Angry Cat Productions

Angry Cat Productions GenXer, Writer & Philosopher. These are the rantings and ramblings of A Widower just writing about a monster and friend known as Grief.

I don't actually promote a thing.

the full scope of my storyit is saidthat troubled childhoodsmake for the most interesting adultsI know this to be truefo...
05/29/2025

the full scope of my story

it is said
that troubled childhoods
make for the most interesting adults
I know this to be true
forged in trauma and pain
is my sordid tale

every fiber of my very being

troubled teen punk
lonely afraid
bent on the destruction
of these social norms
generational curses
cascading from the mouth
of father figure and mother mess

this is my words forming fences
around pastures of incidents
you can't even begin to comprehend
but it was normal it was nice
in the minds of narcissistic
evil men
that were meant to nurture me

young adult
young career
young wife
young mouths to feed
how the hell
did I know
what to do

there was anger
violence
almost lost it all
and turned to the pages
of our most treasured
ideas ideals and ideations
I saw the face of God

but still
narcissism
carried out in the hearts and minds
of evil men bent on my destruction
my complicit taciturn tenacity
would not allow me to drink the
kool aid
or perform acts of needless
hurtful
hatefulness

there was deconstruction
there was internal malfeasance
and I came out not smelling of roses
but looking like something the cat drug in
all smiles and chessire mischievous
malicious compliance
to the cause of personal growth

and true love

my soulmate
my everthing
my world
the foundation
of the man I was becoming
and was dreaming
of being
forever in her arms

died

that was the man I was before

now the man I am after

devastation
concentration
navigation
of difficult landscape
dangers around every corner
and sharpened swords full
of teeth and that damn mouth
of father figure and mother mess

amidst the fumes
and listening to my playlist
of memories and morbid
mastications
there was this voice
this angelic being
I had never heard the song
or listened to the music
of other mothers and fathers
that brought peace
pacification
and paved the way
with stones
of broken glass

and here I stand
staring into a cobalt blue dream
of every idea and revelation
tied neatly in the bow
on top of the head
of a playful sidekick
living an alter ego and believing
in myself and even more
listening to pluto destroy me
and typing on this man made device
of broken dreams, feral hopes
and the promise that the more we learn

the less we know

Darin Mecher
5/29/2025
8:40 a.m.
Partly Cloudy - Change of Rain

I was hoping for Meatballs

2025
(C) Angry Cat Productions

This Box of Missivesthe glasses are all emptythe bottles as wellstories drenched in remorse and regretstories that maybe...
05/14/2025

This Box of Missives

the glasses are all empty
the bottles as well
stories drenched in remorse and regret
stories that maybe were meant to tell

those smiles worn like the projection
pretending to be the loving couple forever
people see what they want and hate how they wish
it is our birthright it is our forgivable endeavor

one polaroid mixed in with this stack
so long ago this aura of love and innocence
time is lost and time will come around again
an account of bad decisions and choices at our own expense

moments captured and savored
like a fine wine drunk way too fast
buzzed and trying to forget the failure
the house of cards falling never to recover

never to last

(C)Angry Cat Productions
Darin Mecher
5/14/2025

We all work too much. That is all. We are not living the lives humans were meant to live.

Segmentationthere's a music point of referencepouring into my veinsblack tar and the fix of this complex lifelinethere's...
05/14/2025

Segmentation

there's a music point of reference
pouring into my veins
black tar and the fix of this complex lifeline
there's no need to worry
no need to hurry
death will soon find us all

soft skin forming into a callousness
brain waves bent towards some distant land
algorithms and pious meaningless scriptures
written by madmen and told by morons
clothed all in their own ignorant
vestments of desperation

the collapse of intention
the decay and rigor mortis of a nation
where is my dear friend caligula?
with his po*******hy and tales of righteous
torture and pieces of gold lice
tempered with neurological scofield spice

a recipe for disaster
words solidified in misinformation alabaster
servants calling themselves master
all the way to that final shower

of love called hate
peace war and greed in the final ma******te
there's nothing to do but find the solace
and reach into the place they have no camera
no listening device
no need to be nice

we are all going to face the scales one day
all flawed and led distantly astray
from the real template
the taste of fine dining fate
all on the menu
all in the vicious dirt bath
that is this decrepit sphere

have no fear

soulmates and tales of kindness are here
and there are truths oh so near

but not in this land of disillusion
backlit and so easily accessed from the recliner
nothing could be finer
than rotting and being buried alive

even still

I continue to survive

(C)Angry Cat Productions
Darin Mecher
5/14/2025

Listening to this new Sleep Token album. Vessel is pouring the worship into me. I am receiving it like the sacrament of secular understanding and the strange paranormal parasite that is our own intuition.

