Awesome, mindshattering blackened hardcore from Japan. If you liked Teen Cthulhu, you'll dig this.
SHIKABANE!
SHIKABANE!
4.29.2010
Lemuria - The First Collection (2008)
Ridiculously sappy, adorable and incredibly passionate indie/pop punk from Brookyln's finest. Lemuria is tooth-achingly sweet and drips with that poppy glaze that we all love so much. Also, by default, I have now fallen in love with the lead singer, Sheena Ozzella. MAI WAIFU!
Godspeed You! Black Emperor - Lift Yr Skinny Fists Like Antennas to Heaven!
One of the greatest musical recordings in existence, GY!BE's finest work and amazingly influential. The tracks do not come in the normal order, instead they are listed as "movements" and following in the good old post-rock fashion, are long as FUCK. Sleep is arguably (well, you'd have to argue me) the greatest GY!BE track, solely for Murray Ostril's soliloquy in the beginning, and the build up to Efrim just screwdrivering the guitar while the drums hammer out melodies akin to soldiers storming the beaches of Normandy. Bonechilling and awe-inspiring.
1.1: Storm
| 1. | "Lift Yr. Skinny Fists, Like Antennas to Heaven..." | 6:15 |
| 2. | "Gathering Storm/Il Pleut à Mourir [+Clatters Like Worry]" | 11:10 |
| 3. | "'Welcome to Barco [sic] AM/PM...' [L.A.X.; 5/14/00]" | 1:15 |
| 4. | "Cancer Towers on Holy Road Hi-Way" | 3:52 |
1.2: Static
| 1. | "Terrible Canyons of Static" | 3:34 |
| 2. | "Atomic Clock" | 1:09 |
| 3. | "Chart #3" | 2:39 |
| 4. | "World Police and Friendly Fire" | 9:48 |
| 5. | "[...+The Buildings They Are Sleeping Now]" | 5:25 |
2.1: Sleep
| 1. | "Murray Ostril: '...They Don't Sleep Anymore on the Beach...'" | 1:10 |
| 2. | "Monheim" | 12:14 |
| 3. | "Broken Windows, Locks of Love Pt. III." | 9:53 |
2.2: Antennas to Heaven
| 1. | "Moya Sings 'Baby-O'..." | 1:00 |
| 2. | "Edgyswingsetacid" | 0:58 |
| 3. | "[Glockenspiel Duet Recorded on a Campsite In Rhinebeck, N.Y.]" | 0:47 |
| 4. | "'Attention...Mon Ami...Fa-Lala-Lala-La-La...' [55-St. Laurent]" | 1:18 |
| 5. | "She Dreamt She Was a Bulldozer, She Dreamt She Was Alone in an Empty Field" | 9:43 |
| 6. | "Deathkamp Drone" | 3:09 |
| 7. | "[Antennas to Heaven...]" | 2:02 |
They don't sleep anymore on the beach.
Japandroids - Post-Nothing (2009)
Slowcore, shoegazing guitars mixed with fast drums and wall of sound distortion, rolled up in a poppy little lo-i ball. So delicious. You must eat it.
Enjoy.
4.28.2010
4.27.2010
Mimosa
he is THE MELTIEST
CrunkSteppers Guide into the PsyPhy MiNi MiX
1. MiM0SA - On The Line2. MiM0SA - Delirium
3. MiM0SA - I'm in Love With a Stripper (ReMix)
4. MiM0SA - Werk Me (feat Missy Eliot)
5. MiM0SA - When I'm Alone (Bigger Than Hip Hop)
http://soundcloud.com/tigranmimosa/the-crunksteppers-guide-into-the-psyphy
MiM0SA'S FALSE iD0l MiXxx
1) MiM0SA - iN Search of Beauty2) PantyRaid vs. MiM0SA - Chaos Control
3) MiM0SA - Days Go By (ReMiXx)
4) MartyParty vs. MiM0SA - The Perfect Flaw
5) MiM0SA - Looking Back
6) MiM0SA - California Rude Boy
7) MiM0SA - LSD Excursions
8) NastyNasty - Python Kiss (MiM0SA ReMiXxx)
9) MiM0SA - Money to Blow (ReMiXxx)
10) MiM0SA - Bamboo
11) MiM0SA - Ride The Snake
http://soundcloud.com/tigranmimosa/mim0sas-remote-viewer-mix
J-CORE MASTERZ VOL. 3 (2008)
Insane, brain rotting, Japanese speedcore from the masters. It's not good by any means, but it's so hard to not listen to because it's crazy. Fucking electric cocaine. You should probably run this through a really big, really heavy bass amp and just let your skin melt off.
Duncan, you won't regret this.
4.26.2010
White Wizzard - Over the Top (2010)
This is the greatest Iron Maiden influenced metal band you've never heard of. Listen to this shit and just be in love with me after you do. Watch this video for the title track. It's got metal wizards, jazz wizards, Pontiac GTOs, 666 license plates, and shit like that. It's awesome as hell.
