The Ghostwrite

CHATTER/COLLASPE/CHATTER

I hope to have this book finished and printed sometime before the end of summer. I will probably also have a limited-edition seven-inch with three new Ghostwrite songs. I doubt I mass-produce-the-fuck-out-of-this, so if you would like to own a physical copy of this book, along with a seven-inch of new Ghostwrite jams, email me at robby.lester@gmail.com - send me a thumbs-up or message via the dreaded Facebook http://www.facebook.com/robby.lester - or talk to me in the world-wide real world.

Here's the beginning.

CHATTER/COLLAPSE/CHATTER

Robby Lester

1. A GHOST of a GHOST TOWN

Today, after endless months of depression and sorrow, I feel myself coming back to life. Unfortunately, with this awakening comes the paralyzing realization that this world is dying, a burden that I have come to recognize as skull-crushingly heavy. If this was yesterday, last month, or last year these types of thoughts would have thrown me into an endless cycle of hopelessness and despair, but not today. I mean, who on this planet knows a mortal with the ability to shoulder the entirety of this burden?

Of course, the answer is no one, but anyone who has devoted her (his) life to any particular religion will probably explain how the supernatural being known as God (in the western world) designed this place to be an endless pit of sorrow – a fallen world. Only upon death, and only if one has asked for salvation, will any mortal bask in eternal love and happiness. This is fantastic, if one believes in such things as supernatural beings and eternal spirits. I do not.

With that said, I do not want to dwell on this particular brand of faith. If one has it, one has it. If one does not have it, one does not have it. I merely wanted to get this out of the way before going much further, as I do not want anyone to perceive these words as a person searching for or finding God. I am not searching, so I most assuredly will not find it. However, I am searching for some semblance of meaningful existence, far away from Sunday sermons and gospel hymns and even further away from material possessions and wealth. Some might hypothesize that searching for such an existence is more taxing that believing in God.

Fuck it. Here we go.

My childhood best friend recently killed himself, but as my fingers finish the last keystroke of this sentence I am having an impossible time navigating through the crippling reality that comes with dealing with the suicide of a kindred spirit. I’ve been told that repetition helps, so my childhood best friend recently killed himself. March 11th, 2012. I cannot argue or attempt to debunk this, as it is a profound fact. Still, my disbelief is starting to get the best of me.

For example, there is an empty chair in this room. Sometimes I pretend my friend is lounging with me. Yes, I am a pro at lounging whenever winter arrives in western Pennsylvania. I mean, I haven’t strapped a snowboard to my feet in well over a decade so what the fuck else am I supposed to do? Seriously, do not tell me to go drink with the yinzers because that will get me in trouble. If one would like me to compound on this thought, my only response would be, go ask Mallory.

“Chad, do you remember when we used to drive around aimlessly, late at night, on those old dirt roads?”

No response.

“I would give anything to be riding shotgun with you, out there, right now.”

No response.

“Remember when I said I gave up on finding a stable and romantic relationship when I realized that the words stable and romantic should never be paired together? I still think that’s true, but I sure am lonely. Should I give romance another shot? Would that even help?”

No response.

Sweet baby Jesus, my mother is terribly worried about me. I think she fears I will exit this world the same way Chad did. I understand her woe, as best as any son who loves his mother can, and to be honest, I have thought about murdering myself, twice. Once I even conspired against my own life, but I couldn’t seal the deal. As soon as I got to the letter-writing part a tidal wave of panic and anxiety consumed me. I ended up calling another dear friend – Jim. He’s the closest thing I will ever have to a brother. Anyway, we talked about misery and how dreadfully difficult it is to be alive. For whatever phantom reason, the desire to kill myself vanished after that phone call. This was February 2011.
I guess I should mention that I am still depressed frequently. There are 365 days in a year, and I would estimate that 300 of these days are spent battling with this question – do I even want to be alive today? Normally, I wake up and curse like a mother fucker. Yeah, I love swearing, so fuck off if you think I’m a demon or a devil or some other childish monster. The sequence of events usually unfolds like this:

The alarm goes off.

Yawn. Stretch. “Fuck! I woke up again?”

Usually, I will smash the snooze button, unless I have to get my sorry ass to Washington, DC or New York City or some other monstrous city for work, or if I’m on tour as when I’m out on the road pretending to be a rock n roll super-star I usually don’t mind waking up.

Anyway, ten minutes later, like clock-work (imagine that!), the alarm starts raging.

“Seriously, fuck off! I’m tired of dealing with bull-shit, and if I pull myself from this bed I know that’s all I’ll deal with today. Frankly, you wretched mother fucker, I am over it.”

