I wear a fair amount of black myself. All my socks are black. At one point I went out and purchased a small mountain of black Fruit of the Loom T's. But I can't stand nail polish, so outside I remain.

Goths are really quite cool. A true sub-culture, I've found them to be generally good-natured and open-minded people. It's a lovely paradox. In much the same way you might find many Deadheads to be really quite intelligent despite the bakehead profile, the Goths I know, dressed like vampires of the day, are generally sincere, happy people.

Isn't that fucked up? I think I gained a little insight into this enigma from my years as a member of the Dead army.

Fans of the Grateful Dead were generally tree-huggers. That is to say, they were nurtured by the music of the Dead and the all-encompassing love groove of the scene to believe that all beings and ultimately all things are inherently like themselves and therefore worthy of compassion. In some people the transformation to this mode of being was so powerful that it verged on religious conversion. The drugs helped. Hallucinogenics were the glue in the Dead scene, providing a group adventure effect that could produce rather startling results in the minds of an audience.

The Goths don't seem to enjoy this outlet. They're relatively sober. Some adamantly so. But they are dedicated, and I think I can grok why: subconsciously they are mourning the truth that the Deadheads wished to deny or change: the world is dying. Man is behaving like a strange cancer, overpopulating, overconsuming and overdeveloping, and it's only a matter of time before we've ruined our singular, potentially beautiful, home.

I'm sure some Goths reading this will deny what I've just said. There are, of course, many good reasons to become consumed by a subculture. Simple distaste for the dictums of an up-tight conservative culture seems to be a strong motivator for many. But I still like to see them as Jerry's little mourners, the other side of the Deadhead coin. I'm sure they'd love that.

Now, where's my nose ring?

--Cripsy Duck
November 25, 1999