FUCKING METAL
Letting Up Despite Great Faults - s/t (2009)
Amazingly soft and sweet glitch/dream pop. This music is amazing to fall asleep and wake up to, I highly recommend this. One of my newest favorite dream pop bands, and one of those albums you can cuddle to and watch the rise to.
Yup.
Enjoy.
Woods - At Echo Lake 2010
oh wow i was not expecting this one at all. its like if current deerhunter was more fun. its like...the late 60's! all over the place! mixed with any arcade fire that doesnt suck ass.
http://load2.me/?iyBskZzq
Choking Victim - No Gods, No Managers 1999
sorry this hasnt been posted before. you know this one.there are no winners in this fucked reality.
http://sharebee.com/4924a971
Alcest - Écailles de Lune 2010
so much better than that other band a few posts below. this is heart wrenching music, to say the least. they are so retardedly good at this sound. its waaay better than the last full album too, which was too slow and unambitious for my taste. its also better than amesoeurs, and since agalloch hasnt done anything of note in years its way better than agalloch too. this album is awesome. only 42 minutes, so theres little wasted time.highly recommended.
http://www.megaupload.com/?d=RVB4GVZR
4.25.2010
Windmill - Puddle City Racing Lights (2007)
Imagine Neil Young taking an oblivion seeking gulp of helium, then played with some pianos and sang really catchy, long choruses.
Then you would have Windmill. British. Good.
WINDMILLS DO NOT WORK THAT WAY! GOODNIGHT!
Les Discrets - Septembre et ses Dernières Pensées (2010)
Do you like Alcest? How about Amesoeurs? Do you like shoegaze-y/slow black metal with no screams and fucking eargasming? Because if so, I would heavily recommend this album. Also, they're from France, so they rule at that black metal shit. GET ON IT!
Prepare to be depressed.
Lonely Drifter Karen - Fall of Spring (2010)
Kind of shoegaze-y, kind of slowcoreish, absolutely dream poppish, and absolutely incredible. Think Fleet Foxes, if they were more poppy and female. New album from this unrecognized group, even Pitchfork hasn't gotten to this shit yet, so you know you're better than every one else ;)
Enjoy.
Stealth Mode Again
this wont be up long. all of their albums are absolutely fucking flawless. i cannot recommend veil of maya enough. and theyre just as good live, they just end up opening for terrible bands all the time.1. [id]
2. Unbreakable
3. Dark Passenger
4. The Higler
5. Martyrs
6. Resistance
7. Circle
8. Mowgli
9. Namaste
10. Conquer
11. Codex
http://www.mediafire.com/?md2z3ay2tjy
Twilight - Monument To Time End 2010
theyre back! with lichens! and aaron turner! its grim and sludgy and noodly!
1. The Cryptic Ascension
2. Fall Behind Eternity
3. 8,000 Years
4. Red Fields
5. Convulsions in Wells of Fever
6. Decaying Observer
7. The Catastrophe Exhibition
8. Negative Signal Omega
http://hotfile.com/dl/35177203/b886b9d/Twilight20_20Monument_to_Time_End20_2010_.rar.html
Excision - Radio 1 Mix 2010
uhhh christ its just sitting on the top of my spine and wobbling around. im so excited for june 11th.Ctrl Z & Freestylers – Ruffneck (Excision & Datsik Remix) [Never Say Die]
Ivory – Hand Grenade (Excision & Datsik Remix) [Rat Records]
Bokator – Robot Seckz (Excision VIP) [Rottun]
Datsik – Want Some More [EX7]
Excision – No Escape (Datsik Remix) [Rottun]
Datsik – Retreat (Excision Remix) [Rottun]
Excision – Subsonic [EX7]
Excision & Noiz – Force [EX7]
Excision & Datsik – Boom (Skism Remix) [Rottun]
Davip & Encode – Vamonos [Breed]
Broken Note – Mask of Gas [Ad Noiseam]
Liquid Stranger – Ripple [Rottun]
Downlink – This is the Night [Rottun]
Kelly Dean – Teflon (Excision & Datsik Remix) [Scion A/V]
Excision & Datsik – Swagga (Downlink Remix) [EX7]
Excision & Datsik – Deviance [EX7]
Vaski – Zombie Apocalypse [Rottun]
Apex – Nowhere to Run (Excision & Datsik Remix) [Lifted]
Noisia – Machine Gun [Vision]
Noisia – Machine Gun (16 Bit Remix) [Vision]
Ajapai – Mobilized [Rottun]
Datsik – Firepower [EX7]
Foreign Beggars ft. Noisia – No Holds Barred (Excision Remix) [Never Say Die]
right click, save as
http://excision.crabdance.com/Excision_-_Radio_1_Mix.mp3
Heart Eyes - demo (2009)
Duncan, you'll love this. A girl who has a cute little fluffy dog named Dexter plays the ukulele and sings American Nightmare covers. Kind of depressing, but super adorable.
Heart Eyes for days.
