It's been a while since I've written something on my blog and since I'm having an introspective moment about my current right of passage, I felt now would be a good time to let loose another stream of conciousness onto the blogosphere. When I write blogs, it tends to be thoughts that come to me in blurts and fits and much like an abstract painter, I throw them up here on virtual canvas like a Jackson Pollock painting. I was once told that everything I write was pure shit. You know what... So was Jackson Pollock...
(Yeah, about how it looks inside my head too)
This one may be a little long. You have been warned.
In a little less than two weeks, I'm going to turn 40 years old. I was born on my Mother's Birthday, so Happy Birthday to you too mom! Since I'm writing that I'm turning 40, this should make you feel great. It's the decade long halmark passage that signifies I've got another ten years under my belt, both figuratively and literally given my growing belly and much like my 30's, I am moved to ponder my life as it stands right now.
(Now that's an appetizing thought to ponder)
Where did it all start? I was born in a small town in Oregon called Cottage Grove. A place built on the Bohemia gold mine and later on the Bohemia timber boom. It was never really a big bustling hub but people did move from all over the country to take advantage of the work that was available. Irish immigrants, Southern families, mostly folk out of work and looking for some place to start a new life with a family. Currently, the town is largely known for a failed timber economy and for Meth Amphetamine production and distribution. Something that really rather saddens me, because deep down I have a lot of happy childhood memories of the place.
(Old C.H. Chambers bridge before reconstruction.)
When I was a very little boy, I used to walk across the old Chambers Bridge near Harrison Street. Sometimes we'd sneak out just to be daring and walk the thin (and very rotten) beams of the bridge over the rushing waters below. It's been rebuilt recently so the dare seems a little fleeting. Sometimes, I'd sit by the small salmon damn and watch the fish swim back and forth. The Dairy Queen was a summer treat I adored and even today, on hot spring and summer days, a butterscotch dipped cone is enough to make me giddy and happy again.
Unfortunately, it also harbors some of my deepest childhood regrets and fears.
In the first grade, there was a boy who was held back from moving on to second. He was consequently older, stronger, and more than likely due to physical and sexual abuse of his own; very abusive to kids around him. There was a girl I had known since kindergarten that I'd held a crush on (because she wore Spiderwoman Underoos and I lusted after Spiderwoman), and he had seen us being sweet to each other.
(I still love Spiderwoman)
We had our first kiss in the trees near Bohemia Elementary Schools playground, held hands on the monkey bars, and we passed heart shaped notes to each other before swim class.
This older boy, told me that he wanted to play a game... Told me that he wanted us to take our clothes off in front of each other. To touch each other. When we got embarassed, we told him NO and thought it was done. He said if I didn't comply, he'd have his older brother (in the 5th grade) beat me up. That week, I came home with two black eyes and a bloody nose. When I refused again, I came home with two black eyes, a bloody nose, and a sprained wrist. I later found out, the same was happening to my poor little girlfriend.
We didn't refuse his demands anymore.
I was verbally told to effectively sexually assault this poor girl and hurt her or we'd both be hurt even more. He would sit back and watch playing with himself. When kids caught us in the act and told on us, the teacher pulled us aside and demanded to know why we were doing what we were doing. I had no words. The principle threatened to have us both spanked in his office, as well as suspended for doing something so dirty. We were out of school for at least three days. Upon returning, the older boy having been found out for his abuses, came to school with a .38 live round. No gun, just the round. He threatened us with it for telling on him. The teacher caught him playing with it in class and the police were called. The parents were arrested upon arriving to pick him up.
It took me years and a therapist to come to grips that this was a form of sexual abuse, being forced to hurt (sexually) my little friend while someone else watched while we both were under threat of violence.
Shortly after this period, we moved to a tiny little burg on the Oregon Coast called Otter Rock. It feels like few people comprehend what Otter Rock is, until you mention The Devil's Punchbowl. If you've seen the punchbowl, you've been to Otter Rock.
(Yep, big hole in the rock where waves crash in...)
In truth... I hated the idea of moving to the coast. I had to start over, make new friends, try to find things to do. You'd think that a kid with a love for all things creepy crawly, I'd have a lot to do with Tide Pools galore and you'd be right.
With an abundance of tide pools, there where creatures for days to catalog and explore and look at and gawk at. Marine life was everywhere and every day the beaches positively crawled with things to explore. Miles of driftwood beaches to play in and countless fossils and agates and rocks to find.
But I had few friends... At least, that's what it felt like.