It’s a losing battle, and after three or four rounds of fighting the Snooze Nazi, I hesitantly roll out of bed. Mostly, at this junction in time, my brain is filled with vile thoughts. If I had a noose, I’d hang myself. If I had a gun, I’d shot out my eye. If I had a panzer, I’d demolish this whole fucking town, and so on and so on.

I suppose this is probably an adequate time to let y’all know that I am addicted to coffee, cigarettes and booze. Lately, I have been controlling the alcoholism, but I still wake up hung-over once every other month, roughly. I regret it every time. As far as the coffee and cigarettes go, you can have them both when you pry them from my cold, dead hands, you filthy piece of shit. Seriously, if you’d like fists of fury bash your skull in, Ryu Lester style, deprive me of coffee and cigarettes after I roll out of bed. I don’t care if you’re Gandhi or Noam Chomsky, either.

2. I CAN SAY Y’ALL WHEN I’M IN TAMPA, RIGHT?

Mostly, I wanted to let y’all know about this to expose a few of my habits and flaws, and as this continues I will probably expose so many that some may question why they are even reading this. Also, I wanted to use this as a heads-up. I am going to blur the lines between ideology, reality and hypocrisy, so don’t burn my god damn house down if any of this makes blood boil or fists clench.

So here we are. I am in Tampa, FL, y’all! Where ever y’all are, I hope today wasn’t too miserably taxing. My day wasn’t. I mean, if I said, I started in Washington DC, spent my mid-day in Baltimore MD, and retired in Tampa, FL, some might think, “Fuck that! Those towns are dreadful! Way to consume a plethora of fossil fuels, asshole!” On the flip side, others might go, “Holy shit! That is awesome times thrice! I wish I could be there!” I would have a hard time absolutely agreeing with either perspective.
For starters, my perspective of Tampa is extremely limited, so I cannot give much of an honest opinion about this town. As to DC, I am terribly jaded, so most days I would say that place is a wasteland overflowing with greed, corruption and sorrow. However, if one catches me when my smile matches my emotions, I would probably say, converging onto the Washington Monument during the first national general assembly for OCCUPY was ridiculously bad-ass. Plus, I have had a handful of sincerely genuine evenings within DC, sharing stellar conversations and ales with a handful of remarkably kind humans.

But I digress about theoretical revolution, conversation, and ale, for now. Let’s bring the party back to sunny Florida, or if you’d like, let’s bring this party back to the wang of America. Why am I here? Frankly, I am here to assist the war machine.

For those that know me on a personal level, questions may begin to bubble to the forefront. Why the fuck is Robby Lester doing that!? Doesn’t he align himself with anarchism, anti-imperialism, anti-capitalism, and so on and so on? Doesn’t he align himself with open-mindedness and non-violence? Doesn’t he want a better existence? Doesn’t he think we, as a society, can do better – much, much better?

On the surface, and in theory, the answer is, emphatically, yes. However, as I begin to pry into this tangled web of existence, the answer begins to splinter and fray in ways that would make the younger, more head-strong me want to burn this whole fucking system down, or maybe, if the sanctification of hatred would have been beaten into me a hair more, the younger me would have lusted to divide and conquer cultures and resources all while screaming, “once we spread democracy throughout the world, everyone will be able to pursue their own American Dream!” Or maybe, if I grew up somewhere other than the United States, I would have been consumed with the idea of smashing planes into the New York Trade Towers and Pentagon, or maybe I would have determined that building concentration camps and slaughtering obscene amounts of human beings was THE answer.

But here I am, trading intelligent and labor for currency within an economy system that mostly rewards liars, thieves, frauds, and, dare I say, murderers. I sure hope you believe me when I say, I am not comfortable numb. No, friend, I am terribly sad. I bet Chad was, too.

3. WHAT GIVES WITH THIS TOM CLANCY-ESQUE BULLSHIT REALITY?

The last time I was at an airport, I overheard a cell-phone conversation. Okay, you caught me. I was eves-dropping, but this fuck was talking loud. I gathered that this person was traveling around the world, assisting the American war machine with collections. Apparently, billions of American dollars have vanished from Afghanistan and Iraq. This money was, allegedly, supposed to go into the rebuilding of Afghanistan, in the image of the United States, of course. Apparently, most of this money found a new home, supporting warlords and tyrants within the Middle East and elsewhere. I bet the Russians are laughing. The American Empire is not.