4.24.2010
Teen Cthulhu - Ride the Blade (2002)
Teen Cthulhu is one of the most interesting, fucked up and chaotic hardcore/black metal band you'll ever listen to. Yeah, that's right, black metal/hardcore. FUCK YEAH TEEN CTHULHU. Also, their name comes from a Lovecraft story, which also fucking rules. Trust me, download this shit. You'll not regret it. If you do, you can beat me up. Good luck trying, you'll be too busy burning churches and moshing while listening to Ride the Blade.
Enjoy.
4.23.2010
Madaline Ava - Songs I'm Too Nervous to Sing for My Mom (2008?)
Madaline Ava is an adorable, wonderful, silly little high school girl from bumfuck no where who writes and sings adorable fluffy songs about being a member of Gorilla Biscuits, and puns. She also has an album where she covers Neutral Milk Hotel's In The Aeroplane Over the Sea in it's entirety. Albeit a little shortened. Listen to this with a girl and fall in love.
THIS CONCEPT OF WUV CONFUSES AND INFURIATES US!
4.22.2010
The Return Of Stealth Mode
so. if you recognize these leather clad assholes, and think its FUCKING GODDAMN HIPSTERLARIOUS THAT THEIR NEW ALBUM HAS THE SAME TITLE AS THE OLD ALBUM, and are concerned that, for a band that steals a lot of their shit outright, they are being very militant about shutting down hosts, i have taken the liberty of uploading it.keep it under yer codpiece.
http://www.mediafire.com/?mkm4mzyyzwz
Batmobile - Bambooland (1986)
Fuck Amsterdam; the best thing the Netherlands has created is BATMO!
For those of you who don't know, Batmobile fucking rips it up, and as far as I know they are still a band. Started back in 1983 around the first wave of Psychobilly, they started off playing Elvis covers, but a lot faster. Soon they decided to start writing their own songs, either about horror movies, porn, women, or just being an asshole. And they also do a ton of other covers. Ever heard Ace of Spades not sound like Lemmy? FUCKING CHECK THIS SHIT OUT!
Bambooland is one of the best sets of psychobilly to ever grace this planet. It's fast, it's rhythmic, and that dude fucking KILLS at guitar. It's perfect! You can't ask for anything more. Also, I think they are fighting sharks on the cover. BADASS!
| 1. Bambooland |
| 2. Mission Impossible |
| 3. Demon Party |
| 4. Night Without Sleep |
| 5. Hot Dog Stomp |
| 6. Racing With the Sun |
| 7. I'm a Lover Not a Fighter |
| 8. Chasin' |
| 9. Cannibal |
| 10. Killers Crew |
| 11. All Shook Up |
| 12. Ain't Gonna Drink No More |
| 13. Cold Sweat |
| 14. Do You Wanna Touch Me? (Oh Yeah) |
Bridges Out - Good Luck With Your Machine (2009)
Now, let me say that I am usually attracted to a band because of album art or their name, what have you. I'm a sucker for cool album art. Which is precisely what attracted me to this band, Bridges Out. I'd place them in the metalcore genre, really reminiscent of old Haste the Day, Grace Gale, all that shit. But, this is actually really good, and I'm also a sucker for clean vocals in this kind of music, and this band uses it to great effect. Download it, listen to it, beat me up if you hate it, praise me if you like it. I'm guessing the latter.
Enjoy.
4.21.2010
The Rural Alberta Advantage - Hometowns (2009)
The Rural Alberta Advantage. Don't let the name fool you, these guys are far from rural. Or Alberta. Well, actually, they may be from Alberta. Anyways, they are fucking great and fun and poppy and folky and depressing and just all around awesome to relax to. Indie folk pop with sprinkles of electronic mixed into this mindfuckingly orgasmic album. One of my AOTY from the past year.
Enjoy.
Lethe - Mnemosyne 2010
holy god this is like the coolest melty-est noodliest warmest most-structured-iest instrumental stoner doom i have heard in a long time. thiiiink...a sludgier, heavier, slower mammatus with no vocals.
01. Mother Milk Eyes
02. New Queens
03. Mnemosyne
04. Open Harvest
05. Therefore Let Us Feed
http://www.multiupload.com/1LUPAHD79J
Doomriders vs. Boris: LONG HAIR AND TIGHTS (2007)
Double live album from Japan's #1 noise/doom/psych/drone/speed metal group and the fucking Doomriders. Live in Japan, get into it.
BORISU
that sword cost three tousand dollarooooouuu!
65daysofstatic - We Were Exploding Anyway (2010)
Hi, I'm Jordan and this is my first post. In contrast, this is 65daysofstatic's newest album, We Were Exploding Anyway. 65dos is straying away from their post-rock past and hurtling towards a more electronic sound, more house-ish. I don't know really, but it's fucking great. Recommended track: Piano Fights.
1. "Mountainhead" - 5:33
2. "Crash Tactics" - 3:47
3. "Dance Dance Dance" - 4:02
4. "Piano Fights" - 3:51
5. "Weak4" - 3:54
6. "Come to Me" - 8:00
7. "Go Complex" - 4:04
8. "Debutante" - 7:21
9. "Tiger Girl" - 10:37
Enjoy.