energylocked the keys in the car runningin a carbon monoxide haze of fu***ng regretsongs on repeat and a literal million...
04/17/2025

energy

locked the keys in the car running
in a carbon monoxide haze of fu***ng regret
songs on repeat and a literal million
pictures of you in my head
and I hadn't even started yet

energy pure female and covering me
a want
a need
just your embrace and that look on your face
when I could tell you wanted me
deep inside all of you
and this is how my dreams feed

repelling down the abyssmal cliff of despair
licking all my wounds and scars of devastation
a dog kicked to the curb and cowering with a final meal
the condolences and sympathies a cascade of
blood and viral infection

2 years some months some days and an endless
parade of minutes seconds memories
sharp as a ginzu as seen on TV knife
my mirror man stares back and tries a grin
suddenly with eyes showing a flicker of life

energy
she was the force of nature I lived for
trying to recapture the width and breadth of my mother earth
she still talks to me guides me and I'll be damned
if she doesn't still roll her eyes
at my sudden unforeseen rebirth

(C) 2025 Angry Cat Productions
Darin Mecher
4/17/2025

Listening to a brand new song tried out by Lola Young at Coachella this year on a bootleg video captured on my smart phone and I am dancing about the den of decadence and thinking of her.

as always

scabminiscule light glimmer in the gulfof darkness outside inside this feeble mehitting the same screen shot hitting the...
02/20/2025

scab

miniscule light glimmer in the gulf
of darkness outside inside this feeble me
hitting the same screen shot hitting the same tune
wondering pondering from the weight of extreme apathy

why can I not feel? why is this all too real?
why is my heart simply a discarded apple peel?

the bed is neither hard soft or even of consequence
i rot here all on my very own from my own proclivity
a thousand saber cuts and pieces of me floating
all around this heart shaped piece of trash in the vicinity

why can I not breathe? why do my thoughts just continue to seethe?
why is my mind simply an insane infant trying to teethe?

turn off the light and let the abyss take me shake me
may I never pray the lord my soul to transcend
the ground opens and the hell is a mouth of madness
the ultimate brittle body engorged with waves yet unable to bend

why are there so many around me yet I am alone?
why are the words just stuck in my throat as I choke on this bone?
stages and cages and I smile a smile that I would never in a million billion trillion lifetimes want to condone

(C) 2/20/25 Angry Cat Productions
Darin Mecher

Listening to Violent Vira. Her inspiration just hit me like a falling apart, rusting ridiculous cybertruck of emo metal.

from the depthswalking hand in hand and talkingrolling over to put my arm over you in bedonly to wake up all alone cuddl...
02/20/2025

from the depths

walking hand in hand and talking
rolling over to put my arm over you in bed
only to wake up all alone
cuddling only distant memories instead

we talked dreams and we talked stupid
our own language and our own galaxy
consumed in a black hole from the depths
I rise as something I never could have imagined I would be

just today there was something on social media
about a little fish caught rising up to the sun
having never seen it at all before
a monster from the depths beholden to not a single one

a tiny face full of teeth and a tiny part
of something bigger than us all
as the world turns and the universe I had burns
there is only the drift of the tide to reverse my fall

in between sleep and somewhere with the gods
I hear voices and I know that there is energy in the room
I look over and whisper good night, good night my love
I only have my own light to illuminate my own gloom

my own sense of doom
here in my silly little room

touched by the face of forever

(C) 2/19/25
Angry Cat Productions

TANTALUSyears down the showwe somehow put on the roada carnival of corpsesturning on the corrupt carouselbent on the bel...
12/12/2024

TANTALUS

years down the show
we somehow put on the road
a carnival of corpses
turning on the corrupt carousel
bent on the belief of a better tomorrow

these missives pour out of a polaroid
as the artist sings me yet another song
both profound and profane
every single day finds me losing all over again
almost numb to this serenade of sorrow

her smile plays in my mind
like every single episode of day of a life
turning pages and thoughts of ages
dissolve into just dust
dirt and millions of paper cut hurts
but I refuse any and all forms of solace

I must face the hell inside of me
remember even the darkest moments
for in them like the diamonds of destiny
the scenes that push me forward to valhalla
and to that I lift this mourning filled chalice

