Sir William Welles’ Nocturnal Diary

A Day-Crawling Salesman stopped at an isolated hotel to ask for a room for the night. The hotel owner said there wasn’t any vacancy but suggested: “I could let you sleep with my daughter if you promise not to bother her.”

The Day-Crawler agreed, quietly went to the room, undressed in the dark, slipped into bed and felt the owner’s daughter by his side. The next morning he asked the Hotel owner for his bill.

“It’ll be just ten dollars,” said the owner, “since you had to share the bed.”

“Your daughter was very cold in that bed,” said the Day-Crawler.

“Yes, I know,” replied the owner, “We’re gonna bury her today.”

Greetings my dear Gothlings!

As some of you have heard via my Facebook profile, some fucked up Day-Crawler stole my black tuxedo jacket the other night! Oh…I got it back all right…but let me tell you the bizarre series of events to you to prove once and for all that 95% of Day-Crawlers are absolutely and completely brain fractured!!!

After leaving Absoloution’s Walpurgisnacht celebration down on Ludlow Street, I went to a familiar Irish pub found very close (stumbling distance, I like to call it) to my apartment, to say hello to the owner, who is an old friend of mine. I will withhold the name of the establishment here because they were in no shape or form responsible for what happened.

Now, as I walked into the place, I noticed a sizable crowd of Day-Crawlers at the bar and booths…it was a Friday night, I’ll admit, but, again, I know the owner and the staff very well and always feel comfortable there. They actually all light up when I arrive…I am their breathe of ‘putrid’ air!

Being that the warm summertime climate was thwarted upon us like a vengeful tsunami, I naturally decided to peel off my jacket and place it on the back of a stool by my glass of wine. Then, I thought it a good idea to go to the jukebox and play something “different” to liven up this mundane crowd…Harry Belafonte’s “Jump in the Line,” best remembered from the last scene in Beetlejuice, always seems to be a great crowd pleaser…when I return to my stool –very close to where the owner of the bar is standing, mind you — I find some drunken, pudgy, little Day-Crawling girl, not more than 25 orbits around the sun in existence, sitting at my stool, on which my jacket is perched. I think nothing of it and, being quite the gentleman that I am, I relinquish the stool to her and politely move my jacket to the next available one directly to her right.

Soon enough, a few more songs pop into my head and I hurried back to the jukebox to educate all of these Day-Crawlers that there is indeed music that exists outside of the Lady Gaga and Jay Z realm. To tell you the truth, I don’t even remember what I played. The moment I turned back around, I immediately noticed something amiss…namely my jacket!

I instinctively ran out of the bar in a panic only to find the street perfectly barren as I scanned the horizons. I ran back in to ask the security guard/bouncer if he’d seen anyone leave with a black jacket. He informed me that only a small group of girls just left. I wasn’t so much concerned for my jacket as much as for the invaluable New Goth City Matrix cell phone kidnapped in its pocket!!!! Then it hit me…I’ll call the Matrix phone from my personal cell phone, which I keep in my vest pocket! As I speed dialed the NGC Matrix phone, I thought to myself that the ‘perp’ wouldn’t be foolish enough to answer it so soon after the crime, right? It rang twice…

“Hello?” a girl’s slurred voice answered.
“Hey! You’ve got my jacket,” I snapped back.
“Yeah…”
“Well come back here and give it back to me!” I ordered.
“No…”
“What do you mean no, you crazy bitch?!?”
“I’m not going back…you can come meet me,” she replies right before hanging up on me!

I was seething by now. I have no clue in which direction to head in. I started toward 3rd Avenue since the subways were in that direction as I dialed MY phone back. She picks up again:

“What?” she smugly answers.
“Where the fuck are you?”
“60th and 2nd…”
“Come back to the *** bar this instant,” I barked.
“No…”
“Fine…just stay at 60th and 2nd…I’ll find YOU!!!”

The next few seconds were a blur as I dashed back toward 2nd Avenue where I should find her at a speed that even impressed myself while I was trying to keep her on the line.

Then, as I rounded the corner, I saw, in the distance, the same pudgy drunk Day-Crawler from before…holding my jacket. My eyes and mind locked onto her like an Eagle on its unsuspecting prey. In an instant I found myself snatching back my jacket and phone from her clutches. To add insult to injury, she starts giving ME attitude via a snide look! 

“What the fuck is your malfunction?” I snap at her.
She stumbled a bit as her eyes tried to focus on the both of me and added, “Whatever, dude…”
“Whatever? You fuckin’ stole my jacket! What the fuck do you mean: ‘Whatever, dude?’”

She stumbled around a bit more trying to get her footing on obviously a sidewalk that was moving way too much under her feet for her taste. At this point I just took pity on her drunken stupidity.

“Go home, you stupid Day-Crawler,” I finally state as I slip on my jacket, feeling its welcomed familiarity over my shoulders, and turned back toward the bar…leaving her to find her way home without getting raped or killed. Good luck with that, I thought to myself as she stumbled in the opposite direction.

As I returned toward the original scene of the crime, I notice a small Aqua-Green box of Listerine breath strips lying on the sidewalk before me. This reminds me that I had a small pack of these in my jacket pocket. I check said pocket and indeed…they were gone! I pick up the fallen breathe strips and, sure enough, they were full…these were mine!!! What else is missing, my mind raced once again. In a flash, I took a mental inventory of my belongings while conducting a full upper torso search of myself. Result: Only one thing missing, a pair of very cool, and fragile, purple sunglasses that, fortunately, I just bought two extra pairs of, from the Gothic Renaissance store for only $8.99 each, just three days prior to the incident. Evidently, she was going through my pockets and dumping out stuff she deemed not worthy or uninteresting…fucking KLEPTO!!!

