When I was a lad, I used to go to punk rock shows at the Jockey Club in Newport, Kentucky. At the time, Newport was an economically depressed, run-down, menacing place. There were dying strip clubs there, and dive bars, and a White Castle that was the second-scariest fast food place I ever set foot in. (The first was the McDonald’s at 40th and Walnut in Philadelphia, where serial killer Gary Heidnick used to find victims and where at least one customer was stabbed by an employee when I lived in the neighborhood).

The Jockey Club was a dive bar where someone had convinced the crochety old owner (known only as “Shorty”) to let them book punk rock shows. It was not a nice place. But it was fun and weirdly wholesome. There was sometimes overly enthusiastic moshing (which we called “slam dancing.” This term inspired the title of Wayne Wang’s underrated 80’s film noir Slam Dance, starring Tom Hulce!), but otherwise it was just a bunch of kids hanging around enjoying the music and thinking they were sophisticated as they sipped from bottles of Guinness or oil cans of Foster’s Lager.

The venue made a little money because people would pay to see this kind of music that couldn’t get booked at any other clubs. And people started and joined bands because they knew they’d have a place to play. That’s how you get a scene of independent artists doing their thing without corporate attention or interference.

This isn’t a lighting in a bottle phenomenon. It just requires cheap rents. The recent documentary Secret Mall Apartment shows how a similar art/performance scene grew up in disused warehouses in Providence. And then got displaced by development, which is what’s happened in so many cities.

Cheap rents are in extremely short supply in most major cities in the USA, and art and culture have suffered as a result.

But last night, I went to a pro wrestling show in Elmwood Place, a small municipality northwest of Downtown Cincinnati and got some hope. I pulled up in front of an empty storefront church. You could see the pews through the windows, and the owner had put up a big sign that said, “FOR RENT: RETAIL ONLY.” I passed two more empty storefronts on my way to the venue, which was an unmarked storefront.

I paid ten bucks cash at the door and walked into the venue. Grimy wall-to-wall carpeting covered the floor. The walls were stained enameled cinderblock. There was a tin ceiling that was rusted in spots and had paint peeling pretty much all over. And in the center of the space, a wrestling ring. Oh yeah, and like most indoor athletic facilities, especially carpeted ones, this place had a certain funk in the air—it smelled like feet and shaving cream.

I pulled up a chair in the front row next to a couple of kids who had brought signs. “This,” I thought, “is where the real shit happens.”

And it was! I enjoyed a really fun wrestling show with about 30 other fans, and I couldn’t help thinking of the Jockey Club. Not only because of my physical surroundings, although also that, but because I was watching art that people were making for love.

The gate from this event was probably 300 bucks. They might have cleared a little more than that from concessions, merch, and the 50/50 raffle. Nobody was here trying to make it big—they were just making art for people who loved it.

Now don’t get me wrong—I do believe artists should get paid. But, and I speak from experience as someone who was a professional writer, as soon as money enters the picture, it demands changes and compromises, and while you can still make great art under those circumstances, the lack of money allows you to be weird as hell, to say, yeah, I’m making this thing, and you can like it or not, but it is EXACTLY what I want it to be. It is what I want to put into the world.

Now look—maybe indie wrestling isn’t your thing. (though, if it is, head on over to kayfabe.ink and sign up for my newsletter. I’ll be writing up this very show in the next couple of days!) But somewhere near you (and, admittedly, if you live in a major city, it’s probably not in your city), people are making cool, weird, authentic art on a block where you can’t get a good cup of coffee. It’s not corporate, it’s not capitalist, and most importantly at this point, it’s not fascist, because of course fascism is all about conformity and cruelty.

Find the weirdos and go dig their art. Or, better yet, be one of those weirdos. Go start your own band! Put on a play! Paint something and hang it on the wall! Art makes us human and makes life bearable and meaningful. Go make some!

In Summary: * Another quiet Sunday in the Roscoe-verse peacefully winds down. The only thing of consequence I did today was install fresh batteries in the wall-thermostat unit so I could fire up the central air conditioner to cut the ridiculously high humidity level and make the air in this joint comfortably breathable. Did this after the wife went down for an afternoon nap. She'll be surprised when she wakes up. Heh.

In about two hours I'll wrap up the night prayers and head to bed early so as to be ready for Monday morning when it arrives.

Prayers, etc.: * I have a daily prayer regimen I try to follow throughout the day from early morning, as soon as I roll out of bed, until head hits pillow at night. Details of that regimen are linked to my link tree, which is linked to my profile page here.

Starting Ash Wednesday, 2026, I've added this daily prayer as part of the Prayer Crusade Preceding the 2026 SSPX Episcopal Consecrations.

