Thursday, December 30, 2010

No Need

Most
only see beauty
on the outside.

Beauty
is PHYSICAL
and nothing else.

Beauty
doesn't describe them
or many others.
Only a choosen few
can proclaim
this arrogant word.

Those
that cannot,
look in the mirror
with disgust
at their hideous nose
or wandering eye.

When on the street
they aim their frustration
at the woman with hairy
arm pits,
they laugh
at a big head,
mock
a small ass
with wide ankles
and missing toes
and that
is all they see
until they get home
to the mirror.

They never
look past your imperfections
or their own.
That is all
they see.

They don't
realize the overwhelming
BEAUTY
lying beneath.
They don't
see magnificent, dangerous
eyes
hidden behind the nose
or the unbelieveable
hips
under the petite breasts
or the radiant soul
shinning through
their unpleasantness.

They see
no beauty.
They see
no soul
because they
themselves
have lost
their own.

They have become one
dimensional
and will forever
stay as one.
There's no changing
their hideous
thoughts
and there's no changing
your imperfections
so why
try?

Sunday, December 19, 2010

Are We in Love?

Your clothes
are on
and mine
are off.

I'll use your favorite word
to describe how
I feel,
awkward.

You keep
your beautiful body
away from me
and not
the rest.

Now tell me
while I'm still naked,
why is that?

Are we in love?

I guess
I'll never
know.

I Wish This Was a Lie

The hours
with yourself
seem to be
too long
and the days
spent
with someone else
seem to be short.

This is the was
life
was never meant
to be,
yet
this is the only
life
we know
and there's not
a fucking thing
we can do about it.

Saturday, December 11, 2010

In Between the Death Traps Lies Flashes of Inspiration

I am going to fail
all my life.
I am going to give up
and make mistake
after mistake.

I don't mind.
I am still
going to try
and demand nothing
in return.

In this meaningless existence
I will not put up
a meaningless fight.
I will stand firm
and believe in myself
and find out about myself
in every possible way,
no matter
how miserable life gets,
no matter
how long I survive.

This is a promise
I will never break.

Wednesday, December 8, 2010

Waking Up

feels like death
has crawled
into your mouth
and took control
of your body
and mind...

leaving you
only with
your eyes
to watch
the living
continue on
without you.

Sunday, December 5, 2010

Your Newfound Friend

Take me out,
I want to play.

Prick your finger
with me,
till a drop of life
is squeezed out.

Do you like the bleeding?

Do you want it to go on
forever?

No more childish games.
We must get serious.

Place me on your skin
and dig in.
Saw your wrist to the bone.

Don't do it in your home,
do it in public
with your family taking pictures
and cheering you on.

When that gets boring,
place me on your neck
and sever your artery.

Don't let your precious blood go to waste,
cup it
in your hand
and give it to little children
to drink.

Drink some yourself,
taste you own death,
courtesy of me
your newfound friend.

Saturday, December 4, 2010

Death by Bearded Clam

A vagina
is flying in the sky.
The muff
eclipses the sun
and swoops down
after me.

Before the pussy lips
swallow me,
a waterfall
of menstral blood
is used to marinate my dirty skin
and rotting organs.

The lips open
and swallow me
whole.

In total darkness,
in my tomb,
in the womb,
this is not always
how I pictured dying,
but this death feels
pleasurable,
exceptionally better
than getting ran over
by a drunk.

Thursday, December 2, 2010

Sacrifice

I have a fantasy.
I wish for it
everyday,
but my dreams rarely come true.

The next lucky person
that crosses my path
with a shovel
can take all their years
of frustrations
and broken dreams
out
on my face,
my chest
and drive the tip
right through my scrotum.

I want to watch
as my genitals
hang
by the smallest shred
of skin
then,
smile as my hairless sack
is ripped off
by the wind
and buried
in the mud.

Why?

For the greatest feeling:
To make the unfortunate
happy.