But the lesson in all of this is thus: Even though to most Day-Crawlers I look strange and evil — Hell! Some of these morons think I’m actually Satan walking the Earth! — I am, again, a proper gentleman that has vowed never to hit or strike a woman…except in maybe extreme self-defence…especially not a pathetic drunk one such as this one. This girl will never, ever realize how lucky she was that she picked my jacket to steal and to have been stupid enough to answer my Matrix phone…there a plenty of idiotic misogynists men out there, running loose, who would have gladly beat the shit out of this girl (or worse) for far less than what she did to me!!! And one day, for she is still young and dumb, sadly for her, it shall happen…

See you in the Dark!
Sir William Welles

Greetings my dear Gothlings!

Blimey! My Day-Crawling field research almost proved disastrous for me the other night when I foolishly parked myself within striking distance near an elusive and dangerous Day Crawler creature known commonly among them as a Cougar! Here’s what happened…

Just the other night, out of shear boredom, I ventured to the familiar watering-hole at the Times Square W Hotel’s lobby bar to immerse myself within this migratory herd that have taken rest here for the night. As I reached the floor of the, and the elevator doors ‘ding-ed’ open,  my ears were flooded by the sound of a massive herd of day-Crawlers. It was quite deafening, really. I braved onward. All the habitual pack members were present: the Alpha-males, the cunning females, the suits, the wide eyed foreign ones, and the rest of the herd loudly satisfying their thirst and socializing needs. My quiet corner of the bar that I usually take as my my vantage point was heavily populated and I struggled to find an open slot in which I could squeeze into. Quickly enough, at the other end of the bar, I noticed a space for me to conquer. I swiftly occupy the space without really taking into consideration who my watering-hole neighbors were. That was my major faux-pas.

Immediately I felt judgemental eyes upon me. No problem…I’m used to it…it just pure Day-Crawler instinct. I calmly place an order with a bartendress and slowly open my notebook to start writing down some notes. Using my keen peripheral vision I skillfully take notice that to my left is a small pack of 4 young males trying to impress two much smaller females. The males take little or no interest in me, and, a bit surprising to me, relinquish more space at the bar, in turn, closing in further on the unsuspecting females. I take a cautious and slight glance to my right and there she was…The Cougar!

Cougar was probably not the right word for her…mangy Bobcat was more like it! She was in her late 50’s to early 60’s, blond, dressed like any ex-hippie would (think jeans, a suede jacket, and beads), and was drunk. As I penned my notes on my notebook’s blank page, I felt her gaze clumsily trying to focus on my hands and what I was writing. Her gaze then, of course, then combed me from head to toe in efforts to try to drink me in completely…as if she hadn’t drank enough already! I could feel the questions she wanted to ask me percolate in her head.  She was going to engage me conversation, this I was sure of . I continued to write in my ominous looking notebook…trying to avoid eye contact. I then closed my notebook away from her prying eyes as I took a refreshing sip from my glass of wine.

“Excuse me, ” she started…”Oh, here we go,” I thought…”but is that a bible?” she continued.

“No…this  is my notebook. One doesn’t usually writes in a bible,” I pointed out. She wobbled a bit, tried to focus her eyes onto mine, and became rapidly fascinated with me and my actions.

I took a long scan at the rest of the room over my left shoulder, away from the Cougar in a tactful attempt to avert her gaze…I was also searching for another slot at the bar to which I could sneak away to…but with out any luck.  I could sense that she was again staring at my hands. I will admit that my hands, especially my digits are of particular interest to Day-Crawlers — I have long and extremely pointy finger nails, which are painted in a glossy black lacquer, and my fingers are adorned with rather unique silver rings. So yes…my hands are interesting.

The next thing I know, this odd woman scoops up my right hand to have a close examination of it. All of the sudden I’m standing there with my hand in hers as if she’s going to propose marriage to me!  The most comical part was the bartendress’ reaction to this display before her! She gave me a quizzical and bewildered look, and all I could do was return the same.  Moreover, over the course of time that I was there, the Cougar did this odd behavior not once…but THREE TIMES!!!

I must digress here and give a very scientific explanation of what is a “Cougar.” The term of Cougar (Puma Sexualis) was coined approximately three to four years ago to describe a Day-Crawler female over the age 40 who sexually prey on males much younger than she. Technically, a Cougar is lithe, svelte, and quite physically toned to compete with younger, firmer females for the attention of males. The Cougar is adequately armed with experience, wisdom, sultriness, and the money of one or several ex-husbands, making her even more dangerous. The Cougar is apt in moving quite stealthily when seeking when stalking her prey, and no Alpha-male can tame her; plus every day-Crawling boy she successfully hunts down are left confused, drained, and maybe a bit more experienced.

Back to my ordeal: This Cougar is hitting on me hard! I try to make an effort to ignore her, but to no avail. She was persistent. After some back-and-forth she eventually and confidently asked: “Do you want to join me back in my room for some fun?” I instinctively answered, “Of  course I do! Sure…why not?!? Just give me a few minutes to settle my tab and get my coat out of the coat check. What’s you room number? I’ll meet you there.” She whispered the room number in my ear, gave my earlobe a slight nibble, and stumbled off to the elevator. I settled my tab…I got my coat….AND HIGH-TAILED THE FUCK OUT OF THERE LIKE A JACK-RABBIT!!! I literally flew into a cab outside of the Hotel. I escaped unscathed…but rather shaken. Beware the COUGAR!

