Good Omens

Good Omens

Day of the big show and ever since I saw a Ferrari drive by me in Kreuzberg , the night of my first show ever, I always look out for good omens.

Just a fun little game.

Waking up to just the right amount of rain to keep everyone from sitting in the park and missing the show is already a great omen, but then, while I was shopping for some stuff I needed, and

THIS SONG

came on the radio of the store, I thought,

“How can I go wrong?”

I mean for one, when do you ever hear a really good song on German radio?

And come on, Simon and Garfunkel?

Pure goodness, and furthermore, at one point in the song he says,

“all is groovy”

Which sounds like he’s saying it in German, which makes me believe I’m in the right place at the right time, and doing the right thing.

Either that or I’m crazy.

Or both. Either way.

ALLES GROOVY!

See you soon.

Part four. In the end I WAS WRONG!

Part four. In the end I WAS WRONG!

THE END! Finally.

The moral of the story of course is, David Deery is never right.

The story? Yes, I’m sick of it as well.

I’ve beaten this dead horse so long I can’t remember when I killed it, or if I even killed it at all, or if it was already dead when I found it and just said fuck it, here’s a dead horse I think it would be cool to beat on it’s dead horse carcass for a while.

Shit, I don’t even know if this horse is even a horse it’s beaten so badly, but once again, very long story shortened for one last post,

I was booked to perform at the Soundcloud company party.

I thought it would suck.

I WAS WRONG.

I thought it would suck because I knew the Soundcloud people were a bunch of cocky dickheads.

I WAS WRONG.

I thought doing stand up on a boat and making fun of guys fishing would suck.

I WAS WRONG.

Ok, I get it, I was wrong about the Soundcloud party, so the next day when I stumbled randomly onto a bunch of people heading to a secret festival where the only information was simply, no phones, no tents, no cameras, no rides home and no more information, I thought, Well, hell, I was wrong about the Soundcloud party, maybe this will be awesome.

And my FOMO kicked in.

FOMO is a deadly disease.

FOMO: Fear Of Missing Out.

I thought, “This festival might be amazing. Maybe Mode Selector is doing it.”

For once in my life I thought something was going to be good.

I WAS WRONG!

I thought no one would threaten to sacrifice me.

I WAS WRONG!

I thought at the very least the worst the music could be was Techno.

I WAS WRONG!

I thought a lot of things, and I was wrong about all of them.

So there you have it. The moral of the story is that I’m always wrong.

Always.

Never listen to me. Never take my advice and for Christ’s sake, PLEASE don’t ever follow me to a festival!

Now, that all being said, I have to get ready for my stand up show tomorrow night that I am certain will suck and be the worst thing you’ve ever seen in your life.

THE FUCKING END!

Part Three. I almost got killed/sacrificed.

Part Three. I almost got killed/sacrificed.

I almost got killed.

I’m talking about that fucked up festival again of course, and trust me, we’re almost over this completely, but here’s a little more of what we were all dealing with.

I guess a lot of people know the person I’m going to talk about, and my guess is that normally he’s a really good guy, and honestly, I can believe it.

I had met the guy way before the free mushrooms, free MDMA and free booze were long gone and no one slept and a blanket of noise rock and the occasional rendition of Amazing Grace penetrated our minds, but come on, when I tell you what happened, you’re gonna have to admit that some one might have been slightly too far gone.

You might have even seen him fall off of the drum kit if you were lucky, onto his head, right on the clay stage.

That could have been a sign for someone to hand the guy some water, because whatever he had, he had a lot of it and it certainly wasn’t water.

Whatever it was, maybe he had too much too fast as The Grateful Dead song goes. They sure know about that Psychedelic shit.

They also talk about the darkness in the eyes. Nothing new under the sun, I tell ya.

Regardless, when the rain finally stopped, and I was done trying to save the Juno 106 from being destroyed while anyone else willing tried to raise a tarp over the speakers and chaos dominated the general vibe as water dumped out of the sky like God himself was sick of the bullshit pumping out of the speakers, I was standing by a fire, by the makeshift kitchen wearing some crown of thorns type of head piece I had found and I was shirtless, full of cynicism and sarcastic energy, and as I danced and laughed, I let everyone who was crowded under the one small amount of shelter available, that the rain was over and we were ready for more music and lets all join hands and praise the sun and be thankful for each other and love is the answer, and techno makes the moon glow at night and so on and so forth, when suddenly in front of me, also shirtless, and large and looming with a darkness surrounding him, and holding a wooden spear type of weapon, was the guy, who very well could have killed me, if things went the way they didn’t go.

Praise Jah.

Big guy. His eyes were telling a story. The story started with a lot of drinking, in the middle of the story was no sleep, and the ending was about to be written, and looked like the typical Stephen King type of bloody horror, where the Rasta Man gets sick and tired of the little whitey kid having fun at the expense of everyone else’s feelings, and loses his mind, like that writer guy did in The Shining and starts killing everyone with a small wooden spear.

