The Cliffs of Insanity

I did not realise I still had this. It's the reason I thanked Tim in the acknowledgements of The Chalice. He planted the seeds just a bare few months before the sudden birth of Cadmus Pariah. I think he wrote this in response to my nattering about Lilith (who eventually became Kelat in the final drafts), when she was the initial villain in the bare bones of the story I was trying to write. The cup was his idea. The first Relic belonged to him. Many times I wished I'd kept the chalice drabble. And I did. I find it really ironic and symbolic that I found this on the ten-year anniversary of the Cliffs of Insanity. Here is what he wrote.

The first rays of morning searched and probed its way through the canopy of dark and steamy equatorial cypress and fern, until at last it softly touched the rim of the chalice which seemed almost to flinch as if being branded with a hot iron. Still half buried in a mixture of rotting mulch and silt, the chalice breathed its first breath of moist air in almost four hundred years. The golden cup, still crusted with red rubies and diamonds from Imperial English Court had lost none of its lustre or forboding power. Tropical rains usually raise the rivers over their brims to spread over the marshes and glens, but last night's thundering downpour had elevated the water to new heights and, for the first time in centuries, the vein-covered temple ruins were washed clean of leaves and soil. Even the sacrificial mould was literrally carried in half by the torrent to reveal the secrets that lay buried for generations. The time had come for the evil shadow to raise its despised head and once again greedily consume men's hearts and souls. The modern world could scarcely dream of such dark secrets and powers that that would shortly camp about their realm of security and lighted cities.

-Tim Hutchins
8-22-'89

I am gobsmacked. Just completely and utterly gobsmacked.

Before there was The Pit, there was a department at BMG Entertainment called Quality Assurance. We were a very small department, comprised of Rick (the Classic Rocker Dude), Timothy (one of my best friends of all time), and myself (weirdo Gothic chick). Both Rick and Timothy were proficient guitar players and knew a lot of the songs from the 70s. Rick was also keen on learning guitar licks from modern songs that he liked. One of these songs happened to be "More than Words" by Extreme. Rick could play that song and keep the beat just like the guy in the video. I was amazed.

Now the QA department was just that. We inspected records, tapes, cds and, later on, video games before BMG decided it wasn't keen on quality, just quantity. That's why it exists today and wasn't swallowed up by Sony, which is about to go kaput because of similar beliefs. To work in QA, you had to be experienced musically and have a very good ear in order to identify unwieldy pops, ticks, and other undesirable sounds behind the music. It was a gift and a skill all rolled into one. Since our department was the only one that required musical background, we were tapped to be the house band of sorts at the yearly horribleday party put on by Jerry Springer look-a-like Dan Stopfer (that's not an insult as I think Jerry Springer is a hunk-a hunk-a burnin' love).

For the majority of November and all of December, the three of us would have jam sessions in the QA room. They started out being really diaphanous, none of us really knowing what exactly we wanted to do until we honed it down to a few songs that would wow our coworkers. We were also tapped to perform one original song, basically an established song with different lyrics about the job. The only song I can remember from then is "DMI - Reject," based on the song "Cocaine." I was the one to whom it fell to write the filk lyrics since I'd gotten myself into trouble in the past writing songs about BMG/RCA. One was based on "Hotel California" and it was called "Warehouse RCA." The other was for "House of the Rising Son" and was entitled "House of the Broken Disc." I was in some serious trouble for that one.

Anyway, one of the songs we did really well was "Bohemian Rhapsody." It wasn't a practiced song either, it just sort of happened and we harmonised perfectly. Same thing for "More than Words," which will always have a special place in my heart. I sang the hell out of that song and the harmonies were absolute golden. I'll never forget those parties, one in particular where there were only 7 of us left, all of us sitting on the floor, 'cos we were too drunk to stand, microphones in our hands, singing like our hearts were gonna burst with joy. I often think of those days with great fondness and was reminded quite suddenly of those days gone by when "Bohemian Rhapsody" came on the radio.

