Friday, October 23, 2009

Mirror of Fear

FEAR. It eats away at us all. It destroys every bit of hope that is left in this blue heaven. It controls the lives of the weak that think homosexuals, people of color, the homeless, anybody that is different from what they are, should all be skinned alive and thrown in an unmarked grave while still breathing.
It's a crying shame people can think so closed minded. Their hatred, their fear is just a mirror reflecting their ugliness. How cruel and cold this world can be. I mean, we all judge, even if we say we don't, that's bullshit it just happens. It's natural, but that does not mean we shouldn't be open and accepting of EVERYONE regardless of their differences.
I say this because some of you might judge me or fear for my sanity because of the fucked up, twisted movies I watch. I like disturbing movies no one in their right mind should ever watch. I don't know what it is, but I'm fascinated by all of the things that are wrong with this angelic world. That is why for my next review I'm going to watch a movie called "Slaughtered Vomit Dolls." This movie is definitely not for everyone, but I will view it for those who only choose to watch family flicks and children's cartoons. Consider my curiosity a favor.
In case you were wondering it's a movie about "the gruesome tapestry of psychological manifestations of a 19 year old bulimic runaway stripper-turned prostitute named Angela Aberdeen; as she descends into a hellish pit of satanic nightmares and hallucinations." Wow! That's what's in store for me? This movie sounds like a rainbow floating in the sky on a clear, sunny day. Speaking of which, here's another one of my poems:

Graveyard Birthdays

Your birthdays
come and go, but you
are long
gone,
buried
beneath the sun
sleeping side by side
with your new found friends,
soulless
corpses.

Every summer
the family gathers
to pay a visit to you
and your friends.
We drink green beer,
make fun of you,
and use our tears
to clean your grave,
but the celebration ends.

A burning wind drifts by,
sweet suicidal thoughts
stir my restless soul,
but I can't do much,
I am a worthless coward,
a deformed pussy.
All I can do
is
drink the pain
down
and utter those dead, useless words
"Happy Birthday."

Tuesday, October 20, 2009

The Devil Makes Three Concert Review

This past weekend was sloppy to say the least. Throughout the day of The Devil Makes Three concert, I had the privilege of having an all day drinking fest with two lovely, somewhat crazy ladies. During these long hours, I heard a plethora of Pop songs and to the ladie's surprise I knew every corny lyric to such corny songs as Backstreet Boys "I Want it that Way" and P. Diddy's "Can't Nobody Hold Me Down." They thought because I am a metal head that I can only be a tough guy that gets way too drunk and ONLY listens to metal. This is far from the truth. I love music, all of it. No matter how hard or corny it is, it is the celebration of life and I cannot help, but celebrate. I don't try to be cool or follow a certain set of rules like punks, indie kids, and gangsta rappers do. Why are there rules anyways? I thought the whole point of it all, especially with punk, is that there are no rules. These "laws" make no sense to me, so instead I choose to be myself and enjoy and support bands and music that I know and love. Take it or leave it.
I am getting to know and already love the indie/punk/bluegrass band The Devil Makes Three. These whiskey guzzlers put on an incredible honky tonk performance. They had everyone at the Downtown Brew venue slappin' their knees and hootin' and hollerin' all throughout their historic show and even between breaks. All of the songs these okie punk rockers played were crowd pleasers, but it seemed that everyone knew every word to their booze soaked anthem "Old Number Seven." And if the crowd was not singing along to the Devils' other foot stompers like "Ten Feet Tall" and "Do Wrong Right," they were mesmerized by the bands vocal harmonies, blazing banjo picking, and upright bass slapping provided by Lucia Turino. This tattooed queen had me hypnotized, as well as the rest of the people with cocks there. Boy! She could play.
When they finished their set, the crowd would not let them leave. The drunk ramblers wanted more and more and they received encore after encore. The Devil Makes Three put on an impressive performance that was unforgettable and that is hard to believe considering how much whiskey was flowing through everyone's veins. I, honestly, miss those beautiful okies already. I just want to say thank you, thank you so much, you devils had me drinking in heaven.