Friday, November 12, 2010

Atheist Jupiter Review

Atheist, legendary tech metal band that has been pushing the boundaries of metal since they first formed in the mid 80s. All one has to listen to is their first two albums Piece of Time and Unquestionable Presence, in order to realize the monumental contribution they have made. They have always been generations ahead of their time, which is why they have often been misunderstood and one of the reasons why they have not released a studio album in damn near two decades. Now founding members, Steve Flynn and Kelly Shaefer, are back writing together and ready to release their most anticipated album, Jupiter, for a whole new set of ignorant ears to misinterpret.
Out of the gates of Jupiter is “Second to Sun.” The first thing that is quite noticeable is the organic production. This is rarely heard in today’s music world, where everything seems to be overproduced and represents nothing of what a band actually sounds like when they play live. Not Atheist. Not Jupiter. As usual, they are of a most different and bizarre breed of musicians. Drummer, Steve Flynn, didn’t even pick up a drumstick for 14 years and no one will hardly notice on this album. The level he’s playing at is astronomical. He’s a skin pounding beast. It’s an absolute blessing to be able to hear his brilliant talent dominate throughout the entire album.
Jupiter could be Atheist’s most unified and challenging album to date. The best song that contributes to this bold statement is “Fictitious Glide.” It’s a good representation of what their fans have loved them for. From start to finish, there’s no shortage of complex riffs and just plain weirdness. From there, the album continues magnificently twisting through pure grooves and turning into utter brutality. It’s heavy, it’s obscure, it‘s afuckingmazing.
Despite all of the praise, there are some drawbacks. First off, if you have never liked Kelly Shaefer vocals, then you will continue not to enjoy them. He sounds pretty much the same as he always has from the early years of Atheist to his time with Gnostic. Second, Jonathon Thompson, the replacement bass player, has massive shoes to fill. He will face major criticism. Original bass player Roger Patterson and his replacement, Tony Choy, are both phenomenal bass players. No one in their right mind would want to follow in their footsteps, but Thompson manages, in this listener’s ears, to achieve this feat and very few can match his volatile and intricate style of play.
Only time will tell if yet again Atheist have created, not only a groundbreaking metal album, but maybe even a whole new genre. They will have many, many critics pissing all over Jupiter. They will also have many that will be bludgeoning their beefsteaks with praise and having legions of orgasms due to Atheist’s flawless musicianship. One thing is for sure, they have not lost me as a dedicated fan. I will continue to play Jupiter over and over again until another band can come along and somehow surpass their level of talent. At that point, I will probably be in a convalescent home shitting myself with joy.

Thursday, November 11, 2010

Lynt Profile: Steve Tracy

Close bipolar eyes for a moment and imagine what your life would be like if there was no facebook. Your niece couldn’t send updates about her dog’s ongoing herpes simplex condition. Your brother couldn’t tag you pictures of his date he met through cougarlife.com. Now take a deep breath and let this newfound and hopeless reality set in. What would you do with yourself and your time? You may have to find yourself a new hobby. You may have to stop texting your cougar and call legendary musician Steve Tracy for guitar lessons.
Steve Tracy may not be a household name, but his impressive career has spanned over a half of a century. He’s played with some of the greatest musicians of all time. During his peak, when acid was ingested as much as 5 hour energy drinks and peace, love, and insanity were as far as the eye could see, he’s graced the stage with Sammy Hagar, Norman Greenbaum, and Sly and the Family Stone. He was backstage at the Fillmore West when Janis Joplin plugged up the toilet with her massive shits. He was in the studio waiting for Sly Stone to stop smoking angel dust in his Rolls Royce, so they could start recording. He’s been on stage in front of thousands and thousands of people and no feeling in the world could compare to this. Now, he’s passing on his gift to those who are devoted and willing to learn. He’s encouraging students, young and old, to get the hell off of facebook and fuel your soul with the immaculate sounds of the guitar.
Music is everything to him. He says, “The thing about music is it’s truthful, where life cannot so be truthful.” Whatever you put into it, you get out of it. This glorious instrument can’t lie to you, but you simply must be in it for the love of music. There have been plenty of extremely talented musicians that have never made the “big time.” Never let this discourage you. Never. You must keep playing obsessively. Keep following your dreams. Keep feeding your soul with life.
Steve’s guitar style exceeds genres. He can teach you anything from country to r&b. He can even teach vocals and he has been since the mid 70s. He’s an astounding person and dedicated to passing on his knowledge, his passion for music. These lessons don’t just last a few updates, they will last for an entire lifetime. So will your niece’s dog’s herpes, but no one gives even a partial dingleberry sandwich about this. Your only source of happiness during these desperate times is Steve Tracy. Do yourself a favor and give him a call.
(805)543-0885