He stood right in front of me pointing his mini spear at my chest and spoke up,

“Hey” he said and poked me with the sharp wooden end of the spear.

“Ok, bud. That actually hurt, and at this point the jokes over. You could probably kill me with that thing if you tried hard enough, especially because there’s no ambulance out here, and quite possibly not even soap, or a band aid.”

It was then that the reality of the situation struck me and I remembered a time when I saw the LAPD strap a friend of mine down while he jerked off violently, and I remembered my own weird trip once were I started in Philadelphia and ended up in Atlantic City New Jersey where all kinds of weird sexual and violent shit happened like me trying to steal a Grayhound bus, and shit got real for a second when dude talked again, very calmly.

“You’re the human sacrifice” He said as I tried to creep away, slowly.

“No, actually I’m not. I think you got the wrong guy. Perhaps you’re confused by the crown I’m wearing. Here. It’s not mine. I found it. I hold no importance here, trust me, I’m the last guy God would accept as a sacrifice. I’m pure skin and bones. Nope. Not me bud.”

He was still pointing the spear at me.

“It’s gotta be done. You know it’s true. You know it man.”

He was reasoning with me?

His eyes were insane. I mean, no disrespect to the man, I know he was gone, but I haven’t seen something like that since me and two people drank a whole bottle of Bacardi 151 in Hollywood and one of us lost her mind and swore she was gonna commit suicide that very night.

I tried to reason with the cat back, because we’re family, right?

“Hey man, what’s up? Why me?”

I swear to God, this is what he said, and I’m not even writing this in a bad way, I found it hilarious and I also have to say at this point that as unimportant as race is, this dude was African German, not just a German dude, so anyway, this is what he said,

“You have a Jewish attitude.”

I laughed. I actually found it funny, and said,

“Hey dude, blame my mom for that one, and further more WHY IS NO ONE JUMPING IN HERE TO HELP ME? Why is the only other big guy here walking away?”

And that’s when the whole situation was diffused in one sentence, when the other big dude went,

“Oh my God, he’s not gonna hurt you, we all know him, he’s a sweetheart.”

And then I looked at dude, and his spear dropped to his side, and his eyes were back and he was smiling, like one of those, ha ha ha, I’m so drunk I just pissed in the corner of your bedroom smiles and it was over. I was alive and the spear was no longer pointed at me and jesus, only seven more hours until the bus takes us out of here.

Then we hugged.

Love wins again.

PART TWO. The Soundcloud party.

PART TWO. The Soundcloud party.

So. Where was I? Right. I was telling you how I became the hippy festival hatin, fuck experimental art and music, money hungry corporate scum that I am now.

And I am hungry. It’s nine am. Time to go to work.

It all started that Friday afternoon, when I was booked to play Soundcloud’s company party. I really almost didn’t take the gig, because the words “company party” are a huge red flag, almost as bad as “trust me, this is gonna be the best festival you’ve ever seen in your life.”

When I think company party, I imagine a room with a stage at the front and a bar at the back and a comedian on stage, sweating bullets and tapping on the mic saying, “is this thing on?” and “hey guys, can you hear me ok” as the roar of drunkin conversations drowns him, like a guy floating on the remains of a ship wreck as the company scum all stand back at the bar sucking down the free drinks and yelling to each other about how cool they are and how they wish that annoying little piss ant would shut up for five minutes.

So when my friend called me about the booking, I was still skeptical.

Here was our conversation.

“They want a comedian.” She said.

“I bet they do. No thanks.”

“Seriously. They’re cool.”

“No, their not. They’re dicks. They’ll talk over me and make me feel useless while they get drunker and meaner and drunker some more.”

“It’s on a boat.”

“Even worse, they ignore me until I’m done, then one guy will puke on me in the middle of telling me how horrible it was.”

“They’re gonna pay you XX,XXX euros.”

“WAIT, did you say XX,XXX euros? ARE YOU SERIOUS?”

“No, I’m just trying to make you look Super cool on this blog post, but they will pay you decently.”

“OK. But I still think it’s gonna suck.”

And now I’m gonna do what I gotta do. It’s something I hate doing and it’s something I don’t do very often.

I must admit, I was wrong.

I was wrong.

It wasn’t only fun, it was amazing. On the top of a boat, with the seats all full and yes, some people in the back talking, ok, and they were drinking too, but they didn’t obnoxiously ruin me, and more importantly, they were behind a group of people all paying attention and wanting to laugh at my stupid humor.

They were more than a decent crowd, they were a good crowd, even the two little kids in the front row. Even they were laughing.

Dumbest joke of the day?

“Hey look guys, come on, you think this is fun for me? Come on, we’re all in the same boat here.”

Ah, good times.