Growing up on the coast, if your family wasn't one of the money making families in Timber, Hospitality, or Fisheries, you wren't really accepted. Often, those families with money were families that had worked thier way up to be foreman of the Timber lines, captains of fishing fleets, or had some high ranking position at a resort. If you were somehow from a family that wasn't part of that higher eschilon of humanity... You were beneath contempt...
Friends were hard to come by as my clothes were never stylish enough to put with with the "right" crowd and what few existed, I cherished. Because we were all in the same boat, so to speak. Poor, few toys, and fewer hopes.
But there were good times...
I remember making my own toys out of the garbage cast offs of the rich kids. Taking thier old toys and gluing things to them, taking them apart and making them my own. I remember happy fishing trips along the jetties and the rocky outcroppings. I remember making our own forts out of driftwood. Our own swords out of sticks.
I remember also that history of Cottage Grove repeated itself... Another older boy, younger girl, black eyes and bloody noses and the pain and embarassment of being forced to hurt someone again.
I also remember the pain that addiction took on my family. On the coast, when you take a step back and realize that all there is to do is what you see every day, people look for escapes. When there is nothing to do and little hope for the future for its populace, people turn to chemical escapes to get rid of the pain of depression and hopelessness.
My family wasted away under the pain of addiction until the state, after one too many phone calls reporting a domestic dispute, took my sister and I and placed us in a Foster Home for the holidays.
To this day, Christmas lights at the Fred Meyer in October (or September) is usually enough to start my downward holiday struggle.
(Taken 9/26/2014)
Eventually, our family was reunited and things seemed to take a rather giganitc upswing. New jobs, money for new cars and braces and a better house... It seemed to be a good thing. I couldn't shake however the image of being the "studid retarded dork" label that I had living in Newport. I hated it... I hated being known as worthless, fat, and being told I'd never amount to anything but gutting fish with the retards and mexicans. As if, being latino was the lowest form of life on the coast... Lower than being retarded...
Not everything in a tourist town is all sparkles and rainbows. It's a wonderful place to visit, its a horrid place to live.
We soon moved back to the Valley and in truth, I was greatly relieved to do so. For once, I was happy at a new start. Time to shed the label of the "fat worthless dork" and make a new start. I begged my Grandmother to let me work on the farm for her and Grampa to earn my own money for school clothes. She was allowed to take me shopping but ONLY with the caveat that I got to pic my own clothes.
I promptly then set about modifying them to what I wanted...
Things really did look up... I was getting by far better grades and it was delightful to know that I had friends who wanted to spend time with me. I graduated with a 3.0 gpa in 1993 and felt like I'd finally accomplished something in my life.
By 1994, I had discovered Gothic Rock scene and I felt like I'd found my roots.
But my greatest hope and wish... Was to achieve the long wanted marriage.
You see, all through my teenage years, post my parents addiction and foster home issues, I believed that being married would be the key to finding happiness. In writing this, I realize that it stems largely from the early education I got from first church and watching the unification of my parents after drug counselling and how marriage seemed to bring a smile to thier lives. A very interesting pondering since they are divorced now... And so am I.
At 19, I got married to my then roommate and co-worker.
She was 23... Beautiful, could cook amazingly well, and had all the charms of a crocodile when she wanted to. Often I ask "WHAT THE HELL WAS I THINKING?!"
We met at a bible study at The Glenwood restaurant where we'd go late night and have free coffee and discuss the deeper meaning of scriptures (largely Calvinism VS. Everything Else) all while trying to connect. She had just kicked out her live in boyfriend for sleeping with other women in thier shared apartment. She needed a roommate to help with bills, I wanted to move out of the house... I did the math, I could afford it, and well... She looked cute enough.
Life lesson for the younger generation: Never move in with someone you are attracted to.
My friends at the time all told me it was a horrid idea. We'd be sleeping together in three months and it would end badly in six. They were right on one count, it did end badly... We were sleeping together in less than a week.
In three months, we both agreed we couldn't "Live in Sin" anymore and being a Deacons Daughter, she had to get married to the man she was schtooping. So we jokingly called her parents and told them what was up and asked what they'd do if we eloped... They told us to give them six months and they'd pay for a wedding. That was our proposal. No one knee, no ring, no romance, just a joking call to the inlaws and we were hitched.
I remember not being able to speak while in front of everyone trying to recite my vows. Always a good sign that you know what you're in for. When your husband can't even choke out the "I Do" of the wedding vow... Chances are you probably shouldn't be getting married.