Tuesday, October 26, 2010

Ugly Streets

the streets are filled
with filth and blood.
the cars traveling
on these same decrepit streets
are searching for innocent children
for more blood
to constantly
keep the streets filled.

i used to be one of these children,
but no one notices me now.
no one
will even make eye contact with me.
i might as well
be dead,
walking with the rest
of the living dead.

they might notice me
if i were naked,
blocking their way
to their ugly wives
or abusive husbands.
then again,
they might not.
they may roll
right over me
pour burning oil down my broken neck
and drive on...

Now, if i were paved in gold,
they might stop.
Hell,
they would stop
and tear off my gold plated testicles
one by one.
they too
would never look me in the eyes.

the value of human life
is worthless
on these streets,
it's an everyday fact of life
that almost no one
can get used to,
yet they walk
and drive
and live on them
without ever changing their ways,
forever haunted
by the filth and blood
of ugly streets.

Wednesday, September 29, 2010

Working For The Unforgiving

Slow and painful
is how the hours go by.
Overworked
is an understatement
to us,
to them
we need to work more,
harder,
without complaint.

Underpaid
is how we are rewarded.
Underappreciated
is how we should never
feel,
yet
the cheese thats molds in the trash
is worth
more
than us.

Depression
is washed down
the sink
along with our thoughts
and imagination.
The drain
is worth
more
than us.

If these
normal, human, tormenting thoughts
do set in,
then management
takes away our razors
for fear that we might
cut off chunks
of our own wrists
and bag em
and tag em
and sell em
to customers.
We wouldn't know the difference
and customers
love the taste of fresh flesh.

Our life's blood has been draining
away since
we gave them
our social sercurity numbers.
Why do we do this
to ourselves?
Why do others do this
to us
without remorse
or pity?
Do they not
have a fucking soul?
Do they not
have a fucking heart?
Must we work
for the unforgiving
forever?

Monday, September 13, 2010

The Ugly Sky Above Oakland

The streets are disgusting,
The bathrooms are disgusting,
The people are even worse.

The bay is putrid and filled with shit,
The air is putrid and filled with shit,
The people are even worse.

They talk,
They walk,
They shit,
They fuck,
They die.

They are lost,
Living in Oakland,
Why?
Under the ugly sky
With no stars,
No future,
No morals,
No lives,
Why?

Why walk these vile streets filled with trash,
With vomit,
With piss?
Why?

And why am I here?
I have vomit stains on my shirt,
Dandruff in my hair,
Foul-smelling armpits,
Dirty asshole,
A hangover,
And coke boogers,
Why, I fit right in,
And am glad that I am smiling,
Looking up at the ugly sky above Oakland.

Friday, September 10, 2010

Article of John Hackleman Jr "The Man in the Cage"

There are millions of big headed, muscle bound choads that watch UFC fights thinking that they can easily go in the cage with any MMA fighter and shatter his face beyond recognition. Fat chance. They couldn’t even punch their tongues through a fart hole. These out of shape beer inhalers have no idea what it takes to make it through one day of training. I recently interviewed local fighter John Hackleman Jr to find out just how much hard work, discipline, and sacrifice it takes to achieve this domination in the cage.

