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.

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.

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.

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.

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

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.

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?

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.

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.

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.

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.

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