Life Ever After

It annoys me when I listen to some try preaching that dead is dead, and that to them the life after this one is bunkum. To me it illustrates just how little imagination these buffoons have. Now before im accused of being some religious nutjob, let me say nothing could be further from the truth. There is nothing as terrible to me as organised religion. I have no time for it and tend to think the church goers are as barmy as the non believers.
My idea of the afterlife is a bit more exciting than the usual old-man-with-a-white-beard version beloved of so many. I like to call it EverWorld (its a hipper word than 'Heaven') and there I like to think its a mix of War Of The Worlds, Planet Of The Apes, Mario Land with a dash of Texas Chainsaw Massacre thrown in. I still keep the rivers of wine idea because that simply is a wonderful thing and even souls need a drop of booze now and then.
Dead is dead is worse than dead itself. Plain boring and only the lowest wit or character would believe it surely?


Eternal paradise? Just up the road on the right

I believe the place where we go after the grave is closer to this one than the one where clouds and harps are popular, and have bits of each of the themes ive mentioned above in it. EverWorld has a human touch; food and drink is definately in abundance, stuff that doesn't reach its sell by date. Im guessing there will things to do also, not work exactly but something where all the spirits contribute otherwise eternity could get ever so tedious.
Neither will it be all peace and goodwill because its through disagreements that solutions are found (even the populace of paradise need to bicker) so its a bop on the head for harmony loving angels im afraid. One simply could not face a forever after agreeing and being charming. That way leads to madness. And severe rash.
As for the idea of there being a hell, then of course an otherworldly punishment exists there but its not damned to burning in pits of molten lava. Its more like a sin bin (only for real SINS) like we have in rugby or ice hockey. Do a little blaspheming or spill an archangel's pint and you spend five years in the bin. And because this is eternity those five years will feel like five minutes. More grievous transgressions equals more time in the bin, in perhaps a less comfortable type of cage.

Eternal suits?

So the next thing is bodies. Do we arrive at the gothic, electric gates in the mess we left earth; bloodied, gasping, diseased and waiting for a new breath? Or do we slip into our new and improved form as soon as the line goes flat? In my mind the former makes more sense because if we were able to just shake off the ravages of our previous, useless bodies and be instantly healed from whatever fatal strike finished us (on earth) then it leaves no hope of getting the soul to repent their mortal wrongdoings. Why should they? They are transformed. On the other hand if we remain in our crushed, wheezing shells on admittance into EverWorld then chance of genuine regret and repentance exists.
To sum it up we would be angels (not the feathery-keen-on-harps type) infused with electricity and buzzing like eagles hooked up to a power grid. Perhaps similar to the image above. Immortal but not invincible until sins on earth are truly atoned.
So that, in a fashion, is that. My vision or idea of Life Everafter. Its more imaginative than just looking into a gravelly pit and slightly more cooler than clouds and hymns. And the truly great thing about all this is I could very well be right!

The Route To Gin Lane

Below is my favourite part of the book Jack Sheppard. Mrs Sheppard has become a widow due the hanging of her husband Jack ~

'One nail drives out another, ts true, but the worst nail you can employ is a coffin nail. Gin lane's the nearest road to the churchyard.'
'It may be; but if it shortens the distance and lightens the journey, I care not,' retorted the widow, who seemed by this reproach to be roused into sudden eloquence. 'To those who, like me, have never been able to get out of the dark and dreary paths of life, the grave is indeed a refuge, and the sooner they reach it the better. The spirit I drink maybe poison - it may kill me - perhaps it IS killing me: - but so would hunger, cold, misery - so would my own thoughts. I should have gone mad without it.
Gin is the poor man's friend - his sole set off against the rich man's luxury. It comforts him when he is most forlorn. It may be treacherous, it may lay up a store of future woe; but it ensures present happiness, and that is sufficient. When I have traversed the streets a houseless wanderer, driven with curses from every door where I have solicited alms, and with blows from every gateway where I have sought shelter - when I have crept into some deserted building, and stretched my weary limbs upon a bulk, in the vain hope of repose - or worse than all, when frenzied with want, I have yielded to horrible temptation, and earned a meal in the only way I could earn one - when I have felt, at times like these, my heart sink within me, I have drunk of this drink, and have at once forgotten my cares, my poverty, my guilt.
Old thoughts, old feelings, old faces, and old scenes have returned to me, and I have fancied myself happy - as happy as I am now.'
And she burst into a wild, hysterical laugh.
'Poor creature!' ejaculated Wood. 'Do you call this frantic glee happiness!'
'Its all the happiness I have known for years,' returned the widow, becoming suddenly calm, 'and its short lived enough, as you perceive. I tell you what, Mr. Wood,' she added, in a hollow voice, and with a ghastly look, 'gin may bring ruin; but as long as poverty, vice, and ill usage exist, it will be drunk.'

