“I’m here,” Syrah said.
“You’re just a figment of my imagination,” I said.
“I’m here,” she said.
“How can this be happening?”
“I’m here.”
“You’re insane.”
“I’m here.”
Syrah stood in all her gory glory in the middle of the banquet room at St. Mary’s Center in Scranton, worse than any demon I could have imagined. We see devils in our dreams, not up close and personal. But there she was, taunting, playing, intent on full and total destruction and control.
Before I get carried away here and lose complete touch with reality, you should know the encounter was an improvised mini-one-act play, an impromptu slash of guerrilla theater designed to shock and awe the vendors and customers at last week’s Weird and Wired Punk Bizarre & Zine Expo.
Real riot grrrl organizer Jess Meoni put together a strange bash, indeed, that didn’t lure a single Roman Catholic priest to try to recruit from this collection of misfits, feminists, Satan worshippers (OK, I didn’t see one but the hellish vibes in the room told me they were there) and other assorted heathens who appreciate the freedom of good old made in the USA art.
Metal man James Callahan showed up with Syrah, also known as Kristin Rose, to chase away the real evil spirits – all those who hide behind safe art and shy away from edgy expression and music.
Speaking of music, I’m looking for an all-female metal band to record Syrah’s theme song for a video and movie I’m working hard to sell in Los Angeles. I wrote the lyrics and need at least three to six raw women who understand chaos, liberation and feminism. I’m planning to pitch a few bands in Japan, Sweden, Romania and maybe Brazil (I’ve checked out the international scene online and women metal warriors rule) unless I meet an all-female metal band here in Northeastern Pennsylvania. Some local musicians might want to put together a riot squad just for this occasion.
You want to see the first draft rough lyrics to “Syrah’s Siren Song?”
OK, here goes:
My sweet voice lives in your head – unspoken words best left unsaid. Slaps that threaten to the core inspire anarchy’s mad uproar.
Tell me how to talk to you – what dear Wally can we do to make our lives the way we must to live together in shared trust. Tell me how to please calm down, to dwell in peace amid the clowns.
My sweet voice screams in your head – unspoken words best left unsaid. Slaps that threaten to the core inspire anarchy’s mad uproar.
Tell me how to care and love, to stop destroying those I shove off cliffs into the swirling sea. Tell me how my beauty hurts, please make it stop, oh, make it stop, please listen to my plea.
Tell me how to live again.
Tell me to forgive again.
Teach me how to meditate.
No, I want to aggravate.
Tell me if we’ll win again, tell me that we’ll sin again, tell me when the earthquake comes to trap me in the crazy bin.
Is the devil truly you?
Tell me Wally, tell me true,
Tell me, Wally, tell me true
Tell me how to live again.
Tell me to forgive again.
Teach me how to meditate.
No, I want to aggravate.
Is the devil truly you?
Tell me Wally, tell me true,
Tell me, Wally, tell me true
Tell me how to live again.
Tell me to forgive again.
Teach me how to meditate.
No, I want to aggravate.
We’re throwing a lot of sparks off “Blood Red Syrah,” including appearing at the “Creature Feature Weekend” horror extravaganza in Gettysburg over the Labor Day weekend.
Stay tuned for details.
And don’t slip on the blood on the floor.