An old friend and musical co-conspirator, Th. Metzger (not to be confused with the bloodsucking white supremacist douchenozzle named Tom Metzger,) got in touch with me via email for the first time in nearly a decade. I was delighted. Thom’s mind works in scary and intriguing and inspiring and depraved and scholarly and sharply analytical ways, and he was an important part of my social milieu back in the days of Health & Beauty, Screaming Vinyl, and the other spinoff musical performance art projects that loomed like an ominous gray cloud over Rochester, NY in the mid-80′s.

He told me that a lot of my friends in Rochester thought I was dead. I found this highly amusing, but kind of sad. I’m having a kind of Sixth Sense moment now, questioning my own belief that I am alive. What if I am just a wayward hungry ghost who died years ago in Oakland?

yes, this is a real .45 revolver. no, it isn't loaded. no, this is not a cry for help.

Any Rochesterians who know me are encouraged to comment here. Thanks.