4.20.2010
Talbot - EOS 2010
a quicker moving echoes of yul. fucking awesome.
http://rapidshare.com/files/365393730/EOS_192_ByRobixxx.rar
melancholia - anger - jealousy - meta-stability
Well, there was this knife, more aptly described as a broadsword, and I see, well, I was swinging down the street on my way to a movie and this guy, yeah. He was about six foot eight and huge. He was holding this knife, only to me, I would describe it as a broadsword, something from the Knights of the Round. Before he can even open his mouth, he collapses. Meanwhile, I can barely lift a finger to put the toupee back on his glossy head because I'm shaking so much.
He was vomiting and I knew that he was alive because he kept saying something like 'durability' between convulsions. What happened next was really bizarre. Both ends of the street flood with black-suited men, just like in a movie.
These men look tough and pissed off, the eyes behind their sunglasses are probably cold as my hands are getting. I feel like my heart has stopped, I'm so damn scared. As they start to inundate the street in black, they move with one will.
I figure that I'm dead anyway, so I reach down for the blade. The blade is being covered by his vomit, but the hilt is clean. I can hear the men getting excited, but I can't stop. My fingers slide around the leather hilt which is oddly cold...
Seven hundred and sixty one armless and legless corpses float inconspicuously around the inside of hangar ninety six. I say that they are inconspicuous because it is their arms and legs which demand my attention. I did this, or I could have stopped it. Which is it? It doesn't matter now. I did this and could have stopped it, but nothing in nature ever follows a gaussian curve. Sure, they'll tell you that it does. They say that every five minutes someone dies in a car accident, but how often are there seven hundred and sixty one armless and legless corpses in one hangar?
I'm in the same street, and as I reach into my pocket for my keys, my eyes follow the blackened streaks of gum that pock-mark the sidewalk. The man is gone, and someone in sanitation cleaned up the aparitions and vomit in a real hurry. I hurry down the stairs heading for the subway, but my keys aren't in my pocket anymore. I'll have to get in through the side window.
The subway station is very bright and shining from the sanitation team that has been sweeping a swath in front of me. The concrete floor is losing years of tarnish, keeping only the protective layer of the gum streaks which make up constellations in an otherwise vacant sky.
The train arrives right on time, and just ahead of a mass of dark suited men who have been following me for what seems like years now. Between the sanitation and the suits, I must be going colorblind, but the train is here now, and those men, no, they won't catch me...
I should stop talking out loud, everyone on the train is looking at me now. I must have gone farther than I wanted because everyone here is different than me. Why should they care that I'm talking, some of them are talking and about fairly irrelevant things. 'The ends justify the means.' 'Where the is no justification, there is no end. There is only means.' I thought that they were looking mean, but they were only talking.
The noise in the train crescendoes as the train comes into a station, this station is lined with black suited men, and behind them I can see the pantomime of good and evil continue with the sanitation workers trying to mop the black suits off the sunglassed and toupeed men who are not resisting at all.
Indeed, they have nothing to worry about. They can just cling to the constellations of gum, there is nothing the sanitation workers can do about that.
Its all just human nature, we don't fit onto the curve, either. Simply, there is no curve, our science is approximation, good guessing.
The suits are going to get me this time, but I'm lucky. I have my keys in my pocket now, and I'm opening the other subway door...
I step in silently, and as is the ritual, I block the door with my bicycle and set the traps on the windows. Damn no way that anyone is getting in here without adequate warning. I figure that there is time now to take a good look at this knife that has caused me so much grief and to miss the movie that I was heading for but can't remember the name of.
Its not unusual, plastic about the length of my forefinger. It has two blades that open in both directions, one is a short and the other long. The long one is pretty dull, and the short one is quite sharp. Enough about the knife.
The door opens up, and the bicycle falls over. One of these suited guys is standing in the doorway, impassive and immobile. I'm not scared until I see that the hallway behind him is filled with his clones. I turn over the handle of the knife, and give it a bit of a nasty grin...
I'm back in the hangar again, but now they are all screaming at me. Their arms and legs are no longer attacting my attention. It wouldn't be so bad if they were talking, but they aren't. They could talk, too. They aren't screaming in pain, but in protest. They don't miss their arms or their legs. They all agree on one thing, they won't give me the satisfaction of hearing them talk, and I'll never forget their screaming, pointless and wordless, without justification.
(I did this and could have stopped it.)
the way grows
dim
hungry chaos lurks behind the
bright corona
dream ahead beyond the falling path
our own death fortold
your dark mind cutting through
the deeping sky
another time
another time
the burning air
a cold star looked down on his creations
and willed that they should kill their sons
the hardest lesson ever taught
to a father to a son
a moment in time, destroying it's father
destroyed by itself after
dream the dream beyond life and self
find the new way
steps that falter fail
time beyond loss
loss behind the screen of life
not held
not forgotten
not lost
unlost found
stay the hard way
dark dreaming carries all
My room is empty now, the men in the hallway are gone, replaced by the subtle odor of amonia destroying the bacterial rancidity of half eaten double helixes. On a plate on a table facing me is a simple arangement of carrots and asparagus built up like a log cabin.
