future beef

RIP Christopher Hitchens/The Rebellion Against Mental Slavery

2011-12-16T09:40:00.000-08:00

1949-2011

Though he was born in Portsmouth, England, Christopher Hitchens came to America and became one its most patriotic citizens. Averse to the idea that his homeland still maintained a royal ruler who also headed the Church of England, Hitchens saw the brilliance of our Constitution, based on secular humanism and not antiquated ideas of superstition. Few people could speak so eloquently, so incisively, and so correctly about such an overriding and broad aspect of civilization: religion. Fearlessly he opposed the evils of religion, striking down with words those who promote the vile nonsense still espoused by theists worldwide. Not only was he a great American, but a great human being, a universal hero who still stands as an object of malevolence for the lost people still clinging to the fleeting concept of religion. Perhaps one day, a good majority of humanity will look upon the man with respect for his bold statements and attempts to combat the most destructive and backwards element of our various societies. His legacy shall not and should not ever be forgotten.

Fight theocratic Fascism in all its forms. Fight the rebellion of mental slavery.

There seems to be many people (many that I know) who don't claim any particular faith, but fall back on Pascal's Wager. They are intelligent enough to realize that religion is nonsense, but it's been bred in their blood for so many generations to be fearful of the consequences of not following a belief. And so often it's put into the heads of children to fear the master they also need to love. It's became an inescapable atavism that people believe in gOD "just in case". Hitchens drew the line (and boldly) where belief in the supernatural and mental freedom divide. One can't be partially faithful to one and to the other as well. Too many nonbelievers cannot surmount the obstruction religion has placed in all our lives, so they defer to it still while claiming nonbelief, or worse, agnosticism. I have heard with my own ears people say "I want all my bases covered" while practicing no tenets of a given religion. To me, this is a sign of cowardice, an unwillingness to stand up for what you truly believe in for fear of a possible deity's reprisal.

Of course we can never really know the absolute truth of the divine, but we can observe the reality of religion's barbarism, wish-thinking, and atavism and how it's plagued our world for so long. Of course many of us are in the process of figuring out religion's validity (or lack thereof) and they would certainly be "agnostic" in that sense. My message is for those who claim to know by not claiming to know, as though that solves the problem. We need people who are willing to use the extraordinary ability of the evolved human consciousness to fight that which attempts to keep it obscured and regressed by divine mandate. We don't need more people who straddle the fence, who pretend that there is no danger to religion, that even though they don't believe it they still treat it with respect and reverence; who claim that it's only institutionalized, organized religion that poses a threat, that religion is pure and good and then corrupted by humans. We need those who know and who aren't afraid to talk of religion being innately immoral and dangerous to the advancement of humanity. The sources of religion are all denigrating to us. When a majority of humanity could not discern the fictitious from the real (just scared mammals ourselves) religion was the element of control. As long as people were kept fearful of their death (and whether or not they would suffer or thrive for ALL ETERNITY), they accepted their own slavery, and still do today, though now religion comes with a much softer, more genial face to its lies. We don't need more cherry-picking, soft religions types who claim to only follow the "good" parts of their religion, creating an even more delusional affront. The leash and chain must be cut for those who realize that religion is baseless. All it takes is the courage to do it for one's self, to stand defiant against thousands of years of dishonesty, mind control, terrorism, bigotry, and mass murder. Shame those who judge others based on an invisible deity who also claim that said deity's "mind cannot be known", yet they instantly presume to speak for it and know its desires.

I always hear statements along the lines of "Well, people need something to believe in, something to comfort them". But they don't. Existence doesn't owe you a need for belief or hope that there is more than life itself. The world doesn't owe you any sense of comfort or that there are divine rules and that a deity will make all things right in an unfair world. So many have simply checked out of life on earth for the delusional prospect of a perfect, unchanging and never-ending afterlife (if they've followed the rules).

I should note that, by and large, I don't hate religious people, for that is your choice. There are those people who do things because of their belief in gOD that make them abominations of human beings as even religious people could agree with. But I don't hate the majority of them, I just want them to think about what they hold true in their head, and to see the insanity of it all. We only have each other. For too long has superstition and unachievable moral absolutism based on outright lies have stifled and strangled the advancement of all humanity towards a better world. We need more people like Hitchens who are courageous enough to fight back against the fear-mongering tide of religion as it tries to crash down and suppress us in the very core of our being. Be well, my friends, and remember, not even the divine can control your mind; use it for the reason it evolved, to ponder our condition. Be well, and choose well.

Just break up already!

2011-08-24T18:53:00.000-07:00

I've noticed at Socially Retarded's shows, when the crowd is actually into it, people never act so dangerously stupid and hostile as when they play, but there's never even been a hint of pointed violence. It was one of the few times that you could pretty much get as crazy as possible without the worry of beef. Their final show on 8/15 proved just that as the weirdos and bastards came out for one last time to rage and tear apart someone's residence.

Lindsey, Peach and I arrived first to find one person at Waterworks cleaning up the mess leftover from a show days before. Beer cans were fucking everywhere. He told us Raw Nerve played that show and I can only hope that beer was thrown at them. At any rate, we helped him clean up the place then came in possibly my favorite show-going person in Chicago, Erik the Jolly. I call him that because that's what he is, the jolliest dude I might have ever met, a punk rock Santa Claus with Predator braids. Shortly thereafter, Graham from SFN arrived and the few of us broke into the beer and whiskey. I then made the mistake of eating an entire personal pizza slathered with hot giardeneira. My stomach basically imploded and, combined with the booze, rendered me out of commission for some time. I think I listened to Other Women's entire set whilst shitting. They were real good from what I could tell. Their singer was the dude from Regrets, a solid band without a doubt. He didn't get as crazy as usual, i.e. going to the very back of the crowd and screaming lyrics into the faces of those trying to stay out of it. Definitely not bad for a first show.

Men as Witches played next I believe. They were alright, but the heat combined with the revolting stomach churning kept me in the back, drinking Jim and stealing Peach's beer. It got kind of blurry from that point, as I poured more and more liquor down my gullet and rained sweat through my pores. I can't quite recall if Vile Intent or Sea of Shit played next but they both had tight sets. Last time I saw Sea of Shit, the sound was awful and I just wasn't into it as I usually was. They killed it this time. I know little of Vile Intent but they were solid, despite Erik running into me full speed and smashing the back of my head against the front of the guy's behind me. Almost instantaneously he moved beside me and smiled and laughed. NBD.

Before Retarded played for the last time, I'd say I was about 7/10 drunk. I wasn't stumbling or slurring (that badly) just yet. As they were tuning up, someone yelled out "Just break up already!" which got uproarious laughter. I must say, Mitch the singer pretty much always looks pissed off when they're about to play and this was no exception. As soon as the first note started, sweaty bodies began mauling everything in their path, unless they were met by a greater force (myself or Erik) and sent flying elsewhere. I was grabbing everybody and forcing them to run with me into anyone standing around. Graham, with his shirt soaked all the way through, was a complete maniac, jumping and rolling at a constant. At one point, he grabbed me and after we smashed some fools, he fell, but as I tried to pick him up, I lost my momentum and decided to simply somersault over him. We both got back up and went back to town. Nick from Bongripper was doing his patented hammer-fist during the sludgy breakdown and managed to land one right on my head. Unphased I went crashing back into the crowd. Omar's cymbal was knocked down at one point and was recovered by Belo, as none of the band members seemingly gave a fuck. Mitch especially was just hostile and apparently choked this guy (who's name I don't know but I've seen at every Retarded show in the city; I believe he was "seizure-mosh guy") with both hands and pushed him out of the pit. I saw none of it as I was in my own world of chaos and mindless mutant behavior as I went all out for my favorite and best goddamn band in Chicago. Nearing the end, I found myself next to this guy Spencer. I immediately determined that he was of small enough stature that I could lift him and make a run for the other side. Went off without a hitch and he landed safely down. Figuring I was already in the lifting mood, I picked up Jimmy as he shredded his guitar on the last song and set him down safely as well. As the music broke down and devolved into hellish, abrasive noise (what a sweet, sweet sound), Mitch proceeded to kick over the drums and really, anything in sight. Belo then threw the ride cymbal into the crowd. Others followed suitably and began throwing whatever they could wherever they could. In a great final moment for me, Erik, standing in front of me, grabbed the snare drum and threw it over his right shoulder, missing my face by about an inch. Not that is sobered me up, but it gave me a short moment of clarity as I realized my face nearly got broken. He apologized profusely for doing so, but I wouldn't hear it. That's the risk you take.

And so ended a band that was probably better than anything you're currently listening to. The music and the shows were absolutely destructive, scary, maddening and hateful, but to me, were ultimately fun. The only other shows I'd have close to as much fun are Weekend Nachos, but Retarded simultaneously brought out the best and worst of people as far as the live music experience went, and now I am at somewhat of a loss. They just did it right without really trying, and in fact, showing total apathy to the crowd at times, while still being the coolest of dudes. Fuck, I'm going to miss you crazy, crazy bastards. Best wishes and all that bullshit.

.....fuck Canada.

2011-07-01T20:14:00.000-07:00

I finally decided to watch some footage of the riots recently in Vancouver, and I could not help but think of my rant so many months back about why I hate sports culture, and moronic, selfish Canadian sports fans just backed up my assertion:

It was not only that I was livid because of these people's abject stupidity and complete disregard for 10,000 years of human civilization and development, it was something more. I felt a certain hatred I haven't felt in a long time. I've been keeping up with the riots in Egypt, Libya, Syria, and Greece as of late, and the plight of those people is something I can understand, and with which I can sympathize, as corrupt governments continually sell out the interests of their people to let them squander in perpetual misery. But if you live in Vancouver, in one of the most comfortable nations on Earth, and a hockey team YOU DON'T PLAY FOR loses a few games and your only option is to start destroying your own city in addition to other people's cars and buildings, you are a worthless savage and your posturing arrogance that you're somehow glorious in your revelry of mindless and stupefying destruction is exactly what this world doesn't need any more of. It's certainly not the culture of sports that is to blame; these people are clearly idiots anyway, but the manner in which sports are given such a high priority in the modern North American world doesn't help the situation. It's 2011 and you're burning your own city over a fucking game? You're an idiotic lowlife, and it's people like you that make me completely in favor of abortion, euthanasia and eugenics.

There is some justice however:

And of course, praise to this level-headed (though clearly still drunk) gentleman talking some sense into these degenerates, and whoever stepped in to finish his inaccurate punch. Canada should give this man a medal, at the very least.

Fuck you, sports fans. Never heard of anyone rioting over a pro-wrestling match. Kind of funny that a fake sport designed for kids has more mature fans.

the heretic, part 2

2011-05-10T10:04:00.000-07:00

(This was written in response to some criticism I received over my heretical belief that man-made climate change is a hoax. Of course I was attacked personally and asked sardonically if I also believed the Earth was flat because I question global warming's actuality. The original comments to me appeared as stereotypical liberal dogma with consensus reality being passed off as fact. I have yet to receive a response, so I feel like posting this here to bolster my previous rant; I apologize for any repetition.)

"Yes, there has been a plethora of global warming research in recent years, but once you see it for the political morass that it has become, you'll know you're not seeing the full story. Politicians and mass media have employed scare tactics and manipulated people's opinions to make the theory of man-made climate change dogmatic law. The origins of this can be seen during Margaret Thatcher's administration when the miners of England went on strikes nationwide. Her method of settling that issue was to demonize these industries as great polluters and the main cause of global warming, paying off scientists to prove just that. She then, in turn, promoted nuclear power to further combat the coal miners. This was of course after the short-lived scare over global cooling in 70's, when many scientists agreed that the Earth was facing an imminent crisis of another ice age due to human activities. There certainly hasn't been another ice age. But then the consensus changed because those in power forced it to be so. It was a political ploy then, and it is now.

I recommend to you this documentary: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hpWa7VW-OME&feature=related

Note that they're all accredited and respected scientist explaining why the current notion of climate change is a scam. There's no political pandering or agendas, just science. There's certainly no vindictive, scare-mongering liberal politician trying to tell you how to live. You may ask: "Well if they're so respected why isn't their opinion the general consensus?" Easy: there's no money to be made in the idea that the Earth is doing just fine. However, if people are convinced that we are facing a major catastrophe due to our actions that can be solved simply by purchasing the right things, then you've struck gold. People like Al Gore are making millions now that people are buying into campaigns with little to no credibility. The proponents of man-made climate change have used shaky science at best to persuade people to think this way, and they just eat it right up...like always.

So if the planet's alright, we would then have to face a very real crisis: that humanity can't even co-exist with itself, that people still kill each other over the most minute of reasons and we are going to save the Earth that's in no trouble in the first place? Preposterous. It's so much easier to think that we're going to save the world with hybrid cars and organic food than to face the reality of our own demise. It's a projection of our own fears of mortality, that we just love to attack. By the way, hybrid cars are filled with well over a hundred toxic batteries and far more fuel and resources are used in their construction and transportation than a normal car could burn up in its lifetime.

Now don't get me wrong, I think finding alternative energy sources is a good idea; we shouldn't be so wasteful and polluting of the Earth's natural beauty, but to cause panic amongst people by lying to them to get them to buy into your fallacious ideas? That's just shameful. (I don't mean you personally, "you" in the general sense.)

To answer your questions, no and no. I believe in science, reason and logic, not blind faith, hypocrisy and ignorance. Though I've noticed a penchant amongst liberals to instantly label those who disagree with their lofty principles as crazy, stupid, hateful, Fascistic, etc. And I am no conservative, They're just as bad, just as dogmatic, just as detached from reality.

Environmentalism has become fanatical, just like religions. Their word is law and all those who even question their supposed truths are heretics. Call me what you will, I will always question the decrees that come down from the government and mass media."

the heretic

2011-05-03T21:30:00.000-07:00

Environmentalism: another seemingly beneficial idea until it was co-opted by the forces of marketing/advertising and liberalism. We’ve been fed lie upon lie that the Earth is headed for catastrophe because of our doing (sublimated guilt) and that anyone who disagrees is a polluting fascist. I know liberals like to think themselves on such a higher ground, but I can see that’s simply not the case when they constantly resort to reactionary labeling of disagreeing individuals in an effort to marginalize their opposition according to egalitarian dogma.

“The planet’s fine, the people are fucked.”

So much of this environmental hype stems from our unwillingness to acknowledge the fear that humanity is going to be extinct one day. Our fear then gets so easily digressed into fear for the planet’s health. We’re a petulant child, projecting our insecure paranoia to our parent world, seemingly unaware of how inconsequential we really are to it, even less so to the universe as a whole.

