today

The Boondock Saints

... is pretty much the most fun action movie I've seen since John Rambo. Mindless violence, Italian and Russian gangsters, Irish vigilantes, Billy Connolly as a complete psycho and Willem Dafoe in drag.

Weekends, The Wire and Bronson

You're sitting in a car.
Your phone starts to ring.
You look.
The call's coming from the back seat.
Do you answer or do you turn around?

A very dull and quiet weekend of hanging out and being peaceful after a particularly crazy friday.

I finished The Wire a while back. It is the best serious TV show I have ever seen. Terrific.

I'm filling you up right now mostly because I have nothing else to do. Seems like a good idea. Do you agree? I'll take your silence for consent shall I? Yes.

Thorns has to be one of the most dissonant black metal bands ever. Damn. Some days it's perfect. Tonight it's not.

So I've been seeing a whole bunch of movies lately. Mostly to make up for the giant gaping hole that the conclusion of The Wire left in me. Most have been crappy or boring. 2 exceptions though.

Bronson, directed by the guy who made the Pusher movies and starring Tom Brady as the titular Charlie Bronson is a pitch black prison comedy based on the real life Michael Peterson. A man who robbed a post office sometime in the 70s and was sentenced to 7 years in prison. As of date he's spent a total of 36 years in jail with 30 of them in solitary. The movie about this mad man is entertaining and funny and held together by an absolutely terrific turn from Tom Brady. He spends a large portion of the film talking directly to the audience and holding forth on his life through voice overs and the whole thing is interspersed with scenes of him in jail fighting with prison guards, getting his ass kicked again and again and going back for more.

The movie isn't perfect. It's not as lean as the Pusher films and has a bloated middle section that drags the movie down. Still, Brady is magnetic in his portrayal and below is a terrific little scene with him and his RocknRolla costar Matt King.



Bronson which became Michael Peterson's street name on the outside seems like a man who has no limits. He wants to be famous and with his constant violence he is soon recognized as Britains most violent man and gets press and coverage in newspapers and tabloids alike. He's happy about this and wants more. There are no apologies or even explanations. A normal childhood, loving parents and just an irrational itch to be famous any way he can.

I loved it.



I also really liked Homicide and King of New York but I'm way too lazy right now.

I think I'll go reward myself.

revelations and reality checks

So I turned 30 a couple of days ago. It does not feel any different. It worries me a little that it does not feel any different. I was warned of a very emo birthday morning. That I would spend my time reflecting, brooding, introspecting and enforcing some sort of reality check on myself.

None of that happened. It was business as usual.

Then I was told that it's hard for any of this to happen if you're basically chilling so now I'm waiting for a busy period in life when I will have suitable revelations tied in to my age.

So I figure I'll just chill and wait for it.

his last words

When you're 'high'
If you could see what I see
In your unfocused empty child-like eyes
You'd see my father's blue stare
And the horror
Of the loss of language of an educated man
He recited poems and Shakespeare,
Knew the name of every tree in Latin Memory
The unjust cruel sentencing of bewilderment
And the dying of the brain.

When you're 'high'
What do you see

His last words to me from surgery
His last words:

"Burning burning"
"Burning burning"
"Burning burning"

I'm in the flame

"Burning burning"

Nikki and Lizzy from long long ago

Roots Rock Riot

Just as I was all sad to see that Intronaut wasn't playing Bangalore at GIR I learned that Skindred was playing Oktoberfest this Sunday. Not quite Intronaut but this band never fails to put a smile on my face and Benji has to be one of the best frontmen out there. This is the band doing Ratrace from Roots Rock Riot complete with backing from Cowboy Bebop.

In Manipal

Something crazy happened last night. I was asleep by 10:30. I don't remember the last time that happened. Sure I woke up at 4:30 and couldn't go back to sleep for a couple of hours but going to sleep that early felt great. Only problem is I think I'll have to come here to sleep like a normal person.

Anyway, I'm off to the lighthouse and beach and anjal fry and beer.

Later dear diary.

Swans

Swans, in their lifetime as a band from 1982 to 1997 set up a template for heavy music that is being ripped off right left and centre in today’s post metal climate. If Neurosis is the one band that just about everybody in this genre has taken from, then Swans comes a close second. Neurosis themselves have been heavily influenced by this band so I guess it all comes down to this.

"Swans are majestic, beautiful looking creatures. With really ugly temperaments."


