Off to Berlin!


In the morning we hear to the train station for a few nights in Berlin.

  The last time I was there the Wall was still up and it was a city surrounded by oppression and fear. Berlin was, and from what I hear still is, a party town. I can only imagine the thoughts of former East Germans as they saw the lights and heard the sounds of their Western counterparts reveling until the dawn. 

 Come the morning, I will finally get to travel freely to Berlin without the fear of detainment for for opposing communism. Photos soon.  

Back in Germany


Well I have finally made it back to the country I grew up in. I am currently in the city of Detmold, a city I was not familiar with in the past, but find it very cool. Cool because of all the amazing buildings and history, but also literally. It is April 4th and freaking cold! Here, check out this scuture called The Apocalypse. 

  

 

We are headed to what is know as Germany’s Stonehenge. Photos to follow. 

Here, I climbed  this today!

   

   

My Crüe life.


Motley+Crue+-+Shout+At+The+Devil+-+SHM+CD-433488

I was an American kid, growing up in Germany as a part of an army family. One day I was enjoying my second favorite pastime, skipping school. Skipping as an American kid  in Germany is much different from here in the USA. I never had to worry about truant officers, police and I could go into any pizzeria to get a beer. This was freshmen year, so I was 13 or 14 years old, grabbing a beer and eating pizza. It was Heaven.

 

After a day of drinking and roaming around 800 year old castles, we would always hit the record shop in the main train station. That is where we got our fix of rock. AFN, The Armed Forces Network, was a variety radio station. It was also the only one in English, so we listened for even the tiniest bit of rock. Whenever we heard a band’s name that we liked, it would go on my list. The tiny train station shop didn’t have much, but the ROCK bin was mine, I claimed it every  visit.

Flipping through the albums, looking at the cool artwork and guessing our way through these bands we had never heard of was a gamble. It was always hit or miss. I remember picking up this one album, black with hints of vivid color coming from the inside it’s suspect double album cover. Red letters emblazoned on black, and a barely visible pentagram done with some reflective material. “Mötley Crüe” the bands name, “Shout at the Devil” was the album. I snatched the last copy and took the train home to see what I got.

 

I got home, told mom school was fine (lie) and headed to my room. Holding SATD in my hands, I rip the plastic off, slide out the LP in the liner-notes sleeve. I lift the plastic cover off of my Hi-Fi stereo, put the record on, grab the lyrics and with headphones on (Mom hated loud music), and I heard these words…

 

 

In the beginning

Good always overpowered the evils

Of all man’s sins…

But in time

The nations grew weak

And our cities fell to slums

While evil stood strong…

In the dusts of hell

Lurked the blackest of hates

For he whom they feared

Awaited them…

Now, many many lifetimes later

Lay destroyed, beaten, beaten down

Only the corpses of rebels

Ashes of dreams

And blood-stained streets…….

And it has been written

“Those who have the youth

Have the future”

So come now, children of the beast

Be strong, And Shout at the Devil!

 

My world changed that day. I had the liner notes memorized, band members ranked in order of bad-asses. Hit Parade magazine got shredded every time Mötley Crüewere in it and the pages adorned my wall. A football jock that rode my bus stole me that black shit they put under their eyes and I would alternate between Tommy and Nikki stripes. Eyeliner, ripped jeans and even fishnet stockings from a chick I knew for gloves. Then it happened, Monsters of Rock 1984! I was going to go anyway, but the moment I saw Mötley Crüewere going  there, I was first in line at the local ticket seller.

 

I loved all the bands, but was there for Crüe! It was hard to get much news about them over there, and since the invention of the internet not even a dream yet. So Hit Parade and all the other Teen Mags were my only sources. Whenever I heard they were on tour, I was on the ticket hunt.

 

I remember seeing them three maybe four times, Tommy’s drum kit growing more and more elaborate. One show, I think it was Theater of Pain, I met Tommy without even realizing it. Pumped full of beer and wine hours before the show. I had my girlfriend with me and she had run off to get some more booze I think. The concert hall was not the biggest, but all our area had to offer that was indoors.

