| Idle God |
[Feb. 17th, 2008|09:40 pm] |
"Space we can always recover; Lost time, Never."
-Napoleon Bonaparte
I have realized a trend in my posts, especially those which come after long bouts of silence. I see that my constant struggle is with clockwise rotation, the unstoppable gears diligently working towards my eventual demise. It is almost comical and my lips stretch wide in a self mocking grin as the absurdity of it all leak in. Occasionally my mind will wander-- as it frequently does-- and I become fixated on the hours of the day. I dream of the worlds I could build if Sleep was but a mere recreation, and not a required task. I scold myself for depleted hours of past days. I plan and devise patterns --ones which I will never adhere to-- that will rescue a few grains of sand from the hourglass. And I dwell on the years that have past, wondering how much life had oozed down the drain while I absentmindedly twirled the plug in my idle fingers.
I view my talent as a delicious piece of moist chocolate cake, sitting atop a clean dinner plate, neighbored with an icy glass of white milk. As I sit an admire the treat set before me, my mind partakes in its usual holiday, the dessert is left uneaten. By the time my thoughts return home, the cake is stale and decomposing, the milk is curdled and pungent, and my stomach growls at the missed opportunity. The talent is now a simple weight, sifting down to the bottom of the garbage.
So what should I do? Renounce my diet and devour any meal set before me, allowing my voracious appetite to absorb the tasty treats presented? I would if I was able to. I am only a servant to the intricate workings that reside between my two ears. From there comes the voice that dictates my actions; from there shines the lighthouse's beacon that falls on boats of various importance. My sickness dictates my life, and I have almost come to accept it. I have almost thrown aside common sense, organization and practicality, relying now on the age old power of luck. I cross my fingers, wish on a star and toss a coin in a watery fountain, and I hope that I may avoid the title that I am currently awarded: that of an "idle god." |
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| R.I.P. Gradich Schifino |
[Jan. 12th, 2008|02:40 pm] |
| [ | mood |
| |  depressed | ] |
"Tears, idle tears, I know not what they mean,
Tears from the depth of some divine despair
Rise in the heart, and gather to the eyes,
In looking on the happy Autumn fields,
And thinking of the days that are no more."
-Tennyson
This week marks a most depressing point in my life. It marks the finale to the life of Gradich Schifino, my ward, my son, my cat. To call him "just a cat" is a mockery of the kinship we held. He was so much more to me. He was my sidekick. Or perhaps I was his sidekick, for it was my duty to perform the servant tasks of food preparation and excrement removal, as well as many other chores one would do for royalty. For the past 9 and a half years, he has been with me, producing tracks, writing stories, preparing lesson plans and seeing the red sox win two world series. Those who know me well have no doubt heard his name, for he was such a part of my life that he held the starring role in many parables and tales of my life. He was not blessed with great constitution, spending a good part of nearly a decade on medicines, but despite the foulest of predictions from his veterinarians, Gradich always pulled through with the drive and determination of a titan. But time had finally run out on Gradich and we were forced to part ways on Monday, January 7, 2008. His kidneys had ceased to function, his weight had dropped significantly and he hadn't eaten in seven days. I waited once again for a miracle, like the ones that had occurred time and time again, but the well of wishes was empty, dried to the bone. Perhaps my fallen tears have now replenished the well for someone else's miracle, and I can only hope so. I treasure the memories of Gradich Schifino more than any other possession, and I will always hold them close to me. I end this requiem with one hope: that those who own a pet, or I should say serve a pet, take a few moments to truly appreciate the bond that exists and never take it for granted. So with crystallized vision and stinging cheeks, I say farewell to a great friend. Gradich Schifino 1998-2008. Rest in peace and live forever in my memories. |
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| (no subject) |
[Dec. 28th, 2007|11:32 am] |
| [ | mood |
| | discontent | ] |
"The man in black fled across the desert, and the gunslinger followed." -Stephen King
What is it in life we pursue? Happiness is what most of us claim. Other answers many times have the result of happiness, such as money, sex or power (sounds like Scarface). What does it say about someone who pursues immortality? I feel like the gunslinger, fighting through everyday obstacles, sacrificing many of the pleasures in life, and yet the man in black eludes me. In retrospect, I feel my efforts are never enough. I feel that someone has opened the drain and time has funneled out of the sink. And while that time was in the sink, I was busy. Busy being distracted by the search for happiness. There is plenty of time for happiness when I'm dead. Yes, it is possible to be both dead and immortal at the same time. But to be immortal and happy? That remains to be seen. As the day comes when from off the wall I remove the Dunkin Donuts advertisement disguised as a calendar to replace it with a clean unmarked slate of promised time, I wonder if I will be without either of my pursuits. |
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| (no subject) |
[Dec. 11th, 2007|10:00 am] |
"The disease had sharpened my senses-- not destroyed-- not dulled them"
- E.A.Poe "The Tell-Tale Heart"
THis quotation is in constant debate with my own sensibilities over the disease of the brain that the scientists have described as a deficiency in my ability to hold attention. I straddle the fences on my decision. Which way do I approach it?