It makes me want to call up Timothy and see if he wants to get together just to sing.

The plan on Friday is to have lunch with Timothy at the new Cracker Barrel right up the road. I've invited green_goblin7t to join us and it looks like he'll be able to make it. I'm taking with me a book I think Tim's brain will devour like a premenstrual woman let loose on a Symphony bar. It's The Book of Lies: The Disinformation Guide to Magick and the Occult. It wouldn't surprise me one bit if Timothy began reading, failed to eat his lunch, and utterly ignored green_goblin7t and me once he gets his mitts on the book. It's right up his alley, without a doubt. I'm taking the book to him with the full expectation of not seeing it for awhile, but that's okay; I've read it from cover to cover at least twice. I'm quite familiar with the contents.

We just got back from Tim's birthday party. He turns 50 on the 31st. It's hard to believe he's reached that age when I met him when he was 28 and I was 19. Everyone was great. It was fantastic to see him again and to see his wife Vickie after such a long period of time. It's been years. Oh, and his girls! Both are grown now and beautiful. The last time I saw them, they were tiny little children. Hell, I remember Casey being born. And Addie was just a baby when Tim and I started working at BMG. Timothy and some of his musician friends made all manner of music starting about halfway through the party. They did Bluegrass, Country, some Rock, and Folk. Oh, and Tim sang "Ring of Fire." He looked directly at me and said, "Y'know, Johnny Cash!" Oh yeah, I know. He's never read my Redeye Grandé post which heavily features good ole Johnny, so that was surreal. I may have to send Vickie a link to that post, so she and Tim can share in the hilarity of the mighty Do Wacka Do. It was a wonderful party and a wonderful night, and I'm grateful to Vickie for inviting Aunt Tudi and me.

I went to Dr. Jaworski's about my hubcap. She drew a syringe full of fluid off it, then injected it and gave me pain pills, all the while eyeballing the knee and tsk'ing, saying that she doubted I'd last long with it. Gads. My leg is going to fall off.

Afterwards, Aunt Tudi and I went to see Diane at the physical therapy center. She's supposed to be there for a week to six, depending on how well she does with her hip transplant. So far, she's doing great, considering she's only 4 days out of surgery.

We went and paid some bills, ran a couple of errands, and I picked up my meds. I also found a pair of tights that I'm gonna wear with my skirt on THE DAY. Yes, I'm wearing a skirt. A black skirt with a black blouse and black tights and some black shoes. I need to find my shoes! AIEEEE! We got home around 6 and Aunt Tudi called Janice to confirm that she was still gonna take us to the airport. No, she's not. Some emergency sprang up with Johnna and they will all be indisposed at the time Aunt Tudi and I need to be at the airport. I freaked out until Johnna had the idea that we drive to the airport and, after their previous engagement, Johnna and Janice and go pick up the car so I won't have to pay $10 a day for parking. Whew! Johnna is one smart cookie.

On my way over to see Llew, he called to tell me that he has the Slobovian Stomach Flu, not to come. He left the DVDs on the front porch and, when I picked them up, we hugged from afar. I told him I'd make it up to him when I got home and he was feeling healthier. This is what happens when you live with a walking petri dish (AKA a young child).

Coming back home, I called the Mother Unit to wish her a happy birthday. She's treating herself to ringside seats at a WWE Smackdown match. Yes, my mother is as bizarre as they come. I also finally got in touch with Timothy and we've made tentative plans to get together after I get back from Blighty, so I can see his music room. He seems quite proud of it.

Now I'm home and about three quarters of the way packed. No longer do I feel numb; rather, I am in full panic mode, hoping I don't forget anything or screw anything up.

All the beasties are safe and sound at Dr. Patch's. The Outdoor Pride has 60 pounds of kibble on which to subsist, and Johnna is going to fill their pans and give them fresh water daily. Aunt Tudi's back if doing better, and I have in my paws 5 ativan for taking off and landing maneuvers in addition to 20 hydrocodone for my hubcap, which should hopefully soon be a much better kneecap.

