Their father’s hell did slowly go by

Where the hell was I.

An aside: Every so often, in life, a man encounters or experiences a series of events so chaotic, so aberrant, so deep left field that one is left in an almost catatonic state of confusion and disorientation.

I am in such a state.

My iron moral structure and almost fanatical obedience to the great goddess Propriety holds my tongue. But holy shit, what a couple of days. What a couple of days.

Let’s continue where we left off.



Saturday afternoon, Halloween weekend.

Quaking and unstable, we headed down through the Castro in preparation for the night’s festivities. Last minute decorations, costume accoutrements, etc. I was trembling like Michael J Fox on ice skates, thankfully Candace was strong enough to bear most of my weight on the trek down the hill.

“A little hung over, buddy? You look dehydrated.”

“Pffft. I went to piss this morning and a little puff of gray dust came out. And a wheezing sound, like when you let the air out of a balloon. I think I may actually be dead.”


“Yeah. Rough night. Hey do you have any idea who bit me?”

We gathered the goods and finalized our outfits. A pub crawl was scheduled, for Outer Taraval. Doing a pub crawl in the outer Sunset is, for the record, a god damn bad idea. Our event was to a pub crawl what the Trail of Tears was to a day hike. The bars were approximately 15 blocks of hill apart, which equals out to just under 450 miles as the crow flies. We started at the bottom of the hill to boot. At first I was worried we would be the only folks out in costume, since the outer Sunset is a dreary and cheerless place full of graying Chinese people and angry whites who are almost all zombies, or some other form of the undead. The first bar we hit up had a live country band playing, and had an average patron age slightly higher than an Elks lodge.

“Do I ask for beer? Or my pills?” I asked to no one in particular.
“Shut up and enjoy yourself.”

Still severely weakened by Friday’s blackout, I started slow. I felt more at home once I realized everyone else in the bar was in costume also. In fact, they did such a fabulous job with their united bar theme, I almost thought the people were for real; I’ve never seen a more accurate rendition of the Really Old White Trash costume. Each person’s outfit and makeup was better than the last. Such realism, such enthusiasm for their roles and characters… I applaud you all. Theatre is not dead.

Seven brutal death march hours later, we made it to bar #2. This bar, too, had a White Trash theme, although the crowd was a little younger. Another crappy country singer was wheezing out Jimmy Buffet’s Greatest Hits on the tiny stage, his amps so loud he created a little halo around the stage despite the crowded conditions of the bar.

Deciding to abandon the rest of the herd rather than get in fights with the off duty national guard crowd and their fat pregnant wives, I hiked another forty six miles and brought the truck back, and we headed for a house party near our spot. At least here there were costumes. A typical heaven / hell style split party. Hell was, of course, where the party was at. Heaven was all white wine and Bruce Springsteen and a couple of fat girls resting on a futon. Hell had hip hop and Miller and the dance floor. No damn idea whose house that was, but good job guys, you did a wonderful job with the decorations. Jean was there, and after cursing me out in French and trying to throw me down the stairs a couple of times, we got on wonderfully. Chock that little outburst up to strong drink; I can recall no trespass on my part to warrant such an assault. She a big girl too, not in a bad way by any means, just 6 foot plus of blond norse triathlete; a sort of blue eyed Amazon. A hell of a thing to have a woman like that shrieking at you in foreign tongues.

We boogied. We hung around. The Lovely Neighbors showed up at some point late in the night, right before Jesus fell down a flight of stairs, spilled his High Life all over his toga and almost broke his fuckin neck. Too bad he didn’t work a miracle, he should have turned some water into sober. Another party in another house.

Time goes by.

