Monthly Archives: June 2003


The crane (for the suspension performance) is now 100% confirmed. It has a 143 boom on it. That's right — we could be suspending people almost a hundred and fifty feet in the air… Don't forget your blood bowls please.

The 30'x30' tent is also confirmed, as is the stage, although we're considering alternate options for that… Phil and a friend are up from Iowa right now helping with all that.

Also, as far as the sound system goes, I have a Peavey XR684 8-channel powered mixer, a pair of TLS5 speakers (300W per) and stands, and a couple 112M monitors as well. I've got five mics and stands and cables as well — if bands are going to need more, please let me know so I can make sure it's here for you. I'm assuming that we're not going to need the drums mic'd, and that you'll have your own amps for guitars and so on.

And the pyro of course…

(Original forum unavailable, sorry)*

Morning time turns into noon in two minutes

I'm off to Belleville shortly to put a 100% confirmation on the crane, the tent/stage, and all that… Hopefully a slick black Porsche balances out any prejudices they may have against some scraggly looking dude with his face tattooed.

This morning there was an injured (I think) baby groundhog sitting in front of the house. Luckily both dogs are far too cowardly to really do anything but hop around wildly at a safe distance. I carried it over to the field where it lives before they got brave enough to bite it, so hopefully it's ok.

Also, the SusCon shirts just went to press about five minutes ago. About 80 were ordered, and Phil will probably clear any leftovers out at the BMEfest BBQ. For those who want to suspend, you should definitely check out Toronto Suscon. While entry is “officially” cut off, I understand that there probably will still be spots available (contact them about this, not me).

Anyway, the supercool shirts (front design by postmodgirl):

Mini-essay: What it's like to kill yourself

I wrote this earlier tonight after drinking far too much 151 proof rum. My apologies if it doesn't make much sense or is morbid or whatever. I don't think I've ever really written this down before. Maybe I have though. If so I apologize for the redundancy.

A bit over ten years ago I died… although the timing might be wrong — maybe it was nine years. I don't really know. Anyway, it was a long time ago in a previous life.

It was a year after I'd dropped out of school, and my business had failed (stalled actually, but at the time it felt failed) and I was a pretty screwed up drug addict. I had no meaningful relationships, and probably the only person I was really close to (a good friend on IAM who those of you who know me will be able to identify) had problems of her own and at the time existed in a strange drugged vision as well.

Looking back on it now, I really don't know why I was depressed — my life really wasn't that bad. I guess objectively I just didn't have goals and didn't know who I was. I didn't know where I wanted my life to go, and while I wasn't really facing any hardships, I was just a messed up kid that was afraid to make a place for himself in the world. In a supreme act of cowardice and selfishness — and narcissism — I decided that suicide was right for me.

I don't know how I chose the day. People tend to blame it on relapse LSD use shortly before — but looking back on it I only remember wonderful things about that night… Standing on the roof of Future Bake Shop on Bloor and looking up into the sky and watching snowflakes come at me, and as I stepped across the tar shingles being amazed by the radiating patterns shooting out from my feet. In any case, a few weeks later when going home, at the last subway stop before my house I called my girlfriend from a payphone.

I think I told her something about finally doing it — I'd been talking about it for some time. There were tears I suspect (my memory gets hazy at this point) and when I got home I went to my basement room and sat on my bed with a cup of orange juice. A calm came over me — I really wasn't afraid of dying, and I think that there was a sense of security in knowing that it was all over.

I'd been saving all the pills that my idiot doctors had been misprescribing me. Actually, I hadn't just been saving them — they'd been “pre-prescribing” them to me in massive quantities so I had an enormous stockpile of toxic anti-psychotics and tranquilizers all laid out in front of me in little piles on the bed. Taking pills that you know are going to kill you is less strange and less frightening than you'd think. I just swallowed them. Nothing more, nothing less. I don't know if I didn't care, or was empty, or maybe it just felt right.

I don't remember thinking anything other than “well, I guess that's it then.”

I knew that I had about five minutes left to live (in consciousness anyway), and that seemed like a fair enough amount of time. There was no regret at all. Never once — and never once since — did it feel like the wrong decision.