Right now, Darth Vader’s crew is oiling up the Death Star, and you can be damn sure it is ready to strike back. Unfortunately, Darth and the gang are going to be pissed when they find the overlords of the next enemy sporting black helmets and welding blood-red light sabers. While they are pissing and moaning, I bet they get what they deserve, too.

Hey, I can only scream non-violence and peace until someone threatens my existence. Put anyone into a situation where they are faced with extinction by war and it becomes easy to understand why the “enemy” also wants the best available technology of death. Maybe my preferred weapon of choice is a pen and a guitar, but I would not have any problem strapping on a rocket launcher in an attempt to shoot down a UAV of doom, if it was circling my home and threatening my friends and family.

Besides, Darth didn’t have to sell his technology of death to the enemy. I know, he’s a baller with his diamond-studded Ranger Rover, but that’s going to be a hunk of wasted metal once those smuggled light sabers comes home to roost.

I need to stop for a moment and breath. To me, all of this is non-sense. It drives me crazy that I think about shit like this, so I am going to project some of the blame upon Tom Clancy and the fucks responsible for shows like 24 because even though what they write and produce is “fiction,” I think it is bat-shit fucking crazy. Seriously, of all the things in the world to do, why would anyone want to carry a gun and shoot at other human beings? Why would anyone want to pilot a remote-controlled plane of doom? Why would anyone want to man the controls of a nuclear bomb? Seriously, can we redefine the definition of psychopath to include these kinds of activities? They are not honorable or respectable activities. No, sir, they are not. They are merely tools to enhance mad men’s dreams of global destruction and control.

Let’s try this again.

Q.) Why would anyone want to pursue these kinds of activities?

A.) Because they are psychopaths. We should get them help, or at the very least offer them a one-way ticket to Mars. I hear Lord Newt is looking for a few good recruits up there.

4. HEY! NO DRINKING!

I am currently sitting outside in sunny Tampa, Florida, enjoying a pint. Someone with a southern draw that would have made even the most refined British bloke giggle just said to me, “hey, no drinking.”

Funny thing about that, one is legally allowed to drink outside in this city, so I think he was making an attempt at humor, but his remark initially went over my head. I do not like being told what I can and cannot do, as I think we should all be able to make our own decisions. Of course, some people would like to shoot guns at other human beings, and I am definitely not fucking down with that, so maybe we shouldn’t be allowed to do whatever we want.

God damn, even the mere idea of anarchy is a slippery mother fucker.

#149 – Pittsburgh, PA

#149
Venue: Wherehouse (Pittsburgh, PA)
With: Ivory Weeds, Waiters & Bellboys, Danny Malone, Dean Cercone
Date: September 6th, 2011

Give the organisational credit to John (Ivory Weeds) on this one.   Give Dean a hand for providing a last minute venue.  This show was supposed to be in a park, under stars, but the weather hid all the stars and doused the land with liquid pestilence.  Okay, that's a stretch.  Rain water is not pestilence.  In fact, it's pretty much the exact opposite.  Even so, this night turned out fucking stellar.

All the performers were great.  Videos from this show are up at the Ghostwrite You Tube Channel.  More pictures can be found, if you're an interweb friend.

#146, 147, 148 – Detroit, MI & Cleveland, OH

#146
Venue: Northern Lights Lounge
With: Tell All Your Friends, Johnny Roastbeef
Date: August 27th, 2011
After a few hours of sleep in Buffalo, NY, after pondering cutting through Canada (I decided against it), after interwebs and black bean soup, I arrived in Detroit.  I should have taken a nap, had I known what was going to transpire.

The show was great fun.  Jason and Rob of Hell City Records always take care of me when I'm in Detroit, and I am infinitely grateful for this.

Eventually, the show came to a close, and eventually all the last-call lurkers exited the bar.  Eventually, we made our way to an after-hours party.  Eventually, we made it back to Jason's place.  Eventually, a certain brand of liquor took hold.  It was in this moment that Jason and I came to the conclusion, we were not going to get any sleep.  Another night spent hanging with grand friends, sharing conversations about the DIY scene, heartbreak, punk rock bands, all while watching night turn to day.

Eventually, we took showers.  Eventually, we ate a Coney Island breakfast.   Eventually, we visited the Hidelboro Projects.  Eventually, we arrived at the People's Art Festival.

#147
Venue: People's Art Festival
With: a zillion starving artists.
Date: August 28th, 2011

Jason and I were in and out.  We, obviously, were starting to drag a bit.  I played a handful of songs.  We chatted with some of Jason's friends, and that was it.

