In the last post, I mentioned that I broke a little piece of Coroner history.
So…here’s a print of the original manipulated photo used for the cover of the Death Cult demo, and that is the actual sheet metal/copper cross that Marky placed upside-down on the skull’s forehead. And right after I took this picture, as picked it up to place back into its box, I dropped it, and the sheet metal and copper parts separated.
And I wanted to throw myself off the balcony.
Thankfully, it’s the kind of thing that can be fixed easily. From glue it was secure, and back with glue it would go.
Today’s post is only just barely Coroner related, sorry.
The other day, I finally got back into my Coroner book IG account, and I posted a few pics from my newly settled writing nook (in the guest room). See above — there are three Coroner/Coroner-related items. Two signed OG photos from the very early days — I’ll say 1986 and 1987. And then the March 6, 2025 flyer for the show at Metro Baltimore, where we (Hubs and I) drove to from Pittsburgh to see them for a second time (first was in Philly). That’s the Coroner part. The other part I really wanted to blah-blah about are my Chippendales. No, not these Chippendales…
I’m not, like, an “art buyer.” But recently — since we’ve moved into the new place and finally sucked it up to frame and hang stuff we’ve gotten over the years — I realized that I kinda am…? Anyway, so, also in the above pic includes a painting by harsh noise artist, Richard Ramirez (Black Leather Jesus, Werewolf Jerusalem, etc); a Richard Wells woodcut print (“Witchfinder Bedeviled”); an insider-information pencil drawing of David Gale in Re-Animator by my husband; and an original scratch board piece by Thomas Ott (who sings in Tar Pond, Marky Edelmann’s band). Smack in the center, “Blood Moon” print (17/50, 2nd ed.) by Brian Chippendale of Lightning Bolt.
Also in the guest room, I’ve hung Chippendale‘s “Body Parts 22 Cabin,” one from what looks like a 2021 run from a 2011 original print run. I’ll be adding more to this wall. I have a sweet Dave Trengaacrylic on board piece (a gift from him for my 50th birthday last year! I also have a painted coffee table and a pen and ink piece by Dave).
Finally, in the living area, Chippendale‘s “Easy Cowboy” (2nd ed. 2025). I hear ya, Cowboy. I hear ya. (The Bride of Re-Animator poster in the back was a 51st birthday gift from my husband, recreating my high school bedroom, except my poster was in much worse shape the last time I saw it, decades ago.)
Fun Fact (that makes this post still a bit Coroner, or Tar Pond, related): Marky introduced me to Lightning Bolt, and since then I’ve seen them three times. And I’m grateful for that, because it was a triple threat: I got great new-to-me recorded music, a brand new favorite live band, and, as it turns out, an artist whose work I really love. (Enough that I became a “Patreon,” which I’ve never done before and he remains my only subscription — I am looking forward to my random annual Chippendale art tied to my tier — will need to make wall space).
Now, I’ve linked to Brian’s store here as many times as is reasonable (probably unreasonable, actually) because…he’s very affordable and this is quality shit, and if you follow him on the various social media sites he occupies, you’ll see that he pretty frequently offers a percentage off. If you dig it, grab one, or three, or five. Someday, I want a “Megaflora Collosus” and a “Twilight Temple 2069.” Please don’t buy the last one of either of those.
Today is my last day on Instagram; I’ve had that account for, at least, sixteen years. I’m deleting it for reasons, only one of which I’ll mention — I’ve been meaning to dump my social media for a while. I cut it back about a year ago (I think), but it’s time for it to go altogether. I will keep the Coroner book IG open for a bit longer while I (hopefully) collect emails for a newsletter (of sorts). Otherwise, no more socializing in that weird, unnatural, entirely-too-addictive manner.
I spent today driving around my new environs, for the most part. Hubs had company, so I took the opportunity to have the car all to myself and…I went to Barnes & Noble.
Don’t mind if I do…
Article, and handy-dandy list of every drop of vinyl released by/with Peter Murphy. Yes, please.
Well, yes, indeed.
I had no idea this was a thing that existed. Apparently, out in 2022, which gives you some indication as to how out of touch I am. I’ll blame social media, because why not. I’ll blame it for everything.
I lazed around the cafe, flipping through magazines and having a coffee. Looked at all the bookish crap they sell — it’s crap, but I want a quarter of it, and I don’t need it. (No, I don’t need the big moon-shaped eraser. I don’t.)
But, I also had a mission. I need a decent messenger bag that holds my shit and has all the pockets and bits that I want. God help me, I went to the mall. The Walt Whitman Mall, which is hilarious. It’s on Walt Whitman Road (slightly less hilarious, but still wtf). All so named because Walt Whitman’s birthplace is there, right next to the Barnes & Noble. Walt, I’m sure, would be pumped about the four-lane road and the mall named after him.
Anyway, I went to the mall. I am not a mall person. So, question: Why are they always so goddamn hot? I entered through the Macy’s, looked around, and everything available sucked. I didn’t look in the women’s section, because there is never anything there for me. And the men’s…the closest thing that I still hated was just under $600. Everything else was a backpack.
Walked through the mall. From one end to the other, and on the other end was a Bloomingdales, which basically had everything that Macy’s had. There was nothing remotely enticing between the two. I walked back to the Macy’s, through the Macy’s, and to my car. Failure.
I went to Staples. Failure. I went to Target.
I did not buy these, but I admired them and dreamed my little dreams.
Failure…but I did scan the ‘Weens area and bought little ceramic ghosts and skeletons (which I needed as badly as I need the big moon-shaped eraser). I also bought some household crap that we needed.
Finally, I gave up on the bag. I realize that I have no idea where to shop for anything that’s not boring household crap, and I barely know where to shop for that. I find that when I enter a brick and mortar store, I rarely find what I need, and almost never what I want (unless, apparently, it’s a bookstore and I’m going in with nothing in particular in mind). My quest to cut back on the online shopping is, at this time in 2025, probably a pipe dream, which is a bummer.
I’ll probably have to buy this fucking bag online. *sigh*
Anyway, my plan was to then drive into Huntington Village to hit the public library. I was going to sit and read a friend’s writing, check out — and possibly sit down with — some writing reference books, but, unlike the time a couple of weeks ago when Hubs and I went, it was not quiet. So, my brain being the chaos machine that it is, there was no way I was reading anything. Talking…people talking in their normal volume voices, expect this one guy who was, of course, loud-talking on his phone. No one stopped him.
I walked up and down the rows, having realized I’d completely forgotten how to use a card catalog system; it’s literally been decades. So, I just looked. Walked, looked. At some point, amidst the talking, I ceased to even see what I was looking at and found myself just staring at a shelf of books — I don’t even know what was there — brain completely empty.
I did not find the writing reference section. I didn’t really find anything. And the talking, at the library, continued. So, I left. I ordered a salad, went home, fed the cats.
That was my day. My exciting day adventuring on my own.
Yeah, hi, if you know me, in real life or from Instagram…yeah, this is my blog. It’s basically going to be this. Sometimes, I might have something interesting to say, but, boy-howdy, not today. So, now I’m going to get into my jammers, eat a gummy, and maybe dip into the Graffin book until one eye transverses into the opposite socket to join the other (my cue to turn off the light), and I will sleep the sleep of the utterly bored.
The alternative is to turn on the news, and fuck that.
Lee Harper Oswald 