See you in the Dark!
Sir William Welles

Greetings my dear Gothlings!

Last night, while I was helping tend the bar at my family’s restaurant, I received what quickly became the craziest phone call I’ve ever had in my entire insanity and stupidity filled life among the mundanes. Now, usually when I answer the restaurant’s phone to take down a reservation I do get a plethora of idiotic questions or having to speak with people who have little or no phone skills or manners what-so-ever, but this phone call really took the cake!!! Here’s what went down: (I promise you this really happened, my good friend Victor Noirlocke was there to witness this phone call)

The phone rings and I pick up: “Chez Napoleon, bonsoir,” I answer. Pause. Then an accented male voice responds:

“You speak English?” Pause.
“Excuse me?” I reply in confusion.
“You speak English?”
“Yes. I’m speaking English right now.” Then the real wackiness ensues!
“I want to leave a message to Alain Delon…the actor Alain Delon. Please tell him that I am ready to meet him when ever he wants. If he wants me to shoot him I can shoot him. President Obama has given me a gun to do so. I will meet him where ever he wants. Please make sure Mr. Delon gets this message.”
I respond…very simply…”O.k. Will do!” and hang up immediately on this complete FREAK!!!!!! WTF?!?!?!?!?

I swear, 98% of the people in this world are soooooo fucking insane!

See you in the Dark!
Sir William Welles

A young Day-Crawler from the city went to to the country to visit his uncle on the farm, but after a few days he quickly became bored. The uncle tried to think of something for the city boy to do and suggested: “Why don’t you grab a rifle, take the dogs, and go shooting in the woods?”
The nephew cheered up immediately and off he went with the dogs in tow. He returned a few hours later.
“How did you enjoy that?” asked the uncle.
“It was great!” exclaimed the nephew, “Got any more dogs?”

Greetings my dear Gothlings!

CRICKEY!!! You will never believe the experience I’ve just had last night! What a rare and fascinating experience! Let me explain…I was unaware, but fortunately privileged to observe a multitude of younger, more underdeveloped Day-Crawlers at a watering-hole which gave me much insight to the basic instinctive behaviors of this species. The research data I’ve gathered is rather staggering and remarkable in which I’ve concluded that common social Day-Crawler behavior is indeed forged at the 18 to 21 year stage of life! Let us proceed into my tale…

I arrived at a familiar watering-hole close to my dwellings at approximately 11pm last night (the name and location of said watering-hole shall not be disclosed here for legal purposes…you’ll understand why in a bit). I could witness from across the street that the establishment was thick with a vast herd…a bit unusual, I thought, but reasoned it to being due to the Sunday night ritual of watching a barbaric gamed called the “Foot-Ball” (which oddly enough hardly involves feet what-so-ever) on numerous television screens.

This specific watering-hole, being known as a “Sports Bar” usually tends to attract male Day-Crawlers seeking to witness male-on-male competition, which, in turn, attract single females whom feign interest in said athletic competition in hopes of finding a mate…a rather desperate and futile exercise, in my opinion. But this was not the case, I soon found out. No! As I approached the watering-hole I soon found myself face-to-face with an inexplicable hoard of under-aged Day-Crawlers!

As I entered I found myself pressing forward through a frenzy of bodies that have not yet fully matured, but find themselves in a much sought after adult environment (for the record I gauged the age range to be 18 - 23). Astonishing! What were the chances? This was maybe a once in a lifetime shot to observe less mature Day-Crawlers at a watering-hole which were gathered there illegally. Let me explain how this rare occurrence comes to fruition:

Usually, within this Day-Crawler age bracket, an attractive female will serve as a scout (perhaps accompanied by a small cluster of other females for maximum effect) in search of a watering hole that is rather lax in their age restriction/serving alcohol to those under 21 policies. On a Sunday night most watering-holes don’t bother to hire a Bouncer since most Day-Crawling revelry is ritually done on Friday and Saturday nights. Once said young Day-Crawling female has infiltrated such an establishment using her charms  on either a doorman/bouncer/bartender, or all of the above if skilled enough, she will quickly use her technology to summon others of her flock to her location. Soon enough a swarm of similar males and females overwhelm the watering-hole and its staff…a sad sight, really.

I was forced to witness several of the bar staff struggle against the onslaught of rapid demands and ravenous appetite for libation! They descended on the bar like a fat kid on a happy meal. The bar staff (most of them good acquaintance of mine) were reduced to nothing more than drones trying to keep afloat among the chaos  in which they swam in…they obviously weren’t expecting this…all I could do was watch in horror.

I pushed past the hoard toward the back of the watering-hole in hopes of finding a small cover of refuge. In doing so, I found two acquaintances that are employed at the watering-hole cowering from the invasion of young Day-Crawlers. Being Day-Crawlers themselves, this gave me great cause for alarm. I found a small 2ft. X 2ft. haven which seemed fortunate…but…un-fortunately was situated directly adjacent to the male and female urination area! Now…whilst this might sound unsightly, it did give me the unique opportunity to witness a rather heated conflict between the young Day-Crawler sexes!