Monday, October 19, 2009

The Black Dahlia Murder Concert Review

There was a metal show in San Luis Obispo on Thursday? Fuck yes and the disturbed mentally ill patients from the nearby Atascadero State Hospital came out to show their support for The Black Dahlia Murder's Deflorate tour.
Opening up at the Downtown Brew was Skeletonwitch. This up and coming metal band was a crowd pleaser. They are gaining a major cult following in the underground metal scene and it's no wonder considering the thrashing performance they slaughtered the crowd with. All of the band members were on top of their game. Chance, the lead singer, was howling at the top of his lungs and completely owned the tiny stage they performed on. The crowd, in response, beat the merciless fuck out of each other and ruined their necks and were more than pumped for the headlining act.
My ears have had the honor of bleeding to the punishing sounds of Black Dahlia and this time was no different. The crowd went ape shit for the Murder, even for their new songs, which Shannon Lucas, pounding the skins, destroyed on each and every level. He is an unbelievable drummer, perhaps one of the best in metal. On a different note, coming to the show I had some doubts about the new guitar player, but Ryan Knight quickly proved himself and I realized I was a fucking fool for doubting his talent.
The only thing that was missing from the show was their mascot. I love that shit throwing ape, but it didn't matter that was not there because the Murder ripped this yuppie/indie town a brand new gaping asshole. If you ever get a chance to check these bands out, just do it dammit! And say hello to Skeletonwitch when you see them out in the crowd. They are fucking down to earth metal freaks that will melt your black hearts. Worship these amazing metal bands and keep HEAVY METAL alive. Horns up!

Friday, October 16, 2009

Skeletonwitch Breathing The Fire


Who is pissing on me right now? I'm not sure whether it's El Nino or God or whoever the fuck, but there is no better time to listen to new music. I am currently listening to the new Alice in Chains album, which is already a classic in my ears and the new Flaming Lips album. There is a lyric in one of their new songs that says "those people are evil." Those evil motherfuckers are Skeletonwitch. Oh, and guess what they have a fucking amazing new metal album out called Breathing the Fire. These American Vikings play fucking metal that will make your grandmother shit blood and piss vomit. Their last album, Beyond the Permafrost, was below sub-zero temperatures. Their new album is hotter than the deepest depths of hell. It's hard to believe that they could have topped their last album, but they did it and they did it with the balls of a lion. They are leading the massive front in the modern thrash scene. With the help of producer, Jack Endino(High on Fire, Toxic Holocaust, and Soundgarden? Yes Soundgarden), they made a serial killer of an album. Picking a favorite song on this album would be like picking a favorite type of pussy. Now why would I do that? I like all types of pussy just as I like every single track on Breathing the Fire.
They blast out of the gates of hell on this album with the speed of a demon on crack, but there are also melodic elements on the album that calm this tornado of metal. Then, they go right back to destroying everything in their path.Chance, the lead singer, adds a new twist on his howling screams with a deeper growl, something not heard on their previous outings. The dual guitar assault of N8 feet under and Scunty D shred like maniacs and their solos are done with the axes of mass murderers. Loosh, the new bass player, jams like he was in the band before anyone was and when you hear the drums it sounds as if Mullet Chad was playing them in the bathroom next to you.
Skeletonwitch definitely stepped up their game on this album. Breathing the Fire is one of my top metal albums of the year hands down. So, do yourself and your grandmother a favor and pick this shit up. I guarantee you will not be let down by this black/thrash attack.

