Hey all. Spider, here.

Man, I kept tryin' to duck outta this blog thing since Res is back, but she kept tellin' me it was my turn to write somethin'--like this thing was mine to begin with. I guess I took it over for a while, but, since she's back, I thought that meant I was off the hook ya know?

Alright. 'Nuff bitchin'. My shop's open. It's small and just me workin' there. Not many people in town seem to think tats are okay things to have. They eyeball me, ya know, like I'm gonna snatch their kid off the street and put three sixes on their forehead or some shit. But, I get a few of the older bikers, a coupla strippers and some kids from the local college. Not much different from where I was before. Sometimes, though, I get these real weird dudes comin' in, wanting to set up appointments for midnight and shit like that. One of 'em even wanted the bloody paper towel I used to wipe up the ink. What was up with that, ya think?

Anyway, Res keeps me company some nights. Some times she has that guy with her, Quinn. I could stand for him to fall in some hole or another. Oh, shit. I think he might be writin' here, too. Ah, screw it. If he can't take it, well...

Anyway, that's 'bout it for now. Res'll write the next one, or at least, I won't. Come on over and visit, if any of ya can find this town. Bring a microscope.

Res, here. Yeah, it's been a while. What can I say? I have a life.

What's your excuse?

Now that we got that little issue out of the way, I guess I'll tell you what's been going on. I've got a job, an apartment, even a piece of furniture! There are two men in my life right now, and they're both ready to tear each other's heads off. It's kinda fun in a testosterone-overload sort of way. And then there's some more weird shit going on, but, hey, that's Tyne for ya. Can't be here and not have craziness, apparently. But, as annoying as it is to admit it, I'm fine dealing with it. Tyne's my town. And not just my town in the sense I live here and all. It's my town.

I spent Thanksgiving with Spider at Stubb's, the local hangout where twelve in the afternoon is as good a time to drink as twelve at night, and where the reasons for drinking are as varied as the people doing the chugging. It was the only place in town open on Turkey Day, and for that, Spider and I are eternally grateful. When you can't go home, go somewhere else, right? And if that somewhere else happens to have liquor out the waz, all the better.

So, Christmas is coming and I don't have a tree. Shit, I don't even have a sofa. I have a bed (well, a mattress). I don't have too many dishes, but that's alright because I don't eat all that often. No, I'm not praying to the goddess Ana or preparing to climb in the tub and slit my wrists, I just don't get hungry all that often anymore. It's the price you pay for being... Special.

Back to the tree, though. I kinda want one. I live over the record shop downtown and all the windows have these little lights in them and the office buildings have strings of colored lights rimming the roof. All the windows except mine are lit up with something. Nothing in my house is lit--including me (it takes a lot to get me wasted these days). All that brightness, smooth and continuous symbols of cheerful hope, broken up by my lonely dark.

At least I don't have to buy too many presents. I'd get Mom something, but she wouldn't accept it. She's still the engineer on the Res-hating train. Spider's easy. I can name a hundred things he'd like to have. Quinn, though? I'm not sure about him. What do you get a funeral director? One of those hook things that snags brains out of corpses' heads? You know, that's a pretty good idea. It'd be like getting him a cool antique--Egyptian retro for the morbidly employed.

See, this is why I don't come here, much. I talk about nothing. I'm gonna make Spider do the next post. Maybe I can even get Quinn on here. That'd be better than reading this shit.

Until then, keep your asses out of trouble. Lord knows I can't.

So, you guys like what Spider did to the page? I'm kinda partial to it myself.

Yep, it's me, Res. I'm back.

Where've I been? Well, that's the million dollar question isn't it? And, despite risking getting your panties all into a twist, I'm not really into talking about it right now. Let's just suffice it to say I've been places, seen things, and done things, none of which I'm very proud of right now. And I'm pretty fucking happy to be home.

Yeah. Home.

Who'd've thought I'd ever call Tyne my home? Not me, that's for sure. God, I hate that word, not...

Anyway, I'm back, and it looks like I'm sticking around. It also looks like I might be getting some company, but I'll leave that to Spider to tell you guys later on.

Mom and I are still on the outs, even more so than before, I'm afraid. But, that's pretty much daily life for Res, so I guess I'd just better get used to it, huh?

Thanks to all you guys who stuck around when I was...uh, busy. And thanks most of all to Spider. Looking back at your posts, man, I'm thinking you were close to being certifiable. But, that you were apeshit like that over me and my whereabouts... Well, thanks.

And to the rest of you fuckers out there, stay put, 'cause the bitch is back.

P.S. -- look at my mood! I'm exanimate!!

Whatever the fuck that is.

Spider again. Yeah, I haven't been on here much. Not much to say. Res is still gone. It's been forever, man. I keep thinkin' she'll just show up on my doorstep with that same ol' grin, the one that says, "I got one over on ya." Hasn't happened, tho'. And I'm still here, goin' nowhere.

