Hello there, and happy new year. It’s time for something different—essentially the same but I’m losing lots of things, as well as insistent on gaining more. The new deepsicks layout follows the former—having been birthed nearly three years ago, sections of this website are no longer relevant. I don’t believe in throwing away words, but nor do I wish to continue displaying them. Granted, much of the content will stay the same, but some will be trimmed and some discarded, a process that will occur over the coming weeks. The only changes in place as of now (and these are subject to shift) are the homepage and an updated guestbook, which with hope won’t fall victim to porn redirections (currently it’s only correctly linked on the homepage). As time allows, the deepsicks empire shall evolve with balance and progress in mind—and mind, less is more and empire extends beyond digital. The time is now to reflect what it is, not what it was—to pursue not what it wants, but what it wants to become. Sleeker. Sharper. Decisive. Killingly on.

Solstice was well received, the holiday was decent, and New Years was a dark horse delivering me to feelings old. On a lark I attended an electro/industrial event in a warehouse space outfitted with multiple projectors and plastic tarp room dividers, a couple hundred heads and dark-edged noise, all for the price of merely having a really awesome friend who got me on the guest list (thanks again, Shawn). It felt like a rave—sketchy building, no security, bring your own alcohol—flooding me with memories. At the midnight countdown I went from 2004 right into 1997, stomping in the concrete with strangers and familiars. The attendance was delightfully eclectic—top hats and silver suits, roller skates and big boots, darksiders, easy riders, drag of the d a m n variety, über-, trash- and business goths, and a couple lost party kids who, upon recognizing my style of dance, rushed me wistful fright-eyed with “I thought this was gonna be techno!” cries. There there, childs. No one’s going to drink your blood.

There was also a troupe of Wookiefoot-style performers—fire juggling stoners in corduroy patch pants and pigtails—one of whom accidentally set himself on fire. Also on the odd list was an aging hippie who brought in the new year with an electric sitar, singing about the coming end and how “all the children are insane,” shifting into an Armageddon-eerie version of Auld Lang Syne. He later tried to ply me with pot and abruptly ended our conversation upon learning that I do not, in fact, play the cello.

It was the best New Years I’ve ever had.

Don’t forget the Wormwood release show January 5 at the Star Bar in Colombia Heights. Print off a comp ticket from their website. My offer to give rides still stands.

Comments and suggestions are welcome on the new design, particularly concerning the nasty yet intriguing red-orange and mute but I’m not sure what else to use faint lavender. Thanks in advance.