Holy Pink Fourth

Once again i haven't posted in a while. i guess i'm not in a very reflective period right now; plus the time it takes to sit down and write about things is time i'm not spending DOING things. i am doing a lot of things. Actually i suppose i do update on them; but these days i micro-blog via status updates (@wolfkitten - "Follow me on Twitter!"). But my head is full, there's a promise of rain on the breeze and its just me and the netbook on a futon on the floor. Yes its 3am on the night of the fourth as i write and i'm rambling.

Part of what's keeping me busy is The Move. The place i've been living the last three years Went Away, basically - landlord lost the place and no one's bought it yet, everyone but me moved out by early June. This mirrors my situation of five years ago in curious ways - it was exactly this time of year when i came back from Conneaut to Collinwood, and - well that was an adventure in and of itself. Both times i've been semi-squatting, which appeals to me on some urban punk traveller level but is maybe not quite so romantic when you're actually doing it.

This time, it was rather like watching the shoreline crumble around my little oasis on every side, knowing sooner or later it was going to eat away at my foundations. At the same time, i didn't have to bail suddenly, so i was able to look around a little and find something that was right for me. Which i believe i have. i'm still not completely finished; next weekend is scheduled to be the last big transfer, which means having everything *ready* to go before then. i'll get it done somehow, but of course this has ALSO been one of those manic energie periods when Everything is Happening At Once. And of course this place didn't come through until i was right on the edge of that next big wave coming in.

Summertimes roll.. One reason i've always loved Jane's Addiction so much. Not only were they THE summer soundtrack back in the day, but they captured the essence of those times so perfectly. i could, an i cared to, find parallels back to the endless Basketcase summer; the July 4th i lost and then re-found my High Priestess Tarot earrings on a beach i can all but see from my new living room. But to get there i have to use a stepping-stone, touch base with my most recent midsummer transformation. At that time, i could Feel that sort of wave i'd known in the 80s building again. And i had no way of knowing i'd be where i am, that i would reconnect with people who were There before, none of it. Not sure i could have even *pictured* this existing like it does. And yet here we are.

Last year at this time i was writing about a Horrible Holiday. To me, July 4th symbolizes a secular version of the ancient midsummer rites. Though to call it 'mid'summer seems somehow wrong - i understand the position it held in the calendar for pagan ancestors quite well, but we don't follow the same calendar, the same rhythms anymore. Its not that we have none; they're just attuned differently. July 4th taps into the celebration of the seasonal influences, but its overlaid with a different sort of festivity that glorifies all the forms of dominion i've rejected my whole life. Ergo not one i'm generally too comfortable with. In years past we'd try to get out of the city altogether - i've attended a few Rainbow Gatherings, and would go camping if at all remotely possible. And those were choices i made even before i got to know the joys of fireworks-induced panic attacks.

This year was different, though, and to my mind a lot better. Well, maybe not better than camping with friends; that's hard to beat. But good. Of course, it started off with an entirely different gathering of the tribes - a gathering of the tribe i have probably the strongest ties to: the Clepunk crew. Anymore people talk about 'the eighties' and everyone thinks Flashdance, Cindy Lauper, and big hair metal. Yeah, that was out there, but that wasn't remotely MY 80s. Mine was the local hardcore punk scene (which has never yet been properly documented), intermixed with Rainbow hippie stuff by way of what would become stoner rock. But with the emphasis on hardcore.

Did any of us then think we'd be doing this thirty years later? (and i have to correct myself, because i WANTED to write twenty =:o) We couldn't think that far ahead; Reagan was probably going to start a nuclear war anyway, so Live Fast Die Young seemed an eminently reasonable response to the world around us. Until, of course, some people started doing exactly that and you realized a cool bumper sticker does not a practicable life course make. However, the good thing about it now is that those of us who are still standing - and there are many more still here than not - have generally learned to be a little more intelligent about it.

Its not that we don't still like to go out and kick it; but most of us have come to terms with the fact that we have times when we can do that - and times when we can't. Even if there were still places like the Lakefront, Pop Shop, Underground and all the rest, we can't spend every weekend blowing it out like we used to (there are still scenes where you can find that, but its different energy for different times). Which makes the times we do get together for that reason all the more special.

i realize its a little preposterous to say that an event called Cleveland's Screaming was a positive celebration - dare i say life-affirming? Fuck it, i'm a punk but i'm a hippie too; effing deal. A celebation of Us, of our tribe, of having been through all we've collectively been through and still be able to drink, play fast music and have fun. As the screaming part of the title might suggest, there was always pain underlying our good times, but one of the things i always liked about the Cleveland scene was that we had fun anyway. We might go to war with Russia tomorrow but fuck it; tonight we're gonna get blasted and enjoy ourselves.