 

The adjoining buildings were the business offices or what not for the hall. I was sitting on the steps, away from the crowd chilling out when this van came screeching up. Out jumped this tall, skinny dude with a mess of black hair. The doors locked, and no one was around, so the guy just muttered “Fuck!”.

 

I lit a smoke, and he asked to bum one. I said, “Sure dude, no prob..” and waited in silence like all cool rock dudes did. A few minutes later, the security opens the door for this guy. I was jealous, who was he?

 

At the very moment the doors closed, my girl came back, looked through the glass doors and screamed “THAT WAS TOMMY LEE!”. I palmed my face, thinking how fucking stupid I was. Well I was about to get stupider.

 

I am not a braggart, but I was a bit of a leader with my group of rocker friends. It was getting close to showtime and all of a sudden we heard guitars. Drums. Bass. Vocals. Crüe was doing sound-check! I grabbed my crew and headed for the side of the hall. They had those double doors with the push bar on the inside and security at them all. One guard must have been a fan because he had the door cracked, checking things out.

 

I led my rocking mob in an all out assault and wedged myself in the door before it could close. Hands grabbed, I squirmed then escaped the guards grip. I burst into the empty hall, guards hot on my ass and ran in circles all the while trying to get Crüe’s attention. I don’t know if Crüe even did their own sound-checks, but I swear it was them. They stopped playing and watched me play Keystone Cops with security. I didn’t want to get caught and miss the show, so I booked. I ran through another set of those doors, through the guards and blended in with all my fellow Crüeheads.

 

The show was amazing, we were up front of the general admission crowd, crushed against the bar with my girlfriend. I was in Heaven.

 

That was my life when I lived in Germany. Part of a military family, BRATS as friends. Some I still am in touch with, but most have faded away. One special dude, Butch has passed on. I get sad thinking about him.

 

 

Flash forward to the Mötley Crüe/Poison tour. I begged and pleaded on social media for a chance to see them again. I am now a disabled vet, that means I don’t have any money, and my condition was getting worse. I feared that this would be my last chance to see them. Seth Green heard my cry.

 

After verifying that I’m a disabled veteran, Seth’s people talked to Nikki’s people, and I had VIP access! I got to meet Nikki, he signed his books, my ticket, laminate and everything I had on me. Was front row, in a safe place (disabled remember?) and rocking to my heroes again. Hadn’t felt so good in years. My condition did not exist during the show! I was so inspired.

 

I wanted to be a rock journalist/photographer, and low and behold I did it! I overcame my anxiety problems for short periods, wore my leg braces to shows and got a freelance position on a small print magazine.  My biggest moment was getting to photograph Halestorm and write an article, I got the cover.

 

Things are not getting better though. I now know that this is my last chance to not only see Mötley Crüe, but my last chance to be a journalist/photographer covering them. Nikki Sixx is the reason I am still alive. See, not only did I imitate the style, I followed my path to addiction and back.

 

Before I got to meet Nikki on that tour, my painwas tormenting me more that ever. Iwas so close to using again when I picked up my copy of The Heroin Diaries. I read it all night, remembering the hell addiction was. I didn’t want to go back to hell, I wanted to Shout at the Devil!.


So I met Nikki, got bit by the photography bug and worked as many local shows I could handle. Its stupid, but I had this Cameron Crowe/Almost Famous dream. I want to be the kid in that movie, to be Cameron Crowe. I want to write a story, firsthand, from a fans eyes of the Death of Mötley Crüe. I know I could do it, I need a publication or some other entity to take a chance and believe in me. Hire me to go on tour, write the epitaph of my lifelong heroes.

 

To be continued….

Australia! An extra DEATH on the barbie.