As I stood there, quiet and still, in my corner, in close proximity of the Day-Crawling relief sectors, I observed that the sheer volume of herd population was overbearing on the watering-hole’s facilities. Now, it is scientifically proven that a female Day-Crawler’s bladder is much smaller than a male’s, allowing for reproductive organs and such. And it is also architecturally proven that there are far more relief stations for males than females in any given establishment and/or watering-holes…a sad fact…but true…thus, the following happens:

Males have the fortune of relieving themselves less often and are quicker in doing so (thanks largely in part due to their ability to urinate upright, and their clothing are adapted to accommodate such practice), as opposed to their female counterparts, sometimes having to remove several layers of clothing and also taking extra care of hygiene, primping, etc. within an already restrictive are, hence a queue quickly starts to form. Sometimes small packs of two or three females will enter a small lavatory at once which sometimes adds to the time spent inside as opposed to lessening it in theory. Now, in this day in age, especially with the younger generation of Day-Crawler females, they are not so shy to use a male relief area if unoccupied and if pressed, tossing segregation to the wind. However, you will find that (and particularly because females tend to take longer) that the males become quite hostile to this practice…especially after ingesting several beverages, thus the conflict has been formed…and I find myself uncomfortably amidst this scene. I move to another perch…

I manage my way to the front end of the watering-hole with some great difficulty. As I squeeze through the swarm of young day-Crawlers I feel their judgemental gaze upon me, each commenting on my outlandish fashion and appearance. These adolescents know not what to make of me. They have scarcely ever encountered someone like me in their sheltered, trustfund-baby lives. All eyes on me as I make the long and arduous walk through the thickest part of the crowd where I find my new vantage point. Soon enough I overhear the usual comments and snickered insults. This time, for some strange reason, I feel rather boisterous and resilient to this pack…maybe because they are a lot younger, weaker, and far more inebriated than I am.  When I overheard someone whisper to another, “Hey, take a look at that guy standing behind you” I made sure to move in close and make strong eye contact as the Day-Crawler peered over his shoulder to take a gander at me . With me staring at them in this fashion he was immediately intimidated and diverted his gaze elsewhere. But soon something quite amusing happened…

It was approximately 2am when the Day-Crawling younglings started to migrate away to their lairs, and it was about this time that I felt comfortable enough to move freely about the watering-hole. As I passed by the last remaining pack of baby-blue oxford shirt and khaki pant wearing Day-Crawling males, a spindly, baseball capped individual voiced the following comparison about me to his fellow pack members: “Hey, look! It’s Professor Snape!” This particular Day-Crawler was in such ear-shot of me that he was almost shouting it in my face. I stopped dead in my tracks, turned toward his nerdy little frame, leaned in, and said, “Really? A Harry Potter reference? Is that the best you can do? How much of a child are you?!?” I said this rather loudly just as the jukebox music subsided at just the right moment for all his pack brethren hear me berate him. The bar staff, who is well aware of my style, began laughing at this Day-Crawler’s expense…as did the few Day-Crawling females that lingered. In an instant the spindly Day-Crawler vacated the watering-hole rightfully embarrassed and hopefully have had learned a lesson in tact and decorum. Truely a fascinating experience!

See you in the Dark!
Sir William Welles

Greetings my dear Gothlings!

Welcome back! Let us continue, shall we?

The dreaded Fan-pire is a strange new breed of Day-Crawlers that emerges whenever the Hollywood and the media tend to glamorize (and capitalize on) the entire Vampire lore. This results in turning certain male and (especially) female Day-Crawlers into Fan-pires by developing a sexual fetish toward the vampire “look” and mythology. As we know, many (but not all) Goths and Sanguarians draw their fashion style from Vampiric influences (I myself fall into this category, although I am not a Vampire). For those who do, we fall prey to the constant intrigue and new-found fascination from the Fan-pires.

The swelling population of Fan-pires has gotten quite out of control in the recent year thanks mostly to movies and shows such as Twilight, Twilight:New Moon, TrueBlood, The Vampire Diaries, Transylmania, etc. (not to mention the onslaught of tween books all dealing with Vampires) that determined Fan-pires have started to infiltrate the Goth scene in order to propel their Vampire fantasies, but yet, unlike my covert explorations into their ecosystems, they do not make themselves very subtle.

On three different occasions I was confronted with the ridiculous question of “Excuse me, but are you a Vampire?” Twice by female Fan-pires, and once by a male one! Here were my responses to all three: First, before answering, I ask in return, “Well…let me ask you something first…Do YOU believe in Vampires?” Now, depending on their response is how I answer their insipid inquiry…just to be a smartass. If the Fan-pire/Day-Crawler says, “No, I don’t believe in Vampires,” I then return, “Then I guess  I can’t possibly be a Vampire!” and walk away. If the inquisitor states, “Well, maybe I believe in Vampires…a little” I will respond with: “Well, maybe I am a Vampire…just a little,” and walk away. If said question-asker replies, “Yes, I do believe in Vampires!” (my favorite response) then I lean in real close to their ear and whisper, “You shouldn’t believe in Vampires,” and walk away. You’ll notice that the “walking away” is a major factor in all three scenarios. It leaves them standing there, in awe, jaws agape, wondering what just transpired. Priceless!