When i started writing this, i was thinking about the pain, and i feel there's more there to be said on that topic. But not just now. Right now, i'm still high on the sheer exuberant energie of seeing so many faces together again, of seeing bands i love and grew up with play out once more (some maybe for the very last time), of touching the same heart and spirit that fueled me then. Friday and Saturday night we all gathered - not at any of our old places; are any of them even still standing?! - but a newer club that understands and encourages the old vibe.

We've had a few 'reunion' shows over the years and i've been to most of them; this was the first time i was actively involved in one. It made a difference to how i perceived it, particularly on Saturday. i convinced the promoter to let me do my glasswalking routine - and not just at 'sometime' during the weekend, but right before the Saturday night headliners, the Pink Holes (and Jim, if you're reading this, i hope you understand now why i wanted that spot!) For one, i know how people react when i do it, enough to know these were *exactly* the people who'd appreciate it, and that was exactly the time when they'd appreciate it most.

But i also wanted to bring something back from other tribes, other worlds i've travelled to, as a sort of gift. Although i've had a lifelong love of carnivals, i didn't move into my circus grrl phase until after i'd left the punk scene. Likewise the theatrical aspects - i may not have been born in a trunk, but i was raised in very close proximity to one; but the closest i got to theater in those days was The Subliminals, the blacklight performance art troupe i was in. Now, these things are the biggest part of what i do, and i was really excited to be able to bring that to the table.

And it was awesome. i hear video was shot; maybe by the time i post this i can link it. (Alas not yet. Check back, i'll edit it in if it goes live).

Of course, to really grok the enormity of the weekend in fullness, you have to know about Les Black's Amazing Pink Holes (i could probably philosophize about the significance of so many of us taking new names on joining the tribe). And i'm not sure if i'm up to finding the words that can explain them if you were never there. Musically, they're not the greatest band that came out of the scene - although despite their claims to the contrary, neither are they the worst. Yes, there are Pink Holes tunes - from covers of "The Lion Sleeps Tonight". "Long Tall Texan" and the old Stridex commercial ("The Proof Is On The Pad") to originals like "Crazy Slut" "MSB Love", and the guaranteed to offend everyone "My Mother". They're fun, they're catchy, they're great to blast out of your car window. But in a way, the music was always just an excuse for - well, the Pink Holes themselves.

i leave it to others to tell stories of the crazy shows they put on. i know i SAW them back in the day, but i think i missed a lot too; they may have played nights when i was home with two little kids making pizza and getting ready for the afterparty. What i can say is that seeing them live always seems to be this intense, cathartic experience - not exactly the same sort i experienced seeing Crash Worship, for instance; and yet closer to that than you might imagine. They were (are?) a sort of ultimate expression of having fun despite the pain. You lost your job, you crashed your car, you found out your guy or girl has been stepping out - fuck it. They'll make you forget that for a night.

Because really, who can remember any of those things when there's a stripper in a tiny jungle thong bikini tossing gift bags with CDs and cans of silly string out to the crowd, smoke bombs are going off onstage, pool noodles and trampolines - trampolines! - are being thrown into the audience, a gigantic stuffed animal is being torn to bits like a pig among the Maenads and good lord, what do you mean they're only three songs into the set?!

And by the grace of a connection back, a strand from before i severed ties that re-wove itself a bit sooner than the rest, i wound up directly in the heart of this maelstrom. i got asked if i could run lights for them - which is a bit of an in-joke, because their 'lights' consisted of four strands of twinkle lights - the musicians in pink and the lead singer in white - connected back to a junction box with regular old light switches wired together. A far cry from the 75 channel intelligent lighting programmable system i'd run the weekend before (and that weekend should/may yet be be an entry unto itself).

This meant that as soon as i'd jumped into that tray of broken beer bottles, MC Joe Gizmo and i were striking my props, i found my barefoot way back to a rear corner, and it was ON. Like i said, i've seen the Pink Holes before, but never from that perspective. Of course, what with the styrofoam pellets, the silly string, the smoke and the stage lights, i couldn't see much but the backs of the bassist and drummer. Reports are still filtering back to me of the things that went on, onstage as well as off. Stagediving, nudity, silly string in inappropriate orifices, they brought it all.

And where i come from, that was a freakin' RITUAL. i first started travelling in pagan circles in the middle of my time in the punk era, and could never escape comparing the two. i can count on one hand with fingers left over the number of bonfire nights i've been to that approached the sort of energy we'd raise during a good show. None of the punk side was Intentional in a magickal sense, but does that make it any less valid?

Not to me, friends. Not to me. Our tribe came together and celebrated, and maybe i'll get a chance this week to note down the rest of it before its gone from my firefly brain. But if i don't, it will be strictly because of finding the time. The high points were many, and i'm still both honored and charged to have been present for our reunion tribal stomp.