Sunday, October 31, 2010

do the devil's work

10/29/10 Halloween Party @ Albion House

Just some highlights: Diego after a Loko and some shots singing to the Buzzcocks, drinkin/smokin with Charlie Numbers and HippieVarg, Hate making me enjoy Hatebreed's music for the first time in my life (and Eric digging me out this sweet Amy Winehouse shirt), learning the "beard bump" as a greeting, moshing to "Gimme Some More", Diego's pole dance that no one saw during "Nervous Breakdown", finally buying a copy of Weird Brain #1 (excellent writing from Spider: "It's so easy to pose and pretend to feel hate or anger or dissatisfaction with aspects of one's everyday life, but I want that only truly mad, dumb, ugly, morbid, and spiteful assholes with no lives outside of hardcore to read this. Do what you want and get what's coming for it, you fucking fakers."), that Atalanta accent like a sweet Georgia peach, smokin GC and PK, and sharing "I love you"'s with John Caution Voorhees as he held a (real) machete inches from my face, no homo, that ridiculous carnitas burrito at Lassos around 2am, and finally, Varg snoring louder than Integrity was playing in my car on the ride home.



Last night was a glorious return to the Caputo Halloween Party. Lots of awesome drunkenness and stupidity all around as well as some epic guido-ness from Nico and Anthony at 3am when they decided to kick everyone out: "Get the fuck outta here! You're drunk, just like ya paaarents! I'm goin to sleep, GO THE FUCK HOME!"

The highlight though had to have been taking a ride in Mach 1 after a blunt and drinking down about 8000% of my daily vitamin B12 needs and listening to Integrity's "Those Who Fear Tomorrow" full blast synthesizing with the ungodly roar of that 4.6 liter V8. Somehow the quick breaks and crescendos kept coinciding with acceleration and I felt exhilarated by their harmony.

The weather is absolutely perfect right now: cold, life decaying with the season's last colors clinging to darkening branches, that rich effluvia of crumbling leaves piling up on the curbs and sidewalks to be thrown wildly around into eventual dead ends. Happy Halloween. Go do the Devil's work.

Sunday, October 24, 2010

let go but don't give up


I just want to commemorate the odd satisfaction of being in someone's presence who you know hates you down to the marrow all the while you feel indifferent to it. It's a trivial victory and only a momentary fulfillment, but I'll be damned if it doesn't feel good to be on the other end of that situation.



"i've got drawers of photographs that died at birth
and stacks of abandoned drawings
solitaire across from unread books
the piles grow but still i sleep
dream through the motions
the same
why this house is never clean
all things considered i'm the only one here
i can only do what i've always been told
all i need is some time
now is the time to drive this last nail into the coffin
bury this shit into the ground so we can fucking move on...

THE END
this is the fucking end
BURY THIS SHIT IN THE GROUND
SO WE CAN FUCKING MOVE ON
"
-Bad Business, "Journey to the Center of the Earth"

This year has been largely about learning the value of non-attachment. The relief is immense that I feel over simply not caring about certain things/people anymore. It's nice to belie grudges and bad blood and just move the fuck on, unhindered by meaningless guilt and a preconceived notion of being slighted when, in actuality, the reality is that most of it just doesn't matter. I haven't felt this free in years.

Monday, October 11, 2010

Pacific Cuba

(written on the drive home from Mountain Home, Arkansas)

Serious people with the realest of hearts, handshake
with violence with no suffering.
I'm stuttering when I have something to say.



ashes of camels
hash embedded in floorboards above&below
clinging to a worn out shoe
scrape off a little sacrifice wherever I step

the grinding away of perception's hooks
the empty road at deadly speeds, none of you on my brain
the empty road and becoming it

Heavy eyes giving way to split-second
caffeine delusions
when there's no dexterity on board
higher than the mountains leering back
tracing rusty fence lines with one red eye
from the seat of a convenient monstrosity, that god
has given Us to conquer

I'm as much the illusory sky and beyond
as much a worker in the factory gargantuan of my homeland
the centrifugal life, never flying off to extremities
average and white, safe and clear, ignorant
of death and strife

hands and eyes to this road
transfixed on the right speed
where I can dissolve
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX


As we flew on 4 wheels spinning hot against concrete in August Ozark sun through towns like Old Joe(no population listed) and Midway and Mt. Olive we had the music of Carnivale with that slow mournful banjo echoing minutely against distant mountain faces I would wonder about the people there, what kind of lives they lead in these quiet pockets of gOD-fearing Arkansas life. I hail from an unremarkable suburb in the middle of the Midwest with so many other unremarkable people, trudging through this uninspired life and an ever-diminishing consciousness. We spent countless hours touring these backroads largely filled with forested mountains and the occasional incursion of houses antique and new. And driving here, a place I'd never been, I felt so at home. No strip malls, no billboards, no construction, motorists few and far between. Just me, one friend, the mountains and that solemn banjo, the kind that would be heard at hill-folk funerals.



I don't come from these parts, but my father's family were originally from wilderness of West Virginia, true hillbillies. I believe in genetic memory and their untold generations spent in the backwoods must be embedded in my brain, a yearning for that insular life on land. So now I know: when I want to be far away from I where I live, I just want to go back home, to where I've never been, but where I know I belong.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX


To those who don't comprehend, I feel the same about you, your faith in society in family in make-believe, that all you choose works out for you and you alone. You're just characters in a story already inscribed, a crutch made of style and service to the non-existent. I'd rather be honestly miserable than falsely happy. Humans are all born diseased. The only cures are self-induced chemical catharsis, foreign chemical cataclysm...and exegesis. Hate is love decayed and deranged, affection not reciprocated, apathy freedom. Without terror in our hearts we are hibernating, waiting, paralyzed by our own electric drool, pathetic stimuli can't fulfill our extant purposes. Perception is a lie swallowed whole and reality alone can choke your throat. Perception is a wash, a gleaming of the truth; the grist of your mind has to be broken down over time.

