apparent chaos

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

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

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

"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

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.

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.

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.

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.

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

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.

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

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

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

(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

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.
....
...
..
.
.
.
.
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."

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

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

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

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.