This 28 year old middleweight massacre stands at 6’3” and weighs in at 185 lbs. Most challengers stand a better chance of survival playing roulette rather than entering in the cage with Johnny. He has been training in kickboxing since he was wearing diapers and for the past decade he’s been duking it out with the best amateur boxers in California. All day and all night and all throughout his training he thinks about disfiguring his opponent. Even when he is at his second job as a bartender at McCarthy’s, he’s training, plotting, thinking about how expensive his next opponent’s hospital bill will be or if they’ll have to call in the coroner to clean up the mess.

His relentless training also requires a strict diet. He eats small portions of what some might consider cardboard and despite being surrounded by Jameson, he doesn’t give into temptation. There is no booze for this bruiser. His dedication and drive to win are his only motivations. There’s plenty of time for debauchery later in life. He would rather get a high from making his opponents pay. They better watch out because as he puts it, “no one is safe.” If an opponent does enter his “home,” the cage, they have earned his respect, but they will not stop him from going after what he loves most-the KNOCKOUT. He says, “there’s nothing like the feeling of winning a fight by knocking someone out…I want that feeling every time I fight.”

Opponents may try and find a way to beat him, perhaps by inciting a fear. This unfortunately will never work. His only fear is not giving it his all. Besides that, there’s no chance of winning. Ask his former opponents he’s fought through the California Fight Syndicate. There may be a chance now they could be one of the drunks that yell at the tv or from the stands. My advice to them is to keep trying to punch their tongues through a fart hole and to stay the hell away from John Hackleman Jr.

Saturday, August 14, 2010

The Unforgettable Memories of a Dead Bastard

Coming into this angelic world,
I always thought of you as my father,
You never were.

I remember too much of you,
I remember too much agony and abuse,
I remember watching,
Watching as my mother got slammed against the door,
Watching as her eyes turned black,
Watching as the tears poured out of her innocent heart,
Always helplessly watching.

I remember your fist,
I remember your strength,
I remember your fury,
I remember too much.

I remember the other women,
With hairy twats and curly hair and naked skin,
I remember them all,
I remember too much.

I remember how you left,
Jobless and grim,
I remember you left us with nothing,
Without a care.

Then you were gone,
Off in the desert,
Set about to shatter more dreams and more lives,
With different families and hopeless children.

We carried on.
We rarely saw you,
Why did we ever see you at all?

The years went on…

The last I heard you were dancing
In a sun filled church,
With your preacher, your brother,
Praying at your side.

Thought you found the good Lord,
But it was Death that found you,
And as you were lying in a gutter,
With your head smashed in,
On a beautiful fourth of July morning,
The driver left
Just as you did,
But I shed no tears for you,
I just tried to bury all of those unforgettable memories
from a dead bastard.

Thursday, August 5, 2010

For Eric

My Road

On the road
Watching the ravens
Circle above,
Watching the clouds
Block out the sun,
Watching them
Shed tears of parachutes,
Watching,
Watching,
Watching the dead laugh
In their graves
As our lives pass us by,
As quiet as
Shadows.

It’s a fucking freak accident,
How did I end up on this road?
With these strangers
These Green
Bright and shinning souls.

It all seems like a dream,
But it’s
Not,
It’s my reality,
My world,
My road.

There are many,
Many ugly roads
I could have traveled up.
There are many,
Many cursed roads
I could have traveled down:
A weakling on junkie ave.
A prisoner on death row,
A bum on skid row.

I could have,
I could have,
But I did not.
I am here
A walking, drinking, shit talking, breathing, fucking
Hard on
Driving in a sea of air,
Right beside
Joy and pain,
Happiness and sorrow,
On my way
On my road.

Monday, July 5, 2010

Nada Rasta Local Music Review

Lately the parties in SLO have been buttock-clenchingly piss poor. There’s always an abundance of sausage and only one pair of tits in sight. If the party is somewhat decent, then SLO’s finest shows up to pay a visit. They handout ridiculous fines, crack skulls, and throw turds in the jungle juice bowl. This cannot go on. All of this negative activity needs to cease immediately. What I think this town needs is: fast women, enough booze to fill the Carrizo Plain, and the reggae/ska/punk sounds banged out by Nada Rasta.