Ok…Field Research Update! At this very moment I find myself at the very trendy lobby bar of the W Hotel (Ha! W.W.! Eez mai hotelz) on 46th Street and Times Square…right smack in the middle of the bar as a matter of fact! The glasses of wine here start at $11.00 a pop! The bartendresses and waitresses are all aspiring or working models (dressed in an all black miniskirt ensemble with black knee high boots…which adds a nice touch.) To better describe how “trendy” this bar is, think any bar scene they show on C.S.I. Miami! The hotel clientele are, for the most part, a bunch of yuppies suit types and pampered shopping spree women who can afford a minimum of $242 a night (that’s for a broom closet sized room) to $540 a night for a suite. This place is a Day-Crawler Field Researcher’s paradise!

Once again, I am totally out of place here. Judgemental eyes follow me from the moment I step out of the elevator — it’s like that first time you see Darth Vader at the beginning of the first (episode 4) Star Wars movie, when he boards Princess Leah’s ship (ok…geek moment over). As I glance around the room, peering eyes quickly dart away from gaze. The only two people who will lock eyes with mine are (not surprisingly) the bartendresses…one blond (whom, just last night, I’ve learned is named Jen)…the other a brunette…both fashion magazine cover-girl worthy. I, dressed all in black (duh), long black hair with a silver streak, black nail polish, lots of silver rings on my fingers, black eye-liner on my eyes (Guy-liner!) and a very peculiar fashion style, naturally come across as being some sort of Rock musician from out of town, staying at the hotel, hence, the service is 1st class!!! While others at the bar (sometimes two deep) wait patiently to get one of the bartendresses attention for more beverages, one lift of my index finger and a slight smile and my glass is refilled and a fresh glass of ice on the side placed in front of me without haste. The funny thing about all of these hyper trendy places is that there is so much emphasis on the superficial, that being the oddest duck in the room creates the biggest buzz. As opposed to the other establishments where I was perceived as some strange looking guy off the street, at a posh hotel bar I am perceived as something very different since I maybe from out of town (Los Angeles perhaps). So odd.

This watering hole, however, proves to be a bit more testosterone laden than the others I’ve been to, maybe due to the added pride that comes with a more well-endowed wallet, I am feeling a bit more hostility from the male side of the Day-Crawling species. As certain females keep glancing at me, as routine would dictate, a select few males keep making a point to accidentally “bump” into me. This, my friends, is a sheer test of my manhood in the world of the Day-Crawler. The males, feigning intoxication or clumsiness, will make it a point to push, knock and shove me slightly to try to get a reaction out of me. I can generally tell which ones are genuinely inebriated from those who aren’t simply because the ones that are will apologize after physically trespassing on my personal space, whilst the others who are taking an aggressive stance with me do not offer an apology, therefore testing me me even more. They are expecting me to react as they would and say something like: “Hey! Chump! Watch where your fucking going!” But what they fail to realize is that I don’t subscribe to that sort of brutish mentality…it is the same mentality that starts wars. No, being a Goth male, I subscribe to another (and higher) way of thinking (being French I often kid: *in a heavy French accent* “I am a lovuur, not a fightuur!”), so in turn I do not react. They continue to make slight aggressive “contacts” especially in front of the females to show that I can be pushed around, thus to prove their dominance. My presence at this watering hole isn’t to enter a competition for sexual dominance, but rather to just observe. Their game does not interest me, therefore I do not react, and soon enough they will settle their nerves and curiosity by simply considering me as being a homosexual…of which I am not, but what a great camouflage, if you think of it…and therefore I no longer pose as a threat to them.

I was just about to leave the W Hotel’s lobby bar after my 3rd glass of wine ($33.00 *Ka-Ching!*) when the blond bartendress offers me a 4th one…how could I say no…I’m staying (seriously, I am here documenting all of what is going on around me, right now…switching to present mode) a bit longer then. I am writing and making smalltalk to the generous bartendress when this rather aggressive Day-Crawling Alpha male keeps purposefully knocking into me…harder than those before…and making assertive eye contact whenever I periodically glance around the room. For some strange reason, he believes that I am a major threat to his manhood, although all that I am doing is writing (this) in my notebook. I sense a hostile encounter is imminent. The blond bartendress picks up on this vibe, gives me a knowing glance, which relieves me knowing that security will soon be alerted if this male pushes on. But now I am thinking (maybe because of a bit too much wine giving me liquid encouragement as well) I want to actually engage in this encounter…for the sake of Day-Crawler Social Science, mind you!

The Alpha male is merely a few feet away from me, courting a female. She is clearly not the most attractive female in the room, but since she is sitting, with her friend (also a so-so type female…Day-Crawlers all look alike to me!), between the Alpha male and myself, she has become the prize. The female, unbeknownst to the situation unfolding around her is merely content of all the attention she is getting from the Alpha male. Now, one of the Alpha male’s pack member, a very noticeable Beta male, joins the group directly situated to my right. The strategy has changed. He called in for reinforcements. It’s getting tense in here. The Alpha male continues to make strong eye contact with me whenever I glance his way…no doubt tapping in to his frat boy days…and, of course making a snide remark about me, which I overhear…something like ”Hey…look at that guy behind you…he thinks he’s the Undertaker or something.” (Great! A pro-wrestler reference…is that the best he could do?). But this move proves to be a bad decision on his part. You see, by calling attention to me in trying to mock me, he has successfully forced the to females to give me a good once over…thus allowing me to give them one as well. I offer a smile (it was painful…trust me), and they offered smiles back. The Alpha male’s tactic failed right in front of his eyes. I return to writing. The first day-Crawler female, as I saw during our very brief glances, has in her possession quite a remarkable ring on her right hand that is of an open black rose flower mounted on a silver ring. I wouldn’t mind having the same! I want to ask her where she got it from. Should I dare? What will be the Alpha male’s reaction to my intrusion?