On one side, it is a devilish disease that restricts my orderly operations of the day, taints the civil social graces that one of gentlemanly standards should display in conversation, and turns minute menial tasks into epic struggles against time. It drains the mind's storage, depletes my memories and intertwines events into a tangled monstrosity. Surely such a demon should be cast out, it should be vanquished or imprisoned, freeing me from the shackles and liberating me to once again walk the paths of normality and structure.
But what of the demon's blessings? Yes, it is true. The demon is a gift bearer. It conjures up blankets of inspiration and imagination like I have never experienced outside of its paternal embrace. Oh, if I could describe the feeling when the wave of ideas and visions that wash over me, crashing down oceans of thoughts and emotion like a tsunami, drowning me with motivation and invention. I stroll through the mind's orchard and every tree swells with perfect tasty apples, ripe for the picking.
Some make bold statements claiming to live in both worlds. I am not so blessed. It is a difficult choice, but one I have already made, and this computerized scribbling of thoughts is merely a way to scribe my reasoning and to convince myself of the proper choice. I choose Imagination over Organization. I feel I can live in the chaos and I will accept the consequences of the disease and its ill effects. But to be without it, alone with no muse, to walk down a barren field of leafless trees...that is not life at all. |
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| Like one who on a lonesome path doth walk in fear and dread |
[Nov. 17th, 2007|07:58 pm] |
| [ | Current Location |
| | the underdark | ] |
| [ | mood |
| | working | ] |
| [ | music |
| | Corvus Corax | ] |
seven moons have passed, I have struggled to adjust the lair to conditions suitable for an artificer to create; Potions to be brewed, scrolls to be scribed, magic to be made-- crafted for the legion--my debt to the masses. I feel time has slowed, allowing me the extra sand in the hourglass, but whether I am making use out of it still remains to be seen. Sometimes, I reach down to grasp the essence of creation and my hands merely arise, my fingers uncurling to reveal a mere powdery dust of the reagents. FOCUS is still the missing ingredient, and I fall victim to distractions. This must come to a resolution soon.
Also, may I mention in memoriam the great Jed Schifino who has traveled to the lands of Valhalla, a true warrior and inspiration to this bard. |
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| Everyday is Halloween |
[Oct. 31st, 2007|10:43 am] |
| [ | mood |
| |  frustrated | ] |
I do not enjoy Halloween. I know this probably comes as a shock to many individuals, but allow me to explain. I enjoy the morbid darker side of life. Anyone who has seen my living room or my book collection or has listened to me ramble on about gothic studies in literature can attest to that. So as the subject heading states, I treat everyday as Halloween. Salem is a place to go year round, cemeteries are just as beautiful in the spring, and anytime is a good time for a ghost story. I constantly find the beauty in those things that the average person finds disgusting. So October comes around and everyone suddenly adopts my gothic views around this time, perverting them into a mockery. Funny-looking skeletons and happy dancing ghouls, funny tombstones that say Frank N. Stein or hokey phrases like that. And then what happens when November 1st roles around? I'm back to being a freak because my tastes haven't changed with the calendar month.
Combine this with my life in the nightclub/rave scene and you've got to deal with intoxicated morons who act even more ignorant and abrasive because they are in a mask or costume.
I'm off to the elementary school, where keeping the student's attention will be as likely a task as removing Excalibur from the stone. At least I'm not working tomorrow. My sympathies go out to all teachers in the elementary schools during the week after Halloween. Nothing excites the students into fits of adrenaline and hyperactivity like a nutritious breakfast of Milky Ways and Kit Kats.
Well, I hope that everyone has a safe night. I've got to go place razor blades into produce. |
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| UPs and Downs |
[Oct. 25th, 2007|12:22 pm] |
***exiting Writer's Mode for a normal entry***
The Red Sox are in the world series. They've taken game one. My health is great and I'm feeling stronger everyday. I won't reveal how little I'm benchpressing now, but lets just say it will be a long road back to full status. Volunteer work at the Elementary School is great. It allows me to keep away the classroom rust until my official teaching return. Just "finished" a new short story called "Road Kill". When I say "finished", I mean the story is written and the plot done, but now I need to re-read it a hundred times and adjust a bunch of phrases. Rewrites take longer than the initial draft.