Tomorrow, I need to mail an eBay package, set the tape for LOST for this week and next, call some people, and write a couple of emails. I think that's it. We have to be at the airport by 2:30, just to be on the safe side. It's gonna be a long trip, but worth it.

I got a letter from falkenna, mapping out the holiday itinerary.

OK, here are my proposals -- very fluid, and in some cases possibly over-ambitious:

 

Thursday:  Brighton (sleep, shopping, acclimatization, Pavilion, seafront.  Full English breakfast out. Supper to be discussed.)

 

Friday:  Stonehenge and a bit of Wales (I thought you'd want to say you'd been there. Could substitute Glastonbury if you'd rather).  Steve's at night, and probably his cooking (yum).

 

Saturday (with Steve and his daughter): Avebury, Silbury Hill, West Kennet Long Barrow, Wayland's Smithy, and the Uffington White Horse and Dragon Hill. (Not as ambitious as it sounds, but may still need to be cut.)  Country pub for supper.

 

Sunday:  Bath, home to Brighton.

 

Monday:  London -- Buck Palace and a few others, Brit Museum if you like, Stevie's for Bed Viewing, if you like (all being well), Ripper tour. Return to Brighton

 

Tuesday:  Party party

 

Wednesday:  Up to you -- more of Brighton, more of Sussex, Dover/Canterbury -- depending on your energy and interest.  May have Graham with us first thing, he's considering staying over. (I doubt anybody else will, but who knows . . .)

OMIGAWD OMIGAWD OMIGAWD

This is really happening.

::scampers about on one leg, like a crippled Macaulay Culkin.

Tonight, Timothy is in the forefront of my mind. After dreaming that he called last night, and we laughed for what seemed like aeons as we chatted on the phone, his presence has been quite strong with me today. As par usual, Autumn stirs up memories and the fine tendrils that connect us all. The threads that tie Timothy and me are braiding themselves as stronger bonds. It wouldn't surprise me if he called soon. If he doesn't, I will.

It's been too long.

---

A random memory, one at which green_goblin70 will, I'm sure, chuckle and nod:

I'd brought in a picture of my Grandpa Manheim that harked back to his comedy/music act from his earlier golden years. He had a silly smile on his face as he posed with his beloved upright bass. It was an intentionally goofy picture. When Timothy visited the office that day, he took one look at the photo and said, "Who is that old fool?" I said, "Oh, that's my grandfather," not taking offence to his words at all, because it was, by nature, a foolish picture. Timothy immediately hung his head and moped out of the office. green_goblin70 and I didn't see Timothy for at least a couple of days, he was so embarrassed by his remark. We laugh about that now, Tim and I but, at the time, he was mortified and concerned that I was angry.

Note to self: find that photo of G'pa Manheim and scan it.

---

And, of course, I am always thinking of Todd. He's had a rough week and I'm quite concerned for him. It seems like things just haven't let up for him in a while, and that's not fair. He doesn't deserve any of it. A few days ago, Llew and I were discussing LOST and the strong bond between Michael and Jin. He was commenting about how deep the characterisations were, and how these two started out on a very bad foot only to become such tight pals. I said that it wasn't too much of a surprise to me, that the strongest friendships are often born out of initial animosity. Todd and I began our relationship with my making a smartass remark to him, his responding with "bitch!" and my finishing the pleasant repartee with "bastard!"

That was almost 19 years ago. And we are still dear to one another. We've grown, cried, laughed, agonised, and triumphed always spiritually arm in arm. I don't think anything could ever break our friendship and, believe me, a lot of things, people, and situations have tried. Hell, we've tried in our own twisted way. But it's still there and always will be, bigger than the both of us.

I tend wax maudlin and poetic during the Autumn, reaching out to moments past and friends far away. For me, it's the primary beauty of Summersend, a time of retrospection, remembrance, and revival. With each painted leaf I see tomorrow, I promise to send a message of remembrance out to these two special souls.