Michael Gira’s own words to describe why he chose the name Swans for his band. I’m not going to bother you with a factoid dear diary. Instead I hope to talk about the music that this band makes. Gira along with long time guitarist Norman Westberg and Jarboe who joined the band in 1984 made some of the most visceral, beautiful and consistently depressing music ever. The first four albums by the band Filth, Cop, Greed and Holy Money are intense work outs that focus on one hypnotic riff played out over the entirety of the song with Gira shrieking, screaming, ranting and simply speaking over the music. There were no real songs at this point although I think the change started showing itself on 1986s Holy Money with the inclusion of Jarboe and also the addition of acoustic elements into the band’s sound.



What came next is for me the pinnacle of the band’s sound. I prefer cold beautiful Swans to cold ugly Swans and with 1987s Children of God all the way through 1995s The Great Annihilator, Swans were untouchable. Sure, lots of die-hard fans say the band sold out with their one and only album for a major label The Burning World but man, it still has some terrific songs. Forget about Jarboe’s haunting vocal performance “Can’t find my Way Home” (written by Steve Winwood for Blind Faith originally). Instead, listen to the album from start to finish and let it take you on a trip like every Swans album does. Yes, they have proper songs on this one with proper verse chorus structures that are adhered to almost slavishly but the songs despite not really sounding like Swans.



Okay, that sounded like a justification for The Burning World and it probably is. The other albums in that period for the band were much better, particularly the trio of White Light from the Mouth of Infinity, Love of Life and The Great Annihilator. These three albums saw the band mix and match styles old and new where you had gentle acoustics sitting next to abrasive noisy sections with a sprinkling of world music including Trilok Gurtu playing the Tabla on The Burning World.



I guess the biggest difference for me between the first four albums and the next five is that early Swans could tire you out over the course of one song. The clanging industrial nature of the beast coupled with Gira’s vocal performance pushed these songs all too often into a sort of tolerance test. How long can you last before you throw your headphones in the corner, curl up and start to weep? Children of God onwards, the band became more organic and with it the music now lulled you with its beauty and it is only when the album gets over that you realize it’s drained you completely. Like I said, I prefer beautiful but sad Swans any day.

A very late remembrance

I'm not sure how I went from Swans which I've been listening to non stop from last night to Grip Inc. but I did. Gus Chambers died last year thanks to a lethal mix of his medication with alcohol. Grip Inc. was a band that never got the love it deserved and while Lombardo's entry to the heavy metal hall of fame is unquestionable, Chambers should have got a bit more credit for his work with Grip Inc. Anyway, he's dead now but I would have liked at least one more album from the band. That's all.

This is from the band's last album "Incorporated" and has that guy from Apocalyptica guesting.

yellow

I hope I bleed out before I burn
I hope I bleed out before I burn
I hope I bleed out before I burn

I sat by myself. My usual corner at the bar. Alone, waiting for business to arrive. I noticed her walking towards me. Dominic was playing Yellow and this woman knew all the words. Danger, I thought to myself. As she came closer I knew business had arrived. I hoped Dominic wouldn't play any more Coldplay. She sat down, didn't say a word, lit an Ultra Mild and exhaled a thin stream of smoke. The job was simple enough. Something I'd done before, something I knew a few things about. The money wasn't great but I had a pending payment to make on my house. I took it, I did it, cleared the payment and officially became a home owner. All good.

The troubles started a week later. It was ladies night at the bar. I had an off day and the mood was good. Till I saw her. I don't like meeting my clients after a job. Invariably makes things awkward. She walked towards me. Sat down, lit her cigarette. Dominic started playing Yellow again. She sang for the next five minutes. Her cigarette grew ash and lay forgotten. She looked at me with that same dead expression. Said she had another job. Every instinct said no, this was a terrible idea. I shrugged and said sure. It's what I do.

Things were going to go to hell. She was going to screw me over. I knew the score and in knowing thought I'd be prepared. That was my second mistake. By the time I was through with her I'd make a few more.

It was simple enough. I was sure that the knife would try for my back when I set it up. It didn't. Proceeded like clockwork and by the time it was done I was even thinking that maybe I was wrong. Maybe there was no knife.

The Skoda parked outside my house was the first clue. No effort at hiding. I clearly had visitors and I knew who it was. She was sitting on my couch. Smoking her cigarette, listening to her I Pod. I wanted to ask if it was Yellow but the two heavies by her side distracted me. She took off the ear plugs and congratulated me on a job well done. I wanted to smack her across the face and throw her out of my house. I refrained. Stayed my hand. Waited to see if this was a warning, a “I know where you live” kind of deal or something a little more permanent. I never saw the third heavy behind me. Never saw the blow and didn't feel a thing.