Health Metrics: * bw= 231.04 lbs. * bp= 135/78 (71)

Exercise: * morning stretches, balance exercises, kegel pelvic floor exercises, half squats, calf raises, wall push-ups

Diet: * 06:00 – biscuits and butter * 10:00 – pizza * 11:30 – 2 peanut-butter cookies * 13:50 – sausages, pickled papaya, white rice * 16:00 – 1 fresh apple * 18:15 – 1 chocolate chip cookie

Activities, Chores, etc.: * 05:30 – bank accounts activity monitored. * 06:50 – read, write, pray, follow news reports from various sources, listen to relaxing music, surf the socials, nap. * 11:15 – tuned into a Formula E Race: The Hankook Berlin E-Prix * 12:00 – now watching LPGA Golf * 14:00 – now PGA Tour Golf: The Cadillac Championship * 17:00 – following news reports from various sources * 18:30 – listening to relaxing music

Chess: * 11:12 – moved in all pending CC games

Kacey Musgraves, Middle of Nowhere (Lost Highway, 2026)

No mainstream artist has captured my fan heart over the last eight years like Spacey Kacey. From classic country revivalism, through excursions into disco diva, cottage core and electro-pop, I ride with it. Middle of Nowhere packages all the elements into a cohesive LP.

She adds more western touches like pedal steel, cowboy cornpone, and Mariachi to her brew, grounding the album in her East Texas roots. Mimicking that geography, themes explore expanse, isolation and the duality of joy and pain of being alone.

Most will herald a “return,” but for me, I keep riding the Rose Wave.

Buy it.

#KaceyMusgraves #MiddleOfNowhere #LostHighway #CountryMusic #TexasMusic #RoseWave #AlbumReview #Music #Larrys100 #100WordReview #100DaysToOffload

I don’t know why today but I decided that even though it would probably hurt a little bit less if I waited more time I’m going to throw away the bag of stuff that I kept in the shed from our relationship. I went through everything because it was going to be the last time I was going to see them. And I decided that all of it should be thrown away. I feel guilty for growing away lemon, since I spent a lot of nights cuddling lemon and I feel like the parrot of that stuffed animal but at the same time it is just a stuffed animal and I don’t need to torture myself by humanizing it too much. I also decided to throw away the other presence and stuff that she gave me because I don’t want to carry those memories with me longer than I have to, and I don’t think that I’ll ever be able to separate those memories which is not a bad thing either. I just don’t want to be constantly reminded of them. I read the birthday card that she gave me. Twice. And then I threw it away without taking a picture. In the card she told me how much she loves me and how she loves to see the passion in my eyes and getting to hear about my perspective on the world and how many things I’ve been able to teach her. She told me that the only thing she wants is to be able to move in with me. I remember in one of the cards that I gave her, I wrote about how I’ve never been religious but I found heaven and it’s me laying awake in bed with her softly snoring on my chest, with me wanting to stay awake as long as possible to just save that memory. And it hurts because for some reason my brain wants to first say that it was wasted on her, something that beautiful, but it was not. I wrote those things because that’s how I felt and that’s what she gave me. And she also gave me a lot of horrible things I don’t want to romanticize the relationship, I remember going through the gratitude journal that she gave me and seeing the things that she wrote down and seeing the things that I wrote down, and it feels like I just had such a low bar or expectation, that I was trying to find ways to be grateful for the fact that she apologized for something after a lot of explanation for me, even though there was no behavior to back that up. And it sucks that I felt so unsafe and volatile in that relationship. And it hurts to see the times where she writes how much she loves me and how much she wants to spend her life with me and how I was able to teach her to apologize, but I couldn’t teach her how to actually change her behavior. And I think there’s just so much of a discrepancy between what would be healthy for me in a relationship and what she was able to offer, and that just caused so much friction and eventually the end. But it still hurts to throw away the framed photo of us that she gave me as one of her apologies near the end. She wanted to show me that she was committed and that she did care and that she didn’t want to change and that was her way of showing that she could put in effort. And it was so incredibly sweet of her. She framed the photo of us at the cat café that I took her to as a surprise. And it really hurts because I remember his feelings instead of had enough time to fade into the back, but with these small little things and these memories I remember how much I loved her. Like it’s such a beautiful feeling to care about someone so much and want to make them happy that you don’t even feel like it’s effort or work at all. It’s something that you want to do and it’s so incredibly rewarding. I have to kind of force myself to do these creative projects at different artsy things that I like and I’ve never once had to force myself to think about her or to try and execute these cute dates or things that would make her feel loved. Like wanting to write her cards, or to try to think about ways that I can help her or make her life easier. And it’s just that feeling of loving someone. And God it hurts to remember how I don’t have that anymore. It’s such a beautiful thing to be able to love someone like that and it’s so incredibly priceless to feel like that’s reciprocated. To think and to feel to believe that someone sees you and just wants to make you happy and just wants the best for you. And it hurts because I really did feel that and I don’t think that E is a bad person, and I don’t think that she was intentionally manipulative or aware of the bad things that she was doing, and I really do believe that she loved me. And I know that I loved her. And I know that both of us hurt in different ways and we both have to go through our own journeys and she is not alone in her path, even though it’s not one that I can relate to. And I know that vice versa is true. But it really does hurt to hold both of those truths together in a way that I don’t feel like I was able to earlier in the breakup. It hurts to understand that someone can love you and you can love them and they can have the best intentions, and at the same time they can still hurt and be toxic and do all of these things that are not OK. And I know that this vacuum and hole that I’m feeling from losing what was something incredibly beautiful is a necessary pain because it was beautiful in the same way that a drug is. It’s not sustainable and it’s something that can be damaging if you tie yourself to it so heavily. And there were absolutely things that I’m so grateful for and I am glad that I had this relationship, there was a lot of things that I had to learn and be aware of and thankfully because of that relationship I am more suited and positioned to hopefully find a partner where I do feel safe and consistently so. I don’t want to have every week or every other week another big problem or another potential dealbreaker pop-up. I don’t want her to yell at me when I try to voice that something hurts, or have to find out that she was hiding things like exes or talking to people that are showing interest in her. I don’t want to have this jealousy or conflict that isn’t communicated to me about my other friends, even with my attempts to be transparent. I don’t want to feel like there’s a different life that’s being hidden from me, and seeing the differences between her when she’s around me and her when she’s around other people. And I want to know that the big things that hurt me can be remedied, rather than them being disregarded or ignored or minimized.