I make my move…

I lean forward past her girlfriend and make eye contact. “Excuse me…may I ask you an innocent question?” I ask the female, kind of taking her by surprise. Alpha male’s eyes are on me. From the corner of my eye I can notice his nostrils flaring. Interestingly enough, Day-Crawler’s nostrils will flare open in anger to allow more oxygen to the brain which keeps it more alert. Anyway…I continue, “But where did you get that exquisite ring? I would love one like that!” The female, not sensing any outright danger from me, despite my appearance, hurriedly gives me a smile and removes the ring from her finger for me to inspect (I gather it is of no great value, since who in New York City willingly hands over an expensive to a stranger for inspection?), while the Alpha male and his Beta male are standing puzzled as the female and I gush over her ring and my blatant intrusion on their conversation. The ring is quite beautiful, but unfortunately she bought it when vacationing in the Bahamas.  Now, Since the female and I are talking about “Girlie” stuff like jewelry (she likes mine too) and shopping I come across as one of two things to the Day-Crawling males: either I’m a “fag” swapping jewelry tips with this female, or I am backhandedly trying (and succeeding) in having a conversation with her by simply talking about her interests and her details, and thus steering her attention away from them! It’s fun to see male Day-Crawlers completely confused…It’s like pretending to throw a ball for a dog to fetch, but you hold onto it in your hand. The dog runs out for a few second only to realize he’s lost sight of the ball. The dog turns back to you for an answer or clue to his dilemma…the look on the dog’s face is stellar…as are the faces of the two Day-Crawlers at this very moment!

Having had my fun, I bid the females and the bartendress a very good night, and I take my leave…laughing to myself in the elevator all the way to the ground floor and out onto Times Square…

To be continued…

See you in the Dark!
Sir William Welles 

Greetings my dear Gothlings!

Lately, (the reason I haven’t post many blogs) I’ve been losing myself and immersing myself in the Day-Crawling social scene, not unlike Jane Goodall living amongst the Gorillas for many years studying their bizarre, yet fascinating, behaviours and rituals. I feel as though I should be wearing khakis, sporting a pith helmet, speak in an Australian accent and have my own nature show on Animal Planet! As a social experiment I’ve been spending some time in rather “mainstream” bars and clubs to observe and collect data, all the while still dressed as my usual Gothy self. Let me tell you, it was quite an adventure!

Usually, the first thing that happens when I walk into one of these more “normal” establishment, looking the way I do, is that all eyes turn on me, drinking in the sight of me. I can sense the patrons, men and women alike, thinking to themselves: “Where the fuck did he come from?” I pay no mind to the stares. I understand that I am intruding on their territory. I remain confident, yet vigil, as I walk directly to the bar.

[*Quick mind fart: Lady Gaga is not an attractive woman. Just sayin’…]

Very quickly I establish a friendly bond with one of the bartenders by tipping them very well as I am accustomed to doing on a regular basis, being that I tend bar myself on occasion. Within the Day-Crawler bar ecosystem the bartender(s) will be your best ally, next to the doorman/bouncer, in affirming a trust with the natives; you seem a bit more accepted. If the bar staff does not warm up to you within the first few visits, you are definitely are in hostile territory and should move along.

Soon after I order my ceremonial glass of white wine with a glass of ice on the side (thank you very much), I take notice that the Day-Crawlers are still leering at me but now have started whispering snide remarks about my appearance to one another. A slight smirk always curls on my lips at this moment. It becomes quite comical how Day-Crawlers think that since I live a different lifestyle from them, that I don’t understand their language and mode of communication. Plus I have impeccable hearing. I hear all of the snarky comments ranging from “Halloween isn’t for X amount of months!” to “Look! Count Dracula just walked in!” and everything in between. I brush these remarks off. I know that they are said as an immediate defensive response to my presence. You see, Day-Crawlers will mock that which is strange or unknown to them with their peers as to show no fear and a dominant position. The interesting thing to note here is that these comments where generally stated by the male Day-Crawlers when I intruded in their territory; however, if i were a female researcher, it would have been the female Day-Crawlers making the catty remarks. This is derived by the threat of sexual competition within a social environment. So, by this time, as I quietly sipped my drink at the watering hole, observing, I still hear the snorts, grunts, and chuckles at my expense from the males. At the same time, I also notice the females giving me quick glances and subtle eye contact. Within the herd of college kids, yuppies, and hipsters I am something definitely strange and alien to them…but I am also very different from the mundane norm they are accustomed to, and that sets me apart. Again, the males perceive me as a threat to there ongoing competition over impressing and eventually mating with the females of the herd. My interest lies solely on my research, and my drink.