Killing Tobacco

It would seem that quitting smoking is big buisness. There are gums, lozenges, nicotine patches, helplines and all manner of therapies to help the cigarette smoker give up the weed. And there are literally HUNDREDS of online sites dedicated to 'stubbing it out.' But is all this stuff needed? I was a smoker, and a dedicated one at that. I LOVED cigarettes and even took a pack into the bath with me, in case of any sudden cravings. (Plus I thought it was the height of bohemia to be smoking during a soak in the tub.) The only time I disliked smoking was when I was indulging in another favourite vice; alcohol. Others like to partner cigarettes with booze but for me it was a foul mix.
Back in 2004 however, I decided to quit smoking. Not for health or financial reasons, I wanted to stop because the habit was getting in the way of my drinking. I used to drink pretty often (still do in fact) and couldn't stand the combination of tobacco and alcohol together so the cancer sticks had to go.

Easy as ABC

Granted I did use nicotine gum to help ease the withdrawals but I only ever used two packets of the stuff, after that it was plain sailing. Yes you read that correct dear reader, giving up smoking was easy, at least it was for me. Does this mean I have an iron will? Was I truly addicted to nicotine? (Is anyone?)
Obviously the answer must be YES to both; I have successfully pulled myself from alcoholism to be able to drink now without a problem and there is no doubt that nicotine is addictive. But how addictive is it? Is nicotine really as powerful as these help sites make out? Im not convinced it is.
When I quit puffing on October 15, 2004, I stayed QUIT. I never once slipped to return to cigarettes. Sure I dreamt about doing it (I think most ex smokers have the 'smoking dreams') but I did not miss it one bit. Not the lighting up, the taste or the ritual of smoking - first ciggie of the day with tea. Everything disappeared and it was like I had never smoked.
Certainly the habit is persistent, and it has a powerful grip on people but I cannot help being amazed at just how bad or potent some believe it to be. And allow me to repeat myself; I LOVED to smoke and was as unwilling to quit in my twenties as the most stubborn smoker is. There was no way it was going to happen. Or so I believed back then.
So if I, a smoker who enjoyed a ciggie as much as I enjoy a drink (but not together,) can kick it into touch, why on earth do others find it so difficult? Why do they need support sites and phonelines to help get them past a craving? Is it because their hearts are simply not in it? If thats the case, why bother attempting to quit at all? Afterall if your hearts not into it then puff to oblivion and be damned.
I fail to see how it is such a big hurdle. Smoking isn't like cocaine or whisky, or valium or amphetamine. So what is there to miss when you give up? The first cigarette might provide a tiny 'high' but the ones which follow don't. It really is money down the drain with only scabby lungs to show for it. (Many would argue its the same with drink and drugs but only by the ones who don't use either.)
Im not telling people they should quit the smokes, if it makes you happy more power to you. Just pointing out that if and when you do want to ditch the sticks then don't be put off by stories of 'terrible' withdrawal or the 'agony' of cold turkey. Those are the drama queens speaking ~ take it from me, its a piece of cake.