Growing up in Europe, I had the once in a lifetime opportunity to travel to many countries and experience their cultures. At the age of 16-17, I grabbed my backpack and over the course of a few years (we took sporadic breaks back home) friends and I made a circuit from Germany to the north through Norway,  Denmark and down through Amsterdam. From there we made our way to Paris, begging and busking to pay our way to the south of France. It was a little coastal town between Cannes and Nice called Antibes. All the rich movie stars would dock massive mega-yachts there because of the proximity to Cannes and Nice. Odd jobs were easily created in the form of scraping barnacles off these behemoths.

As the weather started to get colder, we migrated to Spain. I would read Tarot cards on the beach for tourists and pretty much scam them by telling them what they wanted to hear. Crossing Gibraltar to Morocco, hoping over Libya to Egypt and up through Bali and the Maldives to hit India, the USSR and finally back to Germany. It was an adventure of a lifetime.

There were nights sleeping in abandoned  bomb shelters from WW2 to escape tremendous storms, dangerous wildlife and Soviet troops eyeing us with suspicion. We survived and a passion for travel was born. When asked, “Where is your dream place to visit before you die?”, I would say “Australia mate!”. I still do want to go there, but if I ever go I want a guide/bodyguard. Have you seen all the things that can kill you over there?

Cracked always has list articles and hardly a week goes by without a list of 6-10 animals that can kill you in under 3 minutes flat. The native language there has to be SCREAMING. My passion for going there is slowly being eroded by the warm trickle down my leg when I read more about the local fauna. Here is my list of “Scary ass monsters of Australia.”.

  1. Saltwater Crocodile. Big, stealthy death mouths that will eat you. EAT YOU!mn_croc_attack_xtpe801
  2. Freaking SHARKS! Remember Jaws? Spielberg should have made the film there to save on that fake shark that never worked.
  3. Sticking with the water, Box Jellyfish. Before you say pee on it, that is a myth bro. These blobs KILL.
  4. Shit fucking SPIDERS. The Sydney Funnel Web, Bird Eating Tarantula and the TrapDoor Spider. I think ONE of these wont kill you, but I will not take the chance. FUCK SPIDERS in their spider-butts.
  5. Dick SNAKES. There is no Dick snake, but the Coastal Taipan (most venomous snake on EARTH), the King Brown and the Tiger Snake. Too many snakes. FUCK them. No don’t do that, it is illegal and deadly.
  6. Blue-Ringed Octopus. Seafood that KILLS. Is that barbie hot yet?
  7. Australian Paralysis Tick. A TICK (SPOON!) that will paralyze you!
  8. Stonefish. Some of the symptoms that could lead up to the possible death may include such timeless classics as: intense pain lasting up to 12 hours, nausea, tremors, abnormal heartbeats, seizures and paralysis. And just look at it. stone
    Australia has wonderful people, at least one will say this to you if you run into anyone of these monsters,  “Oh, relax mate! He’s not gonna hurtcha!”. Crazy Aussies I love you but you’re gonna have to kill a bunch of shitty creatures before we cuddle.

Christmas in Germany


I grew up in Germany, dad was in the army and we were stationed there for the first half of my life. Christmas there is a magical thing, not mad rushes to Walmart for a DVD player. The coolest thing I remember from back then, my dad. 

 My dad would let us open all the presents under the tree on Christmas eve. We mixed German and American traditions in our holiday. After the gifts were opened, there was always something  that we needed to go do. He would pack us in the car, then say, “Wait I forgot my wallet.”. He would run up and put out the BIG gifts, the ones Santa delivered. Unaware, we would look at the lights and drive until we kids passed out. Carefully putting us in bed, we would awake to that dirt bike/guitar/RC car we had really wanted.

This post was going to be longer, but this gets to me.

 

Miss you dad. Merry Christmas

 

I wanna be Halestorm’s tour guide!


ReAmimate 2.0I gather from my last post, you can probably tell I want to go back to Germany, right? I do, I very much do! One thing I would love to do is visit all my old houses, or the spots where they once stood at least. It has been a long time and I know things have changed, they always do.