But I do miss the good. And I know that overall it was a very clear sign that this was not a relationship for me and I am grateful in a sense, because there were enough explicit things and enough that pushed me hard enough to see that I was in the wrong for trying to make it work constantly. And this would have hurt me so much more if there were these different things that were incredibly valued to me in the relationship, or if it was just that zone of comfortable discomfort. I’m so grateful that it happened when it did and it didn’t last longer, and God forbid something like marriage or children. And I really do believe that there is some sort of divine planning in my life or some kind of a overseer that gives me these opportunities and experiences in ways that I truly need, even when I don’t think I do – all while protecting me as much as possible through it. And I will be OK. And I mean that in the sense of in the future I will have a life that will be so beautiful and it will be filled with the things that I am currently wishing for, like a loving wife that I feel safe with, hopefully children, and I really hope Hash for a long time. I will have someone who will love Hash just as much as me, if not more. And he will be so incredibly loved and safe. And I will find someone that matches me in the ways that matter, and someone that will be a great mother to future children. Someone that will be able to give them a childhood not just of love, but of stability. And that is so incredibly important to me. And it’s so important that it’s not worth a wide confidence interval for potential, but rather a narrow necessity.

I firmly and truly believe that my future will be everything that I want, either through divine planning, or through sheer effort and intentionality. I love you man, and I know that there’s a lot of pain and hurt that comes from living life, but I want to remind you that it is worth it.

Köda 6669 ; Van Voorbijgaande Aard gaat (niet) Roemloos ten onder

Het is bijna zover het moment waarop ik zal schitteren als een ster iedereen overal vol ontzag is over mijn prestaties in elke zaal, in winkels, zelfs op straat krijg ik daverende ovaties nog een paar nachtjes slapen en dan gebeurt het sta ik te kijk op elk teevee kanaal en ga viraal over het internet dan heb ik het hier op aard helemaal gemaakt het genoegen dat ik dan ben valt bij iedereen in de smaak nog even wachten en dan begint het allemaal echt dat is natuurlijk ook niet meer dan terecht nog een paar versjes in de uiterste marge van de kantlijn tikken nog drie almachtige kontjes langdurig likken maar dan mag ik van de eigenaren door hun schitterend glanzende poort richting schier eindeloze verering dan komt het geroezemoes nooit meer tot bedaren het is bijna zover dan kom ik aan bij mijn geheel eigen ster maar eerst nog een paar nachtjes slapen dan op bezoek bij de drie belangrijkste mediamagnaten gaan knielen, drie paar kloten kussen en als een bezeten likken aan de randen van anussen maar dan ben ik iemand voor het leven dan wil iedereen dat ik aandacht aan hun ga besteden dan ben ik ook zo iemand die zekere diensten mag eisen een klein taakje om je aanwezige talenten te bewijzen het is bijna zover dan likt een ander aan mijn ster.

tonight the moon was elsewhere, as were the stars

But I saw there were gray clouds on the deep blue sky

And I felt that it had rained.

And I’m drunk now, even though I’ve drank Lidl iced tea, and have eaten two (small) Pan Pizzas, I feel the Sunday deep in my bones, and I feel the alcohol in the system surrounding these strong but old bones.

But not in a bad way.

I saw some live music earlier this evening. That’s where I had all those beers.

I felt when sitting (because this was a sitting concert, maybe due to the average (old) age of the audience (does that include me — I’m not sure)?) , when I sat there, beer in my hand, and heard some familiar songs performed — songs I’ve not heard in twenty years or more — I felt a deep sense of contentment, watching the show with one eye shut (never mind why , it doesn’t matter)…

In fact, it reminded me of this winter when I sat with a beer in the rain looking into the fire

I was having a deep sadness then, but the fire seemed to melt it, at least for a moment I saw only those flames and felt the warmth on my face even though the rain was chilly

There was something hypnotising

That sensation, a serenity maybe

That’s what I felt today

I felt like laughing

I just wanted to sit there with the music, not thinking anything in particular

Just caught in the moment

And now again I’m home

Again it’s Sunday

OK let’s go