Shouldn't be a surprise by now. I've pretty much gone nowhere my entire life. Yeah, I got a job an all, but I haven't really moved. Spent my life spinnin' my tires, strugglin' to stay the same, to stay punk, to stay Spider. Changin' is givin' in, see? Changin' is losin'.

I did this. I dragged her down with me. I got her mixed up in my shit life, let her think there was some great romance in settin' dumpsters on fire, gettin' in fights and shootin' up. Let her think that lovin' her mom and bein' somethin' was bullshit. It's just she was so charged with anger and hate when I met her. It was like runnin' smack into this big ball of fire. She burned right thru me. But she had this need to burn herself up with everyone else, too, ya know? She dove into the shit I fed her without lookin' back. She took everythin' to heart and went an' wrote it in some big bible in her head. By the time I figured it was all crap, she was gone. Gone from me, then gone from everyone.

What do ya do when you got a weight like that? Do ya keep goin', hopin' that around some corner there'll be some sort of forgiveness? Or do ya stand still, become the candle in the window for the girl who might never come home?

Six months, Res. Six months to wonder where ya are, what in the hell happened. I'd say it aint fair, but then again, I guess I wasn't all that fair in the way I was with you.

Maybe some day I'll get a chance to say this to your face. Or maybe these words'll just sit here on this page, floatin' in the empty nothin'.

I guess that's what we'll all end up doin'.

Put this up on a friend's site. So funny I had to put it here.



Spider

Spider here, again. It's been a while since I wrote on this thing. Been busy. Get over it.

Man, tomorrow is the day I hate the most. St. Patrick's Day. Nah, I don't got a problem with the Irish, or those that think they're Irish, or those that wish they could think they're Irish. I just don't wanna have to do any fuckin' four leaf clovers.

I swear, as soon as March 17 rolls out, every fucker who wants a tat suddenly decides he's fuckin' Irish and comes in, usually too pissed to see straight, demanding I give him a shamrock on his balls or somethin'. Try tellin' a drunk fuck you can't do his ink because his blood's thin and he'll bleed all over the fuckin' floor. The next thing you know, you're rollin' on the tiles as the dickhead screams about you denyin' his heritage. Then, there's blood on the floor anyways. And it sure as shit ain't mine. Still don't make it any more fun to clean up.

I tried switchin' shifts, but Trey's already drunk in anticipation of sitting his black ass down and celebrating his Irish heritage proper, and my boss is the one who handed me the shit gig in the first place. So it's me and the piercing chick (whatever her name is, piercing chick ..7, I guess; they come and go like there's a fucking revolving door) and I don't think she's gonna be much help.

I'm gonna tell 'em they gotta take a breathalyzer test by law and the machine's broke.

I'm gonna lock the fucking door and make 'em show me what they want before I let 'em in.

I'm gonna tell 'em I'm out of green ink.

Fuck it. I'm gonna do the four leaf clovers. I'm just gonna charge 'em triple. They'll all be too wasted to notice.

Come in if you dare. I'll give you a discount if you don't want anything Irish (no shamrocks, no Celtic druid or pagan crap, no leprechauns, not even one of those setter dogs).

If want any of the above, you'd best be ready to pay, and feel some pain.

Spider again. Sorry, but I don't got much to say. Just figured out that copy-n-paste thing and felt kinda proud about it.

Here's a video for you, Res. Hope you take a look wherever you are.

Spider, here (sorry I forgot to tell ya who this was and confused some people).

When I was a kid, I thought a monster was under my bed. I could hear him hissin' and growlin' under there. My mom told me it was the radiator and stop being such a retard. Didn't convince me, tho. I knew. It was down there, waitin'. The next time it started hissin', I yelled again. This time my mom came in with a baseball bat. She told me to shut up 'cause she was busy and if the thing came creepin' up the foot of my bed like i said it was, to hit it in the damn head. I held that chunk of wood and knew there wouldn't be any more noises after that. Just like I believed in the monster, I believed in that bat.

Later on, when drugs and bad boyfriends made my mom more likely to hit me with a bat than give one to me, my beliefs still were about that bat. It was solid. It would deliver pain. And sometimes save me from it. I did some things with that bat most of you would turn away from. I did some things all of you would say I'm a bad person for. If I am or not, well, that's not part of this, so I won't get into it. It'd end up a big circle of a talk with no answer at the end, anyways. Might as well leave it.

In high school, right about when that bat started gettin' me into too much shit, I found something else to believe in. A new student from Baltimore named Resonance. She looked to me like this surly girl who'd just as much kick you in the teeth as say somethin', but the funny thing 'bout her was she liked to pretend she was invisible most of the time. She'd slink around the halls, duckin' past whatever was in her way, makin' sure she didn't have to look at no one. But, every once in a while, someone would do somethin' she couldn't overlook and she'd pop out of the shadows and it was all fangs and fury for a good thirty seconds. Then, she'd disappear again.