On a down note, my uncle's health is failing. It seems normal for a man in his eighties, but my Uncle Jed was an unstappable juggernaught. Nothing is more humbling than playing a Schifino family football game, being completely winded and beaten down, and having your old uncle say "Are we playing a second game?" This man was still playing softball every sunday, and having off-season surgery like a real MLB player. Whatever happens, that man has done so much for this world, and is a big hero to me. |
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| Genesis |
[Oct. 18th, 2007|01:55 pm] |
It is time to regain control of my life and my destiny. Cancer free. Two words I was so happy to hear. With that behind me, the hunger has crept back in my soul. The hunger of an artificer, longing to create and construct. Words, art, music, all of it. So much to do, so much to catch up on. Its a neverending race against death, to complete as much as I can before my demise, whenever that may be. Most people would choose a path of concentration, focusing on one road and speeding down it with purpose, never veering from the planned path. I sit at the crossroads and expand my soul in every direction, attempting to envelope the world and hope my skin can stretch that much. I throw myself into the whirlwind of organized chaos, at least that's what I call it. To the normal observing eye, it appears my daily activities jump from one project to another, having no cohesion or sense of direction, leaving tasks unfinished, strings loose and untied, words half written and notes and reminders buried under other notes and reminders. But my strategy for creation works like that of a leaf, blowing in whatever direction that Inspiration sends me. My best work has always come about in this fashion and I hope to continue to give birth to other Inspirations that can send other worldly leaves in different directions. Allow me to let loose the bird of flowered language from its cage and explain.
I've commenced work on new music. Lots of it. From my normal Hardhouse, to goth/industrial, to hip hop to indie rock. The studio is being put to work and it carries my scent from my prolonged attendance. I have finally regained my laptop and can return to my writing.
Just as the music production has been scattered in multiple directions, so has my literary pulse. My usual prose of gothic horror and twisted tales have taken up most of my keyboard strikes, but the collection of dark poetic verse is also nearing completion, as is a children's book I've been working on.
As always, I balance writing with reading. I'm just finishing up the Dean Koontz book called "Funhouse." It isn't bad and I'm sorry for not giving him a chance earlier, as I tend to pass over the more popular authors, not to be an elite snob, but only because I tend to enjoy works that the normal public dislikes and vice versa. But kudo to Koontz. I now posses way to many books on the Romantic Movement of England. Looking for a Byron poem, perhaps a Coleridge, or a Shelley? Maybe a Keats, a Wordsworth, or even a Blake work? A thousand dollars says I have a copy of it. My bedroom consists of 6 large bookcases now, and it continues to grow. I also now own 8 copies of "Frankenstein" by Mary Shelley, just so if someone hasn't read what I consider to be one of the best books of all time, I can give them one. Yes, the DJ VENOM Literary Library is now open!
Although I'm not teaching this semester, I've been volunteering at the school. The children are great and very impressed with my knowledge of comics, wrestling and cartoons. Next week, I'm working a lesson around ghost stories. Should be fun.
The Resurrection Tour has been going great. Seattle, Dallas, Vermont, Denver, Philadelphia, New York, all good times. Its continuing and I've had to extend the tour into 2008. Upcoming gigs of Portland, OR and Minnesota look like they are gonna be fantastic as well.
And my friday nights at Rock'n'Roll High School continue to contain more fun than work. Club Hell has always been great to me and its a pleasure to work there and be part of the family.
Well, that is all for now. I must return the the maelstrom and gain control of its power.
-Reverend David Schifino
-DJ VENOM |
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| From beyond the grave... |
[Jun. 26th, 2007|12:40 pm] |
Here i am, DEAD center of my treatments in the violent battle against the enemy known as Cancer. I take each day as an opportunity to defy my foe any victories, whether large all small. He has done what he has so far, and that is to confine me to my layer, cut off from most outside contact, denying me the pleasures of food, sleep and comfort. But a true warrior knows to use everything to his advantage. The confinement has allowed me the time to build up my audio forces. Yes, there is smoke arising from the furnaces of the Underdark Studio and the sparks are spraying forth. New musical weapons are being stockpiled and ready to be unleashed in the months of August and beyond. Older music is being remastered and will soon be available for downloads, a video project is in the works, as well as a new CD and a Fall Tour (The RESURRECTION TOUR 2007).
None of this could have been possible without the support of my family, friends and fans who assisted me through the emotional and financial struggles over the past months. My work within these walls could not have been possible without you all. Everything from donations to cards, to emails, to good vibes have helped me more than can be realized.
I have had difficulties in maintaining contact to everyone on an individual basis, so I have decided to return to the realms of LiveJournal and keep my Clan updated this way.
Once again, if I could only tear open my chest to show you all the gratitude within my heart for all that's been done, it would shine brighter than a million suns. Thank you.
-Reverend David R. Schifino
--Dj Venom |
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| (no subject) |
[Jun. 6th, 2006|08:59 pm] |
Here is the preface to the tale. The introduction to a story or tale. A small seed that might shrivel under the sun and die, or grow like ivy over the entire world. How fitting that this electronic tome is born on 6-6-6. A meaningful number, not something I find self proclaiming or representative, but significant in the eyes of others; their perception of me are clouded and misunderstood. As many other devils are. Or angels for that matter. In the pages that follow today's entry, those curious onlookers, as well as the legion, can peek into the workings of my mind. Enjoy, learn, argue, fear, laugh, agree, aspire, imitate, disinergrate, do with as you will. I hope that the translations carry well.
Reverend David R. Schifino - DJ VENOM |
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