A candle in the center of the round table is illuminating the edges of the cabin, a distant volcano throwing the light of nature. Around the edges of the flame is the face of a woman who is talking to me about subjects that I should know all about. For just a minute I think that the flame is a living metaphor for her soul, then I go back to thinking her one of the other manic statues, arms, legs, and mouths that move and mimic without purpose or understanding. Hundreds of bacteria eating off the sidewalk, fighting for procreation. I am disconcerted when I see her turning
the knife over in her hands, checking its weight and proportions, and I tell her so.
Startled, she puts the knife back on the table to rest under the volcano which erupts in a flow of wax racing a torturous path onto the blade. One pulse of wax is followed by another as she turns the conversation towards our relationship. "Durability" is what she keeps saying. The word 'durability' and our relationship.
I reach over for the blade, and my fingers extend around the hilt. Again I am impressed by a chill. The wax comes off the blade with a simple scrape of my forefinger. "Durability" I say in response.
I feel a nervous chill run down my spine as I look up from the knife. My eye stops first on my plate, then on the wax pool which is solidifying around the edges, and finally on the face of this mysterious woman. She isn't trying too hard to look around the candle and neither am I. The candle flame makes a perfect line between the center of both of our heads. I laugh at the geometry of the moment, and thinking that I am laughing at her rhetorical comment she giggles in response.
I'm getting sick of coming back to hangar ninety six, but there is no avoiding it. This is what my existence needs. My existence is the demise of many others' arms and legs. The world is not a good place, nor is there innocence for me to hide in. Seven hundred and sixty one pairs of eyes look around the room aimlessly, and mine join the crowd. I see these bodies, massacred, immobile. For all the carnage here, the stench of decay is non-existent.
I try to turn away. The hangar spins but nothing moves, and my view is the same. I look, but don't see any sanitation workers, for that matter, I haven't seen the guys in suits since they dissapeared from my hallway.
I am getting nervous because her voice is carrying some emotional baggage with it, now. "Ever since you bought me that chewing gum, on a lark, I've been in love with you."
Sure, my response might have seemed a little cryptic, "If there is no justice, then how can the ends justify the means? Take that wax, for example, (I've started to ramble on now just like on the subway, and she is looking at me with that same look of hostility, bordering on the old familiar meaningless uncommunicative scream) when the candle was lit, did it know that in the end it was going to burn down to nothing and disappear into the air? You lit the candle to get the light from it. Your end was to have my asparagus and carrot cabin lit by this light. You used the candle as a means to obtain this. Does the light justify the destruction of the
candle? What is justification to a piece of wax? Its the same as the justification that you've given me about this 'durability' and our relationship."
By this time, she had moved her face out of the line that the candle and the centers of our heads made, and she was looking down the aisle of a movie theater. This is an odd fact because she never sits in the aisle seat when we go to the movies. Her head falls to the other side, landing on my shoulder. Her disinterest in the movie becomes apparent when she begins to discuss our relationship in a loud whisper.
I'm just as nice to my girl as the next guy, but I'm a little bored by now of all this talk, so I start to look around the theater without moving my shoulder too much. The back of the head in front of me reminds me of the guy from the street, the one who made me miss the earlier show of this movie. Only now, he's wearing a pair of sunglasses, and he's got his toupee back on.
I look behind me, and so it seems that the guy in front of me is the vanguard of sunglassed movie goers who all seem very interested in whispering and looking around. They remind me of a field of black tulips flickering back and forth in a howling wind. Their whispering picks up intensity, blurring out both their own speach and the voices in the film, until all at once my girlfriend mentions her ongoing rant-word 'durability'. "What is it with you and durability," the theater goes quite with the last sylable of the word.
Well, I'm a little bit nervious again; it's time to leave. I'm sure that the movie isn't over. Everyone in the room starts to mimic my behavior, all the suits reach for their stuff at the same time that I do. Only my girlfriend seems unperturbed.
I wonder how far this will go, so I reach under my seat, find a piece of gum, and drop it under my toungue. Mind you that this gum was under the seat for countless generations of movie fans. Sure enough, all these suits have done the same thing and are chewing on their own hardened bits of gum arabic. I almost start to laugh when they all simulataneously hurl up their masticulons covering them almost immediately with their black vinyl shoes which as impossible as it would seem, flatten the ageless gum into smears which will never be removed from this already gum-smeared floor.
It doesn't seem so funny, now, because I notice that the pattern that the gum makes on the floor is in the shape of the summer constellations, and that each suit sits on a pulsar pounding out its vibrant message across the lightyears and across the theater to my head: "Durability." I wish my girlfriend would know when to keep her mouth shut.
The dialog in the movie seems unimportant, and I decide that its time to leave. I tell her so, but she doesn't seem to hear me. Her mouth is chomping wildly on some gum, and between masticulations, she begins to tell me again about 'durability'. I lean back and slide my hand into my pocket, feeling for the knife.