“Going green” has become a multi-billion dollar industry, in government and the private sector as well. Why do you think it’s become so prevalent? Because it’s true? Or because a small group of people somewhere are making literal tons of money? It’s another nice distraction for weak-minded people to think that they too can do something meaningful for the world by supposedly employing conservation. Another dead end pursuit of the American herd. The toxic batteries in your hybrid car won’t be decomposing anytime soon.

Don’t get me wrong, I think clean energy policies and alternative fuel sources are great ideas, but fuck you for trying to manipulate my opinion and that of my fellow Americans by feeding enormous lies and guilt trips. Fuck Al Gore and his rich ass telling you how to live your life. Fuck these governments that are allowing the third world to languish in continual, perpetuated misery because they’re restricted in their development to the modern world.

We can’t even save one another from basic horrors and we’re gonna save the planet that’s doing just fine in the first place? Get real.

in every direction

2011-04-15T10:28:00.000-07:00

I haven't put anything down to verse in so long, it seems ages. It's evident that I was once possessed a certain poetic zeal that seems to have subsided, or even dissipated. I can be almost sure that it's still there, dormant perhaps. Let's face it, the past couple years have seen such a cathartic release of poems and scribblings, that I might have simply burnt myself out on them. Long have I understood that art in words is not something that can be forced into creation. The poetic intent arises organically, a symbiotic creature in a sense. But where has it been? I used to think in poetry, arranging (or attempting to) my thoughts in verse, but the music of such an expression seems to have quieted in recent months. For nearly 10 years, poems were such an integral part of my continual writing process. Sure I look back in contempt or indifference for a lot of my work, but some I can still read and am incised by their sharp words and culmination of pain and anxiety into structured thought. Maybe that was the journey, maybe that was only a phase over those years to lead me here, into a less abstract state of mind.

To me, poetry's base was always in the abstract, its origin the chaos of the human mind. At times, though, in the very best of the genre, ideas emerge that are quintessential to a sort of basic understanding of our interaction with the world that surrounds us. It puts into words that which eludes us to say because of the brevity of our elaborate consciousness. It grinds down the overwhelming collection of what's in our mind into points that stab with precision in an effort to refine our thinking. All great art does this. The work that is worthwhile is that which illuminates the processes of our existence into the unending panorama of the natural world at large, which we also express in history, science, mathematics, etc. But how often humans simply associate "science" as "nature", when, in fact, science is only our interpretation of these events in nature, as history is the interpretation and analysis of events of the past that have led up to this point, as mathematics is the interpretation of the patterns and design of what we can perceive as our existence. This is, of course, not to say that there is a designer; nature is its own design, a self-fulfilling system.

There is an unfortunate number, however, of people in this world, many in my own country, that choose to believe that nature and our existence cannot possibly be without an external creator. But how could there be a being without being itself? For if god is truly an entity as most of these people believe, there has to have been an origin for such a thing, an origin that supersedes existence itself. To me, that sounds like a total avoidance of the vast majesty of this universe. Instead of simply being in awe and knowing that we are just another blip in macrocosm of time and space, people invented a buffer of sorts to keep that overwhelming status of being completely inconsequential to the universe at bay. There is an understandable fear of being such a small aspect to a system so large, but with the belief that there is an entity that is even greater that, who looks out for us, who created us in his image, who has a set of rules for us, and, most importantly, has imbued us all with a purpose in our lives, makes the frightening possibility that we really are spurious in the face of the totality of existence.

With such a belief, you trade in that intrinsic fear (however unconscious) for obeisance to what you can only imagine in your still evolving head. We are just another small step in the process of life's evolution, a process so vast we can barely understand it. And when people are faced with things they struggle to understand, they often became defensive, and choose to find a protection of sorts to deal with that which they can't comprehend. So instead of attempting to understand the mystery, they become opposed to it, and will follow that which gives them an easy answer, something that doesn't have to let them flounder in possible existential crises. As stated, there is a certain fear of simply being a primate that can talk, living on a giant sphere with other talking primates, spinning around in a dark corner of the galaxy. But is it not that fear that has driven us to greater things than huddling in caves, terrified of the natural world? If we didn't have that fear to overcome, there would have been no need to band together, to learn to communicate, to solve problems, to create tools and harness fire. That fear is just part of the need to survive, possessed by all creatures in some instinctual form. Somewhere along the line, many tens of thousands of years ago, we developed the ability to become aware of that fear and also the faculties to work our way through our inhibitions, to overcome that which could destroy and maim us, were we still the simple primates we started out as. How these abilities came about I doubt there is a real answer for. The power of our frontal lobe in terms of structured thinking and awareness of ourselves is such a unique marvel for humans. The ignorant would call it a "gift from god", but in actuality, it is probably the result of the right collusion of genetics, environment, and time. I don't think we could ever actually discern how this spark of intelligence began to become prevalent in ancient humans' brains, but is it not enough that we simply have it and can utilize it?

It is because of this development that certain groups of early humans were able to migrate from the heart of Africa to nearly every region in the world. I'm in awe to think of tribes making journeys over countless generations to newer and unseen lands, over thousands and thousands of miles, without maps, without written languages, without domesticated animals, without agriculture. How marvelous to think of the epic scope of transformation amongst these people as they dispersed all over the globe, dropping certain physical traits, the genes becoming more specific to the unique tribes, the formation of sounds into language, unifying people even more so into cohesive units. I think of ancient Scandinavians, descending out of the nomadic steppe tribes of Central Asia, who decided to just keep heading North. The impression is that of a group who were not content to stay put but rather to experience what could possibly out there in lands unknown. They had the courage to keep going, all the way to the Arctic circle, so far from equatorial Africa, so far removed from humanity's origin, and they just kept going. I think of those other Central Asian steppe peoples who would go on to found the beginnings of Chinese civilization, arguably the first (certainly in this writer's opinion) while others closely related took similar corridors east, but stayed in the North to resume the nomadic life. People came together after their ancestors traveled for thousands and thousands of miles in possibly as many years in fertile lands in the Wei Valley, wild and unbroken, and began to work together to build what would become society. I won't go into how incredible early Chinese civilization was, how intelligently and creatively they crafted their society. I think of the ancient Polynesians, not satisfied resting in tropical paradises of Indochina, they went further, built simple yet sturdy boats and traversed thousands of miles of treacherous open ocean, to settle across millions of islands, navigating by the stars alone, guided only by wind. Marvelous isn't it? To think how far we have come, to ponder the endeavors of humanity, is absolutely beautiful. The drive to overcome perceived limitations has brought humanity to this point, and it's wondrous to even consider, all the pain, death, strife, and war included in said history. To just have come so far out of cave-dwelling a couple hundred thousand years ago is mind-blowing. A couple hundred thousand years is nothing to the lifetime of this planet, and to have proliferated that much? Now that's miraculous.

"Wonderful where people come from."
-the Preacher, Deadwood

judgmental prick/beast from the East

2011-02-07T14:38:00.001-08:00

In a genre so beset by poseurs and hipsters, it's hard to find new worthwhile metal in this world. I've largely given up on discovering new American metal that's actually worthy of its namesake. But thanks to the Information Age in which we live, I've found at least two acts that are currently profound and interesting music. The first is Tengger Cavalry, which, from what I read, is a one-man band out of China with partial Mongolian ancestry. Long have I been enamored with Mongol history and culture and also with the various peoples that express their musical voice in the form of throat signing. To the average Westerner, I'm sure, throat singing just sounds bizarre and alien, but after immersing myself for so long in this style, the beauty and emotion are latent. Perhaps what stands out most of throat singing is that it sounds inhuman, nothing like what we consider in the West a "beautiful singing voice". I find it closer to black/death metal vocals that have only arisen in the past 25 or 30 years. If we look at the cultures from which these different voices derive, we find some similarities. My theory is that Mongols and Tuvans developed their unique vocals from the seemingly endless years they spent (and still spend) riding the harsh steppes of Siberia and the Gobi, where desolation thrives and human edifices dot not the landscape. There is an overwhelming emptiness here. Life is sparse, wind, earth and sky are everything. It's Mongols who long worshiped the Great Blue Sky and all it encompasses; it was Genghis Khan who wished to unite all of humanity under its banner. For the metal vocals to which I was referring, I'll just stick with Norwegian Black Metal of the late 80's/early 90's. These people found their heritage in the vast forests and frigid mountains of Scandinavia, in the icy fjords and snow that never melts. If we look at their Viking heritage, we find similar people: consummate warriors, great travelers, prone to extreme violence with a mind to conquer, and unarguably tough as nails.

Exhibit A:

Tengger Cavalry's music just takes me away to another world, a place where modern life does not bombard me with constant lies and fake morality. It is a place where survival supersedes all, where life and death's meaning haven't been obscured by boredom-induced neurosis over trivialities. The music is alive with the strife of tribal war cries and the idea that the world is as large as one's horse can take them. I find this fusion not only fascinating, but lasting. I've searched through much Chinese metal, and discovered that most of it is generic and simply emulates the cliches brought about by more mainstream metal. It seems they've simply tried to recreate substandard Western metal, and, for me, does nothing. There's too much uninspired, boring metal as it is. But that's the way it goes nowadays, a broad spectrum to appeal to the masses rather than a deeply introspective and unique take on the genre. For every Burzum, there's a thousand Dimmu Borgirs. What I find most dreadful about most Chinese metal, is that there is no reflection of their culture present in the music. I've gone on about this before, but their history and cultural roots extend much farther than Europeans in terms of civilization, and to me, should be inescapable to the creators. To deny all that seems disingenuous and makes for uninteresting music. Tengger, on the other hand, embraces the rich musical history of his ancestry and has created some absolutely breathtaking and original metal. It just works.

Exhibit B:

As extensive as my love for metal is, death metal was one genre that has really not intersected with my interests until very recently. It's always been there in my periphery, but never really came into the forefront. There always seemed something not all that engaging in it; it appeared to me, in a way, that it was heavy for heavy's sake, without truly creating a profound listening pleasure as did, say, Norwegian Black Metal. Of course, my perceptions of the sub-genre, for the longest time, were bands like Cannibal Corpse and Six Feet Under, who are rather dull. Years ago, I read the anus.com review for Massacra, whose album "The Final Holocaust" they deem as the best album in the style. Say what you will about those at the ol' anus, but when it comes to true and worthy metal, they're above and beyond anyone else on the internet. I recall downloading a couple of Massacra's tracks, not knowing they were from the "Demo '88" version of "The Final Holocaust" and not the album proper from 1990. The definitive versions on the album are far different from the early rough cuts, but both are brilliant in their own way. The "Demo" versions allude to a thrashier origin, more related to the early Slayer idea of mixing NWOBHM and hardcore punk, them speeding up and amplifying the fuck out of it, whereas the official album is undeniably real death metal, a progress fulfilled.

Still, by and large, I'm not as infatuated with DM as much as other metal, but along came Chaotic Aeon out of China, and I felt after listening to it, how I should after most good metal: like my ass has been kicked. DM has been so marginalized since its inception by mainstream "tough guys" who co-opted the riffage to emphasize how bad ass they are, all the while creating garbage music that contributes nothing to the tradition of metal. It's a ploy, a sham, a sad effort those more concerned with creating an image and a style, to convince other (and themselves) that they too can be metalheads, without understanding or respecting the genre itself. But in this time and place: "It's my music, bro, you can't tell me otherwise!" So weak, ineffectual rock band continuously rehash the angular guitar riffs of old metalcore bands like Integrity or Rorschach, all the while their music is actually more akin to pop or it's just a simulacra with the actual intention to just "have fun" and "party", when metal is not about that. At all. Metal has always been for the alienated, the outcast, the ugly, those who can't/don't/won't conform to the sheepish ways of their peers, for those who know that the music the majority loves is just empty and invalid entertainment, meant to keep you sated and satisfied, whereas metal has always been about hungering for more than the scraps you're given by family, religion, society, education, etc. It's not about just accepting people and ideas for who and what they are because that's what this modern liberal society dictates that you do. It's more based on Mongol society in the time of Genghis: merit and what you can bring to the group. If it's honest and intelligent and devoid of ineffectual pandering, then it's accepted. Metal is not pop music; work is not considered important because "Hey, this sounds good", there underlies a deeper meaning to it beneath the abrasiveness and screaming/growling. It's about how a few wolves can decimate and scatter the flock of sheep, not becoming a mindless herd itself.

Exhibit C, just because it's so goddamn good, even better than the original, in this judgmental prick's humble opinion:

Thank you, Mr. Zimmerman

2011-01-15T13:57:00.000-08:00

No, I do not feel that good
When I see the heartbreaks you embrace
If I was a master thief
Perhaps I’d rob them

And now I know you’re dissatisfied
With your position and your place
Don’t you understand
It’s not my problem

I wish that for just one time
You could stand inside my shoes
And just for that one moment
I could be you

Yes, I wish that for just one time
You could stand inside my shoes
You’d know what a drag it is
To see you

Pleroma Pie

2011-01-11T16:21:00.000-08:00

Driving home through wind sharpened by ice, I turn on 98.7 in the car, as my cd player has been malfunctioning due to the cold, and I hear a short piano piece, obviously written for the harpsichord or clavier, and for a couple of minutes, I'm absolutely mesmerized by the combination of melody, harmony and skill. Like so many times when I listen to that station, I wait patiently for the end of the piece to find out what it is I just heard. Peter Vandergraaf's baritone voice soberly tells me it's this:

Not ashamed to admit that I thought of tears whilst hearing this. I didn't cry, but I was so moved by this piece, a short and masterful work of the early 1600's in this almost unrelatable modern day. But there is only so much I can say, the real beauty is in the hammer hitting the strings.

apparent chaos

2010-12-20T11:06:00.000-08:00

Though I'm not the misanthrope I once was, I still maintain a general dislike for most of humanity. Nothing personal, I just view these people by and large according to the Carlin Personality Types: stupid, full of shit, and fucking nuts. Some people are indeed all 3. Yet...I still care, obviously, enough to rant and rave about it to whomever might be so inclined to read. And why? Simple; because you people FUCKING FASCINATE ME. Whether it's someone who exemplifies bold and courageous action, intelligence and wisdom, or supreme idiocy and pointless drivel, I'm ever amazed and perplexed by what I see. And I'm addict for what confounds me. I'm not one to let mysteries go unsolved; I seek to know more than anything. But then again, I'm not really one for incessant questioning, I prefer to discover facts & truth on my own accord. I'm a sucker for questions with no easy answer, or even none at all. But that has its downfalls, of course.

