The Lips and Memories of Ferndale

Wayne Coyne, head Flaming Lip, recording AWWTM in his bubble:
First, thanks to "someone, somewhere" I’ve managed to find the new Flaming Lips on my playlist. I’m downright thrilled with this one. Yoshimi was good but it didn’t get me the way that The Soft Bulletin did. This new starship, At War With the Mystics threw my head out during its inaugural flight. There are some questionable cheese aspects and as Christian was quick to point out the 70’s are palatable here, but the Lips overcome all with their ability to contemplate, both lyrically and musically, the possibilities. Here's to The Lips! Can't wait to see this tour!

So, this is a rare post where I announce that you are about to enter a "way too much information" zone. If you're sensitive to pain, sex, and stupidity you may want to move along. Of course, if you're human I just inspired you to read every lurid detail.

Saturday evening, my friend Aaron’s birthday, found me in Ferndale. I stayed out way past pumpkin turning time and caught up with some old friends. Afterwards, I went down Woodward and came across an absence, a lack in the landscape. In 1992 I lived in Ferndale with Kate. We occupied the second floor of a large two story bungalow. Though it was a dive, it was wonderful because of the cool shit we managed to pull off there. Well, Saturday night I pulled onto my old street and parked where the house used to be. It had been recently demolished and there was nothing save a few pieces of brick left. What an odd feeling. It amped up the nostalgia I was toying with after finding out about Dan’s death.

The walls of that house held many memories and I walked around the debris for a while trying to pick them all up and file them away for safe keeping. Of course, like most things, there were aspects that deserved to be forgotten. I left a great deal of those there in the dirt. There were quite a few goodies though.

While we were living there Crash Worship made a Detroit stop. They crashed at the house and we had a blast. I’m not sure how many people have had their homes infested with 15+ sexy and highly sexual punk pagan anarchists. It was madness of the best type with all manner of libation being embraced until reality began screaming “TILT.” We had a little balcony off the back of the kitchen and those who were dexterous enough could find their way to the roof. When they were in town we maxed out the roof capacity for sure. We went thrift store shopping together and just had an overall blast. It was the first time I had seen all the Crash kids since my time out west and it brought a bit of the west coast TOPY vibe to Detroit. I don’t think I will ever forget waking up in the morning and navigating my way through the carnage. Every last bit of the floor space was covered with a body, the majority of them naked and draped limbs akimbo all over each other. Everyone was still covered in body paint from the night before, fur and feather costumes were strewn everywhere, and small groups here and there, fueled by who knows what, were still writhing about in indistinguishable embraces. After seeing a Crash Worship show it was just what you would anticipate. I could go on and on about Crash. They were a huge part of the soundtrack of my ‘20s, and so much more. They inspired me to change the way I thought about my body, about art, and especially about sex. But that’s for another post.

Returning to the house and its memories. Kate was working at a restaurant in West Bloomfield and many of her friends worked there with her. Most of them were pretty straight so I easily scarred them off with my antics. Two of them were quite funny and hung around often. I think the girl was named Nicole and I want to say the guy was Steve. I can still see their faces, but can’t be sure on the names. It really doesn’t matter here. What does matter is an INSANE evening where all four of us were riding the spirit horse. I got the brilliant idea to do some branding. Now, understand that I was heavily pierced at this stage in the game and really walked the talk as far as the modern primitive meme was concerned. I’d been trying to figure out a technique to do a good and safe brand for a while but hadn’t come up with anything. I had liquid courage coursing through my brainstem this particular evening so I came up with a sure fire way to brand! I got a metal hanger out of the closet and began bending it in the shape of an infinity symbol. I shake my head thinking about this even now. It was crazy. What I did was light up the gas stove in order to heat up the hanger that had now become the branding iron. Yes, I actually branded my left leg that evening. It was intense. The red-hot hanger melted into my skin and stuck there. I had to rip it off again which seemed to double the pain.

I just read over that and yes, I realize how crazy it sounds, but you have to put it in context and realize that I was doing my own piercing in those days. Piercing was not yet a popular meme. Re/search’s Modern Primitives had recently come out and was about the only documentation you could get on piercing. This was especially the case in the Midwest of all places. It wasn’t the sort of thing you could go to the corner shop and get done. I did my first piercing on my 18th birthday and I’ll just say it was in a place that most would still never think of running a needle through. Again, another story for another day.

So, I did this crazy freakin’ brand on my leg and then, even after witnessing my reaction to the process (pain, screaming, tears), the others decided to do it as well! I think that puts them at a higher level of madness than I. I mean, save basic instinctual knowledge like fire=hot, I really didn’t have any practical knowledge to apply here. But, even after seeing my reaction, they jumped on board and did the brand. Crazy kids!

I still have the brand, though it doesn’t look like an infinity symbol. Actually, it never did as it was completely distorted. The hanger slipped through my flesh as though it were hot butter. God, it was horrible! The wound was infected for something like two months and I swear it still itches to this day. The next week I was looking though a recent issue of Frakir’s Bodyplay magazine and found a brilliant “how to” branding article! Good things come to those who wait and I got NONE of that! Of course, now you can take courses from Frakir and others on branding and all other form of body modification.

Kids these days, taking courses in branding! Ha! Aw forget it, I considered pulling some old school points there, but the flavor of the whole scene these days is too damn sweet for my gullet.

After the branding fiasco we found ourselves up on the roof, talking and watching the stars. Steve, still under the effects of the liquid courage, decided it would be a grand thing to climb the chimney. It was all quite funny at the time and he made it all the way to the top through our screams and cheers. All would have been fine if, once he had achieved the summit, he had not elected to try and do a handstand. I can still see him putting both hands on top of the chimney as he began to shift his weight to balance and pull his legs up. I involuntarily cringe at this point.

His upward motion was matched equally by a downward motion caused by the bricks of the chimney crumbling and falling out from under the crown. The movement of his body and the chimney resembled the titanic slowly being pulled, bow first, into the ocean. Oddly enough, if Steve would have been on the outside edge of the chimney when attempting this stunt I probably wouldn’t be here right now. See, Steve, due to the fact that he was on the roof side of the chimney, landed on the roof and managed to prevent himself from falling off the house. If he were on the other side he would have perished and I think my path would have changed a great deal. Who knows how much and through what factors, but that could have really put a damper on things.

That evening was the last time I hung out with Steve. I could handle the insanity of branding and even more intense fare, but the “handstand on the chimney” trick struck me as irresponsible and downright stupid. In my book, if you’re going to do something that could take you out of the game it had better be for a damn good reason. I’m not saying I’ve always stuck to that advice myself, but for the most part I’ve always been able to justify my intense activities. Now, my justification rarely would stand up to another person, but at least I found the motions made worthy.

This IS one of those “way too much information” posts, but screw it. I’ve earned my flag and I can fly it as low or as high as I please. Plus, I’m fueled by these lines by William Blake right now:

Unless the eye catch fire,
the god will not be seen.
Unless the tongue catch fire,
the god will not be named.
Unless the heart catch fire,
the god will not be loved.
Unless the mind catch fire,
the god will not be known.

And how does this pertain to the above? I have no solid idea, but I’m feeling pretty fiery lately and documenting and sharing some of these stories is a bellows to the coals in my soul.