"Nice knife," repeats some snot nosed little brat.
I look into his face, and he sniffles. Those eyes look like a cat's eyes holding either universal understanding or nothing, whichever I decide. Right now his eyes hold nothing. We dance the double helix and make way for a sanitation worker pushing a wheeled bucket with his mop to the place where some other snot-nosed little brat recently used another brat's fist to exchange his running boogers for blood that spread in splatters and smudges over his hands and the floor.
The bloody boy and his one-fisted compadre had already been removed for corrective discipline by one of the controllers, our life-long friends wearing sunglasses. Here at school, they only seemed interested in bleeding noses, broken arms, measles, and sharp thrown objects. Otherwise, they remained impassive statues with feet grown into the anaesceptic environment in which they stood, needing as little attention as a plain white column in an all white room.
It seems odd to me now looking back at them, or looking at them again at any rate, that they only reacted to our feces, blood and agony. Responsive only to distress, anger or misbehavior. But this was explained to me that day, even though I didn't understand it until now.
Am I surprised when the sanitation guy teaching that day turned his narrow slanted eyes in my direction and says what I've been hearing from the stars for years it seems, 'durability'. He mentions discipline and art, discipline is that which lets us practice our art. Durability of our abilities and disipline of our skills. We must need learn how to reproduce what we do and how we do it. He explains that the artist is more free to act when discipline has taught him his skills and limitations.
the long sleep ends
your construct
bethought itself higher
awaiting far beneath
my fate was written
threads pull
taught the way
like as like our hidden one
quick venge the
hotspur here
dying in the course
come below
the long sleep ends
bound to aught
ever doubled as one
foresight
foresight
ever on ever aught
the long sleep ends
never saw the dark path here
who?
comejjrro?
The graven image stirs
we are whole again
and even more
our voice our horn approaches
the ancient ones return
The watery cheek, sullen star
[4 l9c
11
left behind by one and one &ci1lc
rampant new comes
fate bright dark light
doubt, fear all blend
we are reborn
you and we are one
We've watched while the stars burned out, and creation played in reverse. The universe freezing in half light.
You follow the path, fitting into an infinite pattern. Yours to manipulate, to destroy and rebuild. Now, in the quantum moment before the closure, when all becomes one. One moment left. One point of space and time. I know who you are.
i was left behind
our paths conv_rge
our fates are shared
chance tears and bends
He was vomiting and I knew that he was alive because he kept saying something like 'durability' between convulsions. What happened next was really bizarre. Both ends of the street flood with black-suited men, just like in a movie.
These men look tough and pissed off, the eyes behind their sunglasses are probably cold as my hands are getting. I feel like my heart has stopped, I'm so damn scared. As they start to inundate the street in black, they move with one will.
I figure that I'm dead anyway, so I reach down for the blade. The blade is being covered by his vomit, but the hilt is clean. I can hear the men getting excited, but I can't stop. My fingers slide around the leather hilt which is oddly cold...
Seven hundred and sixty one armless and legless corpses float inconspicuously around the inside of hangar ninety six. I say that they are inconspicuous because it is their arms and legs which demand my attention. I did this, or I could have stopped it. Which is it? It doesn't matter now. I did this and could have stopped it, but nothing in nature ever follows a gaussian curve. Sure, they'll tell you that it does. They say that every five minutes someone dies in a car accident, but how often are there seven hundred and sixty one armless and legless corpses in one hangar?
I'm in the same street, and as I reach into my pocket for my keys, my eyes follow the blackened streaks of gum that pock-mark the sidewalk. The man is gone, and someone in sanitation cleaned up the aparitions and vomit in a real hurry. I hurry down the stairs heading for the subway, but my keys aren't in my pocket anymore. I'll have to get in through the side window.
The subway station is very bright and shining from the sanitation team that has been sweeping a swath in front of me. The concrete floor is losing years of tarnish, keeping only the protective layer of the gum streaks which make up constellations in an otherwise vacant sky.
The train arrives right on time, and just ahead of a mass of dark suited men who have been following me for what seems like years now. Between the sanitation and the suits, I must be going colorblind, but the train is here now, and those men, no, they won't catch me...
I should stop talking out loud, everyone on the train is looking at me now. I must have gone farther than I wanted because everyone here is different than me. Why should they care that I'm talking, some of them are talking and about fairly irrelevant things. 'The ends justify the means.' 'Where the is no justification, there is no end. There is only means.' I thought that they were looking mean, but they were only talking.
The noise in the train crescendoes as the train comes into a station, this station is lined with black suited men, and behind them I can see the pantomime of good and evil continue with the sanitation workers trying to mop the black suits off the sunglassed and toupeed men who are not resisting at all.
Indeed, they have nothing to worry about. They can just cling to the constellations of gum, there is nothing the sanitation workers can do about that.
Its all just human nature, we don't fit onto the curve, either. Simply, there is no curve, our science is approximation, good guessing.
