, and these poor protohippie “are you kind?” kids just broke, in which case we drove them to the bus station and shipped them back home, or else they got the joke and rolled with it and usually ended up hanging around, learning the tantra of fake blood and strobe lights.
(12:24.05.19.2005) [/scrytch] #