#grieving the joy we experienced along side this band

[beautifulandraretoevenexist]

This. When you grow up as part of something great like this, like we all did, no matter how much you grow and change, it will always be a part of you.

i have no idea how to process this. it’s not unfathomable and it’s something i’ve thought about many times but i don’t actually know how to process it. what do you mean he was such an integral part of me growing up and he did some fucked up things in part bc of the fucked up environment he grew up in and now he’s DEAD and can’t do anything to try and make amends. what do u mean the boys now means harry louis liam niall zayn. what do you mean he left behind a child less than 10 years old. what the fuck do you mean

[vivisextion]

I first saw Slipknot at age 14.

No one knows how I managed it. I'm not sure I even remember. These days, you have to be 16 or 18 to get into Standing areas. I do know I had to buy tickets on the phone, back in the old days (2005, that is). A singular ticket, too - none of my friends, not even the classmate who had gone with me to see Linkin Park the year before, was that into Slipknot.

But I HAD to see them. This was the Subliminal Verses tour cycle, and Vol. 3 was my first and favourite Slipknot album, even to this day. It's the reliable old warm blanket for my soul whenever I need it. It's on right now, as I write this.

My memory isn't that good, but luckily I unearthed a livejournal (livejournal!) diary entry about the event I made the next day.

August 16, 2005. I went right after school. I went to a very conservative Anglican secondary school, too. I tried not to get caught in the bathroom, as I coloured my nails black with permanent marker (I know, don't laugh) and changed into my standard metalhead baby outfit - Slipknot band shirt, black cargo shorts, and my pride and joy: steel-toe boots I somehow managed to cajole my parents into letting me own.

I caught the bus to the open-air war memorial park where the gig was going to be. I got there at 4pm, 4 hours early. A couple other maggots were already hanging around. I found myself surrounded by tombstones, and I read them all. It was the middle of the Hungry Ghost Festival, too - a very fitting time for Slipknot to pay a visit to this godforsaken hellhole of a small town I lived in. (Especially given the paranormal circumstances surrounding the making of Vol. 3.)

While I wandered around the venue (no security or sound guys were around at all), I spotted two white vans pull up to the stage, in the middle of a clearing. It was them! I spotted Joey and missed him by a hair's breadth. I was quickly ushered behind the stone archway entrance by security then.

(Funnily enough, while walking around, I got mistaken for Joey more than once. I am the same height as him, had the same long black hair, same pale skin, and was wearing almost exactly what he had been. One person claimed from behind, I was a dead ringer, apart from when I turned around, and they realised I was Chinese.)

It was soundcheck time. A sound guy testing the mics would say random things, like "testing one two three two one.... fudge fudge, I like fudge...." The band even did Purity, so us earlybirds were given a rare treat, and we screamed along from the entrance, and drummed our fists on the sides of nearby porta-potties. I hope no one was in there at the time. Whenever we got a glance of any of them, we'd scream and cheer. Finally they left again, but were soon to return.

This was the first time I'd been a part of the metal community. I was barely allowed internet in those days. But here, random strangers were friendly, striking up conversations like they'd been friends for years. Two big guys, called Trevor and Ted, looked out for me the entire gig after, keeping other big dudes from crushing me too much (I'm 5'3, remember). Other people commented on me being so baby, because I was only 14, and said they would take care of me.

When we were finally let in, right after the usher cut the rope, I ran in, screamed "WOOOHOOO!" along with a few friends I'd made. I only briefly stopped to receive this RoadRunner Records compilation CD from a roadie, then resumed running like a madman screaming and dashing into the VIP cage.

I was right up against the barricade - the first time I would ever be at a gig. People from assorted magazines and press took photos of us, and I think I got my photo taken about 10 times at least.

(This is how I got in trouble with my parents the next day. My photo had ended up in a local paper - you can see examples of that here. They had no idea what I'd been to see the night before, and were horrified when they saw what Slipknot looked like.)

We saw Sid filming us from the stage with a camcorder and screamed at him. We saw Jim and screamed at him too, and he flashed the victory sign back at us. I remember Metallica playing at the time, another one of my favourite bands.

The concert was a brutal religious experience I will never forget. People with their arms outstretched, crying and screaming out loud, moving like the devil possessed them.

The new friends around me made sure I was alright after every song! There were huge guys fainting behind us who had to get carried out, but I endured, a tiny 14 year old child. We got a family speech as per tradition, of course. "Are you guys out there all looking out for each other? We're all one big family, and we gotta look out for each other." What Corey said held true - strangers hugged, shook hands, talked, and made friends. I was heartened by how close-knit the maggot community was. It really did feel like a family, and it's felt like that ever since.

