There comes a time when one needs to make a decision. Some decisions are easier to make than others, such as when to eat, and where to sleep. Other decisions are more difficult such as what to study, and where to learn. Still other decisions are extremely difficult such as what to create, and where to seek inspiration.
All throughout these decisions are choices that people made through the summation of previous experiences in their apparent perceived lives. If you call this falling domino effect fate, then free will itself does not exist, (continue reading…)
Looking down onto the bamboo mat, there is a member of the walking dead left broken, cut open, and mentally bleeding much like a cutter on the rebound. As it reaches the fringes of almost falling asleep, the body starts to twinge, and become stiff. This rigor mortis like state compounded with a cold shortening effect. It briefly moans out my name in a semi-lucid state answering that final question of whom it will summon on its deathbed.
Its arm with sinuous claw stretches out towards me, (continue reading…)
Scribed by Jason Firestone.
If you can’t sell five copies of your CD, how do you justify getting 1000 made?
If you don’t promote your shows, booking three a week won’t make you famous any faster.
If you can’t get the drunk and desperate 35-year-old bar fly who has a permanent spot at the end of the bar to go home with you, don’t even try going for that gorgeous 21-year-old who is only there to see her boyfriend’s crappy band.
If one of those XXL energy drink canisters doesn’t wake you up, you should probably get some sleep.
Grounded for a split second I look up from the row of keys out the window into the distance. The quiet sobbing of this walking dead is very soothing, and yet very close. I take special care to hear each breath, each wince, and each sigh. The sounds form a beautiful symphony of empathy in the Persian key of A# minor.
If given more emphasis the sighs and winces could become the wails of an opera singer, a black metal singer. Given more puissance, they could even shatter glass windows and frames. Given direction, they could share with the world misery and despair. In its current state, it just sits there on a bamboo mat shivering with skin barely clinging to its raw and ruby flesh. Upon closer inspection, I can see flexible cartilage where both flesh and muscle are no longer present. How much cannibalism has this one done on itself?
It is around this moment, this apparent moment, which I perch hunched over the keyboard wearing a black leather trench coat. In this moment, the keyboard transforms into what might as well be an organ. A gigantic organ complete with fiery torches based on the floor towering over the tops of the tall silver pipes. A steam rises from the tops of the silver pipes sucking in the mist from outside. These pipes take in the mist and return it to fog.
The desk becomes nothing more than a row of keys. With each keystroke, the beautiful hymns of destruction sound off in the distance.
Scribed by Jason Firestone.
What is wrong with people these days? Your resentment of the below-average intelligence of the typical bar-going chump is not only understandable, it’s completely normal. After all, at the end of a long week of work people just want to go out to a club with some friends, get a blood alcohol level that’s a multiple of 2, and attempt to pick up someone to share a bed with for a night. You, on the other hand, would rather plop down in front of the glowing computer screen and lurk around MySpace looking for venues and local people who might possibly have the slightest chance of being into your band’s music, as well as sending emails kissing up to promoters and radio DJs in the hopes that one of those contacts will be the one who unleashes your band’s music upon the unsuspecting masses, launching you and your band head-first into superstardom. Or at least that’s how it happens before you wake up stuck to your bed.
Everyone is out there while you’re sitting in your comfy chair in your smiley-face boxers drinking Southern Comfort and letting your waist grow. And you wonder why no one comes to your shows. The best way to get on the radar of everyone who would rather go out and risk getting a DUI every Friday and Saturday night than go home after work and go to sleep early is to intercept their routine. Get yourself in their fuzzy weekend memory banks. In other words: SHOW YOUR FACE! Go out to shows, talk yourself up, meet people! If talking to you about your band is the last thing some guy remembers before finding himself in his apartment at 5am with everything he drank that night coming out of both ends of his body, you might be doing something right (or very very wrong, but let’s not go there).
So get out into the real world, find a show at a decent-sized venue with a bunch of bands you’ve never heard of, and talk to people. Even if you don’t instantly make a ton of friends you’ll still be more productive than if you went about your normal routine of couching it in your apartment with one hand on your computer keyboard and the other hand somewhere beneath your stomach, listening to the radio, and telling some girl on MySpace with “~~<3 I’m Only Jailbait If They Catch You <3~~” as her display name about how famous your band is going to be.
â€œAnd what do you know of rejection? What do you know of loss, of death? What do you know of the absence of everything, great abstinence in the presence of the plentiful?
Has the world turned its back on you, or just this group? Has everyone you have ever known and will even know become a fragment of the mind’s eye? Did you blink on purpose to shut your eye, or did you never possess the ability to open it? Can you forget your past?â€
Perhaps that was too long of a response to give when the zombie said, â€œWait, where are you going?â€ Then it started to scamper in my general direction. (continue reading…)
Scribed by Jason Firestone.
Hey… youâ€¦I got a secret. No seriously. I’ll tell it to you. Shhh! Don’t say anything. I figured it all out. I did. Seriously. And I’m willing to tell you. Just listen. Check it out. Those bands. Certain bands. Whether they’re really good or just totally suck. They bring out a bunch of (continue reading…)
Off in the distance I hear a moan. On the other hand, was it a shrill cry from the confines of the mist? Perhaps there is moaning in between episodes of crying from the mist. Nothing comes into focus around this time of the night because of the fog and the haze.
These human sounds albeit inhumanely cut through the biting shrill wind. The zombies are about again. How close are they? Around this time in the evening all weekend warriors transmogrify and revert into zombies. Others fled before the perversion, but the result is the same whether or not they shamble aimlessly on the streets or in their mausoleums. (continue reading…)
Usually around this time of the night, after the bars have closed, the wind is harsh, cold, and biting. This physical pain cuts through all others, and becomes a driving force to get one home or back to their vehicle.
One cannot properly prepare for this frosty wind since they dress to impress, or they dress for their surroundings. If you are going to spend half an evening in a hot and sweaty dance floor, dressing for the walk out is the last thing on your mind. Even if you managed to bring a coat for that final walk, you probably lost it along the way through the course of the coarse malaise. If you did manage to dress warmly for the walk home, you spent most of the night sweating, and the sweat just makes the wind even colder. The alcohol makes the body think it is warmer, which makes a cool breeze, an artic blizzard. That alcohol effect would explain how one could be cold in Florida in the spring, or is it summer?
The irony of the situation is each night begins with emotional hopes and ends with physical pains. The two are unrelated to each other, hence the irony. One more fix in a string of short-term gains at the expense of long-term returns. The credo of the weekend warrior: Live in the here and the now, regardless of responsibility and repercussions. (continue reading…)