Being lost in a labyrinth can be exhilarating and a gainful challenge, but with it comes frustration, repetition, and the occasional despair. But all the absurdities, all the wastes of time and energy, all the dead ends...they ended up amounting to a worthwhile understanding, something I can't really express here in words, an acquired intrinsic element to my mentality. Not all questions can be solved, but we can attune ourselves to how we deal with apparent chaos in our lives. After all, imperfection is the essence of our existence, making perfection its antithesis. We can only strive for what's real, not what's ideal. Remember to breathe.

"There is no reality
This is a mere dream"

For me, I find the value in hardcore for a sense of outward experience, my demeanor to the world. In metal, I find to truly gain anything from it, it's best for solitary listening, in meditative states. Integrity is where those two roads meet, music simultaneously designed for destructive moshing culminating in an egregious display of "fuck you" to the world and being in communication with the internal consciousness as it transcends the oppressive mind to portray the infinite and inhuman.

Say What You Mean

2010-12-19T11:31:00.001-08:00

I recently watched Bertolucci's "The Last Emperor" in its entirety for the first time, and within the near 3 hours, one line really stuck in my head. The child emperor asks pedantically one of his favored eunuchs why he must learn to read and write. The eunuch (played by Victor Wong, grandpa from 3 Ninjas!) responds to him calmly: "Because your Majesty, if you can't say what you mean, you will never mean what you say!" I know this phrase, or variations thereof, is a sort of common cliche or proverb, but it intrigues me to think of its origins and place in society.

Immediately I'm reminded of Confucius, who taught actions supersede words and that words should always match the action ("Perfects acts need no words"). For a language I don't speak, I'm utterly fascinated by it. Whereas in English, our thoughts our expressed in combinations of basic phonetic symbols read left to right, top to bottom. Chinese is expressed in symbolic ideograms ranging from a few simple lines to immensely complicated representations, but still only sounded by only one syllable, sometimes two, written perpendicularly to ours, top to bottom, right to left. From what I've gathered in the various novels, histories, and poetry I've read, the words are concise as can be, while expressing complex ideas. Economy of language, which I learned from Ezra Pound years ago, finds its hallmark in Chinese. I think I'm so interested in it because of its diametric opposition to English, a hodgepodge language filled with illogical nuances, that somehow is both extremely effective and highly insufficient in terms of expression. We also seem to be a society that gives far more attention to those well-spoken and wordy rather than those who embrace action first and speak little of it.

I'm not sure why I find myself so engrossed in a culture so far removed from my own in both time and place, but Confucianism just makes more sense to me than the world of Christendom that has encapsulated this hemisphere. In an effort to say what I mean, I would say that I'm a humanist in the original Confucian sense, that we forge our own destiny within our natural world, but not in the modern liberal sense, where the notion that the world is imperfect and somehow owes people idealism. "Certain unalienable Rights" are a very nice, quaint idea, but let's not forget they were drafted by slave owners who also said "all men are created equal". America is a great place to live, don't get me wrong, but we were founded on an inconsistent, contradictory basis. Now we're barely out of the primordial cave, but such is the modern mentality where it seems most people think we've reached our evolutionary apex and things are just great and swell the way they are and they should stay this way, awash in mediocrity the "freedom" to do as you see fit, no matter how idiotic and useless it is, as long as no one gets hurt, right? Evolution isn't linear, we are not moving towards one great human utopia on earth. These things move in cycles, it's about adapting to your environment, a process that will not, that cannot, ever end. But now, people largely seem content just working, buying things, accepting endless indoctrination whether subtle or latent, buying more things, working more to pay for those things, and trying to believe that everything will turn out a-ok, as long as the taxes are paid.

I often think of what it would've been like to know a world without rampant technology, without television, cell phones, internet, recordings of music, central air, indoor heating and plumbing, prepackaged food, etc. To me, it would seem a person lacking all these things would be a more "real" human, a more complete one. We have the option now to give up so much of our lives to technology (not judging here, I do it plenty) in lieu of dealing with reality. There's certainly nothing wrong with technology, in and of itself, it's all in how we deal with it, what uses we make. Seems beyond insane to me that in America within the next 10 years, a majority of people will have or will desire a 3D television, yet we'll still be in the dark on curing major diseases, not killing one another over matters petty and political, and what the hell to do with all these starving homeless clogging up our streets. Americans focus A LOT of attention on trivial matters and doing things simply for fun while the country as a whole shows its fractures.

But ultimately, what does one do? Lament all glaring errors and lose your own life trying to fix everyone's problems? Not give a fuck and just have fun, regardless of reality? Again, I find my answer in a Chinese proverb: "If a man does not discipline himself, he cannot bring order into the home." It all must start within the individual to make a conscious effort to effect civilization into the shared human world.

Also: "To keep things going in a state of ten thousand cars: respect what you do and keep your word, keep accurate accounts and be friendly to others, employ the people in season."

Yet we live in a ferocious and hostile world. How can this be? My guess is that ethics are not fully ingrained into humanity yet. We have them and they make sense on paper, but we're still not at that point where we can be a civil and peaceful populace, if it's indeed possible at all. The only thing one can really do is act civil in their own way and promote benefice in their own natural way. It's simple to be a human, but it's not easy.

3 Tenets

2010-12-06T08:57:00.001-08:00

Address blind faith.
Challenge hypocrisy.
Correct ignorance.

Wherever you go.

It took years, but I now relish it when my ideas are challenged and people tell me I'm wrong. One's conceptualized thoughts can only grow so much inside the mind; they must be put out there, they must face defiance. Without rivalry, stagnation occurs. Without enemies, there are no heroes.

All things maintain a natural aversion. Best not to try to escape it, lest we lose our own reflection.

New Mosh Generation

2010-11-28T12:49:00.000-08:00

"Did anyone call shotgun? SHOTGUN!" I yelled as we prepared to depart Cheeseville. Yeah, I took front seat and I'm not even in the band. The sun had just gone down and the chill began to rise, but felt good after breathing in spray paint fumes in the basement. Evan made a "RISK" stencil and he, Varg, and I sprayed each CD individually. If you got one, I wouldn't recommend putting it in a CD player you give a shit about; there's a good chance that stuff will chip off inside of it. I think the first 50 copies of the Risk demo will suffice as more of a collector's item. Just download it for free anyway: http://www.megaupload.com/?d=SBX7LJBP

Half-buzzed from a couple Old Style's and a hitter or two, Danny and I tried to find ridiculous music on the radio to sing along to. I think we hit gold with GNR's cover of Dylan's "Knockin' on Heaven's Door". I can never contain my laughter when Axl sings "Hey, hey, hey hey hey hey" in his overly-nasal style. We were all laughing pretty hard, trying to keep the chorus going and throwing in various other GNR lines into the mix. After that song, I jumped around the radio when I hit ELO's "Fire on High" which I switched off much to the chagrin of Evan who yelled and demanded I keep it on. I'll admit, it's a nice little piece of music...

After what seemed like an egregiously long ride, we arrived in the alley behind the Albion House. Two other vans were parked, hazards on, with the other bands carrying in their gear. We began to unload when I noticed a police car coming up the alley. For as long as I can remember, cops have made me uneasy, even if I'm not holding or doing anything that would warrant trouble. Always felt they were more interested in just fucking with people rather than the whole "serve and protect" facade. But we went about our business as they ticketed the van belonging to Like Rats and no one else. It's things like this that kinda legitimizes my paranoia. At any rate, we got everything safely inside, had a smoke, and went in search of food. Diego instructed me to a nearby Mexican place (tacos al pastor is my staple hc show food) but I couldn't find it, so we got falafel instead. We scarfed it down ASAP as there was no way we were missing Black & Blue, aka The Chris Schuman Experience. Chris is a dude whose friends I've known for years and vice versa. He comes from Elgin where I used to work, with several of his longtime friends actually. And in that interim of me being "out of contact" with the S-Wood Fam, Schuman and Diego befriended and now live together (Whipple Wimps). Anyhow, he was already drunk when we got there around 6:30 and continued to pound beers until they played. Since my dumbass left the Wild Turkey at home, I mooched beers off of Peach and Evan and even went so far as to drink a Four(not a Loko) to maintain the slight drunkenness.

B&B began a little before 8, with guitars feeding back and Schuman pacing around goonishly as a good hc frontman will do. He certainly looks the part. I couldn't quite make out what he said before they started, just that it ended with "we're Black and Blue! Fuck you!" Their style is straight ahead hardcore, fast but not too fast, with mosh parts but not excessive to the point of just being dumb. I remember in the first song Spider bursting out from behind me and doing his running mosh, which to those unaware, means "FUCKING MOVE". Evan came out to the floor, most likely to maintain his title of Chicago's number one mosher, which he did with ease and brutality. He even threw in a few spin kicks that caught a couple of people on the arm. Dude is a joy to watch if you find hardcore dancing interesting. Often times I'll be more focused on the maniacs in the pit than the band. And there certainly was plenty of action here, with Schuman dropping the mic and slamming various attendees against the plywood over concrete walls. During the first song, his mic got unplugged and the band just kept playing while he fucked with the cords. He re-electrified it just in time to finish the song in a dramatic move. After much pitting (not from me however) they went into a cover of Minor Threat's "Salad Days" and "I Don't Wanna Hear It", both to excellent reception. Their next song really grabbed my attention with the groovy guitar line backed by a raging rhythm section. I had no idea the title or words, but I hope to in the near future. Truly not bad for a first show.

As always, I stood outside with a drink and a smoke waiting for Risk to begin. Varg was out there, too, while the rest of the band set up their stuff. Varg does what he wants, don't forget it. I was somewhat surprised by the small crowd that night, however. There is usually a much bigger turnout, with the basement and backyard filled. I'm not sure where everyone was and I wasn't aware of another show that night. On the plus side, a non-packed basement meant one could actually breathe and not tempt heatstroke.

The blunt Evan lit up was intended for after the set as a celebratory inhalation, but he had the good sense to light it up right as the band started, announcing Risk's new mantra: "If it ain't gettin' puffed, your ass is gettin' snuffed." He passed it around to the band as they were tuning up, getting that tension going that I've come to expect from a good band. Danny passed it off to me then I to Schuman and that first crash was heard followed by that infectious bass line into "WE'RE RISK!" Unfortunately the mic went out, so Evan just sang with outspread arms. There was all sorts of mayhem and plenty of ignorant moshing. Evan's banter was just priceless, especially when he called me out as Risk's "only real fan". Big Wheel needs the publicity. Probably the first and last time you'll hear a Discharge cover out of them. Best moment by far was after one of their songs, Evan put up the "T" sign with his hands and took some sips of water. I yelled out, "There's no time-outs in hardcore, pussy!" He managed to spray a perfect mist of water right in mine and Schuman's face. Chris responded with a loogie shot perfectly into Evan's ear. Had he been lacking earplugs, that would've been a horrendous wet willy.

Their set reminded me of some MW lyrics:
"We are the army of drunks
Our weapons are set to destruct
We've come to punish all foes
Now it's our time to erupt!"

It appears the NMG is going to be fueled by alcohol, THC, and whatever toxic shit they put into energy drinks. Another awesome, unpredictably chaotic show from Risk. My only hope is they get more destructive with each set. Someone needs to promote utter foolishness since Duress ended...

After the set, I was approached by a super-drunk older guy from the "cornfields" who had that look of pure happiness on his face, the kind that actually manifests physically within the body. He raised his fist for me to bump and seemed highly appreciative of all the ridiculous action. I had never seen him or his two friends before, but he was telling me how much he loves these kinds of shows and that they never happend where he's from, wherever that is. Sometimes it's these interesting random meetings that make these so much fun. I went out for some air, which felt amazing after standing amongst so much body heat in that cramped basement. Danny brought the van back around and we proceeded to load it back up. I think I scored another beer from someone at that point and went down to check out The New Yorker, featuring members of Raw Nerve or something. RN's a pretty good band, much better live than on record I think. I think TNY would be the opposite. I recall it sounding cool, but not something I want to stand around and watch at a show. Schuman resurfaced at this point with a bottle of Jimmy from the liquor store which he so graciously allowed me to sip from, then he disappeared again, probably to puke then get more booze.

The only time I've seen Like Rats was their Black Flag cover set at the Albion House Halloween show. Turns out they don't really sound anything like BF at all. Their style is one of relentless hostility without sounding like typical tough guys. What I really liked about them is that their music is constantly ripe for moshing of all sorts without trying to be. It's not garbage "mosh metal" that's become so popular nowadays; it is what is without some stupid label that predicated the music. People were moving furiously for this band, including those aforementioned dudes from the boonies. I swear, one of them looked just like Grover Gil from A Christmas Story. It was a lot of fun to watch that little guy spin around and throw fists. At one point, one guy took a nasty spill and smashed his knee real hard on the floor. People went to pick him up but he yelled to be left alone and, like a fucking man, army-crawled out of the pit where he eventually pulled himself up and went outside. Like Rats finished out their brutal set to a great reaction from the (relatively) minimal crowd.

I think it was around this time that I ended up in a somewhat heated argument with Jeff Klepper about China. His stance was "Fuck China. They've never done shit", while mine was "China's always been more advanced than the West and will probably take over the world someday." It got kind of stupid but entertaining. We never finished our debate, but I think I had the winning hand. He gave me some of his Bacardi Raz (I did what I had to, alright) later on so it was all good.

In a brilliant move, we walked to the liquor store where Peach bought a 6-pack of Old Style tallboys; what a fucking lifesaver.

Razorfade was up next to finish out the night, their first time headlining in Chicago. I found it quite humorous that a straight edge band was playing after all the drunken debauchery and pot-smoking that went down. The singer, Carlos, is one friendly dude however, and member of the Streamwood Families. I've always enjoyed seeing them play, a blistering, ultra-angry youth crew style, with plenty of beats for dancing like a crazy person. I think they covered Minor Threat too (guess which song!) to a crowd of equally enthusiastic moshers. Carlos really tears it up in that respect, with his lanky arms and long legs flying at top speed as he runs back and forth fluidly. Best to stay out of his way. Other than their set at My Friends, The Pit earlier this year in Indy, this was definitely my favorite time I've seen them. It's interesting to not think of them as a "newer" band anymore. They've definitely become a staple of Chicago hardcore.

Unconscious Oppression

2010-11-28T10:08:00.000-08:00

This is a poem by Ezra Pound entitled "Commission". This sums up everything for me. I'm sure there's thousands of words I could use to explain it, but if you read it, let it sink in and digest, you'll understand perfectly.