Now, most of you who know me knows that I am never seen without my hand-crafted black leather covered notebook…I constantly joke that it is my ‘man-purse.’ After a while in the field I generally have to take notes, so I flip open my notebook and start jotting down some data. This simple action systematically proves to be very intriguing (even startling) to Day-Crawlers! At first glance the natives speculate that my notebook is some sort of satanic bible or a Necronomicon, but my writing words on a blank piece of paper, aided by a single pen, simply mystifies them! The question: “what is he writing in that evil looking book?” is consistently painted on their faces. Am I writing a book? A poem? A shopping list? Plans for Armageddon? Or all of the above? After some time of puzzlement, one of the Day-Crawlers that is clearly more brave than the rest of the herd (interestingly enough, a female, more often than not) will cautiously approach me and delicately ask me the universal question that we Goths tend to roll our eyes at: “Excuse me…can I ask you a question?” (and proper grammar dictates that it should be poised: “Excuse me…MAY I ask you a question?”)

In the back of my mind I am thinking, “Oh great! Here it comes!” but making verbal contact with a Day-Crawler, especially a female of the species, can be tricky and should be handled with great care and expertise. This daring and inquisitive creature has broken away from one of two likely “packs” to ask me this question. She has either emerged from a group of friends huddled together, staring and giggling while witnessing our interaction, or she has broken away from her (potential) mate in order to ask me “the question.” The latter instance is, without a doubt, the more dangerous of the two scenarios. The male will be quick to feel threatened by his female’s impulsive act of approaching me to feed her inquisitive nature. His simple mind will start to worry weather or not she will find me more interesting, and therefore more sexually appealing, than he. Depending on the individual male in this situation, the outcome could play itself out rather smoothly, or go horribly wrong if the male throws a fit of rage and stomps over to retrieve his female. Even more perilous is if said male is accompanied by other males from his pack. I am happy to report that whilst I had many such encounters, I have yet not experienced a physical attack by any Day-Crawlers…again, it’s good to befriend the bar staff early on.

In the first scenario, with the giggling friends, I am reminded of this one time in my habitual Day-Crawling watering hole where I was simply reading the novel ‘Midnight in the Garden of Good and Evil’ (thanks again for the great read, Marnie) when a female Day-Crawler belonging to an amateur athletic team pack shyly crept up to me and asked: “Excuse me…Can I ask you a question?” Feeling rather snarky, I responded, “you just did…” She did not understand the joke. I didn’t press on it. “Never mind. What would you like to ask me?” Now, keep in mind, whenever a Day-Crawler approaches you and asks this introductory question, you have to be prepared to hear all sorts of moronic inquiries. Following is a sampling list of some questions I have had to endure over the past years of my field research:

“Are you a Vampire?” (always a favorite)

“What branch of Orthodox are you?” (this was seriously asked of me! I kid you not!)

“Are you in an Ozzy Osbourne cover bad?” (WTF?)

“Do you work in a funeral home? (I wish)

“Are you a magician?” (Presto!)

“Are you an opera singer?” (I met my very good friend Cindy over this very question!)

“What do you write in that book?” (Death threats)

“Is that a bible?” (Ewwwww!)

“Are you in a rock band?” (Another Ozzy reference?)

“Why so Dark?” (This 350 year old Romanian woman just asked me the other night!)

“Where do you work where you have to dress up like that?” (I work in New Goth City, thank you very much!)

“Why are you dressed like that?” (Cause I am different than you)

“Are you a Satanist?” (To this question I always answer: “If I were a satanist I would be forced to believe in god…which I do not, so, logically I cannot be a Satanist. I am an Atheist.) 

And so on…

But this one particular female asked of me this: “If you don’t mind me asking, but what is it you are reading?” I tried to play a guessing game with her but to no avail. I soon showed her the cover of the novel. She was clearly disappointed that it wasn’t something like ‘How to Suck Blood for Dummies’ or such. This odd female then proceeded to confess to me that her sports clan had dared/bet her to approach me and make contact in the effort to find out what type of reading material I was intensively focused on. Really? Moreover, to solidify the bet toward her behalf, she pleaded with me to go over to her pack and show them the book as proof of our communication. To further my research on Day-Crawler behavior, and at the expense of being put on display, I complied and walked over to their table and was promptly introduced to the entire pack…and felt as though I was solely there for their amusement. The first female insisted that I join their pack for some beverages, to which I quickly, yet politely, declined, stating that I only came in for a glass of wine and some quiet time to read my book. I excused myself and returned to my habitual far corner of the bar. Moments later, the same female comes back to my side of the bar and, maybe because she felt I was put on the spot, kindly offered to to buy me my next glass of wine. What unusual behavior! She again asks several times more if I would like to join her with the others. I again politely refuse. But, with the gift offering of the next drink comes the automatic assumption of the right to communicate freely with the recipient of said gift gesture…something that is a very widely practiced technique of Day-Crawling males when prowling for potential mates. I was fascinated! Here was a female Day-Crawler, maybe fueled by liquid encouragement, using an aggressive male mating ritual in order to prolong a conversation with me! For the interest of Science I let her continue with the prodding and probing questions. Rather directly she was asking me quite personal and intimate inquiries such as: “What type of girl is your type?” and “Are you available?” The communication session quickly became uncomfortable for me and I was forced to tactfully put an end to it by using the excuse of my wish to continue to read in tranquility. She obliged, but was rather cold toward me as she and her pack finally migrated away from the watering hole. All of this was deliciously fascinating to me! What an experience!