If you don’t know who Nada Rasta is, well, you need to get out more. They are SLO’s official party band. They know how to throw a rager and there always seems to be more than abundance of beautiful belles at each and every one of their shows, which is only a few of the many reasons why everyone should go see them in concert wherever and whenever they play.

The first thing you’ll notice when you do see them live is that there will be monstrous clouds of smoke dancing to the music and it will smell as if they have just cremated half of the population of skunks that reside on the Central Coast. Then, after you become intoxicated by that sweet smell, your jaw will drop right through your grave because of the high energy performance they put on. You’ll see guitarist Paul Hanna playing bluesy solos with his teeth and while getting beer poured down his throat. You’ll get hit in the face by keyboardist Nate Wallace’s long dreads as he’s doing the windmill all over the stage. You’ll be mesmerized by the funky bass playing of Reverend Rudy Bonefinger and the guitar playing and rapping of Chase Kossack. Then, your eyes will burst out of their sockets from watching the drumming of a born to be ska drummer Chris Boyd. You’ll at least still be able to dance and sing with lead vocalist Ruben Urtiz as he flies off the stage and into the crowd.

It’s no wonder why Nada Rasta have recently won 107.3’s battle of the bands. It’s no wonder why they have such a huge following in SLO County that is going to continue to mushroom across California. It’s no wonder why you may doubt my opinion, but that will all change once you go see them live at one or two or all of the many shows they’ll be playing this summer. When you do make sure and do yourself a favor and lose all of your self control and inhibitions. Also, be sure to hit up Rudy for some brownies after the show, he’ll slip you one on the down low!

Concert info available @ www.myspace.com/nadarasta

Thursday, June 3, 2010

My Epic Ablum Review

My Epic Yet

I’m obsessed with heavy, heavy music that shatters the stained glass windows of the most beloved churches and smashes the most sacred of crucifixes into dust with accompanying lyrics about dead family members rising from their graves and hunting down your new born babies to decapitate their teeny heads and rape their tender necks with maggot stuffed cocks. However, these aren’t the limits of my musical tastes. I do equally enjoy a broad spectrum of musical genres including soul, hip hop, jazz, blues, country, and experimental indie rock, which is what My Epic plays.

Hailing from Charlotte, NC, My Epic is made up of guitarist/singer Aaron Stone, drummer Jesse Stone, and bassist Jeremiah Austin. They all are influenced in life and musically by God and His strange and incomprehensible ways. His holiness radiates on each and every album they have ever put out. No, they aren’t as big as the official turd burglars of Jesus, Creed. They are heavier and deserve way more credit. And with just one listen to their new album Yet, you can hear why. Produced by Matt Goldman (Underoath, As Cities Burn), Yet is a raw and stripped down record with a bit of groove and a little bit of somber thrown in the mix. If I were to compare them to anyone it would probably be Thrice, but that doesn’t explain them entirely. It doesn’t give them justice. They have their own unique sound.

Yet’s opener “Author” starts off with a cacophony of feedback that leads into a piano driven track with screams to enhance the emotions of the overall song. Aaron’s voice can come off as whiny, but at the same time there’s a soothing comfort to it. Most of the album is calm and melodic. It reminds me of something you might hear playing in the background of your local youth church group. On the other hand, there are also heavier guitar elements laced throughout the album such as in the tracks “Lower Still,” “Ashes,” and at the end of “Sound and Fury.” My favorite track “Pour,” also has a slow and heavy breakdown that brings on one of the only instrumentals of the album.

The lyrics standout in Yet. They are what My Epic fans appreciate and love about them. Their words are insightful, hopeful, and memorable. For example, there’s a lyric at the beginning of the closing track “Perfector,” that sheds a new light into the dark thoughts that we all have of death. Aaron sings “Death is just a hook behind a door where I’ll leave my dirty clothes.” Yes, his lyrics are truly enlightening to say the least.