Back at Jason's house, I drank my fill of water.  I said my goodbyes, and then I was off to Cleveland.  I sure do love Hell City Records, Jason and Rob.  I'm sure the Ghostwrite and Hell City will figure out a way to join forces and conquer the world.  Don't laugh.  It could happen.

At this point I had been awake for about 26 hours.  Personally, I would never recommend driving, especially solo, any amount of distance while one is in this state of consciousness... unless, of course, you are a vehicle-driving ninja, such as myself.

#148
Venue: DAG House
With: Ridgemont, All Dinosaurs, Two Hand Fools
Date: August 29th, 2011

Unreal.  The DAG House, that is.  This show was a stud.  Every act, a touring machine.  Every band, exceptionally great at what they do.  Those who gathered at the DAG House to enjoy delicious food, ales, conversations and music know what I'm talking about.  Keep being amazing.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

As an aside, the DAG House and 222 Ormsby are giving a giant assist to the Rust Belt DIY scene.  Both of these places are definitely keeping their respective city scenes very alive and very well.  Feel very fortunate and lucky if you live in or around one of these two cities.  You would be hard-pressed to find any other DIY spaces doing it any better in the States.

So back at the DAG House, everyone celebrated long into the night.  I shared so many laughs and conversations with friends, new and old alike.  And then, after about 48-hours of consciousness, Adam showed me a couch I could crash on.  My lights went out instantly.

p.s.  Two Hand Fools are quickly becoming a personal favorite.  Yep, add them to the list - Audio/Rocketry, Two Hand Fools, Run Forever, Jon Creeden.  Summer jams!

p.p.s.  Yes, this world can be maddening.  Yes, this world can beat anyone down in the flick of any given moment.  Try to live well.  Try to focus on creative passions.

I hope these these digital transmissions find you well.

#145 – Buffalo, NY

Venue: The Last Stand
With: Dick Shot, Melissa & Paul, Dead Ringer
Date: August 26th, 2011

What a small, strange world one can create, if one is able to pull away from the (insert tv or computer screen here).

Buffalo, NY, you are rather interesting. The kids are back! College! Woo! If anyone was curious, yes, I second Chris Hannah's notion of cannibalizing humans, especially those of the college freshman type.

Don't be scare, new friends. I am not talking about you or anyone in particular. This is merely a societal observation. I am pretty sure if you are reading this, you can rest safe, knowing cannibals will not be knocking on your door tonight.

After our show at the Last Stand, I ventured down to another show. The crowd above Amy's Place was not having any of Devon is a Douchebag, so the perfect batting average is officially snapped. Probably the most bad-ass-looking dude in the room, "I'm definitely not singing that." Fair enough.

Anyway, The Last Stand (99 Custer Street), you are awesome. Melissa & Paul, Dead Ringer, you are awesome, too, and I already miss you all. Keep kicking ass.

#144 – Pittsburgh, PA

Venue: 222 Ormsby
With: Protected Left, Melissa & Paul, Dead Ringer, Westboro Bastard Church
Date: August 25th, 2011

Stellar line-up. Too bad Pittsburgh was a jerk-face and decided not to show up. Boo, Pittsburgh, boo. Regardless, the show was stellar. A special guest acoustic performance from Chris (Mace Ballard) to seal the night. Awesome.

#143 – Pittsburgh, PA

Venue: Most Wanted Fine Arts
With: Unraveler, Steve Layman, the Otis Wolves
Date: August 19th, 2011

Thanks to Brett and Don't Let the Scene Go Down on Me for setting this show up. Thanks to Most Wanted Fine Arts for offering up their performance space to this particular musical endeavor.

At first, it seemed like the scene might, in fact, go down. However, as the moon rose above the streets of Garfield, a small handful of lovely humans showed up to lend a bit of support. Special thanks to Hultman, Elizabeth and Robby K for coming out. I know your house is a mere two blocks away, but still, it made my night to see your lovely faces!

Unraveler, Steve and the Otis Wolves were all great. I especially loved the Otis Wolves' set. After he played, I said something like this, "Max, that was fucking great. Definitely the best set I've seen you perform. He replied with, "this is the most sober I've been while playing a show." It was stellar.

I will admit, even though this was a small crowd, the chorus of "Devon is a Douche Bag" sounded beautiful. I need everyone who was at this show to come sing the gang vocals when I finally record this particular song.

Post-show, a quick stop at the BBT was had. Drew, Steve, Max, Kayla and I shared conversation and pints, and then my least favorite part of the evening arrived, saying goodbye.

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** There are a bunch of live videos up over at my You Tube page @ 0theghostwrite0.
** Like me on Facebook. @ theghostwritemusic
** All my music is available for free download @ theghostwrite