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.

team spirit

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

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.

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

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.........

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.