Wednesday, October 14, 2009

Ablutions Book Review

Patrick DeWitt’s novel Ablutions will either stop your blacked out ways or it will push you further down the bottomless bottle you can no longer live without. This novel is despicable, crude, ugly, truthful, and shocking. I fucking love it. DeWitt’s words will take you down a suicidal path stumble by stumble, page by page, towards your local, trashy, hole in the wall, Hollywood bar and give you a nice case of delirium tremens along the way.
You ever notice when you are in a bar by yourself trying to drown all of your fucked up sorrows in life, just how incredibly pathetic of a situation you have put yourself in. Then, you take a look around at the miserable people you are surrounded by and take notes on each and every regular that are there right beside you. That is the exact way this novel is written. The protagonist, an unnamed bartender, describes to the reader in a third person voice, all of the red eyed barflies that occupy his bar nightly. The characters he describes are destroying every bit of life in themselves and he, well, he puts them down for it and could not be more cruel to his misfortunate customers.
There are many memorable scenes in his notes that makes this novel addicting. One of my favorite scenes is at a party at the failed actor/coke addicted bar manager’s house, in which it was predicted by a regular that he would die in that very night. Chaos immediately ensues and hookers are brought to the fiesta as well as a mountain of coke. By the end of the night, no one dies and a little black kid is forced to have nightmares for the rest of his life. The book falls deeper and deeper into a bottomless pit of alcohol and the person drowning in it is the unnamed bartender. His life eventually becomes beyond ruined and he loses everything, but by the end he comes up with a fool proof plan that will get his life back on track.
Ablustions is a wonderful novel. These depraved adventures almost seem like the author experienced it all first hand. So, this is a perfect read for those who are watching their room spin round and round or for those who driving around on a full tank of whiskey. This novel has my blessing and soon it will have yours. Squares and Jehovah’s Witnesses beware.

Monday, October 12, 2009

Upcoming Reviews

There are many, many sinful books, concerts, and movies I will be reviewing during this upcoming dreadful week. Although I am busy as all hell with this unemployment thing. Who knew a graduate with a degree in creative writing would such have a hard time finding a job? I guess it's good that I use my time wisely and don't just sit around the house or local speakeasy drinking myself into a big black hole filled with Ol' Number Seven and cheap, imitation cola. Not a bad way to go out, but I like to do other activities despite my addiction to the destroyer of senses. Where am I going with this? Oh yes, reviews. I am currently finishing a book called Ablutions. So far this downward spiral of a tale makes my life seem pretty tame and uneventful. I guess that is why I am attending a couple of concerts this week at Downtown Brew in San Luis Obispo. Both of which I will be writing reviews for. One is an incredible show that features one of my favorite metal bands, The Black Dahlia Murder(Listen to them on my player) and opening for this blasphemous band is Skeletonwitch(also on my player). The other is no other than The Devil Makes Three(also on there). These three drunks sure do know how to rock a party and I cannot wait to sing along to their punk influenced country. Come out and join my alcoholic friends and me if you live anywhere near the Central Coast of California. In the meantime, here is another depressing poem for you to read to your kids before they venture off into their playground of nightmares:

The Uselessness

You feel
your hands
glide across
these same predictable
empty pages,
you see
your hands
scribbling
these same predictable
words
on empty pages,
as if
they meant something.

They mean nothing,
nothing at all
and
they make you feel nothing,
nothing at all,
but
you can never stop
no matter
how hard you try
and the uselessness
becomes
your life,
your way,
your
end.

Sunday, October 11, 2009

Breaking The Hymen of The Room of Dreams

What the hell can you expect from me? I will be all over the map on this blog. Anything and anybody will be hunting down and killed by my words. Well, not everything. There will be many things that I will find enjoyable. It could be a recent concert I have just been to or a book I have just blazed through or a movie that made me jump out of my beer soaked car at the drive-in or maybe even something strange I came across while out on a drunken rampage. I will also be posting my creative writing. Speaking of which, here is a poem for all you rat lovers out there, lost in the worldwide labyrinth:

The Black Rat's Omen

"Have you ever talked to the dead?"
Asked the rodent
as it emerged from the house of
God.

Step by step,
creeping
he came to me
collapsing by my side.

He looked into my soul.

His eyes were pools of black
filled with emptiness,
his black hair covered his dwarf sized body
that rotted in the darkness,
his long tail faded
into the shadows.

My tongue departed.
Absent,
words became unkown,
my ears began to bleed.
Whispering, he went on with his nonsense,
"You know me. I have recently perished.
I was face down, my head flattened, weeping blood,
soaking the gravel below."

Through the mist,
instantly,
I recognized his voice.
It was the voice of my father,
his deceased cry, speaking to me
beyond the grave.

"Death is in search of you.
Say goodbye to all that you love."

Motionless,
my feet buried in ice,
the sign of the cross shinning above,
the rat turned away, limped back
into that dark house
of God,
as I surrounded myself in the pleasure of my own thoughts,
welcoming my tragedy with
two open arms.