a gas mask is haute couture in the summer of rage

not much happening really. alone at home for another 10 days or so and its mostly boring and dull. just re-started work and it makes me feel like taking a holiday again. There's a cat and her kitten that seem to be slowly adopting us and particularly the front garden and the mom loves bread for some reason. Today I found out that there's a large ginger tom that has adopted the terrace to sun bathe. He's huge and looks like he could be the dad but ran away before i even registered his presence.

In other news there's this band called Agrimonia that's giving me goose bumps. Mixing doom with crust and sludge and vaguely dissonant black metal riffing the band sounds like a darker more nihilistic Fall of Efrafa without the Neurosis like wall of sound. There's a couple of guys from Martyrdod on this and a chick on vocals that I would never have known about if not for metal archives. In other news, the new Kings of Frog Island is pretty damn solid. Still bluesy fuzzy stoner rock but with less of the QotSA sound and more of that laid back psychedelic feel they did so awesomely in the second half of II. In still other news, lots of kickass music but don't really feel like namedropping so will leave it for later.

Saw The Expendables, first day, second show and I went to the theatre with that much enthusiasm after ages and probably after Dark Night. The movie was great and watching it in the theatre really was the bomb. The first kill with Lundgren and his shotgun set the tone and right through you had references to older movies that the guys had made, personal references from Jet Li's height and Lundgren's addiction troubles to Randy Couture's cauliflower ears and a very cool scene with Willis and Arnold and some solid fight scenes made this total entertainment. The scene with Statham firing the gun from the plane, the fist fight between Sly and Stone Cold and Terry Crews' shotgun blasts in the climactic battle were awesome set pieces but the movie's just total timepass all the way through and even has a sad emotional scene for Mickey Rourke to do. Bring on The Expendables 2,3,4,5 and 6. I'll be right here. Till then, I'll just wait for Machete and Hobo with a Shotgun to quell my nonsense action needs.

There's a new Swans album out. It has some long ass name that I have a hard time remembering but essentially it's like the best bits of The Great Annihilator, Love of Life and We are Him coming together to make some of the finest music that Gira's ever put his name on. I miss Jarboe's voice but that's just nit picking on what might be the album of the year. Listen to it.

Till then, here's Shooter Jennings and Heirophant with Summer of Rage. Listen to this too.

here there be knowledge

Hello. Been a while since I came here but I didn't come to talk to you. You can go back to flashing your legs and corrupting the innocent.

For a while now I've been feeling this hard cold stone in my chest. Like something trapped under my ribs and digging into my lungs. A listless lethargic defeated feeling that I couldn't shake off. The few days I spent with you shook it off and then some. I'd forgotten what it felt like to just revel in the moment. To forget everything and exclude everything and just be happy. You made me remember it and made me realise how easy it is. I saw friends and it didn't matter because you were there. Wow. This is going to be disjointed and homosexual. I'm not sure what I'm trying to say but these few days were magical. Like the imaginarium. Or something. I'm happy.

I guess on the downside my routine feels even more ordinary and mundane. Like a placeholder for a spot in my life that should ideally have you and not endless cups of coffee and driving around in circles. My village feels empty and incomplete. Like something's missing and I miss you horribly. Waking up next to you, your skin touching mine and your arm over my leathery hide and our tongues ready to do battle. I miss you more now but I'm really happy too. I might still be manstruating but I'm not worrying about it. I love you. Thank you for letting me come and see you.

Srpski film

i got hold of a serbian film today. i plan to watch it over the weekend. thought you should know. just in case.

saturday evening choices and plans

i think there was a time when i would have reveled in a day like today. scaring the pants off a pathetic cowardly fuck was something i did for fun once upon a time and now it's this delicate job that requires planning and back up. Still worked and went off like clockwork but left me feeling a bit dirty and unhappy and alone. strange shit but then this weekend was always going to be weird.

sat down and finished season 5 of outrageous fortune and for the first time in 5 seasons it ended on a complete cliffhanger. pity, season 6 hasn't even started yet.

i'm not sure if i want to sit at home and continue feeling sad or go out and get smashed and feel sad. choices, choices.

weekend warrior

I'm dreading this weekend. probably because I'm not really looking forward to it. damn.