Sunday… Sunday? I guess it was that Sunday. Fuck. This is what happens when I don’t write regularly; my already tenuous grasp of reality and chronology dissolves completely and I have no idea when anything happened. I think it was that Sunday. We went frisbee golfing in the park, Lily and Alcorn and I. I had never been, I had no idea what this shit was about. I should have expected. Like any suitably pointless and simple activity, there has arisen a demographic of fanatical and snobbish people surrounding it. I had no idea how seriously people took this shit. They have different weights and sizes of frisbees for different throws (i.e. a driver, a putter, etc)

The long and short of it is, some older guy jumped in with us to make four, and after a few holes of him displaying ridiculous prowess at said pointless activity, we found out that “Kelly” the American Airlines pilot has actually competed in the Worlds tournament for frisbee golf. Holy shit. Three scrub ass kids with a backpack full of Coors light and Tiger god damn Woods playing the SF Public Frolf Course together. On our fourth run through the course, with muscles and technique suitably loosened by heavy drink, we decided to play for money. It being my first time, I got a par handicap, and the two others went regular. Kelly had a five stroke penalty. Shouting and launching frisbees with abandon, we tromped through the eucalyptus. You see where this is going, don’t you. Can we talk about Disney endings? Of course I fucking won. How did you do it, Trevor? How did you take five bucks from each of your friends who play regularly, and five bucks from fucking Kelly “The Sniper” Whateverhisnamewas?

I’ll tell you how.

Cuz I’m just that money. I’m seriously clutch, what can I say. I beat a pro on my first try. For dollars. Also, I play the psychological game. Conan had his broadsword, Vader had his lightsaber, and me? I’ve got my scathing wit. Frolf is a game of the mind, of the soul. A game of harmony and balance. With me stomping around inside your brain like a rhino in a Pier 1, you don’t have a damn prayer of throwing that little frisbee straight. You can’t; I’m too busy working you over with my metaphorical 2×4, shattering your confidence and your concentration. YOU CAN’T HANDLE IT.

So I take your fucking money.

Ice cold.


Halloween proper. A Monday.

I awoke with a raven at my window, a harbinger on All Hallow’s Eve
Hark! A rook alights upon my sill! I said. A bird so big you wouldn’t believe
The raven says Squawk, seal your windows and bar your doors
And fucking go to Safeway, you’ve only got two more Coors
I thanked the beast and sped out into the fray
I hit the pavement running, but realized oh shit, it’s still a Monday
So I went to work, but lo did my mind wander
Halloween’s rare hours I didn’t wish to squander
The clock hit five and I was gone with the wind
It’s Halloween, there are tricks to be tricked and sins to be sinned

And we did.

God I love Halloween. Halloween is so vastly superior to any other holiday that I can barely even express it with words. Halloween is some next level shit. Christmas is stupid, Thanksgiving doubly so. Not Halloween. Traumatizing the young and tantalizing the old, fire and blood and Thriller on repeat… All year my anticipation builds. This year’s costumes were excellent; we did the Alice in Wonderland crew, and that warped, squeaky voice in my soul that’s completely obsessed with Lewis Carroll shrieked gleefully. I was the White Rabbit, and a damn good one to boot. Jolene, of course, outdid herself as the Red Queen. We’re talking some award winning shit here. Candace’s Caterpillar, I think, was by far the most underrated of the costumes. Subtle and brilliant, non-traditional and yet true to the spirit… I loved that shit. Great job girl.

As with any event involving more than three people, things immediately became completely disorganized. Being an all around bossy motherfucker, I took charge and tried to mobilize and organize all our various splinter groups together in one big Alice and Friends mob at a corner in the Castro. It took some doing, and the kids were itching for more booze. Since it’s the Castro, you can’t move anywhere and there are eighty billion people, so we had to move elsewhere. With nothing but a cell phone and a cane with which to smack the hell out of people, I tried to herd the stumbling mass in one direction, losing as few people as possible. What a pain.

“Trevor, where are we going? Where’s Eric?”
“If you fucks would stay together, we wouldn’t have this problem.”
“Trevor, when can we go to a bar?”
“I’m seriously proctoring a special ed field trip. Where the fuck did the Mad Hatter go? Can’t you feebs follow directions? Do I need to use the cane? DO I NEED TO USE THE CANE?”

Regardless, we made it to wherever the hell we were going. Throughout our trek, I assaulted the various scantily clad ladies around us with shameless lines. Halloween is not a night for inhibition.

“Hey honey, wanna see how deep the rabbit hole goes?”

That one almost got me slapped.

“Hey girl, you’re late for our very important date.”

“Hey hos, come here.”

Didn’t have much luck. Fun though.

We ended up at a bar, which we completely occupied with our vast and sprawling gang. Tweedle Dum handed me some foul Long Island variant full of Jaeger and phew, it was go time.

