80's Hell Hair

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© 2010. Scripts by David Skerkowski. All rights reserved.

Oh Yeah?

You just watch it now, cause that little boy that you brutalized back in the schoolyard has grown into a full grown man! Are you listening out there, Christine? Christine McNicholl? I'm ready for you if you ever come after me again. I'm gonna kick you in the nuts. You ain't some delinquent that can have her way with me no more, dragging me around like a sack of potatoes and making me smell your shoe. Even though you're probably ten feet tall by now, I'm still ready to stand my ground. Watch out.
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Hey Book Reader

In Grade One, when we first learned to read in school, I had a head start somehow. My earliest reads, before school, were the funnies. Blondie. I knew the alphabet and sounded out the words. I thought Blondie was pronounced 'Blundye.' Later I advanced to child's encyclopedias. I thought Caeser was pronounced 'Kayser.' So, by the time I got to Grade One, when they handed my group a book with one crumby sentence on each page and asked us each to read out loud just one page, I refused. I read the whole book out loud, myself. I got into trouble for that. I missed my turn the first few rounds on the next book.
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The Zodiac Killer

I've never come across such a difficult planet. Looks like we've exhausted all of our conventional options. Beam down the astrologist. (Bz-z-z-z-z-z-zh!) Are you the ship's astrologist? Yes. Can't you tell by my hat with all the stars and moons on it? Look up there and tell me if you can see anything. Sorry, captain. I can't make heads nor tails of it.
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Cute Little Pet Peeves

Friday, October 1, 2010 Things are going well for me these days, and I wouldn't want to give the wrong impression by posting a complaint, but I simply can't restrain myself in this case. It's these silly bouncing icons that line the bottom of my screen. They annoy the fuck out of me. It irks me as a computer programmer to see the computer's potential functionality compromised by a need to animate buttons. I'd rather have its memory in reserve for something else. It bugs me as an artist to see cute little images all standing in a row, all equal in height and width. They remind me of a family photo of my brothers in the 1960's when every young man looked like Buddy Holly. (You'll find me in the foreground, about to start crying.) Lastly, it troubles me that people think a computer is better because its icons bounce up and down when you click on them.
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Uncommon Squalor

Saturday, October 2, 2010 I try not to let it get to me too much if someone views me as their competitor to be defeated and stepped on. Most people seem to lack the kind of talent that would lift them out of the proverbial rat race. If you have some kind of stimulating passion like art or music, your only competitor is essentially yourself. You are oblivious to the aggression of those around you, while they assume that you are out to step on them. To me, the phrase, I want to be better off than you, offers zero inspiration. Motivation is not the same as inspiration. My humble occupation up to this point, with which I have been satisfied, even with my talent lying dormant because of it, ought to prove that I'm the furthest thing from a social climber. It simply does not interest me to try to get ahead of the next person. I am an artist. That may be why I've not risen beyond entry level in my job[s]. With so many people in the world unable to find something better than motivation to keep them going, it's natural that their aggression would be more developed than it ought to be. I hope my presence among them will ultimately offer them some kind of relief.
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Senseless Correction

Probably like anyone, sometimes I find myself thinking the same thing as someone else. It doesn't make me psychic. If I'm on a bus and it's a wintery morning, I might say to the person sitting next to me something like, 'This reminds me of that schoolyard game where we tried to push each other off the snowbank.' Why wouldn't it remind the person next to me of the same thing? If I'm talking on the phone to someone and my words fit into an eavesdropper's thoughts in a different context, it's just a coincidence. Such coincidences are likely to mount for a person in a situation where he thinks of himself at the same time as others are thinking about him. I've no way of knowing for sure, but if this is the case for me, I want to state for the record that my claim of having ESP was strictly for reasons of comedy. On the matter of my time traveling, however...
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An Unholy Mess

This morning I dreamed that I was on a planet of women. They were going to make me into their god, but my apartment was disgusting, and I wanted to clean it up first. One of them saw me on my hands and knees, scrubbing my kitchen floor, and told the others, causing them all to lose respect for me.
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Happily Even After