Dirty Dozen Redone

Of Ancient Memory (the Oblivion Seekers)

I think this is the end now. The people who could escape have done so and the people who were stuck are no more. It's a bit scary how much of Jarboe's words I can relate to. Maybe I'm just looking and want it to but still.

as far as the eye can see heat is rising off the sand
somewhere out on this holy land time once
was held in their hands
but it bleeds now down the mountain red to the river bank
where they burn their dead
and it sinks deep in the blackest sea
to a bed of ancient memory-
the incense is sweet fills the air this night: lulls you to sleep
the past and the future are here in this fever
from the cold star that makes no sound
a cruel poison comes down as we bathe nude
in the wind, metallic blue becomes our skin
strange is the magic
the waters make no sound
strange is the magic
we lay our bodies down
love dark and tragic
we lay upon the ground
love is the magic
now we spiral round
we drink the waters
filled with delight
the past and the future
closed to our sight
no need for the wisdom
words from the sages
for here is oblivion
come down through the ages
you don't come to this place on your own
you're born to this pain it's your home
it's useless they say to run and hide
you know it's useless they pay who stay and fight
we didn't come here of our own volition
it's prophesy, apathetic contrition
and we didn't come here of a free will
to grip a silent unknown fear then lay quite still
we close our eyes, turn our face
close our mind now go away
shut your eyes and turn away
you've closed your mind but it's here to stay
in the flickering blue century
the blue eternity
blue bombs explode on the screen
blue arms outstretched as they plead
see the cold star, it makes no sound, poison comes down
it sinks in the black sea: a bed of ancient memory

valkyrie in the roller disco

Bangalore born and Bangalore bred
when I dies, I'll be Bangalore dead

...with due apologies to Frank Hennessy

So my favourite blogs are dying. One by one by one like dominoes they fall. It started with boizebu then enemy of the music business, then the worried well went down and now even the relatively innocuous metalhcalbums is dead. I'm not liking this at all.

In other news, there really isn't any. I only came here so I could steal Frank's line and use it for my own selfish needs.

well done Bannakaffalatta

Life's been a little confusing the last couple of weeks. A million unasked questions and elements that are in constant flux. Weariness I think, more than anything else. Tired and hopelessly lost and a little resentful of the way my life is going. I know not what I want but know this isn't it.

I haven't been getting a lot of sleep lately. the weekend was the weekend and then the last couple of days have seen my sleep plagued and broken by what might have been an imaginary cat and an all too real drunk friend. I have a feeling tonight may be no different. also it's bright and sunny today. after a really long while and it's really fuck all. typical doom metal weather when the sun is hidden away somewhere, a cold breeze and the constant threat of rain is where it's at. makes me happy.

i saw Rajneeti and the less said about it the better. I'm still watching doctor who and it's getting a bit hit and miss. I've started on grand dad's books and am currently reading "the streaked blond slave." turns out he also left me his collection of cuff links which i got today morning and which came completely out of the blue. Must get some shirts to go along.

meetings, meetings, meetings
they drive me up the wall
they'd like to feed me their leavings
it'll be fun to make them crawl

later.

homecoming

He grinned a 32 watt grin. His tongue was pressed against his teeth and almost seemed to be oozing out from between the gaps. He was dancing without moving. He was where he'd always wanted to be. Fire all around him and it felt cold. It felt good. He stood and watched. His tongue making further progress. Squeezing and forcing its way into and through the gaps. He didn't know and even if he did it would have made no difference. This was rapture. He stared at the columns of fire and the faces he thought he knew. He stamped his foot to the thumping bass groove and kept on grinning. Even as his tongue made slow but inexorable progress through his teeth he exulted in the fact that he'd always known. This was where he'd end up. Was prepared for it. Was looking forward to it for most of his life. The music fell silent and the dancing stopped. His tongue was sticking out now. His teeth losing the battle but still fighting the war. A trace of blood on his lips, a few teeth sticking out and a few cuts on his tongue. Lost in glorious rapture, he was indifferent to the war in his mouth. He danced now. With renewed energy. Moving every limb like his life depended on it. A madman's dance, a merry go round and windmill somehow combined. He danced and his tongue sneaked out of his mouth. A brilliant red thing of indeterminate length. He danced with his feet and his hands and his hips and his head. The faces came closer and he found they came attached with bodies. He felt he should say hello but simply could not. The faces stared and seemed to be waiting. He didn't know about this bit. The fires had gone out and he was sweating. His tongue must have come into his line of vision at this time. Moving now at a noticeable rate. Cracked teeth, blood stained gums and a few standing teeth were all that remained. This war was lost. He stared at the faces and wondered where he'd seen them before and what they were waiting for. He tried saying hello again and he couldn't. His tongue inched onwards and upwards. The bright shining red seemed to move and ripple; a life of its own. When he saw her he knew it was getting to the end. As he swayed and moved to a beat only she could hear. As she made her slow but inevitable approach. As she stood in front of him, his tongue. As she reached for it and held it in a grip all at once gentle and firm. His tongue seemed to purr and became brighter. The tongue knew as well. She pulled. He danced as his tongue now stretched out infinite. She pulled hard and soft at the same time. The faces were forgotten and every sense he had was focused on the woman. As she pulled him and the tongue with her eyes and her hands.

Finally. He was home.

Watchoo talkin' 'bout?