Go, my songs, to the lonely and the unsatisfied,
Go also to the nerve wracked, go to the enslaved by convention,
Bear to them my contempt for their oppressors.
Go as a great wave of cool water,
Bear my contempt of oppressors.

Speak against unconscious oppression,
Speak against the tyranny of the unimaginative,
Speak against bonds.
Go to the bourgeoise who is dying of her ennuis,
Go to the women in suburbs.
Go to the hideously wedded,
Go to them whose failure is concealed,
Go to the unluckily mated,
Go to the bought wife,
Go to the woman entailed.

Go to those who have delicate lust,
Go to those whose delicate desires are thwarted,
Go like a blight upon the dullness of the world,
Go with your edge against this,
Strengthen the subtle cords,
Bring confidence upon the algae and the tentacles of the soul.

Go in a friendly manner,
Go with an open speech.
Be eager to find new evils and new good,
Be against all forms of oppression.
Go to those who are thickened with middle age,
To those who have lost their interest.
Go to the adolescent who are smothered in family___
Oh how hideous it is
To see three generations of one house gathered together!
It is like an old tree with shoots,
And with some branches rotted and falling.

Go out and defy opinion,
Go against this vegetable bondage of the blood.
Be against all sorts of mortmain.

Words set in stone do still erode.

2010-11-23T12:10:00.001-08:00

Writing is like performing an autopsy. You don't learn anything by scratching the surface. You have to rip the guts out, cut and weigh the vital organs, the skull must be sawed open and the brain carefully examined. Nothing is gained unless your hands are covered in blood and bile and viscera. Good writing is the act of exposing what's really going on under the facade of what we're restricted to perceive by the five senses. It is the act of creating by destroying, whereas mediocrity and works made for profit only are the opposite, by their conception, they destroy something worthwhile.

However harsh or painful, writing that is artistry draws out the real regardless of personal sensibility. It makes you think of things you don't want to, but should. It makes you realize why life matters by knowing that only death is guaranteed. One can only "feel alive" when death is no longer denied, and that we know our inconsequential place in the universe.

Though the sun shines, the wind grows ever colder. Winter shall soon be here, leaving the trees bare and the grass gray. I'm looking forward to walking alone through the snow at night, listening to this album by Darkthrone. The title track really comes alive when one is alone and on foot in freezing temperatures, wrapped in unforgiving icy winds. This song especially, with the guitars distorted almost to the point of pure noise while playing rapturous minimalistic melodies combined with the inhuman voice (drawing it away from mundane societal norms and into the harshness of nature) and unrelenting idiosyncratic blastbeats makes for the perfect winter music. Beauty is not something perfect, it is in the understanding and overpowering of raw ugliness.

Speaking of profound metal, this next song might be its pinnacle. I don't think I've ever gotten so lost in a piece of music as I have with "Det Som en Gang Var" by Burzum. It lulls you into a sort of dreamlike state with the gently distorted guitars over a smooth keyboard lines, then breaks into drums of war, the uprising of humanity out of primordialism into organized, warlike apes. Varg's tortured screams set against mid-tempo (techno-inspired) metal reflect a humanity that has lost all meaning of human nature, that seeks to shut out the cold, unforgiving world. But we can't, we're just a blip in the history of Earth, while it spins around like a giant electron, uncaring for our petty desires and needs. This music certainly isn't for everyone, but it's a bold statement of personal anguish in the face of universal decay.

It should be noted: I have no interest in Varg Vikernes' politics, just the music.

Now you know my name, but I don't feel the same.

2010-11-20T08:06:00.000-08:00

Most of the time, after writing for about decade now and taking it seriously, I'm starting to think I have a grasp on how it should be done, however vague the notion, it's coming into the clear.

But still, sometimes, I really think I have no fucking idea what I'm talking about and that none of this makes any sense.

"future beef" - No one cares about the slaughterhouse cow. You like them after they're killed by someone else, washed clean, cut up and packaged for easy consumption. You'll like me better after I'm dead.

I hated the city for a long time. All the traffic, all the noise, and the fact that there are just too many people. When one is misanthropic, these things tend to keep you away. But over the years, I've gradually acclimated myself to enjoying it. A part of me even wants to move there. But how I long to hit the road and just SEE this enormous country and all the beauty and wonder that is still present. I've never been out West, never seen the vast wilderness of uninhabited lands, never seen a desert, the Rockies or the Pacific.

"Growin' old and I wanna go home..."

Let's get crossed out and come to harm.

2010-11-18T14:18:00.000-08:00

I have a darkness, which frightens lovers away. Whenever I assist the
dying, I cannot help but absorb a tiny spillet of their existence. Over
the cycles, the endless parade of death... I've accumulated a vast
reservoir of evil. I cannot bear to lose the one thing that mitigates this twisted core of my existence.- Stark, Farscape

Where I used to see bitterness in my past over myriad mistakes, there are now only lessons. All that hate and regret and wasted time no longer sums up to despair, though it can never truly leave my head. The past hasn't changed, only my mind. Perhaps the greatest thing I've ever done for myself was lose my mind; I know how it can cripple oneself against the will in such strange contradictory fashions. A mind out of balance with its host has been adjusted, no longer spins in pointless, grinding cycles. This is not to say I no longer hate or feel pain, but that it doesn't leave me mentally paralyzed. Without pain and ugliness, one doesn't know pleasure or beauty, nor can see that they reflect one another and contain each others' elements (Yin in Yang, Yang in Yin).

"Governing by the light of one's conscience is like the pole star which dwells in its place, and the other stars fulfill their functions respectfully."
-Confucius, "Analects", Book Two, Verse One

Of course he was referring to governance of the Chinese Empire, but clearly understood that that microcosm reflects the macrocosm, that existence mirrors itself on all levels of reality, from the universal to the subatomic, and that knowing and fulfilling one's own nature is what makes humanity successful. We cannot aspire to copy others outright, we can only aspire to be our truest self, and henceforth, prosperity, in both the material and immaterial sense. We cannot be complete ascetics nor simple tools of government; humans in their respective societies are complex creatures and to find any value in life, we must understand these parts and balance them accordingly to our situations. The whole point of Confucius' works was that he idealized the template for humanity by pointing out there is no ideal template, no ingrained moral structure, and no divinity dictating our lives. There is us and only us, monkeys with language all alone on an indifferent planet, and we have to make it work for ourselves by balancing our faculties of reason, passion, wisdom, and courage.

Think of trees, as they grow, unprejudiced, towards the light of the sun.

The spirit of shirtless boy wanders from show to show.

2010-11-14T08:30:00.000-08:00

11/12/10
Risk somehow managed to get on college radio at UofC. Peach and I left the burbs around 4 and after almost two hours made it to Cheeseville, and actually got a parking spot up front for once. Right before their practice set, I overheard Evan in mid-conversation say "Oh you didn't know?" The following phrase has been forever ingrained in my head so when I hear the former, I'm now naturally inclined to think: "YO ASS BETTER CALL SOOOOMMMMMEBOOOOODDYYYYYY!" Evan, in his infinite wisdom, decided to adopt that as the pre-introduction, to be uttered in unison right before "We're Risk!" To my readers both faithless and hypothetical, that was the catchphrase of the New Age Outlaws from late-90's WWF, which would announce the arrival of the Road Dogg Jesse James and the Bad Ass Billy Gunn. Chicago hardcore and vintage wrestling phrases being brought together? Sign this observer up.

So we loaded up and piled into NifeLheim and made the journey out to the University, and after a shitload of turnarounds, we managed to park right in front of the studio building. Campos was still en route, just a little Varg lost in the big city. I also noticed that since none of us wore cardigans, button-up shirts, stereotypical hipster glasses, or had weak beards or styled hair to look like it wasn't styled but just fell that way, we really didn't fit on the campus. Most of these types that attended here all had really stern looks on their faces, like they were trying to suppress a friendly demeanor, sans the radio guys, who were totally cool and into Risk's ridiculous antics.

When we got to the studio, the first band, SPANYURD, was setting up. I could already tell by how dramatically the bassist was slapping his instrument, that it probably wasn't going to be something I enjoyed all that much. We were in and out of the room, a few others showed up in support of Risk, and Varg was still "on his way". Peach and I decided to wait in the street for him and assure him a convenient parking spot. Whilst waiting, a school bus stopped in the street, put on its lights and opened its door. Normally when this occurs, people just wait for the pickup/dropoff. This idiot fucking cab driver, however, laid on his horn (like the fucking idiot he was) for the WHOLE TIME the bus was stopped. As much as I try, I doubt I'll ever fathom the depths of human ignorance and stupidity. Anyhow, Varg ended up parking a block or two over and we guided him through the labyrinth up to the studio where SPANYURD was in the middle of a "song". I stomached it for about 30 seconds before departing. I can only watch someone jerk off a guitar for so long. God knows how many noise bands I've seen doing the EXACT same thing. Ryan Wilson had showed up at that point, a dude whose band I've seen a bunch of times and talked to for a microt or two here and there, but never a formal introduction before tonight. We all bullshitted for awhile and continued to wander the halls until Risk was actually ready to go.

Ryan mentioned that he wanted to film the set so I gave him Peach's camera. I had originally intended on filming it, but I gradually acquired the desire to get a little moshing in, so big ups to Mr. Wilson for doing that. What follows is that video, and it mostly speaks for itself. These dudes Jeff and Cody thought it would be funny to encourage our friend Brett Zimmer to punch Evan in the face during the first song. I knew he would probably just do it, but they immediately offered him $20 to do so, which he gladly accepted. While they were testing for sound, a slightly intoxicated Brett took off his shirt, as he claimed it was better for the acoustics. But we all knew he was just being inhabited by the spirit of shirtless boy, who attempts to ruin shows wherever he goes. Thing about hardcore, though, is you're usually welcome to try to start chaos for a band, especially if they're close friends. I don't think shirtless boy was ready for Evan's hip-hop-kido expertise (he should have known by the intense freestyling that occurred before and throughout the set) and the video clearly shows the outcome of that conflict. Shirtless boy ended up bloody and bruised, but his attempted ruining of their set was a win for all involved.

On the way back to Cheeseville, Danny and I were up front in NifeLheim, where we witnessed a mugging at a 4-way stop. One dude was running to the cab stopped perpendicular to us where he tried opening the door only to be grabbed by the perpetrator who pursued him. They tangled for a few seconds right next to the cab before first dude was dropped to the ground, some contents of his pocket stolen, then second dude runs off with first dude now in pursuit. Ah, Hyde Park, lovely neighborhood. Another ridiculous night in the name of hardcore.

Ukraine is key to Europe

2010-11-06T10:54:00.000-07:00

At some point around 2am on Thursday I had woken up to see a text on my phone from Evan that RISK would be opening at this show, making it their official debut. Peach offered to drive as they had planned on a quick practice at the cheese factory beforehand. After sitting through an hour or so of traffic we arrived at the Fulton Market around 6:30, unloaded the equipment real quick to the front door and proceeded to search for parking. I pointed out a spot in front of semi-truck right around the corner where Peach performed some highly shady parking maneuvers, including backing up into the HUGE truck behind him. After that minor ordeal we returned to their practice space, through the epic walk in freezer of seemingly endless gourmet cheeses (including some 8-year old Extra Sharp Cheddar, more on that later). I think it took more time to load everything in and down the dark stairway to the basement than it took for them to actually play. They set up and ran through their set once while I broke down weed for the remainder of the evening. Before I know it we were dragging the cabs back upstairs and loading them into "Niohoggr", formerly "Nifelheim". All the vans the company uses get their names from Norse mythology (Yggdrasil included). Now I've driven some "worn-in" work vans in my time but this one emanated noises from the engine and various bearings and connection points that began to sound more organic the harder the gas pedal was pushed, where it would usually take a second or two for the the gas to actually kick in when pressed upon.

We arrived at Summercamp a little after 7:30, where Danny pulled an epic U-turn on Kedzie to park almost right in front of the house. So we loaded out, smoked, and began to file into the basement, where maybe 20 people had gathered. Now I've only been coming to shows for only about a year and a half and am meeting new people at every one, but I didn't recognize 99% of the crowd tonight, and very young they seemed. I noticed while Risk was setting up, the several kids right up front socializing, slightly amused that they might not be ready for Evan when he grabs the mic and begins assaulting the crowd. And as I learned that evening, Evan's small stature and boyish looks (complete with Hitler Youth hairstyle) are just scenery; dude is a maelstrom of fearsome moshing violence.

Instead of just saying who they are, they turned it into a song: "We're Risk", that Evan screamed and then proceeded to attack us up front. He ran full speed, and due to his low center of gravity as opposed to mine up high he was able to push me against the wall...or where I thought the wall was. There was actually a closet there, door open, that I fell all the way into, smashing my shin on something on the way down, dented bones now on the left to mirror those on the right that I got about a decade ago when I slipped and hit my shin on a steel trailer hitch. I immediately got up and tackled Evan against the opposite wall, crushing others in the process, and then throwing him back up front in time for "Do Drugs". I was thinking of saying how it's refreshing to not hear a straight edge message, but grindcore shows and alcoholism/pot-smoking seem to go hand-in-hand, though Risk is pretty far from a gc band. They tore through their last 3 songs, the highlight probably being Evan pointing at people individually while singing "YOU! YOU'RE STILL IN MY HEAD!" followed by stomp-moshing, then closing with their Repos cover. First show success. Though Evan mentioned afterward: "I don't think these people like hardcore." They have a show coming up on the 27th @ Albion House (Black and Blue debuts), and it's bound to be far more destructive. Come get your face knocked off of your face.

We then disassembled the equipment and loaded the van back up, put everything in a nice order, tarped it and went and got some tacos at La Cocina, which I persuaded Varg into buying me. We returned filled with some damn good tacos al pastor, but we had missed the next band, so we stood out back, smoking and drinking NON-ALCOHOLIC BEVERAGES. Hercules from Omaha played next. Having never heard them, I wasn't expecting anything, good or bad, but they really tore it up. Their music would shift between fast screaming over blastbeats into weird 70's arena rock style guitar riffed breakdowns, which I was surprisingly enthused over. That's one of the greatest things about coming to these sorts of low-profile house shows: you're almost always bound to discover for yourself a really great obscure band. Would totally see this band again.

Scare Quotes played after them. The super fast grind wasn't bad, but what was really great was being told how horrible I am in this world for being a straight white male. I was just overpowered and moved by own guilt. But seriously, I totally appreciate your stance, but telling a bunch of hardcore kids about LGBT equality is preaching to the choir. Have you seen some of the haircuts here? These kids don't care. "America fucking rules!"