Most of us, if we look into ourselves objectively, must admit that we are flawed in character. Perhaps this is an area where the Christian concept of original sin agrees with Freud, at least metaphorically. Because of this, being a nice person can be quite a challenge. It is more natural, therefore easier, to succumb to our primal selfishness and lust for power, just like we may prefer an easier job and look down on those who are struggling as 'losers'. On the surface, this seems to be the way to go, and a certain infamous dictator exploited it fully back in the 1930's when he used his evil genius to pit the strong against the weak. Added to this influence may be powerful external forces, such as poverty, loneliness, and the hell of other people, as Sartre put it. If any group should be free to grumble and act in an ill manner, it is the poor, for their poverty brings out the worst in them. By contrast, the rich, who may have large sums of money to spare for charity, are sometimes known as the beautiful people. What then can be gained from trying to be nice? Nice guys finish last, don't they? Here a distinction must be made between being nice and being a patsy, for being a patsy is not a very nice way to treat oneself. In order to answer the question, I needed to explore my own mind. Deep in my subconscious, scattered between countless abstract images and advertising jingles, I found almost all of the qualities that I resent in others. Lurking behind them was a monster, and I realized that my conscious mind acts as its cage. However far such a monster may advance within the competitive workplace, it cannot offer me any sense of inner peace; the peace that comes from rising above the urge to use and hurt others and thereby suffer guilt. And sensing this potential mean streak within me lets me see myself in those who would use and hurt me. It lets me forgive them, and I feel the better for it. My talent, too, if you want to call it that, helps me to be a nice guy. It lets me withdraw from any nastiness that may be present in the world around me, often with the result of improving my self image through the creation of art and music. When these methods fail, I turn to my sense of humour. It always feels good to laugh. And if, as one poet said, laughter comes from pain, who says it always has to be someone else's pain? Like any human, I am weak. I break down and start smashing things. This is what happens to me when I lose sight of my desire to be good. I can take full responsibility for it. I always come back around to my struggle for goodness in the end. No matter what my place in the world, I can find happiness and peace by letting go of my dark impulses and keeping my monster's cage tightly locked.
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Godlessness

Wednesday, October 6, 2010 Staring at a blank wall where the enormous face of my goddess twice smiled, I am pleased to state that I have learned my lesson with respect to power. I trust myself. When I speak of power, I speak of everyday power: the power of a parent over a child, of a pet owner over his pet, of a teacher over his student, of a supervisor over his workers, even of a hermit's power over himself. I apologize for any confusion up to now. The lesson I learned about how to handle power, through bitter experience, is to avoid using it, except in instances where it will have a positive result for both myself and whomever I may use it on. The only power I'm interested in is the power to make everyone feel good.
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That's What I Meant!

I meant to unwind this evening before heading to bed with a nice round of Jeopardy, a game show in which I normally perform respectably. It was a Ken Jennings one. Ken Jennings won 75 games in a row before his streak ended and he flew off to Rio in his new private jet. I gather that his IQ must be somewhere in the 900's. He's an awesome intellect, but I do not watch the show to learn as much as I do to participate. This gave me an idea for a spinoff of the show, Bullshit Jeopardy. That would level the playing field for a contestant like me when I'm up against tough competition.
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Once Upon a Life

A wise old friend of mine once said something very profound to me. One is everything. Had I not dabbled in philosophy of religion in the years since I knew him, I might still be wondering what he meant by it. I believe it connects to the religious concept of the logos. But I also think it has a less sophisticated meaning; that is, a less esoteric meaning; that is, a meaning that can be commonly explained and understood. Unfortunately, I suck at parables. And my internal rhymer can't find any scheme to the words I must use to explain it. Nonetheless, I must try. The best way to explain it is from within the one life I know for sure to be real, my life. I think therefore I am, said Descartes, not bothering to add, 'but I'm not so sure about you, especially if you never think.' The best way to explain any sensitive topic is from within one's own life and experience. It lets everyone else decide for themselves. While I may live a solitary life, I seldom feel alone. With my mind I may stretch out across the whole world, even the whole universe. By thinking of others, I include them in my universe. It takes the edge off my loneliness. The times I suffer the most are when I lose sight of my life's primary realness and get caught up in the actions of those around me. It's like that Star Trek episode where Chekov got psyched out by that illusory bullet that was fired into his back. If only he'd have known. I'm not denying that others have the ability to inflict pain on me. When it happens, I conclude that it is helping me somehow, perhaps by strengthening my will. I make it part of my life. I accept it, and I try to grow from the experience. I'm not devaluing the apparent lives of those around me. They enrich my world - especially the pretty ladies. Suffering can be escaped or, at least, reduced by applying the 'one is everything' concept to these other people. You may turn your mind outward and try to imagine yourself in their place. If you're suffering and you look closely, you might notice that they are suffering right along with you. One is everything. Wow. That guy said a mouthful.
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Funny for You

