A swarm of locusts has been following me everywhere I go. For the past two weeks my editor’s promise of locusts and ninjas hounding my every step has made life interesting. Between work, my insane roommate, and the pressure of coming up with an article worth reading have made procrastination both a comfort and a liability. Nevertheless, I must push on and finish this crazy thing. Which I suppose is fitting, because the pressure I’m feeling now makes the craziness of my trip to New York City that much more accessible to the memory. Even as I type this, the oppressive energies of The Rotten Apple can be felt all the way on the opposite coast.

All the way from Florida to NYC, I felt wonder, fear, dread, and excitement as I returned to New York. I’d lived there before, several years ago, and several times. The first time I had moved there, I had just graduated high school and was sub-letting a place from a buddy of mine that had moved there a year previously. At the time I thought it was great, but I had made the mistake of getting involved with a girl back home who declared her love to me on a daily basis... until I moved back to be with her.

I had tried to move back to New York twice over the years, but bad planning combined with a subconscience hatred for the place made those stays rather brief. Since moving to L.A., I’d come to realize that I didn’t really like New York, but the novelty of living in what one movies describes as “the mecca and hub of western culture”.

But enough of that! That was the past. I’d done my homework this time. I’d reserved a room at a hostel near Central Park, sent out e-mails and secured a few gigs at the local clubs, and even had a contact waiting. What could go wrong?

Indeed.

For the second time in my life, I arrived by bus at the Transit Authority and made my way to the subway system. I was sort of lost when I found that you had to use some kind of electronic card to ride the subway now, but figured it out and took the train to my hostel. Checking in and getting settled was surprisingly easy. I relaxed as I started to think that maybe this city didn’t hate me after all.

During all of this, the lack of drama gave me time to dwell on recent revelations. The Black Road had so far shown me things about the world and myself I never knew that I never knew. The true nature of my father. My place in the world. My faith.

My faith. This little subject had been plaguing me since I started this trip. Not so much my faith in the Divine, but faith in myself. Was I able to complete my journey? Or more to the point, was I good enough to to learn anything from it?

I was in the middle of one of these way-too-deep introspections when I felt a presence next to me. To my left, lounging in a chair in the TV room, was a woman. Blonde and pretty, I had to say hello. After laying on my patented, “How you doin’?”, she was more than willing to talk. Her name was Stephanie. Also from Los Angeles, Stephanie was on a sort of walkabout as well. Seeing sights and “finding herself”. It didn’t take long to realize that I was going to spend a lot of time with her and after lunch and a cup of coffee, we became fast friends. Very fast friends.

But, as they say, a gentleman doesn’t kiss and tell.

In any case we got intense on many levels. In retrospect, I think I needed someone to talk to. I hadn’t had any real company that understood me since I left Austin. I think I would have had more fun that first night out if she had come with me to the club. Unfortunately she had other plans. It was almost 8 when I realized I had a gig that night. After hurriedly saying my goodbyes, I suited up (literally) and rushed to the subway station.

Making my way through the streets and tunnels of New York brought back so many memories and emotions. Even with the smell of garbage on the street corners and the plague of homeless on the train platforms, I still got that “cooler than fuck” feeling walking through the Gotham City of the real world. New York has an energy about it that somehow makes you tougher. Smarter. Better. I was feeling like a million dollars when I made it to the club.

There it was. Batcave. The infamous Batcave. The Perversion of the East Coast. As I walked up I could feel the attitude radiating from the goth kids outside. The first thing I noticed was the fact that New York goths, while more classically dark, somehow had a more “punky” feel to them, and as I walked by I could tell they had trouble knowing what to make of my “Occult Mobster” style.

My mission was simple: Find Chris, my contact from Live Journal, and find out where I was supposed to set up. But, as we all know, no battle plan survives contact with the enemy. When I got in, I found that while I was on the guest list, I was not expected as a vendor of any sort. The door-girl told me that she had no idea who I was and hadn’t heard anything about a fortuneteller. I had to find Chris... and she had no idea where he was.

This would be forever known as Problem #1.

After leaving my gear with the door girl, I made my way into the club. Downtime, the venue the Batcave is held at, is laid out, for lack of a better word, strangely. The front door leads to a staircase up, where you pay. That leads to a hallway that opens up to a bar and “loft” that looks out onto a stage and dance floor below! There’s also another staircase that leads upward to the main bar between two dance areas: one playing goth, the other industrial, EBM, and other dancier tunes.

After half an hour of searching, I spotted a tall, thin bloke that matched the description I had of Chris and luckily guessed right. He had been waiting for me, so he spotted me almost as easily as I did him. I informed me that he hadn’t gotten a chance to talk to the promoter so I couldn’t set up. After a minute of worries, I realized that it was probably for the best and many a sigh from the Great Spirit. I wasn’t supposed to work tonight. I was meant to get my groove on a soak up the New York nightlife.