The suits are going to get me this time, but I'm lucky. I have my keys in my pocket now, and I'm opening the other subway door...
I step in silently, and as is the ritual, I block the door with my bicycle and set the traps on the windows. Damn no way that anyone is getting in here without adequate warning. I figure that there is time now to take a good look at this knife that has caused me so much grief and to miss the movie that I was heading for but can't remember the name of.
Its not unusual, plastic about the length of my forefinger. It has two blades that open in both directions, one is a short and the other long. The long one is pretty dull, and the short one is quite sharp. Enough about the knife.
The door opens up, and the bicycle falls over. One of these suited guys is standing in the doorway, impassive and immobile. I'm not scared until I see that the hallway behind him is filled with his clones. I turn over the handle of the knife, and give it a bit of a nasty grin...
I'm back in the hangar again, but now they are all screaming at me. Their arms and legs are no longer attacting my attention. It wouldn't be so bad if they were talking, but they aren't. They could talk, too. They aren't screaming in pain, but in protest. They don't miss their arms or their legs. They all agree on one thing, they won't give me the satisfaction of hearing them talk, and I'll never forget their screaming, pointless and wordless, without justification.
(I did this and could have stopped it.)
the way grows
dim
hungry chaos lurks behind the
bright corona
dream ahead beyond the falling path
our own death fortold
your dark mind cutting through
the deeping sky
another time
another time
the burning air
a cold star looked down on his creations
and willed that they should kill their sons
the hardest lesson ever taught
to a father to a son
a moment in time, destroying it's father
destroyed by itself after
dream the dream beyond life and self
find the new way
steps that falter fail
time beyond loss
loss behind the screen of life
not held
not forgotten
not lost
unlost found
stay the hard way
dark dreaming carries all
My room is empty now, the men in the hallway are gone, replaced by the subtle odor of amonia destroying the bacterial rancidity of half eaten double helixes. On a plate on a table facing me is a simple arangement of carrots and asparagus built up like a log cabin.
A candle in the center of the round table is illuminating the edges of the cabin, a distant volcano throwing the light of nature. Around the edges of the flame is the face of a woman who is talking to me about subjects that I should know all about. For just a minute I think that the flame is a living metaphor for her soul, then I go back to thinking her one of the other manic statues, arms, legs, and mouths that move and mimic without purpose or understanding. Hundreds of bacteria eating off the sidewalk, fighting for procreation. I am disconcerted when I see her turning
the knife over in her hands, checking its weight and proportions, and I tell her so.
Startled, she puts the knife back on the table to rest under the volcano which erupts in a flow of wax racing a torturous path onto the blade. One pulse of wax is followed by another as she turns the conversation towards our relationship. "Durability" is what she keeps saying. The word 'durability' and our relationship.
I reach over for the blade, and my fingers extend around the hilt. Again I am impressed by a chill. The wax comes off the blade with a simple scrape of my forefinger. "Durability" I say in response.
I feel a nervous chill run down my spine as I look up from the knife. My eye stops first on my plate, then on the wax pool which is solidifying around the edges, and finally on the face of this mysterious woman. She isn't trying too hard to look around the candle and neither am I. The candle flame makes a perfect line between the center of both of our heads. I laugh at the geometry of the moment, and thinking that I am laughing at her rhetorical comment she giggles in response.
I'm getting sick of coming back to hangar ninety six, but there is no avoiding it. This is what my existence needs. My existence is the demise of many others' arms and legs. The world is not a good place, nor is there innocence for me to hide in. Seven hundred and sixty one pairs of eyes look around the room aimlessly, and mine join the crowd. I see these bodies, massacred, immobile. For all the carnage here, the stench of decay is non-existent.
I try to turn away. The hangar spins but nothing moves, and my view is the same. I look, but don't see any sanitation workers, for that matter, I haven't seen the guys in suits since they dissapeared from my hallway.
I am getting nervous because her voice is carrying some emotional baggage with it, now. "Ever since you bought me that chewing gum, on a lark, I've been in love with you."
Sure, my response might have seemed a little cryptic, "If there is no justice, then how can the ends justify the means? Take that wax, for example, (I've started to ramble on now just like on the subway, and she is looking at me with that same look of hostility, bordering on the old familiar meaningless uncommunicative scream) when the candle was lit, did it know that in the end it was going to burn down to nothing and disappear into the air? You lit the candle to get the light from it. Your end was to have my asparagus and carrot cabin lit by this light. You used the candle as a means to obtain this. Does the light justify the destruction of the
candle? What is justification to a piece of wax? Its the same as the justification that you've given me about this 'durability' and our relationship."
By this time, she had moved her face out of the line that the candle and the centers of our heads made, and she was looking down the aisle of a movie theater. This is an odd fact because she never sits in the aisle seat when we go to the movies. Her head falls to the other side, landing on my shoulder. Her disinterest in the movie becomes apparent when she begins to discuss our relationship in a loud whisper.
