Eat A Leech, Be A Leech

What can I give up right now?

What is weighing me down?

It is not the problems. I’ve got control of the problems, so this must be something of old art love. Something I have loved for so long, and now it’s tedious, bored, I’m sure. The other problems, their strikes are anticipatory, even the prime blitz can be calculated for, but this one - - this one is a snacking cannibal. It pops up when it wants, where it wants, and the bights it takes; quite generous. And right before it takes its fill, I’ll give up that old art love.

Once I finish sweating as a shagging fish would, I analyze and identify with the freshness and the fright, thusly working my way through both to pick their best parts for myself.

I was mad this weekend. I behaved myself. When you’re close, it hurts so much more, but the truth in the friendship saved it for me. I was over it before my head hit the floor after aiming at the pillow.

Cardio Universe

Time wasn't running any marathons, but it was taking a shot at the longest bit of useless that anyone had ever encountered. It doesn't matter, things will still happen, and when things happen - too many moons start to cry, and then it's humid during the day.

Does a planet sweat?

Lilly and the Two Dearests

"...and then the rain washed away all the paint, leaving Doggy Dearest trembling, scared of what the farmer would say when he came back home from the live stock show to find his home, the barn, and the storage shed all without their color."

Lilly read a couple of more words, but the comfortable, nearing creepy silence reentered the room. She looked from the page on up to her daddy, who's lap ceased to emit any kind of warmth for the last three hours.

Lilly folded the book on her dad's stiffening leg, which had fallen earlier off the foot stool, and as Lilly returned it to its previous resting position, the bones in his leg seemed to crack, and after a crack there usually was some crumbling. That's what Lilly had read once, anyway.

But Lilly noticed a difference in her daddy's silence, it was an unpleasant one unlike the others. Usually, just after Lilly would pull the syringe from Daddy's arm, he'd put the sunglasses on, the ones that made him look like Daddy's favorite blues guitarist "Broken Home" Lemens, take one last look at his sweet little girl, and be whisked away into his happy place in some dazzling manner that only he could experience. Now, however, the comfortable, nearing creepy silence had come back. The only other time Lilly ever confronted it was when Mommy went on her permanent vacation. That's what Daddy called it anyway.

Daddy's sunglasses looked like they were ready to fall right off. Lilly's fingers crawled up daddy's cool, smooth cheek. She pinched the pair from the grips. Carefully, she pulled the sunglasses back. Momentarily, she stopped when they fell, bumping her legs, rolling out of a splat noise on to the floor.

Lilly wasn't sure when to scream, but eventually she did.

Blind Dull Sobriety

The festivities began per usual this quadrupled-eve weekend.

Costume: Self-Conscious Werewolf

Then, I became so many different things to so many different people. The coordination of the night collapsed continuously, but structuring the pace of the evening is as sweet as jamming out or having an orgasm.

The reflection keeps fading, and there's no real rush to navigate the outgoing disasters to the trenches of some war.

Man With the Funny Last Name

Old man.
Old man when I heard of thee. Old man
When I first diged thine thoughts.
Old man, new man;
Forever changing the worlds withing worlds.
Immortality be furthest away from your mind.
The joy of living life, and told of it;
The joy you have spread for as you once said,
"Death is no obstacle."

Behold the Man

Reread Michael Moorcock's "Behold the Man" today. It helps to have eight hours of civil nothing that you are ordered to do.

Maybe tomorrow I'll reread "The Winds of Limbo." But, "Behold the Man," it's like that Twilight Zone episode with Elvis, when the fan crashes into him, then becomes him, only instead of being an admirer, the protagonist in "Behold the Man" is a self-loathing narcissist begging for attention. And instead of a car crash he uses a time machine, and instead of running into the Jesus he knows, he runs into an alternate reality Jesus that is two steps up from being deranged, sexually-conceived roadkill.

Cheers.

DAMN RIGHT SHE RULES!!!!

NOBODY FUCKS WITH CINDY!!!

Five Finger Death Punch - Way of the Fist - Review

Five Finger Death Punch comes out of Los Angeles, and they want to leave a trail defined by breakneck brutality. Unfortunately, the sound doesn’t bend too far one way or the other, so it may hinder the album over time, but for a debut 5FDP’s Way of the Fist shows promise for the group who mix a pinch of nu metal rhythm with old school guitar work.

Way of the Fist starts off on fire; “Ashes” begins the journey with speed, melody, and some sweet double bass provided by Jeremy Spencer. The title track falls into the same sound as most nu metal bands, with that bouncing bridge, but the speed dips in and out frequently, so its not so bad, and the chorus – “you might win one battle, but know this, I’ll win the fucking war” – will find its way through a person’s yell almost instantly. The guitar work by Zoltan and Darrel Roberts keeps “Salvation” alive. “Bleeding” is the first single off the album, and it sounds like one. It’s the radio friendly track, not particularly heavy; just trying to keep a good thing going, and if it weren’t for the double bass it could easily be confused with so many other metal/rock radio singles of the past few years. After these tracks have been heard, a person will know exactly what to expect the rest of the album. “A Place to Die,” “The Devil’s Own,” and on to the end follows the same formula: guitar openings that start running with the double bass, which starts feeling forced after a while. And the vocals of Ivan L. Moody fluctuate between the growls and the melodic. Matt Snell backs everyone up on the bass – that’s about all there is to say about that.