I woke up tied to a pole. Head spinning, I could feel the hair at the back of my head matted and thick with dried blood. I heard the click of a zippo opening, a flame as the lighter came to life, the stench of her fuck all cigarette. The bitch was here. In this room.

I passed out again when she stubbed her cigarette out on me. Not very brave. I know.

I fucked up. This was the thought I regained consciousness to. My hands were tied to a pole, I was standing in a bucket of water and thoughts of torture came swiftly. The bitch was standing there. Smoking her cigarette, looking at me. I had a whole bunch of questions but this bitch didn't monologue. She didn't speak. Luckily, there was no torture. Just her heavies working me over. I can take a punch. I'm proud of it. Still, three fists pounding your guts in rotation isn't something you ever want to experience.

I woke up again sick to the stomach. Every heave hurt my insides. I wasn't tied up anymore but it didn't matter. I wouldn't be going anywhere. The shoe came out of nowhere. The contact to my nose was precise. Mashed potato with ketchup. I screamed. Asked her what the fuck she wanted. The next kick had me curled up and I saw Venus when her foot made contact with my head. I felt it bounce off the floor and I truly madly deeply wanted to die.
What happened next only happens in the movies. The hero making a last ditch comeback and managing to survive. Except, I wasn't a hero. Never was. Maybe I deserve everything this bitch is throwing at me. Doesn't mean I have to take it.

I grabbed her foot as she swung
I did the twist and turn till she spun
The heavies weren't around, gone for lunch
I smiled as head hit floor with a crunch

Standing up was difficult. My nose hurt like hell and my insides felt like jelly. The bitch was out. For now. All I wanted to do was get out of there. The questions could wait, she could wait. Get out of there before the gorillas arrive. Too late obviously. I managed to swing at the first guy but it was pretty pathetic. When he hit me, I returned to the floor with something like warm familiarity. The bitch was getting up. I was right back where I started and I was done.

I have no idea what I've done to her. Absolutely none. She seems certain enough and still in no mood to explain. She said it would take me a few hours to bleed out. She said it would give me time to reflect. It doesn't matter anymore. I'm tied up, my insides are slowly spilling out and this is it. When I smell the petrol and see the fire on the outside of the shed I know there are no more comebacks.


I hope I bleed out before I burn
I hope I bleed out before I burn
I hope I bleed out before I burn

Brother, go on

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One day, some day

One day I will give this up.
Not today, not tomorrow
Maybe not even the day after.
One day. Some day.

I hope that one day I'll come up with something absolutely - without a fucking doubt - brilliant to say. Till then, I'll simply have to make do.

... and there's so many many thoughts when I try to go to sleep but with you I start to feel a sort of temporary peace

Jess Franco's Snakewoman

Jess Franco is without a doubt the greatest exploitation film maker this world has ever seen. The man is a fucking machine and at 80 is still working on making movies. Snakewoman is Franco's effort from 2005 starring Fata Morgana and Carmen Montes in a movie that is classic Franco except for one glaring factor.

Morgana is a music company rep who comes to the home of a woman who shocked Europe in the 1930s with her bold and raunchy outlook on life. The woman, Oriana, is dead and Morgana wants to buy the rights to her body of work. Right from the opening scene with the drive, a speeding landscape, flamigoes and the weird fucking angle, you know this is a Franco movie. Morgana arrives at the place only to find it abandoned. She's talking to her boss on the phone for a bit before napping in the car while waiting for someone to turn up. What follows next is the most boring opening credit sequence ever with the Snakewoman (Carmen Montes) doing a slow and supposedly seductive dance where she basically moves her hips and butt in an incredibly stiff and forced manner. Erotic, this is not. Still, it is Franco and it is unintentionally hilarious and visually trippy. Morgana's character meets the Snakewoman in the most hilarious sequence ever where our Snakewoman jumps into Morgana's room and promptly writhes all over the floor in a naked frenzy. I guess Franco didn't have the budget for CGI but man, this Snakewoman is lame.

Anyway, the movie moves along at a merry pace with a woman who is clearly insane but also talks about being in love with the Snakewoman, a doctor who doubles up as a monk and spends half the film treating the mad woman and the other half chanting in Latin (especially when Morgana andCarmen Montes are doing their lesbo thing). There's a whole bunch of other stuff as well but most importantly, Morgana falls for the Snakewoman as well and the two proceed to get it on.