She still likes to think I didn't see her, didn't notice her until she noticed me. That aint the truth. I saw her. I watched her, waited to see if she'd ever drop the invisible shit and just be, you know? Then I pulled some shit in class one day and she just -- exploded. Not in a crazy, gun-toting, school-burning way, or anything. You know that Wizard of Oz movie, where everything is black and white, and then she lands and, boom, it's all color? That's what it was. She turned to color. And everthin' around her did the same.

After that, I didn't need that bat. Life was alive 'cause she was. The walls were colored for her. Music was there so she could pull me into the pit and thrash around like we were made from anger itself. The air was there just so her mouth could go on lettin' out whatever the fuck it was she felt like sayin'.

When the stepdad from hell started layin' in on me, she'd tell me it'd be okay -- someday soon. And it was like I finally understood those people who stuffed themselves into their good clothes to pack the churches on Sunday. She spoke. I believed. She became my church. My religion.

Now the church is empty. And I can't go back. That bat -- just a hunk of wood. Even that monster can't get ahold of me, now. My beliefs have changed and all that lived before she walked in on my life has washed down the drain like dirty water. I'm clean. Born again. I embraced the color and then the world went all gray again. I saw the light, then the light upped and split.

Balls. Never did get that. Balls are...

Yeah, well, nevermind. Spider here again. S'posed to be doin' ink now, but the two flakes of snow that are fallin' outside made my client call it off. Didn't want to drive in from the 'burbs and, "get stuck." Like that'd happen. I can't stand wussy chicks. And so many of them want my business lately.

Man, that's the one thing I can't stand bout this job -- the popularity of tats right now. I mean, yeah, I should be pissin' myself over the amount of work I'm gettin', but along with it come the hundred requests a week for fairies, butterflies and hearts. Too many chicks come in, see me, and think there's a ride they'd like to take, maybe stick it to the old man for a while with the crusty punk dude. They giggle and flirt and insist I put their fairy, butterfly or heart as close to their ass crack as possible. They stick out their ass, toss their hair and think I'm gonna pop wood. Makes me drag the needle a little more than I should, ya know?

This place I'm working, it's good and all. Good pay, no bullshit, no drugs. But, man, the number of little college girls panting to show the world their dangerous side and dudes in bands who think they have to get all their "badass" tats in one sitting really outweighs the number of serious ink collecting dudes who've put more than a week's thought into what they want on their skin FOR THE REST OF THEIR LIVES.

That's the thing, man. These rocker kids don't think. Yeah, I got a couple when I was young that I wouldn't want to get now I'm older. But, only a couple. They represent what I was, like my newer ones represent what I am. Ain't gotten one yet that says what I'm gonna be, tho'. You know why? 'Cause it's like life; you never know where you might end up. You can't say, "I'm gonna be," 'cause the world throws shit at you faster than you can blink and no matter what you want, sometimes you land in the total wrong direction from where you thought you were headin'. If you go struttin' into an ink shop and say, "I want a dragon sleeve on this arm, flames on this one, and a collage of horror shit on my back and a koi on my chest," yeah, you're doin' a great job of tellin' everyone who you are right now. But you aint left shit for room to tell people who you are when ten more years rolls around.

I guess that's Uncle Spider's advice for all you little fucks out there -- don't fill up your whole body in one sittin'.

Well, I could sit here smokin' and tellin' ya'll all sorts of crap you really don't wanna hear, but I think I've just given myself an idea for another tat for myself -- somethin' that says exactly who I am at this exact moment. I'm gonna go sketch it up. Maybe I'll tell ya'll 'bout it next time.

Spider, here.

When someone dies, or is gonna, people always say, "I can't live without her." It's this feelin' we get deep down that tells us it's gonna be that way. But it's not. It's worse. Even tho' that damn feeling is chewin' our insides and turning them to slush, we keep on breathin'. We keep on livin'.

Life sucks, man. No matter how much we wanna roll up and die, it keeps beatin' the shit out of us day after day. The only way we can stop it is to blow our fuckin' brains out. If that's not your cup of piss, then the sun keeps comin' up, the seasons go on and our days march ahead.

I didn't think I'd make it thru the holidays. I thought time was gonna stop and the air would dry up and I'd die on the floor of my apartment like a floppin fish, surrounded by islands of funky laundry. It didn't happen. I'm dunno how I feel about it.

Well, the happy crapfest is gone and I can breathe a little better. For a while, anyways. Her birthday is soon. She'll be twenty-three. I got her present wrapped already. Like I still got the one from Christmas. I guess they'll keep pilin' up until I see the end of this thing -- or it sees the end of me. I've already said that last one isn't gonna happen, so they'll sit and collect dust for her -- collect it in my place, I guess.