12/12/24
(C) Darin Mecher - Angry Cat Productions / Portals Infinity

Journal Entry - 11/14/24I was reading this article online this morning about a promoter responding to backlash that has ...
11/14/2024

Journal Entry - 11/14/24

I was reading this article online this morning about a promoter responding to backlash that has occurred from his decision to put Sleep Token as a headliner of a festival next year. As is often the case of online backlash, there were a number of trolls upset by this decision for a multitude of reasons, none that really relate to the reality and responsibility of the promoter. The main gist is that they wanted “legacy” artists to headline. Artists like Metallica, Iron Maiden, Judas Priest and Black Sabbath. The promoter, to his credit, explained that Sleep Token is currently selling out arenas and is immensely popular to a younger group of people who love them. He also mentioned that, at one time, he gave a chance to bands like Slipknot, Bad Omens and Bring Me the Horizon. He says it is Sleep Token’s time. I agree.

But there is a bigger issue here. One that I have been intimately familiar with of late. It is like a bad Gen X joke. The joke goes - Radio in 1975 had awesome acts like Fleetwood Mac, Pink Floyd, The Rolling Stones and Journey. Radio in 1985 had awesome acts like Fleetwood Mac, Pink Floyd, The Rolling Stones and Journey. Radio in 1995 had . . . Radio in 2005 had . . .

The Boomer stranglehold on “classic” rock and subsequent musical movements adopted by my own generation, Generation X has a literal chokehold on radio, the idea of what constitutes “good music” and this idea of nostalgia over new. After all - all nostalgia was once “new”. Now don’t get me wrong here. I like Fleetwood Mac. Rumours is one of the greatest rock albums of all time. I love Pink Floyd. I have such great memories of listening to The Wall as a teenager. And listening to it last week. It is also one of the greatest rock albums of all time. I listened to so much Black Sabbath, Ozzy and Judas Priest on the bus to school thanks to the stoners and their boombox that I knew all the songs and yet never bought any of the music and, quite frankly, hated it as a youth. I was listening to The Police, The Smiths, The Cure and Depeche Mode. It is all great stuff. Good to listen to. But music did not end in the 90s. Nirvana was not the last great band. I hear my peers - unfortunately meaning those in their 60s, 50s and 40s talking about the “death” of popular music. They despise anything new. They don’t understand it. They don’t listen. They don’t want to know. They are stuck, most of them, in some mythological “golden age of pop” which, for them, is the decade of roughly 1985-1995. Some of us older GenXers love music from 1975-1985.

The “death” of popular music. But upon the death of my dear wife, I was suddenly open to anything and everything to heal the person size wound I had experienced and had no idea that the day’s popular music, yes, music coming out in 2023, was healing me. It was speaking to me. I was relating. I wanted to hear more. And I was thrust into the center of one of the great battles of the “culture wars”. I had friends who looked at my newfound addictions with disgust. As if suddenly buying vinyl from the likes of Melanie Martinez, Jazmin Bean, Charlie XCX, Sleep Token, Bad Omens, Sabrina Carpenter and - God Forbid - Taylor Swift, was akin to falling into a death spiral of fentanyl and black tar he**in addiction. I was left behind. And, to my surprise, happily. I have discovered so much great music and so much creativity and so much “pushing of the envelope” that I can safely say that I believe we are in a pop music renaissance. I have found, in my life experience, that pop culture thrives during episodes of conservatism and far right politics. Not only do we get great music that is a rebellion and resistance to societal established “norms”, but horror movies also thrive. And we are seeing that in real time, right now. 2024 has been the greatest year in the horror / thriller genre in decades. It gives me hope.

So, back to the original thought. Sleep Token is a fantastic band. All the albums and all the songs and all the shows are simply immaculate. Emotional. Authentic. Creative. The whole aesthetic is so detail oriented and so artistically talented that I still can’t believe that in an age of media saturation, we are finding new and exciting things to say and see. But the people still want Journey? I mean, Journey is good. Metallica is good. All the “legacy” bands are good. Otherwise, they wouldn’t have been able to survive this long. But I have seen them. I would love to see them again. But don’t others deserve a chance? A seat at the table? A soap box? And therein lies the real issue here. New Blood. Stagnation. The way of human nature. I saw it in Rockabilly and Punk subculture. You become “established” and then you turn your nose up to “new blood”. Not understanding that culture is to be passed on. New arrivals to the culture are to be nurtured. Loved. Encouraged. Not turned away. Or the culture DIES. What are we going to do? Just watch holograms of Journey and Metallica in the future? I don’t mean to be mean, but have you seen the latest footage of Frankie Valli doing a Las Vegas residency and still singing “Sherry” at the age of 90? He looks positively animatronic. I don’t want to diss him or his fans. If he truly wants to be on stage at 90 singing songs from 1962 and people are still seeing him and enjoying him - Great! But isn’t there room for more artists? More songs? Something new? After all, some of the things coming out now will be “classic” and “legacy” in 30 to 40 years. After I am gone.