We spent the next 40 minutes or so in the back alley, smoking (tobacco), drinking (root beer) and (apple juice). Ya know, I never thought I'd be in favor of banning any sort of drink, but holy shit does 4Loko make people obnoxious as fuck. Not that it bothered me; I thought it pretty humorous to watch dudes scream at each other while they're standing face-to-face and have it be a friendly conversation. Whatever band was next we missed as we stood out in the cold, sharing acid and mushroom stories with certain members of Socially Retarded and some strangers.

At some point we were back downstairs while Retarded was setting up, taking up a lot of extra space with Aleks' monstrous case of effects pedals. It seemed to take forever for them to actually get situated, all the while feedback was dreadfully humming throughout the narrow basement, creating that aura of tension, and impending disaster. What followed could only be described as "disastrous", but in the best possible way. I've seen SR 8 or 9 times now and I've never seen such belligerence from the band. It was absolute mayhem in that basement with the most senseless, ignorant moshing I may have ever seen. Jimmy was jumping off the bass drum, hitting unsuspecting fools with his guitar (not on purpose) all the while getting clobbered by waves of drunken goons. It appeared people were trying to hug or strangle Varg from behind. At one point, Aleks' entire case fell off its stand while still producing warped electronic tones and him standing there with a drunken smile, an effects pedal in one hand and his middle finger up on the other. The movement of the crowd was chaotic with people jumping and falling left and right. This one dude was on the floor and as I went to pick him up, he began purposefully convulsing, kicking his feet all around, "seizure mosh" I guess. Jimmy again mounted the bass drum only to slip and bring down a couple cymbals before jumping back up and smashing back into us. I recall him raising the guitar up and pressing it against the ceiling in a sort of triumphant pose while guttural noises erupted from the amplifiers pressing towards their threshold. Someone jumped on my back at one point (still not sure who) and we two-man moshed for a good 15 seconds through the maniacal crowd. I don't think I've ever been so enamored with being a mindless mutant among many others, having a great time at all our expenses. And as far as I could tell, no one got hurt at all. As their set ended and I thought the mania would cease, the singer Mitch turned around and charged me. Figuring I'd just go with it we almost made it to the very back taking out bystanders and throwing each other around like idiots. These guys have had some memorable performances, but they really raised the bar with this one.

We returned to the cheese factory around midnight or so to load everything back down in the basement, have a celebratory PBR, and eat some unbelievably good cheese: white cheddar and garlic dill cheese curds, basil colby, smoked string cheese, and what I've now found to be the greatest cheese ever, 8 year old Extra Sharp Cheddar. It just crumbled apart when pressure was applied, and I tried to eat as much of it as I could. It's kind of strange in a way, eating food that was formed when I was a sophomore in high school, but I didn't care, for its savory goodness far exceeds any sense of rationality or moderation. Beer and cheese is how every Risk show should end.

I like it here.

2010-11-03T09:29:00.001-07:00

An interesting debate came up recently on the CHC forums, which I lurk but never post anything myself, regarding whether the local hardcore scene was some sort of unified movement or just a social club. By and large, I find it to be the latter, but I hold no judgment on that being a negative thing. Humans are naturally social creatures. Earlier in our history we were tribal-based; people adhered to groups of whatever their ethnic background was. But as humans dispersed and culture diffused, these disparate groups began to intermingle and form new entities. Thus it has ever been. Today's America, in its mindless pursuit of monoculturalism, has allowed for groups of more extreme-minded individuals to gather in its opposition. And so countless stubborn, conflicting viewpoints emerge over subjects that require logic and integrity.

The weird thing I've picked up on in hardcore is the potential for some sort of pointed, united movement to form from it, but the pitfalls that accompany such a formation (groupthink, close-mindedness, lack of empathy for others not of the group, etc.) are so disdained by those who would be members, that it's not likely to become such an organization. Of course, there are the subsets of crews within the scene (FSU, skins, whatever), but constitute a much smaller presence than in previous days. These groups are based on a certain exclusivity and a seemingly natural volatility. It seems most of the people in hardcore at large, aren't interested in a stricter scene of old where only crews could mosh (and you'd get a beatdown for stepping onto the dance floor). Like I said, it's a social club, but one with individuals more willing to stand up for their viewpoints and fight them out if necessary, still under the loose banner of "hardcore".

The views and ideas amongst us are so wildly different though. The music is about all that's communally agreed upon, but still, not everyone is going to like every band. That's what keeps the scene social and not...something more. Some people drink, some to ridiculous excess, some abstain all drugs (except for caffeine for whatever reason, definitely a drug), some don't eat meat or consume any animal products and write really angry songs about it. I'll just say, I completely respect anyone's decision on what they do or don't put into their body, but I don't think you promote any sort of "positive message" by NOT doing something. Some bands write almost exclusively about what they don't do, and I feel that then lacks a complete message. But it's not really my business to judge how you feel on a certain topic; that's your business, and if you can't make those words resonate with the music at a particular frequency, then I'm moshing to it, simple as that. Remember, friends, it's not about what we take into ourselves, it's what we put out into the world.

I remember that show being bogged down in controversy over a piece of paper that turned friends against one another. But I also remember none of that shit mattering during this 10 minutes of sheer ignorant moshing from the crowd and the ear-shattering set by the band. I really like how Evan's chain can be heard rattling through the wall of abrasive noise. I was ready for someone to lose some teeth, get a concussion, or have their jaw broken by 20 pounds of steel to the cranial area. Somewhere along the lines all this violence translated into solidifying the bonds of friendship. Most people would see this as insanity, idiocy, hateful or all three. To me, it was fun, and somehow meaningful. Words hardly do justice to the sensation of being at a show where both artist and audience go to great personal risk for a few minutes of enjoyment. Moreso, to find purpose in a country that has devalued so much throughout our lives. Once you start understanding the big picture of lies and delusion that constantly bombard us in ways both latent and innocuous, you start understanding the extremes that certain forms of art embrace, all the while stripping away the bullshit we've built in order achieve the illusion of comfort. It has always been the point of hardcore and metal music to try to find a real voice in a world beset everywhere by deceit. The music has to be loud, harsh, fast, invasive, dissonant, cacophonous, and unappealing to the masses, who seek to shun out the harsher aspects of reality. We can't shy away from the inimicable nature of our existence, we have embrace it and all the suffering with it, and that just can't be expressed in the context of social norms. How could there be any question about these genres of music and their logical evolutions in a world gone so neurotic, so fixated on bullshit idealism, a world where frauds have all the power and social respect, even though so much of their disingenuous nature is omnipresent? We've all been swept up and consumed by overbearing and insidious social institutions without context to their place within our own natural order. We're a part of the madness, and this is how we make sense of it.

Even though this show happened back in March, I still watch this periodically and am reminded of the that indescribable feeling of triumphant defiance against all those who would oppose, those who maintain the delusion of ideals and feelings over reality.

do the devil's work

2010-10-31T10:53:00.000-07:00

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.

let go but don't give up

2010-10-24T13:55:00.000-07:00

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.

Pacific Cuba

2010-10-11T15:01:00.000-07:00

(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.

revolution is this evolution

2010-10-10T17:15:00.000-07:00

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.

"This machinery is very ancient, surely we have heard this before."

2010-09-19T11:52:00.000-07:00

harangue to put this bullshit in order

"Pull down thy vanity, it is not man
Made courage, or made order, or made grace,
Pull down thy vanity, I say pull down.
Learn of the green world what can be thy place
In scaled invention or true artistry,"
-E.P.

There is nothing good about you, there is nothing evil. You can try for external beauty all you want, but we're all ugly at heart; humans must create the wondrous, out of our crippled and contradictory existence. Bloated with gaseous beliefs that dissipate in the atmosphere, we are born and bred to believe that our world follows a moral process, of right and wrong. That's fiction. Our minds have been making it up for thousands of years. It's so much easier to demarcate the world on moral values and divide people as such. It's so much simpler than facing reality and the inimical, organic process to which it adheres. It's scary to think that the universe doesn't give a shit about you. It's terrifying when broken down, but you learn to understand the fear and awe of being so insignificant in an infinite existence. Seriously think of what it will be like to die without the safety nets of heaven/hell or reincarnation or spirits or what have you. That your life will just go black and you're gone, you will no longer perceive. Such a pure and indifferent process. To my fellow citizens in this day and age, death always has so much empty, moralistic connotation, replete with strange rituals for the corpses and the desperate belief that they're in a "better place". There is absolutely no basis in that. No god gave you a "soul" to return to hIM. You're an electrical charge powering a brain too advanced for the monkey body which houses it. Once you die, that charge is dispersed into the ever-flowing energy fields circling through one end of the universe to another. So in a way, reincarnation could make sense, but not with the religious overtones of karma (which none of you idiots understand; I see people abuse the term constantly). Your energy simply gets redistributed into the same energy powering us all. You're not special, no one is.

It just seems that the world becomes too much for these fellow denizens and they're forced to rest upon a fictional foundation of anachronistic nonsense which holds the hollow ideas of the past in such a bright shining light that, when one gets close and looks it in the face, they see the rotten and empty insides; they're just scraping off decay, and living for it. From this observer's experiences, this is the root cause of hipsterism. And this generation especially is so keen on fulfilling some sort of past aesthetic and self-serving idealism. So much so, the world where the rest of us are living (Hi, over here) becomes indistinct, muddied, a world too vast to come back to, because living in the past is so easy, so boundless in its selective morality and self-gratification. This is not to say the past doesn't offer us anything; quite the contrary. But people nowadays seem to be more focused on past trends rather than ideas that could, I don't know, matter.

Ezra Pound once said, "Literature is news that stays news". But now we live in this strange time and place where information has become so abundantly prevalent, that, by and large, it becomes spurious. There's so much all the time bombarding your brain, and with any information from the past so readily available, good ideas just get washed out with the rising tide of vapid, selfish idealism, culture that promotes entertainment, distraction and "fun" in lieu of profound, lasting art that reverses psychologies, that breaks intellectual chains, the kind that shows us how very small and insignificant we are in this constantly shifting and completely indifferent universe, that there is the greatest beauty in knowing that we are part of the big picture, and not each of us a picture to their self.

(Misanthropy and humanism do not exclude one another. I don't trust, agree with, or really even like most of you, but I understand that we are all in this together, and I'm trying, honest, to bring something more constructive to this world that continual negativity over the largely worthless human race. God I just hate you all so much sometimes, but, regardless of my personal feelings, I know that we must work together, as the much more selfless social creature we evolved into before bullshit like religion, economics, mass agriculture, advertisement, pointless bigotry, pathetic hipsterism, prison-like schools, prisons run by inmates, fake food, products to promote abject laziness, the neuroses of the young over love and sex and all the anxieties transferred to them by their weak, self-centered, ineffectual asshole parents who are more concerned with their personal time and checkbooks to give a shit that the generation they're raising will one day run things, and all the elders will be dead by then, so no harm no fail; the outcome looks to be quite precarious; I'm sleeping less, but it doesn't have to be this way. We are capable of so much more, and superior things as well. The process of achieving that in this hyper-fattened world, though, will be grisly to say the least.)

"This is your target, people. Aim well." - Scott Levy

Fifteen Albums

2010-08-29T16:57:00.001-07:00

Taken from Facebook, these are the 15 albums that have influenced me the most up until this point in my life and beyond. The following are more important to me than most people I know.

maudlin of the Well - Bath

I remember reading about this band when I was a sophomore in highschool. I fired up Kazaa and attempted to download "Geography" and was able to hear the first few seconds but couldn't get the rest. The first few notes had an intriguing tone to them and I had to hear more. Luckily fellow S-Wood Academy alumnus Diego owned both this album and its counterpart, "Leaving Your Body Map". He let me borrow "Bath" and I listened to the whole thing in study hall that day. From the opening chords of the first track, "The Blue Ghost/Shedding Qliphoth", I was entranced by these unheard of musical expeditions into beauty and anguish; and they quoted William Blake and Final Fantasy in the liner notes. Toby Driver's music is unparalleled and continues to enrich my life to this day. My favorite. Ever.

"It hurts remembering/the fragrance of Heaven."

Metallica - Ride the Lightning

When I first heard "Ride the Lightning" in 8th grade, my favorite bands were Korn and Limp Bizkit (that was painful). This changed everything. It was my introduction to true metal and I became obsessed with this band for the next couple years. Whatever crap I was listening to at the time fell out of rotation and out of mind and was replaced by Metallica, Iron Maiden, Megadeth, etc. This is probably where my musical elitism began.

"Out for my own, out to be free."

Prodigy - The Fat of the Land

First CD I ever bought. And still throw it on occasionally, even though I hate techno.

Bob Dylan - Highway 61 Revisited

Not sure what got me into this album considering at the time all I listened to was metal, but Dylan's gravelly, out of key voice fascinated me, as well his wild and exhausting lyrics. And his music stood apart from all that terrible hippie music of his era, and outsider music makes for the best.

"Now the winter time is coming. The windows are filled with frost.

I went to tell everybody but I could not get across."

Sex Pistols - Nevermind the Bollocks

Though I was anti-punk(rock) at the time (for whatever stupid reason, I was against a lot of music back in highschool), I enjoyed the hell out of this album. It's grimy and poorly-played but it planted the seeds for my later love of punk and hardcore.

Burzum - Hvis Lyset Tar Oss

"what once was is now lost"

Wandering snowy forests as night sets in during depressed teenage winters and this album makes perfect sense. Never heard anything quite as horrifying and meaningful as early Burzum. Varg's reputation and politics aside, he made some utterly profound music; I was forever changed. It's music like this that exposes the emptiness and frivolty of the modern world and alludes to the inimicability and infinite nature of reality.

Kayo Dot - Dowsing Anemone with Copper Tongue

To many, this album wouldn't even sound like music, but to me it transcends the limits of musicality. It's a glimpse into eternal consciousness, which is the basis for my current philosophy. More importantly, I have very fond memories of riding alone at night (execpt for the Zebra or his brother) listening to "Amaranth the Peddler" and that being the best times I was having at that shitty point in my life. And Kayo Dot's music has nothing to do with this temporal, contrived world. This is musical perfection.

"almost condescending it looks on from inside/I feel strong this day will never wither"

Shearwater - Rook

Granted I think Palo Santo and the Golden Archipelago might be "better" albums, but I acquired this one through chance, as I have so many good albums when I worked at Border's (free promos were the best perk). I randomly grabbed it from the promo box and threw it on in the car on my lunch break. The first track is exceedingly quiet and subdued which made me turn the volume higher than I thought it was. About a minute in there is one of the loudest and most surprising crashes of music I've ever heard; it scared hell outta me. From then on my obsession for this band grew and in turn the next one on the list.