And it was good times, so I have to now OFFICIALLY let you know that SOUNDCLOUD is very high on my list of companies that doesn’t suck Satan’s cock.

And as the boat docked at that mansion in the middle of nowhere, and someone asked me,

“Hey, you stickin around?”

I thought,

“Why not, you nerds are pretty fuckin cool.”

And they are cool. These people are some of the friendliest, most outgoing, and approachable people I’ve ever hung out with in a large group, and they are also some of the most intelligent people I’ve probably ever met in my life.

I mean really. The conversations were amazing.

Somehow, this guy and myself were chatting very casually about the revolutionary aspects of the Internet and you know, shit like that.

I kind of gave him my philosophy about how paper money, is the glue that holds the system together, and if we could find a way to sneak behind banks backs, and get services to each other for something better than paper money, it be a big step to getting power back.

To which he then said, “Have you heard of Square, and blah blah blah blah?”

And in one breath mentioned like seven companies doing different versions of what I was talking about.

I almost cried. Not saying that this saddened me. It gave me hope. It really did. That Soundcloud party gave me hope.

With more people like this in the world I really think we’d be on the right track.

And then I met one of the inventers of the company.

Alex.

He introduced himself, and thanked me, and asked me if I had enough to eat and drink and said I was very funny, and he was impressed, and then I said something that struck me as so real I had an epiphany, when I said,

“You know, it’s like my worst fear that Red Bull or Coca Cola will call me and want to work with me, because I hate their product, and I think they’re ruining the world, but I also need the money, and I couldn’t ever say no, and that would haunt me, but I’m not even mad at doing anything for Soundcloud because your product is actually a good thing. It’s not fuckin the world up at all, I mean sure, the record labels might be mad, but who cares about those shit heads? That’s what they fuckin get for trying to fuck us all making us buy everything again on expensive ass CD. Fuck the record industry.”

And I realized I was in love with Soundcloud.

And then, I looked him in the eyes and and he looked at me, and smiled, and we started making out, and I was crying, because he was by far the best man I would ever meet, but then he apologized and told me he was really drunk and had a girlfriend and then I said something like,

“Don’t worry, it’s just a blog post, everyone knows it’s just a joke.”

And he laughed and I laughed and wow.

Soundcloud.

I’m a corporate scumbag. Part one.

I’m a corporate scumbag. Part one.

That’s it. It’s over.

I’m officially all about making money and being the most powerful comedian ever.

That’s it, fuck any dreams of consciousness and art and money is just paper, and art and words can make the world a better place and and art and music is life, and math, and science and so on and so forth.

Fuck that.

I’m like Biggie Smalls now, all about the Benjamins.

Cream, get the money, dolla dolla bill y’all.

That’s officially the revolution to me now, because I realize the only hope I have of happiness is to MAYBE just someday buy a house on a lake, a gun, and a sign that says “All fake ass hippies will be shot on site.”

The hope for anything communal or in society is lost, probably for ever in a bowl of MDMA punch, that was sucked into the guts of anyone willing to take it, and washed down with a Big Mac at the first rest stop after that amazing (smell that sarcasm) film project festival thing I got sucked into on Saturday afternoon.

Thank you Mind Pirates for being the bad trip that makes me realize that experimental art and film is a bunch of self indulgent wankery, and thank you to my own mind for being intrigued by anything and everything enough to go along on the trip! (smells like even worse sarcasm or doo doo, can’t tell.)

I made some great new friends, but after this weekend I finally realized that I don’t want to ever again be associated with, or sucked into being a part of anything that has to do with anything pseudo hippy, or pseudo experimental, art, film, music, festival bullshit ever again.

EVER!

I need to slow down here and explain what the fuck happened to me this weekend, but the smell of camp fire bacon is still lingering on my mustache and it’s hard to even think I’m still so scarred mentally by almost being stabbed and also getting raped in the mind by a flying pile of audible shit called music which mixed with so much ego and then stirred up with even more film maker ego it became a toxic combination, which when penetrating my eyes and ears made me want to commit genocide to anyone who wears crocks, has dreadlocks, climbs trees then turns around three hours later and eats a Big Mac and or threatens to sacrifice me with a wooden spear and the eyes of demon being who’s possibly eaten too many drugs or drank too many whiskeys.

There’s a line for sure when things just aren’t for me anymore, and I’ve crossed it when everyone around me is super mangled on drugs and the music sucks and there’s no way home and someone wants to stab me with a wooden spear and if there’s someone filming it, they have the right to use that without me saying anything.

Not even ouch.

But it’s Monday, and I’m home, and no ones dead including me, so hey, since I got you this far, let me tell you the whole story. The whole gloriously, depressing story of how I became a corporate scumbag.

And as of now my blog is free, so enjoy it while you can.

It all started Friday afternoon, on a boat, at the Soundcloud party.

TO BE CONTINUED IN PART 2……