There was nothing. It was over. I laid back, and just relaxed. I suppose a few minutes later I must have faded into unconsciousness, although I have no memory of that. To be honest, it was quite wonderful. Nothing to worry about. No commitments. Nothing — just peace. It really was what I expected — nothing at all. No light at the end of the tunnel. No fires of hell. Just nothing.

Blackness forever.

If you're looking to escape, suicide is the right course of action. It is truly the most effective way to eliminate your problems. Unfortunately it leaves out the fact that it's also nothing, which is of no value whatsoever. You see, there's no such thing as negative life. There's lack of life, and then there are scales up from that.

Anyway, I suppose I passed out at that point — and there occurs a one week hole in my memory. My uncle who I was living with happened to come home early from work and I arrived at the hospital where they restarted my heart and breathing. I have some patchy memories of Scott, Todd, and Saira being around me in the psyche ward (only Saira is still alive so she's the only record of those weeks), and of spitting out blood (I don't know why, but it was a good month before all the blood left my sinuses). I think somewhere over the last month of that I realize that while suicide was a great escape, I wasn't really looking for an escape. Even if my life sucked, a shitty life is still a lot better than no life at all.

And that's why I think suicide is stupid — because anything is better than nothing!

Of course, until you've experienced nothing that may be hard to believe?

Life's better at 150 mph.

Thanks to postmodgirl for a new shirt design I'm working on screens and such for… If you have notions for colours and so on, over at Ryan and Corrie's place is the right arena. Be sure to check their page for a mockup of the new messenger's bags as well (which are on the way).

Rat droppings in my tea

I had a dream last night that Netzapper was a hit man and had been contracted to kill me (I never knew who, but the implication was that it was some white power moron that I'd been insulting via Franko). He contacted me and let me know that he didn't have a choice — if he didn't complete the contract they'd (a) get someone else to do it anyway, and (b) probably kill him as well. So it was agreed that there were no other options…

I managed to get a “one day extension” so that I could write some more documentation on the nature of all of BME's database formats and so on so that would keep getting updated. I wanted to write some tutorials for CT so he could take over managing IAM's software but there wasn't time. At the end of the dream it was mostly scheming ways to first stop Aubrey, and then “disappear”. Not a scary dream or anything, just kind of weird in an “impending doom” sort of way.

I just got the following email:

From: "mike hunt" tatt2u69@...
Subject: pics

plaese start a portolio for me under mike warrick

Those are of course some of the images submitted; from left to right: 1. Proof that I have nothing to worry about no matter what Franko says; 2. World's worst Paul Booth flash attempt; 3. So proud to be white! It took so much effort to accomplish, best to commemorate it with a bad tattoo.

Franko's reply, and the subsequent answer back:

From: "mike hunt" tatt2u69@...
Subject: Re: pics

>1. Your tattoos suck. You should quit now before
>   you screw up more people.
>2. "White Pride" morons aren't welcome on the site.
>God bless,
>Frank O'Derby

fuck you buddy you didnt have to be an asshole about it my tattooss must not suck to bad because you posted them before and whos really the moron i see people with swatsica on your site all the time so your the bigest moron on there asshole

The funny thing is, I was actually wearing my “Friends of the Swastika” t-shirt when I got this email. Franko knows better though; the swastika is a treasured holy symbol all over this planet, and not because some Charlie Chaplain-looking dude made a fool of himself and hurt a lot of people for a while.

From: "Frank O'Derby"
Subject: Re: pics

You probably really are stupid enough to believe that Hitler invented the swastika, aren't you? And if you're going to be a good little Nazi, at least learn to spell "swastiKa"... Clearly you've failed at being a tattoo "artist" so I'll just ignore the fact that you spell tattoos with two S's. But maybe that's your secret SS code. Either way, don't bother sending in any more of your junk.

I will be praying for you. God bless,

Frank O'Derby

Sorry if that's not a particularly funny set of emails. I just have no patience or respect for stupid little white kids in the suburbs pretending to be Aryan gangstas. It's pathetic, and if that's what being white is about I'd be rather ashamed to be painted with the same brush. Don't call me white

Anyway, I'm testing some new tech in my image adder bots; expect a big BME update later today.