Yet might never be found in a metal maniacs album collection, but that doesn’t mean it should be ignored. My Epic has an appeal to them that can cross many musical borders. They may even inspire some metal maniacs to take a break from the slaughter they put their ears through on a daily basis. Those who listen might just be swept off to heaven, instead of their daily hell, with the serene and beautiful melodies My Epic has released to all of God’s children.

Tuesday, May 25, 2010

And Hell Followed With interview


This is an interview I conducted with murder city's own deathcore heroes And Hell Followed With, well, actually with one of their guitar players, Kyle McIlmurray. Hope you enjoy...

RD: Introduce yourselves...
KM: We're And Hell Followed With.. Cunt yeah!

RD: Now tell us what makes AHFW stand out from other Deathcore bands around the globe?
KM: We like to think we bring a little of everything to the table.. Crushing heaviness, intricacy, and angelic melodies.

RD: Do you guys consider today's metal scene to be stagnant as of lately?
KM: Honestly todays scene is everything but stagnant. Seven kids out of ten are a part of the tough guy "mob" and usually have little care for anything but the bands they already listen to.

RD: What inspires AHFW to push the band into new and challenging directions with your music?
KM: Listening to stuff outside of metal.. Mozart, Beethoven, Vivaldi, miscellaneous jazz artists.. Any style of music that involves immense musical abilities.

RD: Tell us about the upcoming 28 Days LaTour...what can we expect from "the most pissed off band live"?
KM: Expect exactly what it says.. Straight piss and fucking vinegar.

RD: Heard you guys ran into a lady that ate her own lipstick and still kept talking to you guys as if nothing had happened...gotta any other favorite moments from the maniacs at your shows...any rim job offers from hermaphrodites?
KM: I think some of our favorites are the bums we meet at just about every venue.. Those are the best dudes to kick it with.. Kids.. Pay attention to your local homeless dude!

RD: What metal band (dead or alive) would you guys want to play at your funeral?
KM: SlipKnot.. Hands down.

RD: Any last words...
KM: Get ready! Get stoked! AHFW is coming to a venue near you!

Happiness Is Only Six Feet Away

How many times will I have to touch a cold body
and look at its lifeless grin?
How many more times must I see the ones I love
join the eternal bliss?

I feel trapped
in this nightmare,
reality,
so called life.
Escape,
escape,
I must break away.

The thought of life,
of death,
repels us all.
Our existence is a sickness
that cannot be cured.
We can only hope to subdue it,
with drugs,
with fantasies,
with faith.

It's only the dead that live in peace.
The funerals we attend
are to remorse the living,
the suffering,
the ones that bleed everyday
and never
die.

Monday, May 24, 2010

The Hallucination of a Phantom

The perfect day came
with all of its glory.

I bathed in its pleasant silence,
danced with its ghosts,
leered up at its dirt.

Over my body turned,
face down,
back to the illumination,
descending into the void.

Dragged by
rusty chains,
closer than skin,
down to life,
back to reality.

Tuesday, April 6, 2010

Review: Infinitum Obscure "Sub Artis Caelis"

Tijuana’s own, Infinitum Obscure, has finally released their aggressive, unrelenting sophomore album “Sub Atris Caelis” on DeathGasm Records. This album definitely sparks the inner burning chaotic flame within and it is in special thanks, not only to the band, but also to the production done by the legendary Bill Metoyer (early Slayer, Morbid Angel). And it shows, especially when it comes to the drums. On their previous outing, the production was lacking. This cannot be said this time around.

The album starts off as if you were watching the mouth of a never ending night swallow all of humanity. Then, the “Death Metal Darkness” unfolds bleak and haunting solos, riffs, and tempo changes that are perfect for the soundtrack of the end of all times. “Seeding Darkness,” the opening track, wounds your mortal soul and Roberto Lizarraga’s vocals, reminiscent of a Mexican Chuck Schuldine’s, punishes what remains of your hearing. “Towards the Eternal Dark,” the next track, shines on the drums and the double bass sounds as if there is no stopping this ever closing mouth from swallowing the rest of your family and friends.