Gary Coleman died. Different Strokes, The Fantastic World of DC Collins, The Kid with the 2000 IQ and Jimmy the Kid. Used to be a regular Sunday afternoon feature at home when I was little. Whats with all my child hood idols biting the dust?

RIP Gary Coleman

our dying republic

sons of liberty is the best thing Jon Schaffer's done since Something Wicked this Way Comes. This is so cheesy but i've been singing along all evening. and there's one song on this album where he's ripped off the intro from living on a prayer and used it as the main riff on the verse. i'm probably just hearing things but yeah, video. with lyrics and everything.

i hope it passes me by

i've been sitting at home the last couple of days with a sty in the eye. It's reduced in size now and i feel pretty good but the pills made me woozy and i slept in the afternoon. It's made me woozy again. I hate pills. So anyway, sat at home all day and listened to music.

The Pack AD is catchy and has a couple of great songs and a great vocalist which always helps but I'll forget about them in a couple of weeks. The new Integrity's made me want to listen to seasons again and it actually sounds tame in comparison to the blackest curse. well done. In other news I've also been playing these two videos through the day.






I also saw this movie called the anatomy of murder with jimmy stewart as a defense attorney trying to get off his client who killed a guy who raped his wife. whatever. it was long and it was alright. i think the only black and white movies i like are the silent types and the heist types. riffifi came so close to doing both. I'm going back to the terrace. so bored.

those who fear tomorrow

long ago. in a time and place most never knew, there was a magazine. not just any magazine. this was something called terrorizer. a beat up photo copy of the original that a friend had got his hands on from the vast and dark underground. paradise lost was on the cover plugging draconian times and inside in the album reviews section was a band called integrity and an album called seasons in the size of days. like motohead, slayer and agnostic front in a gang bang the review said. main man dwid had been arrested and then released in question with bombings and he looked like a psycho fuck. i was an impressionable boy. it took me years to track it down and when i finally found the band it was those who fear tomorrow on a beat up cassette. humanity is the devil followed in a beat up used CD sale. i finally found seasons and realised it was a good album after a bunch of great ones. Now, Integrity has a new album out. This is their first proper album since Closure in 2001 but they've had a whole bunch of splits and eps and DVDs and what not so can't really call this a comeback. So far, it's awesome and Integrity continues to be just one of those bands from a time and place that most never knew.



today was an ideal sunday. a boring early evening led to watching the milk boil for a whole fifteen minutes. watching a solid frozen block of ice slowly crumbling into liquid milk. like a world was sinking into the sea. like deep impact but boiled and not deep fried. it was fun and i managed to switch off the gas before the milk boiled over.

steve von till's as the crow flies or steve kelly's spirit bound flesh? i think as the crow flies but sometimes i'm not so sure.

suffering makes great stories

no sleep. listening to blut aus nord and making a play list that's crossed the 100 hour mark. bored. waiting for the evening. done with lunch and another light drizzle. blame it on Laila.

Dwid's back. It's no season in the size of days but it'll do.

one hand to hold down and the other to panic
one eye on the task at hand and the other on escape
one half right here and the other in bed

strength through shopping

She asked him to pee on her face. He ran out of the house screaming. I blame it on the heat.

This year's shopping list is going to go totally out of control. I can feel it. I need new cabinets and a nice looking shelf. I'm stacking books on the floor and I've long since stopped trying to order my CDs alphabetically.

You know, after a couple of long hard days at work with crazy shit going on it feels good to sit down for a couple of noisy beers and watch as your friend's evening goes into the shitter. Most laughs I've had in a while.

I met some interesting people today. Interesting for all the wrong reasons. If you're husband gets to be cultural secretary then do you get to be the first lady of culture? I hope not. It's 11:27 pm and I really should get down to work. It depresses me and makes me very very irritable. Whine whine whine.

I might have a gk party at home next weekend. I hope to see things through and have time left over for the clean up. I need to get less fucked up over the weekends. Especially when I'm outside. Saturday morning's have not been fun for a while. I have vague memories of actually getting up around breakfast time and heading out to Airlines on Saturday mornings. Spending the entire morning and afternoon there and heading back home only to doll up for the weekend.

My parents are regarding me with suspicion. They always have and they've always known when something was up.

I'm getting new perspectives on how much parents will do for their children. I saw a strong man bend till his nose touched the floor. For his child. It blew my mind.

Tom G. sounds a bit hoarse but Eparistera Daimones is awesome.

