Crazy Carl Robinson gets FILFY
dateline cleveland filthfest: girls, I’m feeling fairly middle-aged and repentant these days, so forgive me if my story lacks the prerequisite assblood…..i haven’t written anything in 6 weeks (the longest period of time I’ve gone without writing anything sine 1997) and my summer has been spent hiding in the basement as mama whirls in concentric circles singing “lift jesus higher” while reminding me that I’d be “on the street sucking my thumb if it wasn’t for her”----well, I finally got a job, mama…..i’m not all that happy (dead in the head, ya know), but I think there is room for grace……and if the lil worm in my brain were to argue that wred fright’s filthfest were my 3 favorite days of 2006, I don’t think I’d disagree…..i liked everyone in the room (which is rare for me)…..i liked the fact that we were building something positive on our own and that no supervillains were needed…..i wasn’t born a punkrocker or a renegade poet, but the crowd at pat’s-in-the-flats on saturday night instinctively knew that I was both……anyway, onto the shows…..first of all, I’d like to give a shot out to barry-the-blade (who is currently recuperating in the virginia state psychiatric hospital) for the 200 mg adderol that kept me on such an even keel all weekend----blade, let me just say that the drive-by-truckers know a good man when they see one……secondly, I’d like to thank jesse (the drummer from kill-the-hippies) for the acid----it didn’t make me feel like 1996, but at my age, feeling 1986 works too…..um…..thursday night’s show at mac’s backs was all about the nuns in the crowd----and to make matters worse, the sisters were wred fright’s coworkers and I planned to hold up/discuss my stolen panty collection onstage…..and you might not have seen me, but, no doubt, I was in the back with my hands together praying to the babyjesus that the nuns would leave…..i obviously would have done my act nuns or no nuns, but the weekend kinda opened up for me when the sisters decided to leave after alabama pat’s tales of lesbian debauchery…..as for the panties, it’s no problem talking to an audience full of dudes about the panties you’ve stolen, but having to look a strange chick in the eye and tell the story of how you traded a 16-year-old, boarding school girl jaggermeister for her panties (when you’re the teacher) can be a bit embarrassing……stonecold honestly is good for the soul though and I think I came across as (almost) sexy to the girls in the room…..other memories of the night: I liked the look in ken picklestein’s eyes when he first saw frank, alabama pat and jellyboy (who was swinging a sword) roll up into his yard at 1 am-----like I’m rather fond of geminis to begin with, but I was particularly pleased to see old man picklestein contemplating the night which lay ahead as dreams of naked, street sword-swallowing danced through his head……friday afternoon: I spent most of friday afternoon taking shits (ie: don’t do the crime if you cant do the time)…..i’d guesstimate that I took 14 shits in 6 hours and then it was back to oldschool friends like whippets, weed and immodium a.d…….friday night might have been my favorite night of the 3---not for the rowdiness, but for the karma…..like I read tarot cards for the house and 30 cards out of 30 were positive (like I know buttpirate luke got “death,” but what other card would a zombie filmmaker want?)…..frank walsh got “the fool” and the house nodded its’ kosmic approval in unison…..alabama pat got “the sun” (a naked baby riding a unicorn with the sun in the background) and what is alabama pat if not a naked-baby-riding-a-unicorn with the sun at his back?……I thought the night worked perfectly…..i may have even gotten laid if not for the fact that I had to go throw up in the hotel bathtub for an hour or two (fuck it, I think my readers would be disappointed now if I actually did get laid)….and the 2nd best feeling for a fat man is having your friends think that you did…..saturday afternoon was much like friday afternoon just with more shits per capita (20? 22?… who fucking knows?)……wred fright’s cookout appeared to be rocking, but by the time we cracked a box of whippets in the garage, it was time for the show……jesse’s gift trip began to kick in around that time, so I asked to go on near the beginning lest I sweat my brain away…..and I know I’ve done many things onstage before, but last saturday night with kill-the-hippies was the first time that I had ever actually sang in front of a group of people…..everyone said my versions of “three biggest lies’ and “coalminer’s daughter” went well, but to tell ya the truth, I just wanted to get it over with…..to tell ya more truth, the part of the trip I was struggling with the most had to do with my humanity…..like how do you pretend to care about someone’s band or book when you desperately want them to talk you down from (imagined) chest pains?…..is me pretending to give a shit about someone’s job or wife more important than the stabbing pain in my rectum?---I don’t know, baby bitches, but I was certainly struggling with that concept on saturday night…..like I know claudine peed her pants and nate was rolling around on the grass beside the refinery, but the lil worm in my head was kinda worried about me making it through the night without dying…..and I knew enough to drink lots of water and take another blood pressure pill, but it’s always scary in real time……anyway, I sucked it up and I’m glad I did---and if the pain did cloud my brain, I’m sure the pictures from that night wont disappoint…..i think I could have gotten laid for the 2nd night in a row, but the boss did a header off wred fright’s step and twisted her ankle (roughly 30 minutes before jessica disobedience supposedly fell out of her top while puking purple on the exact same devilspot)……um…..ugly-old-man-saturday-night or no, I think the cleveland filthfest worked the way it was supposed to----no pollyanna here, but I had a fine time…..there were moments when I felt like a real writer….there were moments when I looked around a crowded room and knew everyone’s name…..there were moments when I felt as if my peers were genuinely interested in what I had to say…..no souls were saved (except for maybe that 17-year-old kid in bela dubby), but it was a nice feeling nonetheless…..