Let 'Em Eat Rope

This is not another piece where I swear the merits (even virtues) of the death penalty. Everyone by now knows that I believe in nothing else but DEATH for murderers so there is little point dredging up that severely flogged horse. (If ever a horse deserved being put out to stud, it is this knackered mule.)
This is about the METHOD used, or not being used as is more and more becoming the way. Back when Britain hanged its killers (instead of letting them loose to cause more mayhem after a paltry sentence as we seem to do now) the sole method was 'hanged by the neck until you are dead.' We were damned effective at it too with executioners like the great Pierrepoint, getting the condemned from his/her cell to the scaffold and hung in a mere 7 seconds. No last family visits or television interviews from death row, or a soft media attempting to show the killer in a forgiving light. No hoo-ha or trumpeting and releasing of the inmates last meal.
And without the circus, or more to the point without having a choice of different methods, the criminals went swifly to meet their punishment. Fast forward to today, if we look at the United States we see that this is not now the case. There the murderer is allowed appeal after appeal and can halt their date with death with the smallest of details. Today (26th October, 2010) is a perfect example. A brutal killer was due to die but now a judge in has blocked the scheduled execution saying 'more time is needed to consider the inmate's challenge of the state's use of a knockout drug from an unidentified source.'
Now I am not going to sit here and scoff at America's justice system and pick faults with it because that would be ridiculous coming from someone living in a place like Britain. I wish ALL the US States were like Texas who have no hesitation in putting murderers in their rightful place (ie the grave.) However the process could and should be less of a hassle and if it were then even more inmates would be pushing up daffodils.
It all got messy when people decided they wanted to be more 'humane' in putting the condemned to death. Other methods than the noose were looked into all in the eagerness to sanitise the death penalty.

Step this way

First up was the electric chair and while 'Old Sparky' was accepted after a shaky start (and is now an American icon) still it wasn't enough. Gas chambers were also popular for a time but were soon relegated when lethal injection arrived in prison death chambers. Ah lethal injection! Now this sounded like the deal maker, just what the public wanted to satisfy their need for justice, while at the same time making the execution method look no worse than visiting the dentist.
So in came the chemicals (sodium thiopental, pancuronium and potassium chloride) to wash the States hands of the more violent noose or chair. And now it has been reduced to one chemical (sodium thiopental) to put the inmate in his rightful place. (Im using the masculine 'his' purely because more men are put to death than women, at least in America.)
All this has played straight into the hands of the criminal because the more 'fiddly' the method, the more chance it has of breaching one of the prisoners rights. They can argue that the chemicals take too long to act or that they are allergic to them, and even make the case that lethal injection would be impossible due to prolonged drug abuse while in the free world. There are a whole manner of ways and exscuses to delay getting the fatal jab and sometimes avoid receiving it all .
I cannot help to think that the United States would have done well to stick to Great Britains near (not total) flawless method. Heck even the firing squad (which don't forget America also employed) had less things to go wrong than the needle. But let us not stray off the point and argue effectiveness. The simple fact of the matter is that every country which still sentences its murderers to death ought to use the gallows. It serves two important uses, namely that it is both swift in dealing out death and shows the rest of the world that YES death is on offer for perpetrators of violent crimes and NO we don't care a damn who knows it.
It is honest and upfront and far better than skulking behind curtains trying to dig for a useable vein because doing it that way only makes the watching world believe that while death is on the books, it is not truly comfortable in actually carrying the sentence out.
I for one am convinced that should it carry on like it is now then executions will become a thing of the past and when that happens all is lost. The way forward is erecting scaffolds and not being afraid of doing so. They needn't be public, just the knowledge they are used would be sufficient. A simple ONE WAY exit to the trapdoor without all this faffing around with different methods and chemicals. Doing it that way is sure way to get sidetracked and lose grip on the law.

