A Little Something to Tide Me Over

I would like to post some images form these old issues of CONFIDENTIAL and SUPPRESSED magazines that I found over the weekend, but for various reasons I don't have access to a scanner right now, so those beauties will have to wait.

In the meantime, enjoy a little BEAT GIRL:

One Flew East, One Flew West

So... The GLORE PSYCHIATRIC MUSEUM. Located in sunny St. Joseph, MO. Curvacia and I made a pilgrimage three or four years back to investigate. Here are the pictures to prove it.

(BACKGROUND: The Glore is housed in a former state mental hospital. Half of the grounds have been converted for museum space, the other half is now a minimum security prison. There used to be a thrift store in the basement, but unfortunately it was no longer in business at the time of this visit. And I think the use of old department store mannequins in the shock therapy displays seems positively Lynchian, don't you?)










This collection of nails, buttons, and safety pins was removed from an inmates stomach, post-mortem:

Season End Recap

Way to end the year with a bang. The Spook Lights are officially on break until the spring (woo-hoo!) so we can focus on more writing and recording (Woo-HOO!) and trying to get these new seven inches out on the market (WOO-HOO!). Our last gig of the year (with THOSE DARLINS-- see them NOW if you haven't had the pleasure!)was a total freak show. Here are a couple of pics from the big night, courtesy of the lovely Mrs. Xoe Cranberry:

Inspiration Station

AAAAH! Friday the 13th strikes!!!!

The King Khan and BBQ Show had to CANCEL tonight's gig with us. Those Darlins are still on the bill, but I was despearately looking forward to a big-time Spook Lights/ King Khan reunion fiesta. Next year, perhaps. There's always next year.

In the meantime, I'm hard at work on the new script-- a science fiction melodrama, of course. This is what I've been watching to keep me inspired during the writing process...

Acting cues:



Plot schematics:




Aesthetics:

For Adult Readers Only!

I think about dying in car wrecks all of the time, and this is the way I think about it: How will they know what music was on the radio when my ticket was punched? My fans will demand accuracy when the movie version of my life is screened. If the correct song isn't playing during that key screeching tire/ smashed windshield/ flaming death sequence, there will be rioting in the streets, COUNT ON IT. Will the medics on duty recover my stereo for the sake of history? For the sake of HUMANITY?

I did a lot of thinking about this over the weekend, as Curvacia and I took an interstate road trip to attend a glamorous wedding reception. Our road trips usually involve intrigue, adventure, and a healthy amount of thrift store pillaging, but there wasn't much time for any of that this time around-- we were too busy celebrating, so fahgeddaboutit.

I did, however, manage to return home (alive!) with this little gem in my pocket:




This book promptly filled a gap in the shelf next to another group of filthy paperbacks that we recently acquired-- two of our good friends came into possession of a giant box of porn and were kind enough to let us have our pick of the spoils. It's a good feeling to be recognized among the ranks of elite pornography connoisseurs in the town-- membership definitely has its privileges, as the following titles so aptly demonstrate:






The flip side to BATTLE OF THE BOOBS is a real gem-- the ad for some call sex line, starring MINDY... who apparently waits to take your call on a floor-model recliner in the furniture section of her local SEARS!

Teen-Age Strangler (1964)

Your movie for the weekend:

The Secret Histories

I'm working on a post about our trip to the GLORE PSYCHIATRIC MUSEUM a few years back, but it's taking me a while to get all of the pictures together. To tide you over until then, here are some scans of various crazy ramblings I've found posted around town.

(NOTE: I tried and tried to dig up my favorite flier, LAWRENCE MEMORIAL HOSPITAL HARVESTS ORGANS FROM REST HOME PATIENTS, but it seems to be lost. Maybe I was finally so disturbed by it that I threw it away. Or maybe it's just piled under a mountain of my obsessively-collected crap. Either way, until that flier surfaces, this post has a definite TO BE CONTINUED attached to the end...)

I found this gem folded into the pages of our local weekly, THE PITCH, one foggy autumn morn. I actually kind of relate to the author's point of view-- I hate the typical "Music Showcase" format, and the idea of Masonic Conspiracies has always held a certain appeal. This person took those threads and knotted them together quite nicely, I think:

(click to enlarge)




This next one was the first in a series of home-made newsletters that appeared at the Replay on a weekly basis for several months last summer. The phantom author was never identified, but I kept several of these missives as research material in my ongoing quest for a Higher Truth.

(I particularly enjoy the stamp in the upper right hand corner-- they actually took this to City Hall and paid to have some clerk authorize it before distributing it around town! Some people have all the luck...)




And this final piece is but a small section of a much larger handbill. The opening paragraph here sums up the entire rest of the page, so I cut it short-- the real delight isn't the stream-of-consciousness rant about HOMELESSNESS VERSUS THE SYSTEM (another point of view which I totally agree with)-- it's the handwritten addition the author made near the top of the page: WHAT WAS PAST AROUND YOUR BAR? HIS NAME WAS DOUG. Considering the bar in question was the Replay Lounge, I hope you went to the clinic and got yourself checked out the next day, Doug.



TO BE CONTINUED...

The Way It Was

Ah, Halloween. You did it to me again.












Let's get together again next year, shall we?