Blaine, the Dark Sun Goth Biker

dark sun club, athens
dark sun club, athens

Sunday, 23 Jan. 2000 (from an e-mail to Lee Self, fellow Elvisian ambassador)Yo lee, in the wind, bro,

Yeah, I am a biker now. I am an easy rider. Gots muh motorcyle helment, muh motorcycle gloves, muh peed pants to testify to the fear. It is quick though, we get back here in about 15 minutes after work and there in a half hour as opposed to the 2 hour hellride back on the bus or smelly bouzouki infested apeman taxi rides. We are talking about a real motorcy—kuhl. (remember arlo gurthrie song, dumb one

 i don' wanna die jus' wann ride my motor sigh........ kuhl.

I am in the wind with Panos the keyboard player from the show. He is a good guy, a bit serious. His pose can be bypassed by careful applications of guido humor. Dresses in black. So do I for that matter. The motorcy in question is fairly dangerous looking. It ain’t all that powerful but it’s designed to look like Satan’s own ride, Jap model called “THE ELIMINATOR” BLACK, of course. A goth bike. Makes me feel so relaxed. He is also a good and inventive keyboard player. We have jammed a couple of times. He has a Trinity…he po like me. One guy who looks at my gear and drools with envy. Wow. Most tecchie guys, as you know, turn up the nose at my old fussy cranky stuff. The sound system for the show consists of two guitar amps, one for the keyboards, one for my fiddle and voice. I have the microphone gated all to hell and back because the room is as live as Milano central station and feedback is my enemy. I am using my gear fussy, cranky etc., and getting a good sound is no small task. Gots my old compressor limiter, an Akai mini rack thing and my Roland mini rack echo pitch shifter and my BOSS pedal reverb for the voice. I admit there is a pride in doing good sound working against the limitations of cheap gear. A garage prole reverse snob pride. “WE DON’ NEED NO STEENKING PA SYSTEM, MOTHAFUCKAH!!!!”

Last night was Saturday night, a big big deal in this town. I went out with Panagiotis (whom I call ‘the motorcyle boy’ or Sri Guru Easy Rider since he teaches me how to sit on a bike without falling off). We went to a bar called ‘Dark Sun” frequented by people who wear black. People with many body piercings, where they play ‘dark wave’ music. It was most amusing. I actually felt I belonged there. I am looked upon here as a sort of elder statesman by these people anyway. The women are amazing young gorgeous things dressed in skintight black SM gear and dog collars and all of that, trying to look hazardous. As I have told you, this country is blessed with copious quantities of gorgeous young females all tight and fresh and capable of inducing seizures of lust in an old git like me. I was always a sucker for vampire looking women, even back in the punk days, hell especially in the punk days. Lest we forget, JJ’s original image was pretty punky when we met. But Morticia lookalikes always got me going. Of course this is morticia after she’s been to Frederick’s of Hollywood. I went there thinking how tired I was of sexual overindulgence and I was too fried to look on women with lust then we got there. Jesus. These women just dance standing in place all skin tight and blacksheathed and gorgeously aloof…

 drool, slobber pant pant pant..........

Great free entertainment. Why pay stripper club prices when they’s little goth women a’ dancin’ fer free, jus a wigglin’ and a twisting and writhing all leather and etc…..calm down big boy. Ain’t yore wang done landed you in enough mess awreddy? This is where Panos the motorcycle boy likes to hang. His money is no good there, drinks are on the house. Since I only ever drink club soda at bars (no diet coke ever, I’m a cheap date. Got to know the bartendress who is also gorgeous, was wearing a Pink wig, glitter eyes, rubber teddy over long black dress. Arggh…….

 'Saturday night's all right all right all right woo ooo ooo ooo ooo....' reg. dwight

Wino With his Pants on Fire (Athens by Night)

greek hobo

Thursday 20 January 2000

Last night we (the cast of Agamemnon) all went out to eat again. That’s 3 times so far in a year. We are starting to have some kind of social life. There are places near the central meat market that are open all night and serve meat and more meat. I ain’t complaining. La specialite du maison is a soup called “Patsas” like Mexican menudo, tripe, cow stomach. It is popular with drunk people and they go there at 5 am after a hard night’s drinking. I have had it before, so I passed. The greeks, as do the Mexicans, believe that tripe is good for the stomach. (it is stomach. How homeopathic of them).

I saw a friend of mine, a photographer named Cleopatra on the street earlier and we rode the bus together. The taxis are on strike, God bless their pointy little simian heads. I didn’t know this when I set out for the theatre, thus it took me two hours to get there. No car in this town makes you an insect. Whee. It is so nice to see someone you know and like on the street in a city this big and strange. It made everything so much nicer. My usual bitchy “I hate all you fucking greeks” inner monologue was shut up and I felt good. I therefore played and acted well tonight in spite of the fact that it took 2 hours and 4 transfers from bus to bus to trolley (electric bus like san francisco) to the Metro (the one line.

The rest of the metro is supposed to open later this month. One other line at least. Wow! That only took 15 years. All financed by EU grants to try and bring poorer members up to standard. The greeks and the portugese (the poor relations of the EU) live for those EU grants from Germany,France, England, everywhere else with more money. Most of the money finds its way into politicians’ pockets, believe me.

The area around the meat market is actually great. It is old and very very prole. I hope they don’t globalize everything and make it look like America. Once down there I saw a wino with his pants on fire. He was sitting over a fire in a cardboard box to keep warm. He just caught fire. He didn’t care. He continued shouting abuse at invisible enemies in between swigs from his handy wino size bottle of whatever it is they drink. I think retsina is still popular with the winos here. I could be mistaken. It is for sale at all the periptera, the ubiquitous kiosks that line the sidewalks here and make life possible outside the arcane and stupid opening hours of the shops here. An enormous fat prostitute bought a bottle of water from said kiosk and put him out.

What a sight on a cold winter's night. Right out of Fellini.

Epiphany at the Turn of the Millenium

Things to Come (1936) Directed by William Cameron Menzies Shown: center, in white – Raymond Massey (as John Cabal/Oswald Cabal)

15:40 11-Jan-00
Once again, dear friends we come up against the inadequacy of words. Perhaps it is laziness. I had a poetry teacher who denied the phrase “words cannot describe”. He thought that words could describe anything with the proper effort. He was a dickhead. He wore a medallion that looked like a turquoise saucer. He had a goatee. Whoo.

The event that defies verbalization took place on January 1st, 2000. I walked outside onto the balcony of my friend’s apartment which has a splendid view of this grungehole of a town. Lo and behold, I was struck by an epiphany, a satori. I saw the whole place made new and strange by the fact that absolutely everything I saw was now contained within the magic zone called ‘THE TWENTY FIRST CENTURY’. This is the time I had come to anticipate as an article of faith as a better, glossier, speedier altogether MODERN time, fed by Disney and years of Science Fiction. All of those ‘cars of the future’, all of those movies with people wearing pointy shouldered silver jumpsuits. And here it was. I was dumbstruck, folks. I felt what the Bible means when Christ says ‘Behold, I make all things new…’

So here we all are. Welcome to the twenty first century. We should print T-shirts that say ‘I Survived the Twentieth Century’. Think of how many didn’t. I am not speaking of those whom death took in their sleep. I am speaking of all the new and nasty ways to die this last century brought us. Of course, there was also Picasso, Dali, Stravinsky, Bartok, David Bowie, Elvis Presley and so on and so on and so on…. That is a given. Good bye twentieth century. Don’t let the door hit you on the ass on the way out. Come again when you can’t stay so long.