Rattlesnakes Of Sunset Strip

1980's Los Angeles spawned a slew of great rock/metal bands, from thrash metal to hard rock. It must have been a f**king amazing scene to have been mixed up in if you had the good fortune to live there at the time.
Even before rock music claimed it, Sunset Strip had been a gltzy, glamorous place in the 1930s, 40s and 50s. There was the 'Gardens Of Allah' apartments where writers including Dorothy Parker and F.Scott Fitzgerald had lived. Make no mistake, the Strip has been the favoured haunt of many artists. One could say it was a cradle of creativity when it was in its prime.
But lets go to the 80's when rock and metal was king. If you were in a band, Sunset Strip was THE place to get noticed and make a name for yourself. Everyone from Van Halen to Guns N' Roses strutted their stuff there and hung out but for me, a young 10 year old living on the other side of the world in Wales, one band stood out. One group grabbed my attention with their wild image (which I thought was utterly beautiful) and rock/metal/punky sound and that was the awesome Motley Crue.
It must be said I loved them as soon as I clapped eyes on them, which would have been after the release of Shout At The Devil in 1983. I bought it on cassette (Cd's were a way off) and it was the cover design that first pulled me in. The flames behind Mick Mars, Nikki's wild hair underlined by those now famous thick, black lines under his eyes, Tommy staring defiantly like he was on a mission and Vince with his blonde good looks resembling a rock n' roll angel come to preach the virtues of sin. And it only got better once you pressed PLAY. I remember sitting up way past bedtime on school nights, listening to Shout At The Devil back to back on a Walkman (they were new then too) and playing 'air drums' while sitting up in bed in the dark. It a wonder I awoke for school at all.


Kickstarted my rebel heart

By the time Theatre Of Pain was released in '85 I was a total Crue head, filling my school books with scrawls of glittery pentagrams and Motley song titles. Iron Maiden, AC/DC, Kiss and Ozzy were there too of course but these dudes from Los Angeles filled with hedonistic attitudes and dangerous 'recreational pursuits' moved into a space in my heart that they occupy to this day. In hindsight I was a pretty wreckless, bratty kid myself so its little wonder they clicked with me and as I myself went on to live a life near the edge Motley were the perfect soundtrack.
Come to think about it the band released a few albums at important times of my life; the awesome Girls, Girls, Girls arrived in 1987 just as I was leaving school and 1989's Dr. Feelgood when I entered into my first 'serious' relationship with a girl. By then I was a huge fan, almost to the point of obssession. (Motley Crue and Slayer will always be the biggest bands in my life. Different sounds, same F**K You aggression.) I could draw Motley tee shirt designs using free hand and without looking at the picture. I knew them all by heart.
The bands debut offering, Too Fast For Love, I got around the same time I picked up Dr. Feelgood because it was such a hard record to get hold of back then in this tiny part of Wales. You had to go to shops which sold imported records and be grateful when your favourite band turned up.

Number ONE...erm SIXX!

Nevertheless I must be honest in this piece and while my love for the band has never really left me, my enthusiasm did wane and for a few years I did take time out from their music. In 1993 I (along with everyone else) was swept away from the hard rock scene when Nirvana almost single handedly reshaped music. Grunge was in, rock was out and to be fair it was a refreshing blast. So the Crue's 1994 self titled album 'Motley Crue' slid by without me paying it the slightest bit of attention. Ditto to Generation Swine in 1997 and 2000's New Tattoo. I had gone back to my more heavy leanings and bands like Slayer, Pantera, Cannibal Corpse and Crowbar. I don't think I ever read news about Motley Crue or read a story about them during these times (the internet back then not being as popular as now.) They simply slipped off my radar as far as their new stuff was concerned, but of course I still played the early albums.
It wasn't until 2007 (maybe 2006) that my love was rekindled for the Crue. By this time I had moved in to my new house with my wife and we set up a regular internet connection, enabling me to catch up on the recent news and gossip of artists I had grown up listening to. Naturally Motley were one of the first I checked out.
The internet is a Godsend for music fans when I look back to how fans of yesteryear got their information. Now it only takes a few clicks and one is supplied with everything you need to know in a few seconds. And man was I glad to discover that not only were Motley Crue still going (none of them had died yet shock!) but they were still releasing music. From then on my old love resurfaced and I was a re-addicted Crue head!
Online I found out about Nikki's other projects like Brides Of Destruction and the brilliant Sixx A.M. (should being in TWO cool bands be allowed?) and best of all the new Motley Crue album, Saints Of Los Angeles, in 2008. And what a record thats is! There were a few old metal/rock/whatever artists who released CDs in 2008 which managed to recapture the energy and enthusiasm of days of old and Vince and co. were definately among them. Saints went back to being what the Crue are all about; sleazy riffs, balls out attitude, cute imagery and full on rock n' roll. They went back to being the band I remember sitting up all night in dark air drumming to. They were simply Motley f**king Crue ~ the beast that never dies.
Someone really ought to make 'em Saints.