Things are blurry from there. Some crazy cracked out Cosplay dudes dressed like Sailor Moon or some equally creepy Japanese shit lined up our whole crew for photos. We ran into a slutty Alice, who I apparently deeply offended, much to our Alice’s delight. Some Indian guy who had no costume was screaming about cocaine on the muni on the way home. Ignoring the shouting, I hit on the girl in front of me with the bunny ears on. “Hey honey, you know what they say about rabbits. Where you headed right now?” She smiled, and started to talk to me before her lumbering meatbag boyfriend, who I think was dressed as a Complete Asshole In A Dumb Costume leaned in and regulated. Although I admired his costume layering technique, I was still disappointed.

One of those nights.

We ended up back at my place later. The Indian came with us, and was still shouting about cocaine, knocking stuff over in my kitchen. I was in a fury, my Halloween spirit crescendoing. The Thing That Should Not Be was on repeat, and I started whittling a wooden spoon into a stake to stab the cocaine Indian with, convinced he was a werewolf or ghoul in disguise.

“COCAINE! Who’s got the COKE
“Trevor, we need to get these people out of here. I’ve gotta work tomorrow.”
“HOLD STILL, YE BEAST. You have trafficked with devils and conjured foul magicks. Your reign of terror ends here, evil one!” I leapt over the couch after the junkie, but stumbled hard and my spoon stake slid under the recliner.
“Shit! We’re powerless against him now! We’re doomed!”

Somebody else shooed him out, and everybody left.

I found myself sitting on the couch at 4:30, wondering where the night had gone. Two days of reading Poe and downloaded Hellboy comics (Mike Mignola is a genius and should be canonized and worshiped accordingly) had built my Halloween frenzy to a fever pitch. And so I sat, drinking the last beer, with my two houseplants Cthulhu the Lily of Sorrow and Yog-Sothoth the Pit Orchid (a gift from the Lovely Neighbors) and wishing the night wouldn’t end.

“Cthulhu, Yog. I don’t think the others understand Halloween like we do. They don’t have our sense of the dark and desperate.” I said, mournful.
“I love you guys.”

And so Halloween ended. Another 364 dreary ass days till the next one. Time to start planning.

That is not dead which can eternal lie, And with strange aeons even death may die. -HPL


Lord. What a couple of days. Would that I could explain things further. I’m so twisted around and discombobulated right now I’d probably end up just mashing keys if I tried to make sense of all this shit anyway, so consider yourselves spared.

I ran into the street shrieking today, when the Benevolent and Glorious Ms. Laura Kuhlemann bestowed upon me a once in a lifetime gift, a ticket to the upcoming Stones show. With Metallica opening.

Think about that for a second.

The Rolling Stones.

and Metallica.

Let it be known that Metallica seriously fucking rules you, as do the Stones. Now I love me some stones, but I love me some Metallica.

Frothing and seizing like that pigeon we shot full of Angeldust back in 8th grade, I ran in circles shouting unintelligible prayers of thanks and abasement to the Elder Gods of Rock which had brought forth such a ticket into my grubby little fingers.

I will rock like I have never rocked before, come next Tuesday.


Calm down.


Get ahold of yourself.

Tempestuous guilts and nameless dreads assail me. Possibilities and opportunities and shifting alliances surround me.

I am wary to consider all the forces at work in life right now. The tides are strong and the waves are high, and my sail hold little wind. I feel like I’m grasping at straws; that I’ve failed miserably to convey the truths and themes of our Halloween experience. I waited too long to chronicle it, and details and verbal trickery escape me.

Winter has started. The rain is constant now. The roads are wet, and the sky is dark. Suddenly, the city is a dangerous place to be.

Wish me luck.


Quote of the Day: Jolene Sawyer, re: Girl’s Night Out – “I have no idea what I’m gonna do. It’ll be me with all these skinny , giggly, pretty little Chinese girls. I’ll be like some big boned pioneer white woman.”

I laughed myself to tears, and made various jokes about my roommate and how the West was won.

p.s. No spellchecking or revision tonight. Pardon my sloppiness.


One Response to “Their father’s hell did slowly go by”

  1. anonymous Says:

    I was the queen of hearts, but none of my friends wanted to be Alice or the white rabbit.

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