Well the other day I got an email announcing Halestorm‘s German tour dates ( I don’t know if they are public knowledge yet, so I will stay mum ) and got a great idea. I have tried to get a major interview with Halestorm, well any big name artist really, but mainly Halestorm. So I thought to myself, “Why not pitch the idea to Atlantic records and my contact  the idea of me traveling with them?”! I could be a tour guide, I have lived all over the country. I could be a translator, well not a pro translator as my German has faded in the years. I could also be a journalist, like a reporter embedded with the troops during wars ( This would be much safer ). It would be a win situation for all parties.

I will not accept or ask for a salary, just pay my way. Plane tickets, rooms, maybe a per diem for food? I would sign a waiver absolving them of anything horrible that could happen, and I would have the story of a lifetime. I am clean, quiet when need be, don’t take up much space and eat very little.

If you think that this would be a great idea, please contact Atlantic records, let them know I am a fan, reporter, vet, EDS sufferer and this would make my dreams come true. I would love you all long time and do a little dance maybe? Would love this to really happen.

Thanks,

Deaderpool AKA M.S.H.

Cold War BRAT


So I grew up in Germany for the first half of my life, the best half. Here are a few rules I am going to stick by as to not incriminate myself or others.

  1. I will try not to use real names. I probably can’t remember them anyway.
  2. I am going to jump around in time so much that The Doctor would go nuts.
  3. I will try not to give away any military secrets. Try.
  4. ALL TRUTH! If I say I got laid in the stairwell of a German department store, it happened. I also smoked a huge doobie sitting with my friends at the Louvre glass pyramids.
  5. I am going to turn this into a book and travel to these places for closure, I need closure.

Boring background stuff.

I was born in Asheville NC and lived in Waynesville NC for the first five whole years of my life up until then. I had no choice in the matter. My father, rest his soul, had been in the army and had done some time in Vietnam, not a popular thing at the time. He got out because, well he was wounded and got the FREAKING Purple Heart for his troubles. He came home to me and my screaming older brother. I think I was doing most of the screaming as I was born with a club foot. Yeah! Tiny baby comes out, doctor says, “I am gonna break  that fucker until it is straight!”. He did and I was the baby with the cast who bugged the hell out of people by banging it on the floor like I was trying to tell them, “GET THIS BITCH OFF ME!”. My father knew. He knew that his meager prison guard pay was NOT going to pay for this whole family thing. So he disappeared for a few months. He came back, he was just getting back in the army. Yay!

First port of call, or whatever in army terms… Germany!

Picture this… My mom with five-year old me, twelve-year-old brother and many suitcases, in DC, alone and trying to find the freaking airport! She did, we boarded I guess and my new life was to begin! I also learned about barf bags that same day.

Landing in Germany was a bouncy time. I was five, 5= (Likes Bouncy)? Not so much. This is where I discover bags, that people somewhere make, any you are allowed to barf in them! First discovery once in Germany? We were moving to a place called Mannheim. Second discovery? We didn’t have a HOUSE! We had to live in “temporary housing”, which meant living on the 3rd story of a very nice Germany families home. I was a bit freaked out, with all the weird people speaking in a way I did not understand. I was 5! I was just getting the grasp of English when I was blindsided with this. I got past everything when one of the younger children saw that I only had the toys I brought on the plane as a carry on,and in a bold and selfless way, gave me a black, plastic,  Lawn and Garden size bag of Lego! Can you imagine? A HUGE bag of Lego! I could build to the heavens.

All good things and all that, happened and we were assigned our first house in the military housing area. Meaning I lost some culture but discovered friends I could five-year old converse with. I also discovered Pomme Frites. These are the German version of french-fries, and are the , most amazing food ever! I will, no, I must have them again from a German Imbiss before death.

From humble beginnings in the Great Smokey Mountains, all the way to Germany at five years old. Hang tight folks, kissing, porno mags and a buffalo will be in the next installment.