DIRECTOR'S TOUR DIARY - DAY 7

Day 7, April 15 – NYC

 

Bus, en-route to Toronto… The second NYC show earlier tonight, had a little less shock, awe and sick humor to it.

 

And, strange as it might seem, I’m thinking the reason Ministry’s front-man appeared less dangerous on stage, is precisely because, we are now barreling north toward the Canadian border… Customs… And when first I saw Al, at around lunchtime today, he was bemoaning the myriad confounding worries that have come with his stardom. Topping that list for today: border crossings.

 

And why not? It’s hardly paranoid to wonder if there wouldn’t be a promotion in order for the state agent who roots out Al’s trove of prescriptionless medicinals.

 

 

The only thing seeming to haunt Al more, is the notion that: If any rock band’s fanatical fan base should have the highest per-capita rate of delusional stalkers, it should be Ministry.

 

Al told me of one hard-core woman fan, who’d sent him letters with pictures of the tunnels she’d had dug beneath her house… Where, after she kidnapped him, she planned to keep him imprisoned as her “Black Swan.”

 

I know that drug addiction has an obsessive/compulsive component. Once you get “good” at obsessing over one thing – say, dope – you can very easily transfer your obsession to other things. This can become paranoia, and I’ve personal experience with dope-fiend paranoiac types. It can get real bad. I’ve known of murder to have been committed over that psychotic shit.

 

Maybe more of my own history on tragic pathologies of the drug-addled, later in this tour.

 

Anyway, as they say, wacked out or not, it doesn’t mean that people aren’t actually after you.

 

Final note: It was an uneventful crossing into Canada, with all papers in order. Now Al’s sleeping like a really stoned baby.

 

Sphinctour dialogue of the day: More on the topic of threatening fans, with Al and I, in the back of the bus.

 

Al: You saw all those skin-head mother fuckers in the front row, right? And so I showed ‘em my dick, and call ‘em all fags… Like, yeah, I see you Otto… Now blow me!

 

Me: Doesn’t that worry you? I mean, in the parking lot, after the show…

 

Al: No. You’re missing it… Best defense is an offence… If I didn’t call them cock-suckers, they’d think I really was a cock-sucking fag, and feel the need to put a stop to me.

 

Me: Kinda ironic… Long as you’re asking them to suck your dick, they know you’re not a fag, and they won’t have to kill you.

 

Al: Oh, I didn’t say they didn’t want to kill me. They just have to pick another reason… I’m the devil… I remind them of their dad… One of my songs ruined their life… Tickets were too expensive… I was born in Cuba… But actually, the ones screaming their hatred, aren’t the ones to loose sleep over…

 

Me: Who then?

 

Al: All the rest of ‘em, starting with the ones who deliver your mail.