If you don’t understand the correlations - let me spell it out. Without new blood, culture dies. You have to have new car builders and people getting into the music to keep Rockabilly vibrant. You have to have new goths and new punks and new emo kids to keep those cultures alive. You have to have immigrants to keep the country strong. Otherwise, it dies. What we are seeing all around us is the death throes of the Boomer Generation. They are not going quietly. Hell, we just elected the oldest one to lead our country in the biggest flop of a reality tv show the world has ever seen - in my opinion. But what happens after they are gone? Do you really expect Millennials, Gen Z and Gen Alpha to simply continue to purchase Dark Side of the Moon without adding their own artists? Their own creativity? Their own take on this “greatest experiment”? The kids are the FUTURE. I am a proponent of their FUTURE. My feeling is that I am here to encourage them and give them some advice from life experience, not strict rules and oppressive directives. The younger generations deserve our best, not our worst. They deserve good music. From the past, present and future. They deserve to find their own way. To discover their own truths. To make their own mistakes.

By the way, Sleep Token is not everyone’s cup of tea. But I love a good dose daily just like my coffee. And I will listen to Dark Side of the Moon on my 1975 turntable and hifi. And I will TikTok about my love for Melanie Martinez and one of the greatest albums that has ever been created - Portals. It all belongs and it all connects. Don’t you get that? It is my opinion that humanity will not evolve until we learn the lesson: We thrive on our differences and unique perspectives - not on some unyielding concept of what constitutes “right”.

She SaidThere's nothing to becomingsomethingyou wish would change backto a former presenceresistanceto the horrific body...
10/20/2024

She Said

There's nothing to becoming
something
you wish would change back
to a former presence
resistance
to the horrific body horror
of aging

one time there were hallucinations
at the bottom of a glass
live music and dead grass
underfoot as you laughed
no matter the fears
I found your scent
and conversation
most engaging

I carried your shoes once
as we walked along the beach
nirvana just out of reach
but I kept on strolling
rolling with the flow
of all the words and tastes
you submitted so kindly
to me

now just whispers and just coffee
can't bear to hit a spirit or two
who the hell knew
that we all go through this
and yet it surprises and attacks
eating some inside out
as I sit on the patio
sitting in the sun where you used to be

Darin Mecher
(C) 2024 Angry Cat Productions

Journal Entry:  10/18/24Knowing someone.  Knowing them.  All of them.  This is something that the average person cannot ...
10/18/2024

Journal Entry: 10/18/24

Knowing someone. Knowing them. All of them. This is something that the average person cannot fathom. The concept of "soulmate" is paraded about as some kind of high end exclusive bag or luxury car that the everyman can have - if you just look hard enough. If you just believe. But that isn't how it really works. A "soulmate" is simply another human being. A human being that reciprocates curiosity, love and attention. For no other reason than something intangible "clicks". I didn't know on that fateful day in 1987, when I simply was a boy, standing in front of a girl, asking her if she wanted to go to the movies; was the beginning of a lifetime. We shared everything. We gave our all and knew it was messy. Human beings are messy. To outsiders - a 35 year marriage full of love and tenderness seems like perfection. There is nothing perfect about it. Not in the trenches. You have to work together. You have to compromise. You have to overlook. You have to embrace honesty - even when it hurts. It is living in the moment. A tender touch. The way you look at her. The way she looks at you. As if the universe doesn't matter as much as each other. In fact, the two of you are the universe and you have the ability to create new universes. Tiny universes that grow up and then they find their "soulmate". Maybe. Or they lone wolf it. Life is full of many different "truths". There isn't just one "heaven". There are a million "heavens". In her eyes. I saw them. Each and every fu***ng time I looked into her eyes. Every time I saw her smile. Every time she whispered in my ear. Knowing someone is more than s*x. More than holding hands. More than taking care of them when you know they are going to die and you are going to lose everything you fought for and everything you loved. Can we be real here? Your religion falls apart in these moments. Your deity cannot fathom the depths of what you are willing to do or say or the courage you muster to simply drive to the hospital. This is where the "soul" and the "mate" meet. And those memories. Maybe god is in the memories. Maybe god is in the sudden triggers. Maybe god is in the grief. Maybe god is in the resurrection and the new friends and the new possibilities and that gentle breeze that you know is her. Wanting the best and the most for you. Even in death. These are the emails I can't send. These are the texts left on read. My journal is so much a part of me that I send it out. Into the ether. A memory. In the past. Just like that.