A year into our marriage and we had to move to Idaho... because well, she hated Oregon and the rain and the hippies and the everything we have. Because her mother promised her there would be jobs if we moved. And I could come along "if I wanted to..."
A year and a half in Idaho and the marriage ended. She spent the night out with her boss, came home smelling like cat food and calone, and told me "I don't love you anymore, I want to find someone better." I told her "It smells like you already have."
Divorce is a horrible thing among Christian circles in the 90's. It meant that you were a total failure in the eyes of the church. I felt like a failure for certain and often I still do.
I am fairly certain that I ran into her once more a couple years ago while on a romantic trip to the coast with my (at the time much younger) girlfriend. At least, I can hope it was her because the look of disgust for me and my tattoos was only more pointed by the look of awe towards my 28 year old date.
Could also be because I convinced her I was gay after we split up. It wasn't true, but few things hurt a deacons daughter from an Idaho Nazarene Church than knowing that
her Ex-Husband is now schtooping men.
I've spent the better part of the next 20 years trying to re-achieve that connection with someone again with the hopes of having a life together with someone. Always meeting with some blunder or failure.
Out of that mess... I am blessed with a beautiful daughter.
June 9th, 2003 marked the birth of my beautiful daughter. We almost lost her in the birth process... Several hours of labor, an emergency C-Section, and the prayers of several Romany brothers and sisters in Christ and she lived and cried and cooed in my arms. I never knew my biological father, he honestly was never a part of my life. But I swore that I'd ALWAYS be a part of my kiddos life. So far, for 11 years, I've succeeded in that.
After her first bath, I held her sweetly in my arms and sang her to sleep with a Romany hymn. I was very big into Romany life at the time and I wanted her to hear praises to God in Kalderasha. I can't tell you why now...
At 30... I felt like my life was over. I was "officially" an old man. I was a dad now, held an executive job managing multi-million dollar computer network contracts. I felt like life was no fun anymore... Everything was a chore...
I felt like I'd lost passion for life... I had to find it again.
At 18, while married, I found that passion with helping start Pisteuo with my friend Mike Langley. The Bible Study and Manager leader for The Glenwood restaurant. Pisteuo was the first of its kind homeless feed for homeless kids. At the time, it was just the general mall rats and at risk kids that didn't have anyplace else to go other than dumpster diving for food. I lost touch with that when I moved to Idaho, but out of that effort grew the now longstanding Hosea Youth Services.
I set about trying to find away to rekindle that same kind of passion.
Since late in 1993, I've been in love with the Gothic Rock music genre. Although however, one of my greatest influences was the band The Cramps. They never considered themselves "Goth", but certainly they held sway on any number of a hundred different Genres.
During my time in Idaho, I had created a character I used for Role Play games (long before I knew of web comics or the internet) that I dubbed Doctor Raven. Having been familiar with the works of Mick Mercer the Gothic Rock chronologist, I set about to add my own spin. I became Doctor Raven the music journalist.
I worked my way up through fanzines and blogs to get a magazine deal to write for Drop Dead Magazine (interviewing the band Deadbolt in the above featured issue) and eventually all the way up to Fangoria Musick, the music arm of the horror magazine Fangoria.
My highest honor, my saddest article, was being sought out and asked by Fangoria to write the eulogy for my late and great hero Lux Interior, the lead vocalist for The Cramps.
I never got paid a red cent for any article I wrote for any magazine. Purely everything was under my pen name and I never signed a contract for any of it. In retrospect, I wished I had...
Everything came crashing down as life took another rough turn during the recession of 2009. My job was outsourced and I was unemployed with little to no prospects of finding employment anywhere.
School seemed the appropriate response.
(Taken 02/11/2010 at Lane Community College)
I jumped on the bandwagon that a lot of people in the 2010 time frame had, get a degree with the idea that school will prepare us for a better job once the market "gets better".
I graduated 06/15/2012 with a paralegal degree and a GPA just two shades shy of honor society standards.
I've honestly yet to ever be able to use that degree. Apparently lawyers can get interns for free from the University law program...
While going to school and without the Doctor Raven outlet, I had to find some other way to be creative. I was given the amazing opportunity to become Master of Ceremonies for three local tatto expos. The Oregon Ink expo in Eugene, The Portland Tattoo Expo in Portland, and the Chrome and Ink tattoo expo in Salem.