"well, i've had enough, wasting my body, my life i'll come away, come away from the shallows"

Okkervil River - The Stand Ins

It should make no sense that I like this band. Well, that's an understatement, because I fucking love this band and this album especially. It's sappy, melodramatic, and hipster-ish, but every track is a gem, and I don't know how many times "Blue Tulip" and "On Tour With Zykos" were playing in my car as I thought about heartbreak/stupidity. Will Sheff's dexedrine-inspired lyrics are beautifully executed and always hit your heart the right way. And this band and Shearwater catalyzed my interest in indie folk, but other than the next band on the list, there's no one quite as good in the genre.

"with every single inch of me I'm going to make you mean it

with every single cell of me I'm going to make you mean the words you sigh"

The Decemberists - Castaways and Cutouts

I avoided this band for a long time, just because I saw a picture of them on a magazine and immediately judged them as hipster assholes. Years later (thanks Pandora) I heard "Leslie Anne Levine" the first track on this album and I was immediately haunted by the music. Colin Meloy is a remarkable storyteller and, while appearing whimsical and innocuous on the surface, the subject matter ranges from ghost stories to murder to some seriously perverse tales ("A Cautionary Song"). "The Legionnare's Lament" played constantly the first few months of this year. One of my favorite songs ever.

"If only summer rain would fall
On the houses and the boulevard
And the side walk bagatelles its like a dream
With the roar of cars
And the lulling of the cafe bars
The sweetly sleeping sweeping of the Seine
Lord I don't know if I'll ever be back again..."

Until the End - Blood in the Ink

Considered lame by many, but this was the first hardcore I ever got into, and I was especially not into it at the time. Not sure why I like it. The lyrics can be really dumb at times and the music certainly isn't incredible but it's furious and dancy and just sounds right to me. Listened to it at least a hundred times and will continue to do so.

"With the concrete to my back, i finally feel free.
I have only one problem,
You're in the passenger seat.
I'm never looking back again, i've failed enough before.
Only one more problem before i go and i'm ending it right now.
I'm driving straight at this wall. I'm ending myself here.
My problems will be over soon because you're in the passenger seat.
Accelerate. Tempt fate."

Godspeed You Black Emperor! - Lift Your Skinny Fists Like Antennas to Heaven!

I first heard this about 6 years ago and I'm still blown away by how powerful this music is. To me, it sounds like Beethoven reborn in the modern world: music that struggles with itself to find the right voice to express a truth otherwise incommunicable. Sort of what my life is all about. This album reminds me, though, of a triumphant time in my life where everything, for a short while, was really really good. The first track "Storm" is music of explosive triumph and raging beauty beset by an ugly and harsh world. And they manage to do it with just a few notes in 3/4 times played methodically over and over until it can't go on, and just fades out. Everyone should hear this album at least once.

"they don't sleep anymore on the beach..."

Converge - Jane Doe

Another group that I strangely avoided for awhile and later realized I made a huge error. I would've obsessed over this album had I actually listened to it years ago. The title is perfect, the anonymous archetypal female who generated enough heartbreak and frustration to elicit an album as fiery and passionate as this one. "Abrasive" is an understatement for the vocals, but when you deal with said women, it makes perfect sense, along with the disorienting and violent music behind it. It cuts to the core of heartbreak and completely tears it out to start anew. It's easy to see that Converge has kept me afloat the past year or so. These lyrics sum up so much of that.

"And like that heart that got in the way
I'll become the lost cause
The child of burden and rage
Like the distance in your touch
Like the years we burned down
I heard that phone call
The hesitation, the awkward silence
I felt everything in those seconds
Splinters of sentence and heartless advice
Nothing's changed but these days entwined"

Immortal Technique - Revolutionary Vol. 1

The Technique (as I'm sure to many others) was a revelation to me in hip hop. This has absolutely nothing to do with hip hop that you would hear on the radio. He has a vitriolic hate that few can match, especially against popular rap music, that emphasizes nothing but bitches, money, cars, and shit-talking ego-stroking. This album explores the decay of modern society, the lies of the government and media, the rape and oppression of the third world, and the general public's stupidity of buying into commecialized garbage music. Totally rearranged my view on how effective this genre can be when the mc actually gives a shit about what he's saying; message before money. Again, something everyone should probably hear. "Dance With the Devil" is the rawest hip hop song ever written in my opinion. It's a frightening and grim view of living the life of someone who only cares about money and self-gratification. It's upsetting, but it needs to be heard.
"Some niggas dream of pushin kilos but I drop tons
with more facts formulatin philosophical logic
than a basement full of scientists puffin on chronic
dipped in mycopotassium cyanide and liquid bubonic
and use it as a sonic wand to find the spawn of the demonic"

Socially Retarded - 11 song cassette

I guess this isn't an album, per se, but it's better than most full lengths I've heard. This music describes my own frustrations and hostilities with frightening precision. It still weirds me out a little how exact the words here matched the words in my head. This isn't referential art, though, it's experiential, it's true in its anger and dissatisfaction. You're not being told about emotional alienation, you're living it with these songs. And I acquired this during a time when I was still dealing with people (as Carlin would say) that are stunningly and embarassingly full of shit. So strange to find such fulfillment in an nearly incomprehensible tapestry of hate-filled blastbeats and agonizingly sludgy beats. These songs speak to me like nothing else ever really has.

"I don't want to talk about sports
and I don't wanna hear about your new fucking boyfriend
I tried to go out and meet other people
but this just doesn't feel right"
&
"Don't forget the casual fake fucked smile
or gesture to compromise the fact
that you don't have the guts to open up your mouth hole"

crumbled seas

2010-08-24T20:43:00.000-07:00

No one ever got Enlightened by thinking about it.
The roar of a dying engine pierces the cicada drone.
The war of everyday life needs new chapters,
cleansed with gasoline.
Monstrous apparitions still occlude my sight,
reflected in broken mirrors hung outside the walls.
No one wants in when they have to see
themselves naked and real.
Your beauty would be so complimented by the noose;
to hang out somewhere else besides
my brain for once. Maybe if you
would have left me the hell alone in the first place,
I wouldn't crave your anonymity.
I wouldn't curse your name over coffee,
then cry over it when the whiskey's poured.
I wouldn't slave hunched over keyboards
and phones excising out our remaining splinters.
But nothing leaves the head but by chance;
I'm stuck with this til I'm dead, but by then,
I'll already be gone.

servant to things that don't exist because of an underlying fear of purposelessness. - stars down to earth

that inconsistent friendless entity
clinging to lingering delusions
of manifested unrealities
one cannot thrive without living collusions
structure without meaning
action without reason

a temporary journey into an endless winter
buildings filled with hollow people
unfreezing in technology's cradle
my mind has eclipsed my existence
just a rusted machine
just an uncertain mess
believing I'm alive but it's only mechanics and wiring
maybe merrily I could disintegrate
reincorporated into a world that would never have me otherwise
in pieces lies the ability to see beyond the gross rendition
of what's really going on here
god in a lacking body
ascending to the moon on kerosene
I'm beginning to understand how ridiculous it is to be a human
who are we kidding to even be alive
and go about our meaningless lives
sucking the life out of everything
labeling, dividing, controlling, destroying
manipulation of mind matter and energy
avarice unexceeded by any creature
we love pointless pain and pleasure
the urge for satisfaction surpasses the will to love
sometimes the mind slips
and we can actually see how extemporaneous the world before our eyes really is
and how goddamn pointless the modern world is
that we have no fucking idea what we're doing where we're going
we're just building crazy shit and filling the world with stuff
no reasonable species could ever need
(and me writing this in verse
another deranged human)
put yourself in a trance and find out who you actually are
you existed before this planet did
you will carry on after it stretches into singularity
or freezes over and crumbles into dust
the same energy incorporating all layers of reality
will continue spiraling around this inconceivable universe
and we'll just swirl around with it
in vast oceans of consciousness
in eternal darkness filled exploding with invisible life

a cloud of contempt hanging over me

2010-08-16T06:50:00.000-07:00

Station's Creation, Hate, Sick/Tired, Ceremony @ Ronny's, 8/15/2010

Few shows this year have I been waiting so intently for. To my ignorant, noob ears, Ceremony sounds exactly like a hardcore band should nowadays, a perfect fusion of the genre's varying styles. The lyrics and music seethe an unparalleled bitterness, replete with all the frustrations of some alienated kids just trying to be heard in a perpetually noisier society trying to drown us all out. And I just knew a band with lyrics like "fuck! fuck! fuck! fuck! FUCK! FUCK! FUCK!" would provide maximum fun and violence.

Peach and I got there around 3 (4pm start, for whatever reason) to find we couldn't get in the doors yet, so in the oppressive heat we stood for awhile, smoking and whatnot. Two people begat conversation with us over my Seraphim shirt, this one guy Trevor who's actually from their hometown of Tupelo, Mississippi, which I would never relate to hardcore, but Seraphim is one of the best bands I've heard recently. We caught them at the Nachos record release a few weeks prior, and I believe the 15 or so of us that actually watched them are now all serious fans. They're a strange mix (never thought I'd see keyboards at the Albion house) of Mouth of the Architect-style trance metal, post-rock melodics, and sludgy, raging hardcore. I was told they drove from Georgia to Chicago that day and drove back after the show, just to play that one set. That's fucking dedication. Get their EP's. Right now.

After awhile, Varg comes walking up, in those ridiculous hot pink shorts that I'm pretty sure he's been wearing every time I've seen him this summer. We all had some time to kill before the show, and I was a little stoned and a little spun, so I figured might as well throw some alcohol in the mix. We sat at the bar sipping on PBR waiting for Station's to go on. They were actually added on kinda last minute as Punch had to cancel due to the singer's broken foot.

Walked into the boilerroom that is Ronny's and saw very few recognizable faces, Caution and Robbie was about it. My guess is most of these people only come out for "big" names like Ceremony but ignore all the local shit. Now I'm still pretty new to all this so I'm not going to be a judgemental prick and decry people for being selective in their attendance. But it's always good to see more and new faces at the smaller house shows.

Anyhow, SC was up first. They're from Dekalb and play a more basic hardcore, eschewing the more trendy powerviolence aesthetics and spastic fury that's so common in Chicago nowadays in favor of a a more melodic sound. Some of the anonymous punks were getting into it, moshing in that goonish style of just throwing each other and having shoving contests apparently. There was some actual moshing, too, right near the end of "Scene Stealer" when the music stops and Connor belts out "You stole my fucking sceeeeeeeeennnnneee!" It was a good set, and say whatever you want about this band, but one thing that shouldn't be doubted is (singer) Connor's commitment to hardcore; he's reliable as fuck.

Their set ended, so I checked out the merch table and grabbed me the new Ceremony shirt that says "every day i'm suffering". I felt that was apt. I also picked up issues 3&4 of Left Four Dead and the free Sawchuk demo (which was surprisingly good). Back to the bar we went for another PBR.

Hate from Chicago (not Poland) were up next. I remember seeing them over the winter @ Albion and not enjoying their set very much. It just seemed like a wall of noise with nothing interesting musically going on underneath it all. Looking back, I just wasn't hearing it right, because Hate tore shit apart at Ronny's. The singer's voice is demonic to say the least and the music behind it was just savage. There was decent moshing all around up until the last song. The singer announced that last time they played a cover "no one moved, and it sucked". He unleashed a vicious scream then started up "Guilty of Being White" and the crowd just lost their fucking mind, stagedives and a rumble for the one mic that got thrown everywhere. This crowd especially got some amazing dives and people so precariously balancing on one another without collapsing was a sight to see. Peach got this all on video btw. TheCthulhuCalling on youtube. Search that shit, fuckers. This set totally changed my mind on Hate. Quality band.

Vargles and I proceeded back to the bar. I wished I could've gotten wasted, especially for sick/tired, but my funds were limited, so I just tried to maintain my half a buzz. Being belligerently drunk for sick/tired just makes sense, though. This was my 5th time seeing Dekalb's finest grindcore band in action. Those first two times at the 7th Street Space in Dekalb were both absolutely insane, beer and destruction everywhere. They opened for Capitalist Casualties a few months back and they arguably stole the show that night. But no one moved for their last Chicago show and no one did here either. Which is total bullshit, this band rips. I'm still dumbfounded by Bello's relentlessly abrasive vocals, Converge-style, but I swear I never see that kid without a cigarette. How are you not coughing up blood onstage? The guitarist Gonzo looks like he's being electrocuted while he's playing, twitching his head all over the place. They closed with "Banishment", which didn't sound so great in the venue, but on vinyl is becoming one of my favorite metal songs ever. Get their album, too.

I think I grabbed one more beer and chugged it right down because I was not missing any of Ceremony. I thought maybe a few more familiar faces might show up, but I was in the pit with no one I knew except Varg. As they were tuning up, the guitarist put on some very effeminate arm stockings (I guess) and the bassist a ridiculous multi-colored leather jacket with a huge "8" on the back. They opened with "Sick" and immediately the moshing began. After a few runs I stood to the side of the pit, where people diving was pretty much nonstop....until no one caught that one guy at the very end of the song. He hit the top of his head on the ground from about 6 feet up. He was out cold for a few seconds and the set stopped, the band came down and Joe Lifeline called an ambulance. People gathered around him, of course wanting to see what happened. After a minute or two he sat up, that empty expression in his eyes. Then we could all see the gash going across his nearly-bald head. That was definitely a concussion, maybe brain damage. He stood up and looked like he wanted to stay in the pit, but Ceremony's drummer told him he needed to leave, and that it was alright. Out he went and the show went on. It was constant brutality on the floor and they played all the best cuts from "Violence Violence": "Pressure's Always On", "This is My War", etc. The singer got way into it, going out in the crowd, handing off the mic, even holding people and serenading them during the "slow song". They ended with "Kersed" and everyone just lost it. At one point, I actually had two people, one on each shoulder, and I was somehow able to balance them for that few moments. I got up onstage as everyone was grabbing for the mic screaming in unison "their words will never be a part of this cursed fucking town/so we stand amongst ourselves, watch it burn to the ground". I was trying to get at the mic when the singer grabbed my head and shoved my face right up to it. In that moment, right as the words finished, I had gotten the crazy idea in my head to stagedive for the first time, but right as I was about to, the crowd shifted and I knew I would have fucked myself up real bad, so I just ran down instead and barreled through 5 or 6 people. Too bad Varg ended up right next to me at that point, because if he was on the other side I was just going to run full speed at him and kill the crowd surrounding him. Next time, hopefully. And to the dude wearing the Duress shirt over his face like a terrorist: I back that.