I'm just as nice to my girl as the next guy, but I'm a little bored by now of all this talk, so I start to look around the theater without moving my shoulder too much. The back of the head in front of me reminds me of the guy from the street, the one who made me miss the earlier show of this movie. Only now, he's wearing a pair of sunglasses, and he's got his toupee back on.
I look behind me, and so it seems that the guy in front of me is the vanguard of sunglassed movie goers who all seem very interested in whispering and looking around. They remind me of a field of black tulips flickering back and forth in a howling wind. Their whispering picks up intensity, blurring out both their own speach and the voices in the film, until all at once my girlfriend mentions her ongoing rant-word 'durability'. "What is it with you and durability," the theater goes quite with the last sylable of the word.
Well, I'm a little bit nervious again; it's time to leave. I'm sure that the movie isn't over. Everyone in the room starts to mimic my behavior, all the suits reach for their stuff at the same time that I do. Only my girlfriend seems unperturbed.
I wonder how far this will go, so I reach under my seat, find a piece of gum, and drop it under my toungue. Mind you that this gum was under the seat for countless generations of movie fans. Sure enough, all these suits have done the same thing and are chewing on their own hardened bits of gum arabic. I almost start to laugh when they all simulataneously hurl up their masticulons covering them almost immediately with their black vinyl shoes which as impossible as it would seem, flatten the ageless gum into smears which will never be removed from this already gum-smeared floor.
It doesn't seem so funny, now, because I notice that the pattern that the gum makes on the floor is in the shape of the summer constellations, and that each suit sits on a pulsar pounding out its vibrant message across the lightyears and across the theater to my head: "Durability." I wish my girlfriend would know when to keep her mouth shut.
The dialog in the movie seems unimportant, and I decide that its time to leave. I tell her so, but she doesn't seem to hear me. Her mouth is chomping wildly on some gum, and between masticulations, she begins to tell me again about 'durability'. I lean back and slide my hand into my pocket, feeling for the knife.
"Nice knife," repeats some snot nosed little brat.
I look into his face, and he sniffles. Those eyes look like a cat's eyes holding either universal understanding or nothing, whichever I decide. Right now his eyes hold nothing. We dance the double helix and make way for a sanitation worker pushing a wheeled bucket with his mop to the place where some other snot-nosed little brat recently used another brat's fist to exchange his running boogers for blood that spread in splatters and smudges over his hands and the floor.
The bloody boy and his one-fisted compadre had already been removed for corrective discipline by one of the controllers, our life-long friends wearing sunglasses. Here at school, they only seemed interested in bleeding noses, broken arms, measles, and sharp thrown objects. Otherwise, they remained impassive statues with feet grown into the anaesceptic environment in which they stood, needing as little attention as a plain white column in an all white room.
It seems odd to me now looking back at them, or looking at them again at any rate, that they only reacted to our feces, blood and agony. Responsive only to distress, anger or misbehavior. But this was explained to me that day, even though I didn't understand it until now.
Am I surprised when the sanitation guy teaching that day turned his narrow slanted eyes in my direction and says what I've been hearing from the stars for years it seems, 'durability'. He mentions discipline and art, discipline is that which lets us practice our art. Durability of our abilities and disipline of our skills. We must need learn how to reproduce what we do and how we do it. He explains that the artist is more free to act when discipline has taught him his skills and limitations.
the long sleep ends
your construct
bethought itself higher
awaiting far beneath
my fate was written
threads pull
taught the way
like as like our hidden one
quick venge the
hotspur here
dying in the course
come below
the long sleep ends
bound to aught
ever doubled as one
foresight
foresight
ever on ever aught
the long sleep ends
never saw the dark path here
who?
comejjrro?
The graven image stirs
we are whole again
and even more
our voice our horn approaches
the ancient ones return
The watery cheek, sullen star
[4 l9c
11
left behind by one and one &ci1lc
rampant new comes
fate bright dark light
doubt, fear all blend
we are reborn
you and we are one
We've watched while the stars burned out, and creation played in reverse. The universe freezing in half light.
You follow the path, fitting into an infinite pattern. Yours to manipulate, to destroy and rebuild. Now, in the quantum moment before the closure, when all becomes one. One moment left. One point of space and time. I know who you are.
i was left behind
our paths conv_rge
our fates are shared
chance tears and bends
4.08.2010
Genus Inkasso - Such Sights To Show You 2010
oh my sweet lord this is like satan sitting on your face in the dark and laughing while playing a drum pad with the severed fingers of 100 million condemned children, while he exhales PCP into your nostrils and covers your mouth so you cant scream.10/10, A++++++ would buy from again.
http://www.idmtrade.net/2010/04/listen-download.html
The Fellowship - Prancing Pony Mix
HOLY SHIT
Paul and TJ went apeshit. It's absolutely amazing, objectively. 56min36sec, covers all the whompy hoppy melty bases. Its got LOTR quotes, youtube quotes, sammy was probably present for the making of most of it...
Shit. And its fucking free. You can't not get it. Highly recommended.
http://soundcloud.com/thefellowship/the-fellowship-2010-prancing-pony-mixset-1
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