Way of the Fist is good for a debut album, and shows that these guys can deliver a powerful effort, and it could potentially leave the listener wondering what’s next. They’re not trying to do anything different, just provide some quality metal for the enthusiasts out there. This album is not valuable for rapid, repeated listening, but it would be one worth revisiting every few months or so.

Free and Easy

For whatever reason, Landrum was convinced that if you were in his house for an extended period of time, chances were high that you would see him in his underwear. It didn't matter why you were there, just that you would eventually, somehow, see him sans pants.

His mother constantly reminded him as a child to keep a shirt on in the house. He was chubby, nearing husky, but that seemed enough to correspond with disgust in her eyes. Now, he's never above going commando during the weekend.

Before the Turn

Keel stared into the photo's eyes. His little girl, gone only a few years, taken from him by a nemesis. A personal war amongst the universal and the introverted. He swore this would be the last time he looked into her eyes until the mission was complete - until the truth was revealed, and the dying slowed down. Keel knew that the dying would never truly end, it would only be sustained.

Whatever It Takes

I'm sorry - We've never known you by that name. Pleae, go on ahead. Just make a left at the stump.

How many months the echoes will echo, and too many years; so much darkness performing as its own galaxy with just you to ignite their depth of stars.

Your people cursed you for going so far.

The Mangrove Killfish

Scientists have discovered that it spends several months of every year out of the water and living inside trees.

The Morning Hurts

Welcome to a morning set in darkness. Trouble wasn't on my mind that night, but having been around this scab-fucker for so long trouble has always been standing right next to me.

My ribs were sore, but really a couple were broken. I was fortunate enough to be numb all over, and not from a painkiller. The welcome party kept going after I passed out.

Trying to talk was almost like realigning my jaw. Had I died that night, I hoped my autopsy report would have noted I did have clean underwear. They had been removed long before my dead bowels relaxed, unleashing that greatest humiliations ever associated with being human.

For some people that's not a large request, but they'd be surprised.

Lightswitch

An entertaining fright I've always done for occasions is to settle in a room of my empty home at night, in darkness for a minute or so, then, find lightswitches, and go on seeking out lights in other roooms.

Once I've turned a light on in every room I go back and turn a few off, and when I do turn one off, the room you never knew was there appears; for some brief dark-bedazzling moments, it appears.

Only the damned ever enter.

Screaming At Will

What is it with wanting to drop everyone? The people I've loved for years, now, I'm tired of them actually, have been for quite some time, but never to this extent. I'm politely exiting much quicker now.

There are times when I am indeed selfish, and I fine that it is when I want things to change; even if life is great, I need things to change. Change is so scary. It is the greatest rollercoaster-horror ever.

Stretching Stripes

When the road called back to me, I didn't hesitate. I didn't give it a second thought or a chance for the wind to change direction. I went. Now it's just us.

And Because Marcy Playground Owns All

And I"m just warming up to that "Sex and Candy" bullshit. Good song, but radio overkill nixed my initial likings for it.

Because We Could All Use Some

And just because I can...

Hole

Why does it seem so hard to put things back where we found them, because leaving it where it is parallels the open space that a lie initially creates, but just like a lie, leaving all of these little notions and ideas scattered all about, that space folds in on itself very quickly.

Just found me a sledgehammer. Let's see where I leave this laying.

Gone

Gone.
16. And gone.
I found a picture of you.
You were actually smiling.

Goodbye.

Ultimo Tormento

You know that there is an unbearable torture when the pain it inflicts can make even a lizard scream.

Down III: Over the Under - Review

Over the Under is one sludgy soulful trip, and considering their lives were undoubtedly affected by Hurricane Katrina, they take that energy and spread it throughout. It finds that happy medium between the crunching sounds of NOLA and the boggy atmosphere of A Bustle in Your Hedgerow, and Phil returns to the melodic side after lingering in the rough, scream laden avenues of singing.

“3 Suns and 1 Star,” “The Path,” and “N.O.D.” tread familiar waters, and while it is comforting, does not prepare you for the whole album. One might start saying, here we go again when “I Scream” starts but Phil’s vocals comes to full fruition on this one. Phil sings, really sings, and it is a great thing to hear.

“On March the Saints” is a bit more upbeat than typical Down, but the head-wagging, bottom-shaking groove is still prevalent while Rex proves again why he is a quintessential bassist, and probably the much-appreciated, overlooked member of Pantera {He’s just a laid back fella.). “Never Try” brings the blues to the forefront. “Mourn” is Phil’s venting on what happened, losing Dime and the rest of his Texas family. “Beneath the Tides” is something vintage Alice in Chains could have conjured at some point in both bedeviling music and lyrics.

“In the Thrall of it All” and “Nothing in Return” are great finishers. Even as the album begins its venture toward closure the band only grows tighter. Keenan and Windstein do an excellent job of playing off one another’s solos, then, “Nothing in Return” does a good job of beginning on a space-trip, and slowly building towards powerful, haunting chorus taking us out of our heads, and closing the album.

Over the Under is the furthest thing from a bad album. There are riffs that would do Black Sabbath fans proud and some that could make a grown man shed a tear. Phil provides one of his best performances in years, and whatever hardship followed these men came through loud and clear. Down III: Over the Under is a musical journey through the kingdom of sludge. Some folks will pass this up; I was about to myself. It isn’t something so amazing that one should put a rush on getting it, but for those that do choose to get it now or in the future, hopefully they’ll be as pleasantly surprised as I was. This album will stick with me for a while.