Sunday, October 10, 2010

revolution is this evolution

Sea of Shit, Socially Retarded, Chest Pain, sick/tired, XbrainiaX @ Spider Skull Island (Kostner House), 9/30/10

It's like last winter in Dekalb all over again, but the three S's (retarded, tired, shit) have all gotten better since then. And it was my first time seeing CP and brainiaX(who were apparently very difficult to get out here; way to be coercive, Robby), both insane grindcore/pwv bands.

As usual, we arrived to find that no one would be going on for awhile, so Old Style was acquired at the corner store. Not a bad night to just sit out and drink anyway (fake edge). Familiar faces gathered steadily throughout the night (even Diego showed up, and he's too cool for this shit) with lots of booze and smoke being passed around. Sea of Shit went up first and played their first demo for the last time; they were good as always and those early songs fucking rip, maelstroms of hatred and spastic outbursts. The dual vocals provide two voices of tension and loathing; the drummer's are about as grim as gets as far as hardcore goes I know Peach is big on them, so I throw him around ignorantly in the pit a couple of times and spilled my first of many beers on the floor that night. I felt like an asshole continuously spilling beer and having cans strewn about, but I picked some up that weren't mine and disposed of them properly, keeping karma in balance. At any rate, SoS played their short but solid set and we got into more drinking, now with Gonzo & Bello of S/T and SR who'd just arrived.

Socially Retarded has been one of my absolute favorite bands since I saw them in Dekalb late last year. I remember being hooked on them as soon as they started playing and their lumberjack-looking singer proceeded to punch and slam as many people in the crowd as he could. Their lineup has changed since then, sans Omar on drums and Jimmy on guitar. Of all people, they acquired Varg Campos on bass, ya know, the fag who wore a dress when he was with Nachos(slur used with his permission). They've also added a new dimension to their wall of sound with Aleks manipulating a giant case of effects pedals and noise-making implements. I should also mention his moshing that night was some of the most beautifully ignorant and maniacal moshing I've ever seen, especially in such tight confines of the basement. He gave me whiskey, too, so they should definitely keep him in the band. SR doesn't play their older stuff anymore, but their new material is just as brilliant in its sinister grinding and abhorrent(in a good way here) vocals synthesizing in a wall of vicious noise, not replicating to you the full measure of emotional alienation and angst, but actually transcending it. Every time I see them now, they seemed to have gotten better, tighter. Their last show here, Mitch, the singer, got caught under a pile of 3 or 4 people, but never lost the mic or had his vocals phased. People this night were smashing him left and right, but he was unwavering, seething a very real hatred, but for me, equals a good time.



From this point, my memory gets a little hazy, but I have all the important plot points retained. I believe Chest Pain played next, to a very receptive crowd responding with senseless moshing and people even quasi-crowdsurfing in a basement with maybe 7' in height. It should also be noted the typical sarcasm of a Chicago crowd. The singer of CP was thanking everyone for coming out and setting up the show and whatnot being met with heckling and their sexuality being contested. Solid set.

I think at this point we went to get more beer and encountered Diego on the way; I was just approaching drunkenness at this point. We got back and ended up being to wrapped up in drinking to catch S/T's first few songs. I stumbled down there and pushed through overly-crowded basement to get up close (if there was a fire...), where I promptly opened another beer in their honor and commenced with much ignorance and hooliganism. All the times I've seen the them, the crowds were either completely out-of-hand or totally placid. This one was the former type, plenty of beer and mayhem; I think it was during this set that I smashed my left knee on the ground, after slipping in beer that I most likely spilled. Their second-to-last song was "Banishment", the perfect tune for getting stupid, even without knowing the words. If you like drinking and grindcore, sick/tired is your best bet.

XbrainiaX closed out the night. They tore through a ridiculous number of songs at the speed of coke metabolizing; the moshing was even more hectic than earlier. In the last couple of minutes, I took either a fist or elbow to the left eye which knocked out the right frame of my glasses as several others and myself were all toppled simultaneously. I tried fervently to grab the loose frame but I was denied and had to stand there holding them until the set was over and then I would begin my desperate search. Luckily they ended shortly thereafter and the frame was mere feet away, albeit scratched as fuck but still providing my right eye with improved sight as I write this. Yep, I'm an idiot. This band still killed it though. I was lucky enough to be in attendance for one of their rare Chicago appearances.
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I return with no proper ending for the review, but full of some of the best cheese I've ever been privy to as I watched RISK practice in the basement of a factory for said dairy product. Their sound seems to go for a mix of groovy rock n roll and blistering hardcore, bordering on black metal, one of vocalist Evan B's major influences. Honestly though I was more interested in the free cheese and I was not disappointed. This band might be pretty good, too.











Now I'm bordering on the state of weary consciousness into sleep and listening to Converge, making it sound that much more intense, the lapses of a waking mind allowing sound's perception to permeate further into more normally imperceptible levels of brain activity....something like that. The cheese, I think, is functioning like a drug at this point.
"I got a headful of ideas, and they are driving me insane"
Good days they have been recently. It comes with not trying to change the world so much anymore, but rather, moving with it and merely adjusting my own interactions and whims. But there is so much more value in the soundless expression in simply KNOWING something as a real thing, a loss of dichotomy between ideas and actuality. That's where so much distress lies, in that disparity. I find peace of mind in the breakdown of that strange partnership that keeps one debilitated, no longer drawing that fine line between futility and perseverance, but in encompassing all of it. Dread and despair dissipate, simplicity manifests itself...and this is definitely the most positive article I've ever written here.