Of course, I did my first Jump The Fuck Up. It is possibly the most euphoria I've ever experienced all at one go. (Later, in 2020, I was extremely disappointed that I didn't get to do it again in London.)

They did the death masks for Vermilion, and I remember Chris helping Sid fix his mask and shirt when they'd changed back. Sid hung out near Clown's drums for most of the time too, and hugged him from behind and just latched on at one point. It was pretty adorable.

Fun fact: The version of Eyeless you hear on the 9.0 Live album is from Singapore, as is Eeyore. There are very few photos and videos from the crowd of this gig, because in 2005, very few people had camera phones. The crowd at the Slipknot gig in 2020 was a sea of arms with phones, filming the gig rather than experiencing it. Yes, I'm going to be that cranky old geezer who complains about the good old days.

Joey as usual, was fucking amazing and never failed. However, due to the fact that I was right up front, only his tiny head was visible behind his vast drum set, I couldn't see him the entire gig.

Amazingly, the government told Slipknot they were not allowed to do obscene gestures, curse, vomit (possibly due to the decomposing crow pre-show ritual), simulate humping on objects, throw faeces, or jump off stage (looking at you, Sid). I don't think our totalitarian government knew who they were dealing with, because watch what happens next.

Near the end of the gig, Corey tells the crowd “your government has given us a laundry list of things we aren’t allowed to do, your government has told us we are not allowed to swear”. Crowd goes “BOOOOOOOOO” and Corey goes “BUT WE DON’T GIVE A FUCK!!” And they launch into Surfacing, the last song. Everyone riots. Best night of my life.

You can find the setlist from that gig here. It had everything I wanted and more.

This story later got immortalised when Kerrang asked maggots for gig stories, for an article which came out in 2020. I had forgotten entirely, until people began messaging me to tell me, and one friend sent me a scan of it!

On the way out, I managed to get a shirt. I remember calling my best friend at the time, and got everyone at the merch booth to go "IF YOU'RE 555 THEN I'M 666" for her. This shirt has since been lost to the landfill, because my Christian mother took it upon herself to dispose of it the first opportunity she got. Needless to say, our relationship is not very good.

After that, I even managed to get that Roadrunner compilation album they were giving out signed. The band was staying at the Carlton. Unfortunately, Joey wasn't there, neither was Clown, and Mick was swarmed by guitar nerds so, 6/9 it is. It is a great regret of mine that I'll never have anything signed by him, nor will I ever get to see him perform ever again.

The next day, I went to school, my head swimming. Yes, I went to see Slipknot ON A SCHOOL NIGHT. I was a giant bruise, from my ribs and my chest, to my hips and knees, from being slammed into the barricade like a screen door in a hurricane. Most of all, my sore, headbanged-out neck could barely hold my head up. Classmates thought I had been in a fight. I was torn between battle-scarred exhaustion and hyperactive ranting about the most amazing gig of my short life (it still is, to this day). When teachers spoke to me, I wanted to reply, "Fuck trigonometry! I've just seen SLIPKNOT. Do you not understand that my world is different? Do you not understand that *I* am now different?"

My country was a small, conservative town that Slipknot had graced with their unholy presence. Corey Taylor once said that where he grew up in Iowa had a way of making a 16 year old boy feel like a 36 year old man (or something to that effect). I felt that in my weary bones as a teenager, being from a place just like that. Years later, Watain would run into worse trouble, and wouldn't even be allowed to perform. The Christian stranglehold is stronger than ever. It was a good thing that back then Slipknot had the element of surprise, striking serpent-fast and choking this society by the neck for a too-brief time, before they departed.

After that, my desire to play the drums only grew like a weed. Joey Jordison had, has, and will always inspire me as a drummer, and seeing the beast live (or what little I could spy behind the massive riser) had only spurred me on. I had always been a noisemaker, be it driving my parents mad with chopsticks on pots and pans, or driving my teachers mad with pencils on my desk. But of course, my parents wouldn't have any of it. I'd have to wait a good 14 more years before I'd be able to afford lessons and later, a kit of my own. Better late than never, right?

There will never be enough words to describe the impact Joey has had on my life. And it isn't just Slipknot, either. I could write another essay on his time with the Murderdolls and its influence on my own gender-non-conforming ways. Suffice to say, my wardrobe doesn't look too dissimilar to his during the early Dead in Hollywood days.