The album ends on a dismal, yet serene note, like it’s the last breath of a dying and forgotten God. It will give you the chills or an erection, especially if you are a fan of nihilism or the bands Death and Dissection. This is old school Death Metal at its finest. Worship and obey Infinitum Obscure.

Monday, April 5, 2010

Idiosyncracy Review soon to be published in Lynt Magazine

Have you ever felt like you were lost in a demented playground set in the fifties? Or have you ever taken a tab of acid in a graveyard just to see what happens? Or have you ever felt like going hellbent down highway 46 in a silver Porsche 550 Spyder? If you have, it would have been none other than the Central Coast’s own Idiosyncracy providing the soundtrack to your demise, with their eerie guitars, pummeling bass lines, and fast paced drums, as you crash head on into a diesel truck.

Formed in early 2007, Idiosyncracy has had their fair share of troubles, as every band has, but this progressive Psychobilly band continues to get better and better with time and the occasional lineup change. Lynt Magazine recently sat in on a practice session with the band, as they were cranking out new tunes to go into the studio with, to find out what their music is all about.

The leader of the band is Nick Darway. He has unusually tall, blonde hair that sticks straight up over the top of his stand up bass. He not only has a good look going for him, he can also slap the shit out of his bass as he belts out the lead vocals. The rest of the current lineup is rounded out by the finger picking, killer guitar player and backup vocalist, Eric Swason, and Ryan Nickell, who is a phenomenal and incredibly young drummer. Together they form a new band that is, as Nick told Lynt, “trying to do something different.” They are doing so by incorporating different musical styles and genres into a genre that has, according to Eric, “gotten kind of stagnant.”

The band blends influences of post punk, dark new wave, psychedelic elements, and country music with obscure lyrics that are as Nick, who is the primary writer, states, “are more so about life and life experiences.” Some examples include his anxiety problems, problems with drug addiction, slight nudges at Christianity, relationships gone sour, and also Norse paganism. If these topics don’t appeal to you, well, that’s tough shit. The real reasons why these talented musicians make music in the first place is to make what they want to hear because, as Nick put it, “I’m tired of hearing what I don’t like.”

If you are a fan of other Psychobilly bands such as The Quakes and Batmobile, or an old Alternative Punk band like The Gun Club, then Lynt Magazine definitely recommends you to check out Idiosyncracy immediately. It would only make you ears have an orgasm to give these down to earth musicians a listen. They will not disappoint, especially if you get a chance to see them live. Eric told us they love playing live shows and “will play anywhere, it doesn’t matter.” Now if that is not any indication to book them to play your bris milah or quinceanera or grandmother’s 103rd birthday, then it will be the drugs, alcohol, pools of blood, and good times, which are a standard at their shows, that will have them at the top of your list to perform for your next celebration. So do yourself and your community a favor and support local musical acts like Idiosyncracy and purchase their music. You can check them out on their Myspace page.

www.myspace.com/idiosyncracy1

Tuesday, March 23, 2010

The Murder of Death

Is it worth it?
To have Death
walk beside you
every waking moment?
To have him talk to you
in your dreams,
in your nightmares,
and steal your breath away?
Is it?

Where is the hunger in your eyes?
The hunger for life?

It makes me vomit at the heart
to think that only a few want to take a chance
to get hurt,
to feel pain,
to fall in love
and grow old
and psychotic,
but I can't lie
to myself
like I have so many times before.

My bones have felt this same way.

My hands have been too weak
to fight this everlasting war with Death.
My dreams, my life accepted
and embraced his black lungs
sucking the breath out of mine,
but over time
what felt like a never ending darkness
soon faded
and the dawn began to radiate my world.

And as the light swallowed the dark,
the strength in my hands grew.
Death became weaker and weaker.
My hunger grew more and more.
The war carried on.