For anyone who dislikes the songs I wrote for them in '08 and '09, let me once again explain my reasons for switching genres. I have no views and no comments. Since I'm interested in pleasing you, I thought it might be wise to look around and see what was popular in other videos and try to make mine more like them. All this has accomplished has been to lead me in a circle all the way back around to the stuff I started off with. In the meantime, while I struggled to please you, I got the distinct impression that the whole world thought I was a pathetic loser. No one would give me a job. I became depressed and had to go on disability. I found part-time work in the music industry as a forklift operator where some creepy shit happened to me that gave me nightmares. Then I was mysteriously released from that position and had to starve some more while I waited for mom and dad to send money. Every woman that passed me in the street seemed like they would rather spit on me than return my smile. My sex drive has been so crippled by them that I now consider myself permanently single, though I may still admire them from a safe distance. As long as I live, I will not understand how innocently sharing my songs could have brought me such overwhelming torment. And no one will ever explain to my satisfaction why, to this day, I have hardly received a single view or comment on my songs and blogs. But, for what it's worth, I'm tired of traveling in circles. I'm moving forward in a straight line, with the type of songs I'm writing now. And I'm quite surprised I'm still here to write about it.
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Star Trek Pilot: The Cage

They can't read through lust. Let me concentrate. I'm filling my head with lust. I'm filling my head with images of me pushing his alien face into the floor and having my way with the crease in the back of his over sized head!
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Knowing the Question

From a very early age, people have marveled at my ability to render images onto paper without losing proportion or line. I couldn't understand why everyone couldn't do it. Later on I learned about how the human brain is divided into two hemispheres. The left hemisphere is the centre for language and elementary deductions. The right hemisphere handles images and psychic hoo haw. Most actions originate on one side but require some interplay with the other side. The popular approach to problem solving is to analyze with the left side and make concrete deductions which lead to an evidence based conclusion. It's very scientific, and continues to be the prevailing, most credible method. This suggests that most people draw their information from their brains' left hemispheres. In the context of image rendering, it's the equivalent of dividing an image into squares and copying it one square at a time. More technical than sensual. And more time consuming than necessary for one like myself. An artist can usually reproduce images without resorting to such means. His hands, guided by the intuition of his right hemisphere, simply know where to go with the magic marker, chisel, or whatever other tool they might be using. An artist doesn't analyze the image. He knows it. Music, I've read, is all over the brain. I'll have to get back to you on that one.
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Family Breeds Contempt

After some slightly painful soul searching, I've come to the conclusion that I ought not to complain about coming from a large family. I was the seventh born. And I should be thankful I grew up in such a sheltered area. It kept my childhood innocent. And my mom is the sweetest lady you'd ever meet. Everyone who bought groceries at the A and P knew that. I'm extremely sorry for any indications I've made to the contrary over the course of my troubled writing career. I can be a bastard.
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Poker Face

One of my mom's friends, a member of her card playing gang who taught at my elementary school, told her a long time ago that her boy, David, though gifted, could sometimes hurt others without knowing it. It was such an odd remark that it stayed with me all these years. She might have been alluding to my obliviousness, caused by having multiple thoughts running through my brain at once. It mixes up the messages I send. By distracting me, it can also render insufficient the amount of feeling with which I deliver them. As a child who was particularly sensitive to others' suffering, I tended to withdraw into myself, in order to avoid pain. This could have been misunderstood by my peers and teachers. Through my creative process, I was able from an early age to convert my most combustible feelings into inert ones. This might have come across as coldness or numbness. Add to that the normal flaws of a young boy and I can see how this finding was made. Looking back on it, I don't mind apologizing to any injured parties. Hope the damage was not permanent.
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Over the Painbow

Friday, October 8, 2010 Tomorrow I shall open a new blog with a new bad title. I have to concentrate to come up with bad titles. They don't come naturally to me. I can't explain it, but I gather that the worst is behind me, in terms of my struggle for success in music. The last few years have been painful, but I do not turn from suffering, for it cleanses the soul. It makes you a better person; more sympathetic to others' suffering. Having overcome these hardships, I must again quote Nietzsche. 'That which does not kill me makes me stronger.'
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