...A comedy of errors.
The party has come to a close and the cleanup has been accomplished. This is the first party that has taken place in my new dwelling. It's a nice place and it seemed a shame not to rip the virginity from it like a scared bride. As parties go it was pretty small - 20 people at the most. However, it included some of the most important people of my life, people that have, for lack of a better term, been around since the begining. It is not as though I can really give a really good starting date as to my gothic inception, let us simply say that it crept up on our person - stealthily. Like a thief I did not know it was there until it was too late, and by that point, it truely was. There I was decked in black with powder and lipstick and without an idea as to how I got that way. Some might say it was inevitable because of my Black Irish decent but I wouldn't know about that. There was a good chance I would have stayed true to my hardcore roots if it wasn't for Jan. But Jan was. Now I am. Take me or leave me this is all that there is.
I'm not sure if I would have ever classified myself as gothic, although others were more than ready to. Byron never held that much appeal for me, the romantic period of Europe, as far as I am concerned, was overrated, and I never could afford the pretty boots with the skulls on them. I dressed in worn black jeans, a faded black t-shirt, oversized tanker boots and a beat up leather jacket with a large bloody cross on the back. I suppose I felt more at home in the sewer than in the parlors. It's just how I was built, poor (or at least I thought) and pissed off.
Within time the form took up the function and gothic became the best description for me as there could be. I don't really care if you are one of those people who abhor classifications. I personally feel that we all need definitions within our lives and this is mine. I am neither hardcore nor gothic, but I take from each as I see fit. I am neither old school nor new school, but I like leaders more than followers. I am neither mod nor grunge, but I couldn't afford either end of the spectrum anyway. I have come a long way since I put on my first pair of boots ten years ago, but who the knows where the hell I've actually gone. I have always identified more with Charlie Brown than with Valor, but Charlie Brown has more personality anyway. However, the makeup has washed off, the lipstick is lost and the leather has been passed onto another generation. I'm still poor (now I know I'm poor) but now I'm angry, annoyed, bored and pissed off at humanity. Problem is, I like the individuals chunks of humanity that I meet. I am nothing more than a sething mass of contradictions and vascillations and I am confident that this will not change.
There you go, that's me at my semi-intoxicated best. Think what
you will of me. You will anyway.
p.s. If you saw the title of this in the Contents and thought "D.R.I." than we probably have more in common than you think.