Snakewoman has been called a return to form for Franco by many of his fans and its easy to see why. There's a lot here that's vintage Franco from the long sequences with minimal dialogue where nothing happens, full frontal lesbian action and a plot that just about makes the minimum requirement as far as making sense goes. However, the one thing that I found unacceptable about Snakewoman was the women. Fata Morgana andCarmen Montes make for a very insipid couple of lesbians. Let's not even get to the mad woman who also has a scene with the Snakewoman because she is downright ugly. I mean, Lina Romay comes into the movie for 15 minutes as the hilariously named Dr. Van Helsing and is still cuter than all three of these women put together. In the opening scene where we're introduced to the Snakewoman its hard to tell if we're looking at the back of a guy or a girl. Could be either.

This is the man who gave us Soledad Miranda and now he's reduced to working with the likes of Morgana and Montes who are quite frankly boring and very unattractive. This is the main gripe with the movie. The other is that the actual lesbian scenes between the Snakewoman and Fata Morgana look very very fake, forced and really boring (and after Jesse Jane and Belladona's scene in Pirates 2 this really is utter shit).

Yes, in a lot of ways, this is vintage Franco but come on, whats the point of a Franco movie where the women are boring and downright plain? What do beautiful European women do these days anyway? Why are they not acting in Jess Franco movies?

This is for die hards only and even then I was quite disappointed.

Jesus, did you see that Unicorn? It's horn was so shiny

some more of this and a little more of that

It's incredibly quiet. I hear the occasional footstep. The soft clip-clop of rubber soles and the opening of doors. It's a lot darker here than I'm used to. No shadows. No beams of light. No distractions. If I close my eyes I might actually sleep. I don't like this room.

I went to my bakery in the afternoon. I like an egg puff and machine coffee at about 4. It's a part of my routine whenever I can get away with it. Anyway, last couple of times I've been there, there's been a group of 17 or 18 year olds shouting, laughing, having a good time and very obviously rolling. Different groups too. Then I find out it's common now and the uncle who runs the place was complaining about the boys. I felt very irritated that this was happening in my immediate area . Then I remembered and remembered some more. “Let the little stoners be.” Uncle smiled and started talking about Idukki. “In those days we didn't have all this rizla business you see...”

I intend to have an incredibly long and completely random blog update by the time I pass out.

I think this new The Chasm is quite brilliant. Fuck! The Chasm is awesome. I'm not going to say that anymore. I'm only going to hope that the world will wake up to one of the trippiest death metal bands ever. New album's better than Spell and probably even better than Conjuration. Stoner death metal. Check this band out already. Yeah okay, one last sentence. This new album by The Chasm is fantastic. Definite top ten for the year. In fact, let's make a list dear diary. I love lists.

Napalm Death – Time Waits for No Slave
Giant Squid – The Ichthyologist
Anaal Nathrakh - In The Constellation Of The Black Widow
Los Natas - El Nuevo Orden De La Libertad
Code - Resplendent Grotesque
Coalesce - Ox
Madder Mortem – Eight Ways
Sacrifice – The Ones I Condemn
The Chasm – Farseeing the Paranormal Abysm
Minsk – With Echoes in the Movement of Stone
Cable – The Failed Convict
Fall of Efrafa – Inle
Wolves in the Throne Room – Black Cascade
Blut Aus Nord – Memoria Vetusta II - Dialogue with the Stars
Absu – Absu
Forsaken – After the Fall
Masters of Reality - Pine/ Cross Dover
Truckfighters - Mania
Vomitory - Carnage Euphoria
Kongh - Shadows of the Shapeless

More like a top 20 but with another 3 months to go that list is subject to change and I'm going to have to remove something to fit the Cobalt in.

Okay, lets name drop some more. The first two albums on that list are insane. Napalm makes me want to break stuff for 50 minutes and then Giant Squid makes me want to sit down in a corner and drift. Awesome by themselves but back to back is insane. I've also been tripping a lot on Farflung. Also, this band called Sula Bassana. Very trippy shit. This band called Men Eater that I'm listening to right now is also pretty good. I've had it for ages but never got round to it. Big booming bass, a creative drummer and big fucking guitars. Some sort of heavy, sludgy, melodic rock. I'm liking it.