Mickey Rourke seems to have become the flavour of the day with Iron Man 2. I think he might even kick Downey's ass but will hold the opinion till I've actually seen it. Anyway, turns out a bunch of local art fags have been catching up on Barfly and and a couple, even 9 1/2 Weeks. What did they watch when they were in school? How come no one ever mentions Johnny Handsome and Bullet. I hope I can find that clip on Youtube with Rourke and Whitaker and the Halloween story and just about any scene in Bullet that has Rourke in it. Those two movies need to be seen.

an inheritance

So today I finally pulled out granddad's books. 16 years after they moved next door and 16 years after the books were meticulously packed away by him. It was mostly old medical journals and texts and books, what seems like hazaar 70s and 80s bestsellers, puzzle books, Shakespeare and about 7 copies of the Bhagvad Gita. Buried among all of this though was what I'd been looking for. My summer holiday reading every year I went to Mangalore. Every year grand dad would pick and choose a row of books that I could read and the rows that I wasn't old enough for.

Erle Stanley Gardner
I moved to Perry Mason about a year after I was done with the Agatha Christie and Sherlock Holmes I think. Nice to see these again.

The Case of the Fiery Fingers
The Case of the Singing Skirt
The Case of the Foot Loose Doll
The Case of the Cautious Coquette
The Case of the Vagabond Virgin
The Case of the Ice Cold Hands
The Case of the Mythical Monkeys
He Case of the Mischievous Doll
The Case of the Shapely Shadow
The Case of the Horrified Heirs
The Case of the Deadly Toy
The Case of the Beautiful Beggar
The Case of the Half Awakened Wife
The Case of the Green Eyed Sister
The Case of the Dangerous Dowager
Fish or Cut Bait

Ian Fleming
I wasn't allowed to read the James Bond books or see his movies for the longest time. At least not under parental supervision anyway.

You Only Live Twice
For Your Eyes Only
Octopussy
On Her Majesty's Secret Service
The Man with the Golden Gun
Moonraker

James Hadley Chase
I still remember the first time I read No Orchids for Miss Blandish. It was a harrowing experience and also the first Chase book I ever read. Nothing ever came close to it after that but I think this was also when my love affair with pulpy crime fiction first started.

A Lotus for Ms. Quon
Cade
The Wary Transgressor
This Way for A Shroud
You Find Him – I'll Fix Him
The Sucker Punch
No Orchids for Ms. Blandish
Miss Shumway Waves a Wand
Mission to Sienna

Mickey Spillane
"I'm not an old man. I'm a young man something happened to." There's a million quotable quotes from Spillane and I love the man. These just put a big smile on my face.

I, the Jury
The Big Kill
The Long Wait
The Deep
The Body Lovers
My Gun Is Quick

Edward S. Aarons
I have no idea who this dude is or what the books are about but man the covers and the titles had me hooked the minute I saw them.


Assignment: Nuclear Nude
Assignment: Peking
Assignment: Carlotta Cortez
Assignment: Mara Tirana

Edgar Wallace
More classic crime fiction. More big smiles.

The Calendar
The Feathered Serpent
The Clue of The New Pin
The Gunner
The Yellow Snake

Carter Brown
The one series of books that totally had me curious. Just look at the titles and the covers. Damn.

The Streaked Blond Slave
The Ice Cold Nude
Who Killed Dr. Sex
So What Killed the Vampire
The Dance of Death
Sweetheart This Is Homicide/ Madam, You're Morgue Bound

Leslie Charteris
The dude who created the saint who was much much later played by Val Kilmer and a totally unexpected find.

The Saint on Guard
The Avenging Saint
The Saint Steps In

John Creasy
Another British crime writer most famous for his Toff and Gideon series.


The Toff in Wax
The Toff on Fire
The Man I Killed
Gideon's Badge
Wait For Death

I also have about 30 westerns that I'm too lazy to list and about another 30 really dodgy pulp fiction with naked chicks on the cover that I have absolutely no recollection of ever seeing. Must have been hidden away for most of their lives. Turning into quite a good Sunday and continuing to find out more about grand dad. Good times.

abcdefg live

Live videos from the tour to support ABCDEFG are finally out and here's a couple.

This is probably my favourite song from the new album. It's simple and yet so damn powerful...



Then this one's just super fun....

so much to do and so little time

I had a terrific apricot and peach cheese cake today in the hole in the wall. I like the vibe there even if it is too damn small.

Feeling tired and sleepy and decided to give up on coffee house so I could update you instead. Are you grateful? You should be, you sniveling little drama queen.

Goatsnake's set from Roadburn is making it's way round the internet and one of these days I'm going to send a fatty, put on my headphones and pretend I was there.

Bored and tired and sleepy but there's work to be done and the fear of unemployment to be put in people. Later.

the work ethic myth

The Work Ethic Myth

We have paved the roads that have led to our own oppression. Fear of the unknown, of rejection, has put brutes and villains in power. The fetters that restrict our arms and throats were cast by our own hands, just as we have set our own guards at the door. We drag boulders a thousand leagues to erect their palaces. We have established a system of education that celebrates sacrifice and creates generations of slaves. Hold hands in a ritual of deception. Hold hands in a ritual of desolation. Hold hands in a ritual of self destruction. We are the accomplice class: footstools for our masters, spineless bastards all.