My lucid wrath,
filled with rage,
void of remorse,
was the cause of Death's demise.
My hands murdered him
with the beauties of life.

After the darkness was swallowed whole,
I became as free as a child dreaming,
and there is no greater feeling,
no greater joy
than to embrace
every waking moment,
every dream and nightmare,
every second of well rested sleep.

Thursday, February 25, 2010

Her Mountain

They buried her
in a mountain
of pills
and one by one,
she swallowed
each and every bitter tablet
until her mountain
vanished.
When she finished
she no longer had to worry
about
being happy
or healthy
or sane
because
she was
a bloated corpse.

Thursday, January 21, 2010

Swingin' Utters Review

Upon entering Downtown Brew, the aroma of perfume and fruity cocktails grabbed me by the nose as if these surprisingly odd scents were a fisherman's hook pulling me into a brick dungeon. I say these scents are odd because coming to a punk show, most would expect to smell the raw stench of vomit and sweat from the groins of blue collar workers blowing off some steam. This was not the case, but the Swingin' Utters were in town providing the aggressive soundtrack for the punks and workers in the tornado of swinging fists, dancing on the floor below those unusual smells and big bouncing beach balls.

A couple of times, those big balls would hit lead singer, Johnny Bonnel, in the face. These minor distractions didn't faze him. He was a man possessed. He looked as if he was the striker who threw the bomb at the Chicago Police Department, the one that started the Haymarket Square Riot back in 1886. Over a century later, this bay area punk band is still fighting for the workers of America and do it in their own no nonsense way. I am not too sure if Johnny making jerking motions to the microphone has anything to do with that, but his voice, reminiscent of Mike Ness’ from Social Distortion, was getting everyone in the crowd amped up. His rebellious voice was ringing all throughout the dungeon and blasting throughout the amplifiers. His performance was contagious. Everyone could not help, but join him on his rampage.

The rest of the band was on point. The guitars and especially, the bass playing by Spike Slawson, were shaking my bowels loose, but it was their drummer that really dropped the load. Greg McEntee played the drums with the strength of Superman on steroids. It was hard to believe that he didn't put his drumsticks right through his snare down into the stage floor. This monster wouldn't let up. He was pounding the hell out of the skins all through the Swingin' Utters classics and into the two encores they performed.

The Swingin' Utters have been around for over 20 years and with their unrelenting, highly energetic performance, it's a damn shame more don't know about these punk legends. Next time they bring their show into town, there better be more concert goers joining their diehard fans and more vomit and more drunks pumping their fists into the ceiling of the brick dungeon, scaring the yuppies upstairs. Cheers to the Utters for a kick ass show and to all of the punks in the mosh pit, especially to the bold ladies that weren't afraid of smashing their heads into that damned pole in the middle of Downtown Brew.

Tuesday, January 19, 2010

The Loved One in My Dream

I had a dream about you last night.
I've never seen you so pleased
outside of your casket.
I wish I could say
the same
goes for the rest of us.

In my dream,
I could see your unforgettable face
shinning in the sun,
you were
playing,
laughing,
and just enjoying life
as we did
when we were young
and fearless.

As we grew up together,
you were constantly on my tail.
I hated your annoyance with a passion,
but the sound of your small footsteps
will never be behind me
ever again.

I wish you were with me,
right here,
every second,
every moment,
of every day,
going to the beach in the rain,
going to Chalk Mountain,
going to the bar to drink off our last fight,
going nowhere,
does not make a difference,
your footsteps are no longer around.

I can't talk to the dead,
I can't talk to my brother,
prayers can't make up for the loss,
words can't explain my undying sorrow,
only my dreams can bring you to life.

I want to stay forever in my dream,
watching you play
and roll around,
but no,
no dream will ever bring you back,
nothing will.

All I have left is memories,
some good,
some bad,
some no longer come to mind,
all
will stay in my aching heart
for eternity.

And one day
we will meet again,
I will be by your side,
only dead and buried
as you are
now.