I also heard this Finnish band called Katharina today. All girl d beat hardcore punk band. Quite good and really noisy . Then i find out they're all pissed off feminists and I was visualizing tattooed punk rock chicks with Mohawks and safety pins, They look like normal people. I was severely let down.





My fingers smell of Marlboros and so does my shirt. I got a few looks walking up. “You're poisoned,” they said. “What are you doing here?”
Where else would I go?

I really want a cat. Preferably a kitten with the potential for gluttony, sloth and pride in equal measure. I also really want another tattoo.

I saw a man sitting on the steps
Across the road, I was eating crepes
He was drinking black dog, beating a drum
I sensed entertainment waited for it to come
“The Mayans know!” he screamed
The world will end in 2012 it seems
Doomsday prophet, Mayan encyclopedia?
Or just a case of too much wikipedia.

I wish I had another cigarette.

I am stuck in a state of extreme laziness at the moment and am incapable of further thought or action. Farflung used to be a lot more trippy. When Science Fails has a very kraut rock feel to it. Chilled out at some extreme level. I want more rock right now but I think I should also try going to sleep.

Lets see what happens. Hungry. I'm prepared today. Don't go anywhere. I'll only be a couple of hours.

He looked at me like he knew me. Maybe I knew him. Wasn't sure. Couldn't really be bothered. He looked at me and I looked away. Made sure no eye contact happened. He walked on. I felt relieved till I realized he worked there. Chances are I would see him everyday. I think I did know him. Knew him well enough. I don't see him very often though so I'm good.

Amber Asylum is really awesome when you're tripping your balls off and ready to pass out but I think it's even better when you're sober, bored and can't sleep. Autonomy Suite is just sublime. The whole album actually.



She asked me to kiss her goat.
I said no, I only kiss sheep.
It was the start of something wonderful.

Elation and Joy

I've been sleeping in my sister's room for a while now. While my room is otherwise unoccupied. It's given me a new perspective on the biggest menace to our fair city. We must ban autos before it is too late. I have a balcony now but it's pointless to sit there before 2am. Autos, dear diary, must go.

I was also stuck in front of one for about 10 minutes today. I felt like a stunt driver in Road Warrior. I almost went over the divider and almost hit a cow but the desire to get in front of this 3 wheeled smoke machine was just too great. When I finally went past him I felt elation and joy. This lasted till the next signal when the bastard caught up with me. Sputtering, belching thick clouds of gray smoke. I killed him and then set fire to his machine. The coffee tasted a lot better after that. Elation and Joy.

So if I could hit the asshole again I would but I think I've had enough violence for one day.

place holder

Hello dear Diary. It's me. Charlie Brown.

I hope that life will be all peaches and pink teddies one day.
Till then I'll make do with whatever I can get.

I fed monkeys strawberries today.
That was my highlight.
Unbelievably bold fuckers, these monkeys.

Day turned into shit soon after.

I think. Sometimes. Occasionally. In short horrifying bursts of clarity. I don't like it much.

I listen to More of Iron than Blood and I'm happy.

Bangalore police is getting sniffer dogs at the usual drunk driving checkpoints to sniff out narcotics.
I didn't think drugs were such a big problem in Bangalore.

I know I should be here but I wish I was there.

So? Then? What else?

I have crazy fucking dreams on Sunday afternoons. Not every Sunday but the only dreams I can remember are the ones from my Sunday afternoon naps and they are all either bizarre, fucked up or complete nonsense.

Blogging when you have nothing to say is a lot easier than blogging on a particular topic but then there's lots to talk about. I'm just not in a very sharing mood. Things are alright I guess. Mostly, a feeling of restlessness and vague tension like a coiled spring in the pit of my stomach. I need a holiday and its happening soon but not soon enough. That's another whole new feeling. I don't remember the last time I was this excited/ nervous about a holiday. Equal parts almost and a fair amount of tension also. Dear Diary, I don't really know what to say.

So anyway, Mosque Road and Ramzan food got sacked again today. Laziness made her presence felt. It's a long festival but it's not going to happen this year. Is okay.

I might miss Mr. Big also and will have to listen to hazaar stories about the genius of Paul Gilbert and how cool he was and how funny and how I should have been there. Is okay too.

Insignificant in the greater scheme of things.

Mostly, these next few days are going to be torturous. Must maintain calm outer surface at all times. Too much jumping around and shouting like 12 year old who's scored his first goal will destroy the little dignity I have left.

Also,dear diary,full on Sunday evening blues happening. I don't want to go to work tomorrow and spend another day pretending to be busy. I really don't.