Night Errands

I sit here once again in the killing drifts of very early A.M. (12:20am to be precise) without lights, save one candle, and until ten minutes ago I was content. In fact I was more than content; I was lost in my own world as I roamed the interwebs for morbid chapters of interest, sipping on a chamomile tea. Until my cat, Skyelar, decided I needed a fright (theres a reason they got on so well with witches you know.) She sat up from her spot on the sofa (I prefer the floor myself so we switched places when she moved in) and began staring through the darkness, out into the hall.
Nobody was there of course and all was silent but kitty would not be put off. To her there WAS something out there, which of course made me think there WAS something out there too. And this is when the memory jukebox in my mind selects an article I had read at least fifteen years ago and presses PLAY. It was a piece about ghosts and which animal out of a dog, cat or rat could sense a spiritual presence the most. In turn they are locked in a supposedly haunted room; doggy varely notices a thing (no suprise there), Mr Rat is jittery and seems to be aware of something but moggy is different. The feline KNOWS that he isn't alone (cats know everything) and proceeds to skit all over the room like fat in a frying pan.
It felt like my brain was in competion with Skyelar to see who could scare me most. The black seemed to thicken as both my pet and I peered into its heart and I was quite convinced that at any moment something unpleasant would reveal itself, stepping out of the tarry hall either like Macbeth's ghost or The Wolfman.
We stayed like this for some minutes (it felt much longer) with me turning from the darkness every few seconds to look at the back of my cats head as if willing her to return the look and perhaps admit she was only winding me up. (Yeah yeah, like a cat would ever do that!)
And of course the dark plays tricks with the mind (especially one filled with crazy imagination to begin with) and combined with a silence that is usually reserved for the slumber of the dead, it can create an all too potent mixture. At times I believe it powerful enough to be able to actually pull spirits from their world into ours and give breath to creatures best kept in nightmares.
There was nothing actually in the hall of course, I could have safely got up and allowed myself to be shrouded by the shadows. There was nothing within them, no goblin with cruel eyes and razor fangs, no deathly reaper come to deliver me to the bowels of hell. All that was there was night, evaporating in a million dreams.
Skyelar went back to her pillow, releasing me from the midnight spell.
Looking back on this in the day will be hilarious because light makes even cowards bold abd there are no savage ogres waiting to seize your throat when the sun is up. (Well actually there are but those types are of this world not of the Other World, those silky spectres can only shine and come alive beneath moonlight.)

A Cutlass For Me Jar

This past week I have suffered from a most foul lurgy which sent me into pits of misery. The above title is the first thing that jumped into my head when I was trying to summon up a good description for my ills. Basically I have felt like an empty, delicate shell, shambling around in fear of setting something sharp and dangerous loose inside my soul.
At first I imagined the onset of influenza (as is the way with stupid, mere men) until I put my hand up and settled on the common cold. Day one brought the blocked sinuses and dry throat but there was something else too. Something which raked up and down my spine and attacked the bones like it was trying to tip me into an even more insufferable soup. (This is what had initially gave me the idea 'flu had somehow invaded my already toxic body.) I wished for sleep to bring me safe passage through the worst of it, but predictably no relief arrived with easy slumber.
This would have been Tuesday after swilling the usual grain the evening before, luckily however I no longer suffer hangovers otherwise I would have been in a damned sight sorrier state. Aches aside I decided it was a mere cold so ignored it and carried on with my work. (I have never been a fan of resting in bed to ease illnesses aa a previous hospital stint proved when, even at death's door, I stubbornly refused bed rest in order to wander the corridors looking for places to sneak a quiet smoke.)