Overall, awesome show. Ceremony was just as good, if not better, than I thought they were going to be. The other 3 bands were not disappointing in the slightest. Ronny's isn't all that great though. It's WAY too hot in there, you can't bring booze in even though the bar is connected, they're uptight about where you smoke outside, and it's too fucking hot in there (it bore repeating). Of course there's no bouncers though, so anything goes pitwise. I can't wait to see all these bands again.

http://www.youtube.com/user/TheCthulhucalling#p/a Videos soon. Peach, I see you.

team spirit

2010-08-13T06:26:00.000-07:00

I'm trying to understand the bearing of existence, the why's and the causes and the reciprocations, the weight of the world, gravity as fiction....right as my fingers are about to hit the keys and I'm informed that the Chicago Bears have signed a new defensive end. It's not suprising, how often a trviality of modern life intercepts the flow of internal electricity firing off in my frontal lobe where it arises out of the lower, reptilian brain stem.

And, to me, there is almost nothing more trivial, more crass, more inane, more stagnating than the modern sports culture of America. It bothers me, it disgusts me, and even frightens me a little bit to see the perpetual-mediocritizing of society by sports culture. Note: it's not the sports themselves, which I believe, in and of themselves, are an understandable (though not exactly necessary) aspect of civilization. But the culture that has arisen and is the mainstay surrounding sports today is just FUCKED.

Turn on Sportscenter sometime, or whatever overly-produced garbage you find. The denotation is that it's just news. People play sports, people are interested in sports, we'll report them to you. Connotatively, I pereceive: WATCH THIS GAME, be loud and obnoxious, lose yourself emotionally in a fake struggle of which you have absolutely no part other than the egregious amount of money you spent, drink beer (drink LOTS of beer, piss-beer, too, crafted by machines), think about sex you can't get, buy a new shiny truck or a sports car to deafen your thoughts (as you'll be insecure because you're a drunk fatass who can't get laid), support overpaid, overprivileged, ignorant, disturbingly egotistical man-sized babies because they can run fast or catch a ball or hit one, and don't forget to DRINK ALL THIS BEER and THINK ABOUT ALL THIS SEX, you stupid, mindless, beer-sweating, nacho cheese encrusted consumer waste of space.

It has become a cliche nowadays that sports take precedence to the father of the family. He needs his cold beer, his hotwings, and definitely needs to NOT BE BOTHERED by his fucking annoying, ugly wife, or gOD forbid, his idiotic children, whose lives are modeled after idealistic, yet wholly unrealistic and indecent, strangers through the perpetual mindfuck barrage of media and advertising.

And it's the marketing/advertising regime and the ignorant consumer that feed off each other, further dumbing down the average population. Many years ago said regime bought its way into the sports world and transformed into one of (if not the) the most widespread and captivating aspects of this culture. Over time they crafted the image that good Americans are dedicated sports fans, that is what we do. You will invest your emotions and your thoughts here, they shall not be wasted over contemplating reality, the mechanics of life, finding out who you think you are (the mind) and who you really are (the eternal consciousness), or traversing the natural, inhuman world. There is no time for that. There is only time for work (so you can have money to spend on things), school (so you can learn how to do that and join up with some life-affirming sports team that you may have structure), and buying things. And thanks to technology these days, not only do you have sports games and coverage on every major network, but many of them have other channels now dedicated entirely to sports, in addition to the standalone cable channels (which are all owned by the big networks anyway) which run nothing but sports programming. You have a whole channel for golf, a bullshit, elitist, racist, sexist, stuckup recreational activity. It's not even a sport. You have channels with nothing but motorsports, because we Americans love our entertainment loud, fast, and dangerous, and, who knows, someone might crash and explode in a ball glorious fire, and their suffering will be enjoyed and viewed over and over again on this network and countless others with sportscasters decrying it for the horror all the while someone on top's pockets are getting filled.

So enjoy the game. Don't think about life, the universe, and everything. Invest your (highly evolved, right?) mind, your emotions, your aspirations for those who compete in uniforms, those who don't give a shit about you, just pay up and will give you a show that you'll never be a part of, but are lost in anyway. Just get comfortable and gradually stagnate, where your only letdowns is a loss that means absolutely nothing. I've seen grown men more devastated by "their team" losing than by school shootings, serial murder, and infanticide. Sports culture is a behemoth, a giant, deafening, blinding distraction, and there seems to be no stopping people sucking it right up, in some crazed hope to fill all that emptiness made inevitable by modern life.

not-so-Big Wheel

2010-08-11T19:11:00.000-07:00

This needs to be more about mosh tales and music.

Duress is on their "final" tour before Matt & Melanie depart for Shangri-la. Their set on 6/28@Kostner House was one of the very best times I've had at a show in a year, which is how long I've been into hardcore now. So I have, by far, the least amount of experience and knowledge in this field in comparison to everyone else at a show. But I digress.

Traffic was shit from Roselle to KH and Peach, Scotty and I arrived right as Colour Wolf (klr wlv, formerly Strange Wool) was about to start. This new supergroup consists of Matt, Melanie, and Mike from Duress on bass, guitar, and drums respectively, and los Hermanos Campos, Spider on the mic, Varg on the guitar. I've known HC forever and this was the first I ever got to see them play live together. Spider had his t-shirt tucked into some worn-in gym shorts, a crazed but calm look on his face.

"We are Colour WOLF" he began in typical Spider intonation. I was told later they sounded sloppy but I think they were spot on, even if they were fucking up. The noise began along with Spider dancing and mule-kicking like a maniac. The first lyrics ended up being screamed inches from my face while Adam grabbed my shirt like I was in for a beatdown. I had no idea what he was saying and hadn't even heard any of their songs up to that point. The next 4 minutes were a blur of swinging fists and Spider's insane vocals. Less than a minute in, EvanB smashed someone's nose (Schuman I think) and blood was drawn. I was trying to mosh and got in some good runs, but was staying clear of Adam's feet which were usually speeding right past my testicles. He played futbol for a long time; that's just bad news. At some point I did hit my face on Melanie's guitar, but the very top of it, where it's pointed. That swelled up nice over the next couple days. And before I knew it, after 4 songs their set was over. I gathered myself and was making my way out where I saw a sweaty Varg lighting up a corncob pipe, a picturesque moment. I told him it was "alright". He ignited a firecracker and threw it at me.

We spent the next couple hours in the perfect June weather drinking PBR and smoking all sorts of dope and cigarettes. Organized Sports from Portland played a bit later and fuck were they good. There was little moshing but I think it was their first time out here and people just seemed to be enjoying the first impression.

After their set, I took a walk to the car to ditch my smokes, lest they be crushed by stampeding straight edge kids. As I was walking along the side of the house I could hear a discussion between members of two particular bands, and it was heating up. By the time I walked back, it was a full-on shouting match. And it was over issues that began months ago, because of a certain flyer for a certain record release show. Like I said, I'm still pretty new to this so I'm not exactly qualified to comment on this beef but conflict is just interesting, and I wouldn't turn away from a public argument. It's a shame that friends divide over such things, but I respect people for standing behind what they say. So I was glad that Matt came in and ended that shit and proceeded directly to the basement to start the second-to-last Duress show in Chicago. And what better way to prompt a Duress set than a heated argument? Mike and Crucial Kyle were tuned up, letting the feedback bleed out from the amps, creating that abrasive atmosphere of impending destruction that I've come to love at shows. Melanie picked up her bass, Matt his mic: "I'm 25 years old! I don't have a fucking job and I live with my parents!"

Then the riot began. The only songs I specifically remember hearing were "Asshole" somewhere in the middle and "Spider" as their closer. The crowd (the few that came and could actually fit in that basement) was moshing belligerently, perhaps because we all knew this era was coming to an end. Ha, "era", like I've been around for SO LONG, like I'm some fucking historian. But that was kind of how it felt. The set seemed just a big "fuck off" to all those that turned on Duress in judgement and those that never liked 'em to begin with. If I had time to think in this moshpit, that's probably what would've been on my mind, all those people I once thought highly of or believed in, but who turned out to fail me instead. At one point, I put someone in a headlock and wrung them around; Diego, maybe. If so, my bad, dude, I was caught up in the moment. But after the next song, Matt called out Diego on the mic, who was now in the corner conversing with a female. "Diego's having real talk WITH A GIRL!" Music played and Matt literally fucking attacked him and ended up on all fours still screaming in the mic while Diegas managed to balance on him back-to-back; it had to be seen. Hopefully Nick got that part on film. And during the entire set, a drunken Varg stood against the steel pole, calmly lighting off firecrackers and throwing them everywhere. It seemed he was really trying to blow up part of the drumset or Farn himself. At one point, he just lit a whole bundle and threw it right in the middle of the pit and Matt ran right over them while they exploded. Amazing that he wasn't scorched. Before they played "Spider", Matt announced Mike was indeed gay and that his boyfriend was in attendance, and then yelled "Michael Stefnik is a dick-in-the-ass faggot!". Someone, I wish I knew who, then responded "So's Varg!"...and everyone cheered like crazy. They then played an absolutely furious version of "Spider" and all the hatred filled the room, along with a bigger and bigger cloud of gunpowder smoke. Sweat and smoke filled my eyes, as though moshpits weren't disorienting enough at times. It was ridiculous, the mutually assured violence between friends. Song ends with smiles and hugs all around, and, of course, a sieg heil or two from Matt. I doubt the whole set took more than 15 minutes, but that was a truly memorable and cathartic experience. My year in hardcore has mostly been filled with either waiting to see this band or actually seeing them. They always deliver and the music is not to be ignored. It, in fact, invades your personal space. And Matt has an uncanny lyrical ability that captures all the bullshit frustrations of dealing with bullshit people in a bullshit world. But now that's coming to an end, I guess. But it was all worth it, no regrets. Heil and fuck off.

2010-06-04T12:07:00.000-07:00

Either I just missed a great opportunity or I just opened a whole new chapter. If I'm basing my current outlook on the track record, though, it's both. Problem is, the new chapter sucks and it's a big letdown from the previous ones. It's hard to really explain how dumbfounded I am by the current situation, but also how excited. My timidity and hesitation may have left me fucked again, but maybe not. That's how it always is with me: diametrically opposed, extremeties poised to polarize and tear each other apart, leaving static in the wake of schism.

I can't keep on like this, conflicted within all the time, never knowing if I made the right decision, regretting the wrong ones, imagining what could have been, over and over again. It seems I get comfortable in this stagnant existence sometimes, like I want to stay under contrived pressure all the time. For who, for what? What is worse than self-torture over external irrelevances?

As much as I want to stay inside, doors locked, music loud and unceasing as to not allow empty thinking space in my mind, full of drugs, full of food, numb to the outside world, no connection, no pain to be caused, I want to stay out, embrace the world and find people to cherish, no thoughts, just living, a continuous spontaneity, discovering unknown wonders, seeking a lover who is true, and never come home again. Sometimes this all seems one big triviality, grossly pondering every insignificant detail. I'll get so wrapped up in trains of snowballing thought. Not even a bystander, just a bypasser, head down, interested but going to exert the effort to involve myself in this world teeming with experience.

As stated, if this new chapter turns out to be fulfilling, perhaps this neurosis will dissipate. Over and over I have proven Uncertainty to myself: the more I try to manipulate an event, the more it mutates, the further away it gets. Now, I must be the event itself, become the experience. This world ebbs and flows, fight the currents and exhaust your perceptions and will, or ride the waves of progression, stability in perpetual chaos.

Don't Costanza this one.

not of knives but of spiritual surgery

2010-05-12T06:09:00.000-07:00

It's been awhile. New names, same stories.

Far too often it seems I fall prey to one lying temptress or another. Funny how evil usually has such a beautiful smile, charming my heart, but it's only been filled with emptiness. I don't really want to get into specifics, but the past year or so has been one woman after the other, consistently reducing my faith in humanity which I've been trying to maintain for years. I'm not blameless; I have set myself up for disappointment several times. But it takes two, and how much better the world (not just mine) would be if some of you WOULD JUST OPEN YOUR FUCKING MOUTH AND LET YOUR TRUTH BE KNOWN. That's all on this subject.

This continuous erosion of my faith, however, has cleared the path so to speak. How often my life comes back to some nihilistic transition. All this loss/failure has left me downtrodden surely, but I see so much clearer now. Splinters have been removed now, but I still occasionally feel where they stuck in me. Instead of wallowing in such pain now, I have them as reminders to not ever give myself up in hopes for someone else. I've said it before: if you hope for another to act a certain way, feel a certain way, to be something they arent , you will never EVER be satisfied; you're just fucking yourself. To hell with all that, I'm still here. That you can remember your despair is the best reason to forget it. My bitterness is faint, but I will forever want nothing but misery for some of you. I'm human, so be it. I will enjoy your downfall. I have no compassion as a witness to your demise.

there's fresh meat in the club tonight.........

2010-02-03T09:47:00.000-08:00

Now I can't stop spinning. Been hesitant on amphetamines all my life; we should have made friends ages ago! The words are racing like chariots in battle around that fabled Colosseum where so many were butchered and forced to feast on dust for the delight of plebs and nobility alike, all sharing a good laugh for the blood and misery of others, those unlucky enough to get snared by the system, guilty of getting caught, nothing else.

when the woooooorrrlllldddd is sick

When? When is it not? Has it ever been well or the people inside it?

Money makes the world spin. Money causes avarice, hubris, divisions, prejudice, brings out the absolute worst in humans. If money is the principle operating factor of our world, what does that say about us? Rhetorical.

It's been a few years, but I'm still sharing some strains of Horselover Fat's mental anguish. Our gOD is sick, our gOD is jealous, our gOD will never be well. But that's all right, that's ok, because what we have in us already is greater than any god, any pantheon of the Divine. Every one of us is carrying Eternity. For some it's a stagnant pool in our bowels, for some it's nearing the boiling point at the highest point of the brain. Either way, it's there, with unbelievable potential to explode and flood the animal body with perfect Consciousness. It could bind all of us perfectly, create the unerring union.

OUR UNITED MINDS ARE EQUAL TO OUR CONCEPT OF GOD. That's all hE is: the immense power of our combined consciousnesses. Yet we're so far from completing a Universal Being. And there's no guarantee it's a reality. We could all fail and perish before ever coming close, that is, if we keep on the same path of global economy, senseless war, currency worship, self-imposed ignorance, comfort-seeking, apathy to the valid and imminent, and love for stupid, pointless trivialities (like the E! Network).

