Further self-abuse on the Manson trail.
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Bad Adventures chapter four - the Boathouse, Norfolk VA, 11/8

Yesterday was our day off. Sort of. coyote and I picked our way through and past the slumbering masses (Hotel Planetcom is booked solid) and caught the bus to meet Tina - a/k/a renowned listsibling Sara Lee - at National Airport. Though afraid to fly, Sarachan made the trip in good spirits and was safely delivered to our door, where coyote made her a terrific lemon birthday cake (decorated with the shock symbol in red glaze icing, it was soon dubbed the Anti-Cake and shared by all).

But Friday is another matter. We should've taken a hint from the weather. The continuing un-Novemberlike warmth, which had fooled us into leaving long-sleeved shirts and jackets at home, abruptly broke while we were standing in line, drenching hundreds of unhappy spooks with cold windy rain and even a quick flurry of snow. (Elegant Goths in their best nocturnal finery were especially glum.) All were miserably chilly by the time we finally got inside, actually looking forward to the crush of the pit - at least it's warm!

Well, let's make this one short. I wouldn't go to another show in this cuntfucking pighole for anything. Crowd was *brutally* rough. Got the living daylights crushed out of me, surfers landing on my neck, arms and hands jammed around and over my head, guys trying to muscle me off the barricade; couldn't see, couldn't breathe, could hardly even stand. Set was trimmed way back. Stage was too low and small for the special effects so no "Cryptorchid" or "ACS"; "Sweet Dreams" was blown away with another "FUCKIT!"; "Reflecting God" was just plain not played. An abbreviated "Misery Machine" and no "Man That You Fear." All in all, only two-thirds of the usual set. coyote suspected Manson could see how violent the crowd was getting and decided to bail before people actually got hurt. No idea if that's so. Either he remembered what a mean dive this is (its reputation was just as bad last year) or someone told him, because his makeup tonight was weird: the blue contact in the right, not left, eye, and a jagged red streak running from right temple through the eye to his jaw like a stripe of half-dried blood.
Crawled out like a kicked dog and cried my eyes out on the railing outside. I was so godDAMNED wretchedly unhappy. I hate Norfolk.
Hate hate hate it.

==angelynx== The New American Hoodoo will get your children *soon*...
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