But back to my field research: As I was saying before, a female Day-Crawler will eventually brave to inquire about my actions and/or appearance. More often than not if I quite frankly answer the question at hand the female’s inquisitive nature will become satisfied and she will simply to her pack/mate to describe the encounter. On certain occasions, not unlike the instance I just mentioned, a female Day-Crawler will press on with a full conversation perhaps motivated by the thrill of pushing the envelope of having further contact with someone who clearly does not fit into their social realm, thus impressing/enraging their pack/mate; by genuinely being interested in my choice of lifestyle (I have actually turned 4 Day-Crawling females and 2 Day-Crawling males onto the Goth Culture in this manner!); or for the third reason…which alarms me the most…that she (or he) is…dare I say it…a…”Fan-pire!!!”  *GASP!!!*

To be Continued…

See you in the Dark!
Sir William “hiding in the brush” Welles

Two Day-Crawling hunters were out in the woods when one of them collapsed. He didn’t seem to be breathing and his eyes were glazed. His companion took out his cell phone and called 911.
“My friend is dead,” he gasped. “What should I do?”
The 911 operator responded, “Calm down, I can help, First, let’s make sure he’s dead.”
There was a silence, then the sound of a gunshot.
The guy returned to the phone and said, “O.k., now what?”

Greetings my dear Gothlings!

The craziest shit keeps happening to me…WHY?!? Just last night (Tuesday), after a small stint at Otto’s Shrunken Head for Father Vincent’s Dark Water, I sauntered up to my local neighborhood bar, the Blue Room, to say hello to a few non-Goth friends, including the Manager/Bartender, Bob, who is undergoing chemotherapy, and call it an early night. Actually, another one of these friends was M.C.ing a karaoke night there which was always very painful to hear due to drunken idiots who think that they sound like a top-grade singer when belting out a Guns ‘n Roses tune.

I sit down at my usual stool at the end of the bar and quietly sip on my habitual glass of white wine with a glass of ice on the side, while jotting down a few words in my notebook. Hogging the karaoke was this English “bloke” that was rather dweebish and definitely drunk. I paid no mind to any of it. Soon enough my friend wrapped up the karaoke session at about 1:15AM. Whew! But, sure enough, a moment later, I felt this drunk guy’s eyeballs pointing my way. Oh Crap, I thought to myself, he’s going to want to talk to me, isn’t he? Just as he tried to sit down on the stool next to me, I got up and headed to the bathroom to avoid any conversation with this Elvis Costello looking idiot.

As I exited the bathroom, this guy then asks me if I want to play a game of pool with him. “Uh…no, I don’t play pool,” I stated to avoid, yet again, any conversation with this fool and walked off to regain my stool and glass of wine at the head of the bar. The next thing I know this guy sits next to me again! I had to double-check that I didn’t wander into a gay bar by mistake, but nope, same ol’ Blue Room (maybe the name threw him for a loop). Suddenly, I am having the following surreal interaction with this guy that went exactly like this (he starts):

“Let me ask you an obvious question,” he says. Now, I’m thinking he is going to ask me if I was a Vampire, a devil worshipper, in a cult…you know the usual nonsense. No.
“What question,” I ask naively.
“How much do you charge?”
“How much do I…huh?” I exclaim. “Charge for what?”
“You will probably think I am a fucking idiot for asking…”
I quickly return, “Yes, I do think you are a fucking idiot,” but I press on, “but how much I charge for what?”
He blushes a bit, I scowl, he continues, “You know. How much do you charge?”
WTF?!?!?!?! “Charge FOR WHAT?!?!?!” I yell. Now in my mind I’m having a debate with myself. Should I just crack my fist across this guy’s face (the manly, barroom brawly way) and possibly get the cops involved — there was a squad car parked directly across the street — and possibly be charged with assault, not to mention possibly breaking a nail (LOL!)? Should I simply walk away? Should I tell this guy to “bugger off” (which what he was possibly looking for in the first place)? Or what?
At that point, Bob, the Manager/Bartender, sensing a commotion at the end of the bar, instructs this “bugger” to move to the opposite end of the bar by stating, “He doesn’t want to talk to you, buddy! C’mon! Go to your beer at the other end!”
This guy turns to me, sways a bit and asks me, “You don’t want to talk to me?”
“FUCK NO!” is what I responded in an instant. All eyes are on this scene now. Then, after taking the biggest hint known to mankind, he moved down to the other end of the bar, and thus leaving me alone to ridicule the entire situation with my group of friends. Bonus: Within the next 20 minutes finishing a sloppy game of pool, this idiot was promptly thrown out of the establishment for being…well…a fucking annoying freak!!!

And, of course, he tries to protest and attempts to come back in for one last beer. “GET OUT!!!!” we all scream at him. It always amazes me how when every time some really shitfaced guy gets thrown out of a bar, any bar, they fight tooth and nail to get back in, as if it is the only bar in town! Why would you want to go back into a place where everyone thinks you’re an absolute tool for further humiliation? I Just don’t get it!

Back to the issue at hand: Let me get one thing straight with everyone right now: often, due to the length of my hair, the occasional eye make-up (Guy-Liner!), my black nail polish covered claws, and meticulous fashion style, as well as my disinterest of cars, sports, and other testosterone related activities (other than acourtin’ the ladies), I do get prejudged as a homosexual…which I am not. Comedian Russell Brand says it best:

There is absolutely NOTHING wrong with being gay, and, in case you haven’t realized it yet but, the Goth culture has quite a lot in common with the Gay community, along with some overlaps from time to time. So, calling or assuming I am gay is not an insult to me. Point black.
BUT A GAY PROSTITUE?!?!?!?!?!?!?  WHERE THE FUCK DID THAT COME FROM?!?!?!?!?!!?

See you in the dark!
Sir William Welles