Whose world, or mine or theirs
or is it of none?
First came the seen, then thus the palpable
Elysium, though it were in the halls of hell,
What thou lovest well is thy true heritage
What thou lov'st well shall not be reft from thee

Despite my indifferent and sometimes callous demeanor, ultimately I'm hopeful for this world that I hate so fervently so often. There is a way out of the great trash mountain that we've built. But just as a single cell cannot repair its inhabited organism's wounds, no one person can go it alone to cease this downfall.

future beef

2009-11-25T14:10:00.000-08:00

Spit this out in the workvan yesterday morning. Like most of them nowadays.

vision of reason

I want to occupy your mind,
Make you crawl to me on the ground.
Let's not be stupid and waste time,
It'll always be the other way around.

I'm lost in my thoughts of beautiful music,
where everything has that big carnival sound,
swept up in the dust of friendly faces
and like-minded enemies.
It's been only 17 years,
can we do 16 more?
For a head so full of ferocious intent,
growing bigger and unbalanced.
I don't want your folksy approximations,
names and numbers, please,
to ease my worried mind.
Driving alone again,
again and again, these suburban streets,
have been my only home,
nauseate my haunted dreams,
shaped me into this mediocrity,
where toil goes no further than acceptance.
I love how you live right down the street,
yet you act like we've never met;
duly noted, I'll get lost alone in the snow.
My heavy head looms to the precipice,
like some deranged Kilroy, staggering
to the threshold,
clouding every
vision of reason.

Love the snow,
the way it suffocates
this scent of delusion and hope,
and binds the telling of the tale,
paying the highest cost of being safe and free.
I can't take the sun anymore,
flagged down by boundless stupidity.
Don't give me your vague generalities;
give me the incision nearing my heart.
It's been only 17 years,
give me another 16,
to sweat you out of my system.

falling off the shoulders of giants

2009-11-04T07:42:00.000-08:00

It's sad what has happened to poetry in the last 50 years or so. Where before, it was a select few who outshined all others, now the artform has lapsed into the hands of the masses. This is not to say elitism should be the rule, but the anti-elitism mentality that has swept the genre has, in turn, cut itself loose from the foundation upon which it was built. This not in favor of stagnation; one must always progress, but lacking a proper base, collapse is inevitable. It was in the Reader, I believe, that I read an article on this very subject. The author of said piece, however, was praising the transformation poetry has undertaken where now anyone and everyone is a poet. But are they really? I love music, but I lack any formidable musical talent, so I don't pretend to be a musician. It's more difficult, with a written genre, as we all use language, and thus, anyone can poeticize, right? The market is saturated. There is no point in the idea of being a poet anymore. It's become a pasttime rather than an artform, just some odd antiquated activity with which people occasionally consort.

But what's the point of poetry in the first place. I've always seen it as contradictory: utilizing language to transcend language into a much more profound yet sublime substantiation. It has to move beyond the trappings of the mind and break through into consciousness, and more importantly, to communicate between subject and object in a way inexpressable to the simple mind and concurrent words. Who else in history could have a better, more exhaustingly exacting view, however, than Ezra Pound?

'Good art however "immoral" is wholly a thing of virtue. Good art can NOT be immoral. By good art I mean art that bears true witness, I mean the art that is most precise.'

"True witness" is what gets me here. It conjures up that sense of progress to the profoundly experiential out of the mere referential. This is what all true art aspires to, toils for, is suffered over.

'Colloquial poetry is to the real art as the barber's wax dummy is to sculpture.'

It is not simply a matter of writing in verse, it is a discipline. But I understand that things change. I'm trying not to lament a forgotten era or anything of the sort. It's unfortunate that poetry had to dwindle in stature and relevance so much. It's no longer about the passion and transcendence, now it's about "expression" and acceptance. The aim is altered now. No one strives for such a glorious vision anymore.

It took Pound more than 70 years to finally achieve this, after thousands of poems, countless translations, and the inimicable Cantos, standing monolithic in the vast field of modern art and thought. If you (whoever's still actually reading) ever read the Cantos, it will take time, more than most could ever have patience for, you will see the exemplification of this movement from a barren, anachronistic mentality into the precision of a mind unbound by time, into a pleroma of consciousness. One must sift through a dozen languages, 10,000 years of history and myth, and countless names and places that have lived and existed, some only in idea. But after pushing through the density, one arrives possibly the most beautiful verses ever written, none so unabashed and raw, the essence of language he sought for all these decades.

—‘The hells move in cycles, / No man can see his own end’

-‘A blown husk that is finished / but the light sings eternal / a pale flare over marshes’

‘And as to who will copy this palimpsest? / al poco giorno / ed al gran cerchio d’ombra [in the small hours, with the darkness describing a huge circle] / But to affirm the gold thread in the pattern / . . . / To confess wrong without losing rightness: / Charity I have had sometimes, / I cannot make it flow thru. / A little light, like a rushlight / to lead back to splendour’

(palimpsest = A manuscript, typically of papyrus or parchment, that has been written on more than once, with the earlier writing incompletely erased and often legible.)

It's doubtful anyone will truly grasp the magnitude of his work, or that he even did. Clearly he thought himself a failure at the end, a miserable old incapable bastard. Let's face it, the man himself was not an easy one. Genius like that, more often than not, creates fractures in the personality, making it difficult to differentiate between said genius and other, more ignoble thoughts. He's often cited as a notorious anti-Semite, but it's just not that simple. It's not that he hated Jews themselves, moreso the Judeo-Christian outlook that had seized Western civilization for almost two millennia. He saw the advent these religions as the downfall of the traditional, heroic and mystical way, as the world delved deeper into materialism and money. He wrote a lot on economics, namely how credit is a dangerous thing on such a large scale. But credit couldn't wreck an economy could it?

Pound stated that "maldistribution of wealth due to insufficient purchasing power is the cause of economic depressions. Pound had come to believe that a misunderstanding of money and banking by governments and the public, as well as the manipulation of money by international bankers, had led the world into a long series of wars." (Encyclopedia Britannica)

While his demeanor certainly lent him to be a rather bizarre and sometimes incoherent man, it doesn't get much more prophetic than this. There is only thing that modern civilization operates on: money, moreso the control of the distribution of wealth. It seems to be the primary focus of Americans especially. Your entire childhood is controlled by other people setting you up to be controlled by the dollar. 20 years of school, of pointless "extra-curricular" bullshit, of meaningless structure just to make sure you fit into the scheme of the money-making machine.

And it's all those who find this system insane that are cast out into ignorance, deemed as lone nuts, madmen, fascists, commies, etc. It's so very easy to demarcate someone outside the system in simple terms, simply because they're incompatible. Of course, some people simply are fucking crazy, but how could you know unless you tried to understand? That's one thing this world really needs more of: empathy. Not sympathy, not guilt for situations beyond your control, but basic understanding of others. Everyone's perspective is different, and a universal worldview will never cohere. We lack so much real communication between us.

I've learned, however (the hard way), that if you want others to act a certain way, to think, be a certain way, you will never EVER be satisfied. You can't control your environment, only your perception thereof. And some people will grow more selfish, some become more distant, and some just keep getting lovelier, while some forget you unfortunately, and some you fortunately forget about, your worst enemy might become your best friend again, vice versa, and love is only what you can piece together out of the chaotic hearts and minds of others and what you can connect with, to the ends of your short lives that nothing could ever last longer than in your eyes, or for only a few moments, when all other time, past, present, and future, is spurious at best.

2009-10-04T10:13:00.000-07:00

"Enlightenment is a dodgy proposition. It all depends on how much you want to risk. Not money so much as personal safety, precious time, against a very remote long shot coming in. It happens, of course. Out of the dust, the clouds of sweat and breath, the drumming of hooves, the animal rises up behind the field, the last you'd've expected, tall, shining, inevitable, and passes through them all like a beam of morning sunlight through the spectral residue of a dream. But it's still a fool's bet and a mug's game, and you might not have the will or the patience."
-Grand Cohen Nookshaft
Against the Day by Thomas Pynchon
p. 239

One has to wonder if a life of total failure as a possible outcome is worth the most important search in the world: enlightenment, to create a profound brevity of consciousness, imperceptible to those not there. I guess most people just carry on, indifferent to this sort of thing, but my outlook doesn't allow for that. As long as life is seemingly absurd and irrational, my mind will focus accordingly. This viewpoint itself eventually becomes ridiculous and in line with the madness of the world. You fall right into the trappings of these subtle mindgames. Fall right in and become object to your subject. In other words, you're far more fucked than when you started.

Hope certainly isn't lost, though. In fact, hope always dies last. There are companions to be found on this road. D-lysergic acid diethylamide-25, for instance. I certainly wouldn't recommend LSD to anyone, but it certainly worked for me, in the sense of freeing my mind, or rather me being freed from my mind. For the first time, I felt in control of my mind. Before (and since) the first time, my mind was always ahead of me, dictating and deciding before I could even get there, ruining groundwork and souring possible relationships. On LSD, though, I felt completely in the moment; it was me, and only me, living my life, a unity of mind, consciousness and body. I had no fear, no anxiety of all the situations that, in a "normal" mindset, would've made me uncomfortable or bored. All those stresses dissolved over the course of the day. Of course this is just my subjective opinion here, but I believe that for that day, I finally knew what it was like to be mentally clear, unburdened of any sort of neurosis. I could make profound decisions that before seemed so distant and impossible, like ending a very unhealthy relationship that became my worst addiction and my greatest waste of time. Not that I'm bitter toward anyone (well over a couple things, but that's being human), but I just realize that I could've been doing so much more with my life years ago. Let's take a trip back, let's try to figure out what's been tearing me apart all this time.

The earliest matter of pertinent information began, I think, when I skipped first grade. This was at St. Walter's Catholic School, an extremely secular private school. What I mean is that, in religion class, we were taught the metaphorical validity of the Bible. The stories were never meant to be taken literally; they're just guides for life. They even taught us evolution. Anyhow, even before 1st grade, in kindergarten, when it came time to read a story together, I was set aside to read my own story then write a report on it. Already standing apart, the first steps of being "different." Apparently someone higher up believed me to be smart back then, and seeing how old St. Walter's didn't have a gifted program, I was displaced into second grade after two weeks in the first, away from people I had just sort of made a connection with. Ostracizing was instantaneous, as you could imagine. I did not fit, at all. And it certainly didn't seem like I was wanted to fit in, and for all the right reasons, surely: because I'm younger than you, and smarter than you. Thanks, class of the ought, for exposing your insecurities to me repeatedly over 7 years. I learned a lot. Well, to be fair, a couple people were all right (even if I still feel you had adequate desk space), and I have resolved issues over the years, but, overall, I was never a part of you. That has been the pattern: not fitting in with any group.

I think it rather safe to say that this displacement from a somewhat normal standing to being the obvious outsider profoundly affected my outlook on life.

(to be continued, at some point)

purpose

2009-10-02T19:45:00.000-07:00

The pattern is beyond apparent. This exasperated poetical progress of the past couple years or so has been interesting. It has the followed the journey of attempting to bring some sort of understanding to a troubled mind (mine, I guess), and the struggle that has occurred. Is there a more difficult journey than the search for mental clarity? There are only two tools one has on this adventure: mind and consciousness. Both are omnipresent, but we are overwhelmingly aware and influenced by our mind, while the consciousness, the truest part of our selves, seemingly slumbers, awake when we dream. On occasion, consciousness permeates the unsteady mind, and in various moments things appear clear and right; they actually make sense! In a world that has almost none!

And I've been trying so hard to bring that world of abstraction out of my head and into the real, onto the page, to create some sort of lasting connection, to make some things truly matter, to make life count, to know what vitality is, to have a world worth living in, people worth dying for.

Will I ever succeed? No one can say. But goddamn it I'll try, for as long as I can write, type, speak, think, I'll carry out these thoughts to whomever will listen, if only for a second. I will find my way, I'll get over all these crippling and crippled obsessions, all these needless attachments that drain and drag on, all these hateful people and faithless ingrates I will overcome and cast them into the past that doesn't change. I will make it. Do it and see it done.

where to start

2009-09-30T13:52:00.000-07:00

doesn't it feel strange
to only be the sum
of countless minute constructions
of vibration and frequency
catalyzed by electricity
arising from no place
where does love fit in here
if not in all this empty space

(This is what I do. All the time. It's the only thing that's ever felt right.)

hang it all, there is no way out of here
speak the same words and pretend to care
lies told long enough become sweet and true
could i stop thinking i think i'd make it through
this mess i've built on so many dreams
where nothing i expect is what it seems
and knowing i've only learned two things
to care is to suffer
&
good deeds are the most readily punished
it's all changed so much
hide behind your covers
listen to the flow of the Okkervil
let your heart bleed to another's
read all the books left out of the
Bible
keep on with half-truth and indecision
Pynchon doesn't nearly have the words
to explain my position
the more i try
to change my alignment
the more it diverts
surely this wide world
is not nearly wide enough
to hide my love or conceal my contempt

you were once mine, and that's my only lie
told to make sure I sleep at night
another attempt to keep out the waking light

I get lost in my own worlds
resting weakly
hinged on a single word
I'll never uncover

because I've seen what's good, and left it behind
so many times
all this a callow attempt, to bring myself out
of a chaotic mind
and return to see all of you
trudging along inside my head
without it you'd be dead
it's simple: existence makes no sense, never will
the answer's been right in front of me
since that freezing february
night when up went down
black into white
and could see the full measure of my demise
in three colors
this is for every pen that went dry
for every piece of trash that became treasure
when it accepted my words
you tell me to wear purple
but it's all blues to me

For you, I wrote out my heart, my brain, the pain
in my lungs, blackened with nicotine
burnt carbon and THC, plants from 3000 miles away
hacking up the unease of my stomach
nearing my throat
where the words stop, dissipating into every vein
my blood racing
that I won't drop dead
rushing to my face for that glimpse
for you, I wrote my heart out
sans lechery, the realest measure of what
falls out of my head
I asked if you read anything good lately
"No I haven't had the time."

what else can I say?
that my mind is a flaw, a mistake?
that I fear my love for the world will-

be less opaque

I'll come around full radius
and be no longer a note
bent sharply out of tune
even on the run, lungs pumping acid
I wait for you
all you had to do was ask him
because he who you see is not me
he is bound by indecision
and lethargy
he can't piece together cosmic coincidence
and follow pattern to its meaning
without conscience
he waits in the kitchen
our sun loses feeling
yet my eyes
still shrinking to pinholes
and I'm choking on the light
it's the same with you
as I slip down
over the side
out of this town