Journal entry - 10/10/24:It is quite weird rediscovering yourself.  Evolving and becoming.  If you had told me exactly w...
10/11/2024

Journal entry - 10/10/24:

It is quite weird rediscovering yourself. Evolving and becoming. If you had told me exactly where I am now and how I feel back in January of 2023, I would not have been able to even comprehend the journey that would have led me here. And I am still on this journey. I am still on this adventure. I am still becoming and evolving. To be honest, I didn’t think about where I might end up at that time, I was merely trying to survive and just get through each day. I was in shock. I was lost. It is something else when you have half of yourself literally torn away. Suddenly my life was completely changed. My world was completely devastated. All I had been and all I had lived for was gone. Just gone. She was never again going to laugh or smile at me. She was never again going to walk through the door. Or visit me at work. Or call me. Or text me. I was never going to find her on the patio smoking and drinking and basking in the sun. I was never again going to hold her. Cuddle her. Make love to her. I was never going to have any more late night conversations about our future, the kids’ future or where we intended to go in our older years. No more feminine things. No more woman’s perspective. No more bouncing ideas. No more support. No more reciprocated love. No more intimacy. It had all been eradicated. Salvaged and turned into a eulogy. A celebration of life. Legalities. And then . . . nothing. I was in the VOID. Caught in the void.

And now there is today. 21 months and some days later. I am listening to Melanie Martinez and the song that is on right now is, appropriately, “Void”. I am sipping one of my favorite drinks - a Starbucks Mocha Cold Brew Espresso. I am writing in my journal and simultaneously keeping tabs on my out of control TikTok account that is now sitting at 5,600 followers and has activity each and every time I open it. Young “earthlings” call me “famous”. As if. I am just a man. I am just surviving. I am living. I am determined to just be who I am and to just love what I love and go where I want to go. I don’t care if I am weird. Unusual. I don’t care if I don’t make sense. I just want to live. I just want comfort and joy. Those two words were so important back in the beginning of this grief journey. Comfort and joy. My mantra. I am still searching for those things. I am still filling my life with those things. The music is so important to me. The artist literally saved my life even though she will never know me, never meet me and has no idea. Doesn’t matter. She saved my life. Her music and the other alternative pop I listen to fills my life with that missing feminine energy I so crave. My addiction. I am a man who needs a woman. A companion. Someone to love, protect and adore. At 56 and with no real ambitions to replace my wonderful wife, I simply fill in the void with the music and the female artists I have come to love and for whom I share my love to the outside world. I don’t care if people understand or not. I understand the psychology of it all. I understand why Portals means so much to me and why it was so perfect and so on time for my life’s journey. It is still magical. Every time I listen to it. It means the world to me and it has helped me to build my world and my life again. To live again.

In Her Yellow Dressmemories like faded polaroidsfestering inside the dark recesses of my mindescaping void after void an...
06/12/2024

In Her Yellow Dress

memories like faded polaroids
festering inside the dark recesses of my mind
escaping void after void and responding to stimuli
another pop up another swipe up
and then I see her once again

in her yellow dress

never know the feelings that reincarnate
until they slap you straight in the face
like that smile of doom at the end of Pearl
just wishing that circumstances hadn't changed
hadn't broken the pipe leaking sin

me simply left to clean up the mess

all the secrets are across the lawn
like some kind of serial killer garage sale
grab bags and that indignate torn up couch
that we once laughed and frolicked on
deep into one of those personal party nights

when she wore that yellow dress

the magazines are just a series of high end adverts
television shows are movies and movies are dead
no content so script just emotions and screams of the past
pouring out of the plague faucets of rafah

who am I to complain about this distress?

this morning she was out there drawing a picture
the sun was just beginning to rise
her hair the color of my tunnel vision
and then I was fearful and I was a moth to the flame

of her in her yellow dress

Darin Mecher
(C) 2024 Angry Cat Productions

Morning rituals are the stuff of legend for the neuro spicy lords such as myself. Everything happens in an order that, once displaced, causes a ripple effect akin to the fall of the Roman Empire.

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Broken Arrow, OK

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