Apparently there had been a band playing earlier in the night on the stage below, so I don’t know what that was like. For the rest of the evening, Batcave played powernoise and electroclash down there. Needless to say, I didn’t venture down there much. The rest of the club was well within my grasp of what a good scene was supposed to be, so I made the rounds with Chris as he introduced me to some of the regulars. Nice people all. After chatting and answering questions about my walkabout, I decided to go exploring on my own.

While I dug the mix of music that club had to offer, I noticed a severe lack of new music. I asked one of the DJs if they could play “Omnis Mundi Creatura”. He’d never heard of it. Another looked at me blankly when I requested “The Human Game”. Hell, that song isn’t even that new. I started to feel less enthused about the crowd when I noticed a familiar face a few feet to my right.

It took me a minute to realize that while she was indeed hot as fuck, I knew her from somewhere. My instincts told me Austin, but I could place a name or even a situation. I tip-toed up and asked politely if she’d live in Austin before. Before I knew it she screamed “MICHAEL!!!!!” and threw her arms around me. After a minute or two of talking, it hit me. Adrianna. One of the coolest, smartest women I’d ever met at Atomic Cafe.

Adrianna had moved there a few months before and loved New York about as much as I loved Hollywood. She was working at a photographer at a snooty resturant in The Park and was trying to get into a professional dance troop. We talked up a storm for the next half hour, catching up, talking about old times, and generally having a blast. Then she mentioned something about Jason back home and it all sorta went weird.

It turned out that Voido from back home had dated Adrianna. I knew the name but never realized that it was this Adrianna. Apparently she had left Austin and broke his heart, yet she still carried a torch for the boy. A big torch. I did my best to steer the conversations away from Jason and she started introducing me to all of her friends. While there was a good time being had by all, something was not right.

While I was dancing and chatting to whoever was there, I didn’t feel like I was truly enjoying myself. I felt worried. Something in the back of my head was still telling me that I shouldn’t relax and that the other shoe would drop any second. I tried to wait it out, but it was no use. Just shy of 1 am I said my goodbyes, got Adrianna’s phone number, and split. On my way out, Adrianna even offered to let me crash at her place instead of paying for a hostel. I told her I’d think about it. Which was a lie. On my way back to the hostel I did a quick accounting of my finances and gigs and whatnot and found that if I didn’t take her offer, I’d be doomed.

This started off a whole new batch of thoughts as I rode the subway home. I had time to breath for a change and could start thinking about why I was here. And, of course, about her. Recently I had thought that maybe I was on the weird trip just to impress someone I thought the world of, but I quickly dismissed it. I couldn’t be that lame! I’d had my romance bone surgically removed years ago. My life was not an opera, so fuck you, Wagner!

The Austin trip had thrown the reality of poverty in my face. Florida had brought that to a boil as I though not so much of being poor, but being unimportant. Now it was a question of proof. Proof that I was a worthwhile person. How do you prove that? Most people do it with money. A few by accomplishments that wind up getting them money. Either way, I was terrified that this trip was ill-conceived and that the people back home would think less of me if I didn’t come back home a changed man.

Which made the next few days so much worse.

The next day was spent chatting with Stephanie and relaxing. I didn’t have anything to do until the following day. Adrianna and I had plans to meet up for coffee. We found a little bakery near The Park and caught up some more. I mentioned her offer and she said it shouldn’t be a problem. Her roommates were cool with it. I felt a weight being lifted off of me. Maybe I’d get through all of this after all.

That night was Alchemy at CBGB’s. I had e-mailed and IM’ed with the promoter and the gig was set in stone. Also, Stephanie was coming along, so I was in for a fun night. When I got there, I was relieved that they were indeed expecting me and gave me no hassle.

CBGB’s Gallery is off to the side of the main venue. It’s best described as “skinny” as the place is about 30 feet wide and 200 feet long. Tables and booths are up front, the bar taking up half of the right side wall, and the dance floor all the way to the back. I set up my gear and immediately started doing readings. The music was mostly goth with a few future-pop selections thrown in. While the night was pleasant, the crowd was very thin. Only about 20 or 30 people were there and few were willing to open up enough to truly chat with about the New York goth scene. All in all, a very average night... which is exactly what I didn’t want.

That last night with Stephanie was nice. We said our goodbyes, as she was moving on the next morning and I went to bed. The plan was too check out of the hostel early and meet up with Adrianna near the Transit Authority.

That’s where everything went wrong.

Apparently Adrianna’s roommates had a change of heart. I knew something was up as I walked into the diner she was waiting in. According to her, one of her roommates was going to prison the next day. Because they didn’t know me, they requested that I not be there when Adrianna wasn’t there! I was dumbfounded. And scared. What the fuck was going on? Prison? What was he going to prison for? Fuck being nervous about me. I should be nervous about them. I told her that it was alright and that I had other options. I hugged her goodbye and walked off.

Where I was going, I had no idea.