I told my boss I could not come into work today. I was grieving. I said that my music teacher died, as I didn't think she'd understand the magnitude of my loss. In a way, it's true. And I am not the only one Joey has nudged on the path to being a musician, that much is certain. To the rest of us, I wish strength and love for you in this difficult time. The best way to honour Joey, who truly loved music, both the creation and appreciation of it, is to pass that gift on. Teach it to someone. He is the reason I picked up the sticks in the first place, and one day, they'll be handed on, the heavy metal baton for the next generation.

And finally: remember that the ones we have lost are never truly gone.

Vinnie

P.S. See if you can spot me in the crowd photos in this post!

[shoe-sheriff]

So some friends and I are considering getting a D&D campaign going, and someone else volunteered to be DM, so I get to play a character. Now, I’ve been wanting to play D&D for a few years now and haven’t been able to get my fix, so I immediately start looking at 5th edition books (because I’ve only ever played 4e) and making a character. I landed on a Earth Genasi (from Elemental Evil Player’s Companion) Fighter. Of course, it being me, I also made a way-too-long background for the character.

For the first time in my life, I’d like to share the background publicly immediately after finishing it (I literally just got done like 5 minutes ago). Please, if you read it, let me know what you think. Anything that needs to be changed, added, removed, doesn’t make sense, etc.

My conception came after my parents found an artifact that acted as a gateway to the Elemental Plane, where my biological, dao, father is from. He traversed through the gateway a few months later, seeking to experience all the Material Plane had to offer. He fell for my mother, and tricked her into sex, impregnating her with me. From what I’ve gathered, he was known as Sihu the Powerful, and had a reputation of causing mischief wherever he went. Most of it was harmless, though there was an incident where he crushed a young woman beneath a boulder. After he proceeded to experience many more things throughout the plane, he left, never intending to deal with the consequences of any of his actions.

Being half dao, a quarter human, and a quarter elf, I had quite the culmination of features. My ears were slightly pointed like an elf, broad shoulders like a human, but at the same time more slender than a human. The most curious and out of place feature, however, came from my dao side. I had crystals sprouting from my light gray skin. They formed a pattern following my collar bone and around my hairline on my forehead, with a few outcroppings materializing along my upper arms and legs. Most of the crystals were tourmaline, green dissolving beautifully into pink, though I had a wide variety depending where one looked. I had honey-hued citrine, charoite with magnificent swirls of violet and lavender, and even fiery red opal. My hair was a deep black, with a faint light emanating from it where it was parted. This set me apart from others around me, but because I had beautiful rocks coming out of me, most people looked at me in amazement. I didn’t hate the added attention, but I wasn’t fond of it either, so I did my best to hide them when able.

My early childhood was filled with joy and happiness. My mother and her husband, henceforth referred to as my father, raised both me and my older half-brother. My father came from a reasonably wealthy family, my mother not so much. Together, they managed to raise us into fine members of society. They taught us how to properly value money and be happy with the things we had instead of constantly chasing happiness through the next purchase.

My father was a very experienced woodsman, regularly taking us on hikes and camping expeditions. He worked his days as a tradesman, dabbling in woodworking, metalworking, construction, and fishing. There were not many tradesmen in our town, thus he sought to make himself as valuable as he could to his community. He strived to give to his community as much as he could, while only accepting small payments for his work.

My mother worked as one of the town’s clerics, healing the wounded and spreading divine light across every shadow she encountered. Sadly, her healing magics and devotion to the lawful good divines did nothing to prevent her own illnesses. Several times throughout my childhood, she was plagued by a recurring sickness. After each bout, a different High Priest declared that the sickness would not return, only for it to do just that, poisoning her body and draining her life force more efficiently each time. The scars left by the illness covered her body, the most recent one ripping her stomach from this plane. She gave up her devotion, realizing that the divines would not help her. To everyone’s amazement, however, even through her pain and suffering, she never gave up her dedication to healing others and spreading the most beautiful light imaginable, no matter the willingness of the dark to overcome.

