Despite All My Rage, I Am Still Just A Rat In A Cage

It must be so hard to be goth in the summer. Black cloaks soak up a lot of sunlight and you know how bad the eyeliner runs when you sweat.

I mentioned the other day that my Goth Phase only lasted about two weeks. My daughter was rather surprized that there was a Goth Phase in my life. Oh yes. I was very confused.



I was listening to the Cure and Ozzy Osbourne in the same day.





This also coincided with my Drinking in the School Parking Lot Phase. Or maybe it was in my Just Trying the Weed To See If It Still Does Bad Things To Me Phase. It's all blurry now.






Anyways, I have this little dark side going on.
And today I'm giving in to it. Why ignore it. It's there. It's part of me. It's right in there with my love of the sound of a hot Chevy V8 with cherrybomb mufflers and dual exhaust. I got shades of all shades.

I realized that on My Other Blog that my last two subjects have been a film about a perv poet in Restoration period England who rots himself to death, and a record by a band fronted by a pale sharp jawed man who reminds me of Morticia Addams. And I'm about to write a review of an incredible book that I just read about magic in England in the early 19th century. Lots of mist and muttering and insanity. I find it all oddly comforting.

I think I'm having a crappy summer. I'm gonna admit it. My horse is dead, my yard is a mess, I'm broke, I still can't drive out to the farm without a paralyzing panic attack, and it's the middle of August and there might not be any time away for the little Jethro & Heidi family.

Nothing life alteringly traumatic, just crappy. Really damn crappy.


It's high maintenance to be truly extroverted with the gloom though. I can't be bothered to go hard core misery with this. I can hardly even get dressed.
So, maybe not so much deathly Goth as just Emo.