(Myself with Celebrity Guest Matt Gone from Chrome and Ink Expo 2014)
(Myself with Model Angie Walls at the Portland Tattoo Expo 2013)
(Big Gus Demented at The Portland Tattoo Expo 2012)
(With Wee-Man at Oregon Ink 2011 I believe)
And it's gotten my fat dopey mug to be published in a few (about four) tattoo magazines. Ink Junkie being the first with my face right alongside the Portland Suicide Girls group.
I have to admit, being the tattoo MC for Oregon for so long has been a wild ride and has at times given me a very pride filled and swollen head. I rather enjoyed being the guy everyone asked the opinion of for who was great to go for a tattoo. I could refer all my friends, let them know who I thought was good, and help promote the great shops in Oregon. It's been truly a wonderful experience.
Lately... I begin ponder how long that will last. Oregon Ink has disbanded as an Expo in Eugene, Chrome and Ink was an experiment for Salem and it appears there won't be a second. Portland is the last tattoo expo I am still working and I look forward to working it again this year. How long they'll keep it going... I don't know.
For a long time the promoters that I worked with were the only show in town for Expos. Lately, there have been a large number of them opening up left and right in Oregon. New promoters in Springfield have started The Evergreen Tattoo Invitational and I have to admit, from an outside observers perspective, it is a fun and great local show. I went twice this year and its been fun to hang out and actually enjoy a show rather than WORK a show. I give them hats off for putting on a great show with great food and great artists.
But I'm often asked why I don't work that one too... Thier promoters went a different direction and I support the guys they picked. I'll still support all of my local friends in Eugene and Springfield and that includes them.
As for the other shows, I've asked if they need an MC for other events. Nobody has gotten back to me. I'm beginning to ponder if that adventure, like being Doctor Raven, has run its course also. Perhaps maybe its time to apply my talents elsewhere. It's been a matter of some internal discussion.
(But you have to admit, who'd want to let go of this kind of adventure?)
In a little over two weeks... I pass a right of passage for men. I turn the big FOUR-OH...
In 40 years, I've been told I've saved peoples lives. In 40 years, I've been told I've ruined a few too. In 40 years, I've been told a lot of things...
I've learned that marriage doesn't make you happy.
That no amount of sex will drown your sorrow.
That any relationship that requires you to look over your shoulder isn't worth having.
I've learned that picking and choosing your relationships is a responsibility that you shouldn't take lightly, whether personal, work or romantic.
I've learned that no amount of money will make things "work".
I've learned that no matter how nice, or good, or well you treat people, you will piss them off anyway. Even if it is just because you are being nice to them.
I've learned to be nice anway.
I've learned that a degree does not get you a job, but that college is an experience worth having.
But most importantly, I've learned that there are important things in life worth choosing that matter.
My daughter, my family, my health (Mental, Physical, and Spiritual), my shelter, my happiness, are all the most important things in the world. And I should not let myself or anyone else take that away from me.
I could ramble for hours on life reflections, but I'll close with this last thing. I heard this song while I was a music journalist and it's stuck with me for years afterwards. I find it apt, I find it true, and if you need something to reflect on... Give this a listen and let it change your heart.
Music in my head:
Happy Birthday by The Cruxshadows
"Roll out of bed and look in the mirror
And wonder who you areAnother year is come and goneToday is your birthday but it might beThe last day of your lifeWhat will you do if tomorrow it's all gone?You won't be young foreverIt's only a fraction to the sumYou won't be young foreverNor will anyoneSo look at your lifeWho do you want to be before you die?Look at your lifeWhat do you want to do?Look at your lifeWho do you want to be before you die?Look at your lifeYou haven't got foreverThen tell me what really mattersIs it the money and the fameOr how many people might eventually know your name?But maybe you touch one lifeAnd the world becomes a better place to beMaybe you give their dreams another dayAnother chance to be freeYou won't be young foreverIt's only a fraction to the sumYou won't be young foreverNor will anyoneSo look at your lifeWho do you want to be before you die?Look at your lifeAnd what do you want to do?Look at your lifeWho do you want to be before you die?Look at your lifeIt all comes back to youHappy birthday, happy birthdayHappy birthday, happy birthdayHappy birthday, happy birthdayHappy birthday, happy birthdayYou won't be young foreverIt's only a fraction to the sumYou won't be young foreverNor will anyoneSo look at your lifeWho do you want to be before you die?Look at your lifeWhat do you want to do?Look at your lifeWho do you want to be before you die?Look at your lifeIt all comes back to youLook at your lifeWho do you want to be before you die?Look at your lifeWhat do you want to do?Look at your lifeWho do you want to be before you die?Look at your lifeYou haven't got forever"