My brother, being older than myself and of a different race, grew up being bold and carefree. From him, I learned more about what not to do than what to do. He was caught several times sneaking out of our home to cause mischief with his friends. When he grew just old enough to be considered self-sufficient, my parents exiled him from the home, not wanting him to influence my actions. They remained supportive of him where they could, offering to pay for expenses he could not or gifting him furniture for his home. My grandparents, from my father’s side, even gave him (and myself) a large sum of coin, under the agreement that we use it to pursue a higher education or to start our own business, before using anything left over as we saw fit. We both used this to pursue a higher education. I sought to learn a series of trades, as my father did, learning the basics from him, applying that to my education, and then bringing everything together again with my father. My brother yearned to study and practice the Arcane arts, wishing to use the knowledge to provide responsible magics for the town’s benefit. Most of the way through his education, however, he had a child and was forced to put aside his education to take care of his daughter. He never went back to finish, unfortunately.

While working on my education, I had decided to learn Primordial, should I ever meet with Sihu or any genie who knew of him. I finished my education and began to make a name for myself as a learned tradesperson, creating great works and teaching even other apprentice tradespeople when they visited the town. My father retired after a year of my entrance to the trades, tired of working all day and knowing I had surpassed him in ability, due to my young, sturdy body, and thanks to the particular form of crafting I had learned, utilizing newer advancements and techniques. Though I loved what I did, especially the smile and gratitude I received from those I served, something always felt out of place. I couldn’t quite put my finger on what was wrong, until roughly six years ago when I realized that I felt a part of myself was missing, having gone unrecognized.

For four years, I tried to find that part of myself and become a fuller being. I began to meditate, experience nature more fully and regularly, and used various herbs to seek that which evaded me my whole life. I felt like I had grown much, but that I was still unable to find my true self. Fearing that it may have been due to the fact that I felt obligated to not grow too far from who everyone around me knew me as, I decided to leave town. I spent many months training others to take my place as the town’s tradespersons, until I felt the town was in excellent hands. I set off to seek enlightenment of some kind, unsure of where I was headed or what lay ahead. I may return one day, though I am not sure that would be healthy for me.

Traveling for close to 9 moons, I was starting to feel fuller and more complete. I had decided not long after leaving town, that I would change my name from what the Half-Elves called me. I had been hiding from my dao ancestry my whole life, but no more. I am an Earth Genasi, and I have never been more proud of it. I stopped hiding the crystals that grew from my skin, eventually turning to them as the source of my name: Tourmaline. It was around that time that I met with a tribe of outcasts, mostly consisting of Orcs. They were not welcome in their former homes for being too calm and peaceful. They sought to live a grand life with compassion to all beings and the world itself, focusing on improving oneself to live in harmony with that which is around them. Most of them were from the same clan, but there were some like me who happened by and decided to join their tribe and follow their path.

They taught me to hunt, scavenge, and survive with the land. With them, I visited marvelous new areas and saw beautiful landscapes. To me, they were a new family, one with similar views as my own. For the remainder of two years, I had stuck by their side, using my skills in woodworking to construct whatever we needed, and a few things just for fun, like a lute. A couple of them taught me to play, and we formed a sort of band, playing for the tribe most nights, a celebration of life and our vision. We welcomed a handful of new members and wished old ones a safe journey as they departed for the next chapter of their lives. Nobody was made to feel left out or unwanted, and they were welcome to stay as long as they felt comfortable.

On the way back from a meditation session, I found the camp utterly destroyed. Bloodstained, torn tents flapped in the wind, and the bodies of most of my family lay on the ground, motionless. For weeks, I grieved for them, unable to bring myself to leave the camp, unsure of what I should do. One night, they appeared to me in a dream. I came out of my tent and they were dancing and drinking, merry as ever. When they saw me fall to my knees crying, they rushed over to comfort me. When I finally got a hold of myself, they sat down with me around the campfire and listened to me express how sorry I was that I wasn’t there to help or at least die with them in honor. The two who had been in the tribe longer than I put their hands on my shoulder and lowered their heads. They spoke to me without words, their voices thundering in my head as one. “The time for grieving has been over for some time now. You could not have known, thus it is not a worry you should burden yourself with any longer.” Their unified words of wisdom brought some calm to my nerves, but I still felt like I had been defeated. “The fact that any member of our tribe is still alive is a miracle, and miracles are rarely without purpose. There are others who need you, and a greater destiny which calls your name, Tourmaline. Go now, and bring honor to our tribe. Through memory, we will stay immortal.”

The next morning, as I awoke, I heeded their words. I put on my traveling clothes, gathered some chain mail, a greatsword, trident, and what else I could reasonably carry, and started walking. I didn’t know what destiny I was to fulfill, but I knew I had to make sure the tribe, nor their vision for a more harmonious world, wouldn’t be forgotten.