Sick engine, the piston hammers away

Remember when this came out, Thriller McCartney bitching "cover's in color!" Sure, a couple tunes could use some Perry White, and if the platter ain't General Zod, it's at least Non and he could fuck up most things.

There was some other gig, but I forgot.

Man, fuckers in class are fucking dumb. I mean, I'm a sack of evaporated Venusian stone but whoa: 'taint no STEM, so plants'll be 0.07% less toxic.

That wasn't it. Hail Something.

You know my only pleasure is to hear you cry

No better reason to temporarily halt hermitage than to celebrate this motherfucker turning thirty. See you in the next d6 months, unfortunately. People, man.

Broken record

Another semester, another layer of lawn off-getting deposited on the gunk.

I have a really strong sphincter about the badness of really bad stuff.

Forest hermitage.

METAL.

Abysses and eyeballs

Fuck you dumb public
fuck you stupid work
fuck you humidity
now that's fuckin' poetry
hell no says you
well fuck you too.

Doing the right thing

Frogger, deconstruct D)all of the above*

*did jam ninja-ly** to a stack of Darkthrone discs this weekend so hail hail rock and/or roll for truth in advertising for once

**sans air guitaring and/or neck wrecking***

***one wreck's good n' plenty****

****do "they" still make these?*****

*****I know "they" still puke out the great taste of Charleston Chew******

******66, the number of the beast, ******66, the one for you and me

Am I evil?

Blood on Satan's Desert Island.

What's that nagging, needling, niggling Ipecac wretcher called when there's a billion blatherers dying to upchuck on a zillion chunks of this, that, t'other but, lo! out the black blood of the earth! a quadrillion don't cares have erected a Godzilla-sized Erector set bricked up with Lego bricks of adamantium that even a doped-up Ghidorah can't fuck with?

Albums make much better companions than people.

Now, back to your regularly scheduled egads-a-thon.

When it's cold, and when it's dark, the freezing moon can obsess you

Jesus H. Cthulhu, I hate summer. Fuck this fucking season.

Slowly we rot, or, better late than never

Greatest DM (death metal or dungeon master, listener's choice) album ever?

Don't sleep on Altars. Seriously, don't, or you'll wake up the not-that-secret ingredient of a pentagram stew. Mmmm, stew. Bunch of crazy crap happening in meat world, but fancy gizmodic contraptions aside, new shit same as the old shit YEEEAAAARRRRRGGGGGGGHHHHHHH. 'twas vaguely Daltrynstic no? though I'm more skilled in the Axl arts, not the paparazzo face punching bit 'cause I love you all like Ozzy. Reference your own frontdude/chick for three easy installments of 39.95, please allow 6-8 weeks for delivery.

Been cleaning [read: attempting to maybe possibly try] out the house 'cause like every firstworlder, got too much garbage even for Oscar, and came across a shot of the fam post-arrival of the alien known to interwebzians as Offspring the Elder, mom classy in a Justice tee, yours truly nattily clad in a Seasons, both sporting giant glasses which was, along with onions on the belt, the style at the time.

No, I didn't wallow in any of that stupid "woe to you o earth and sea what a world what a world we leaveth with thee" shit because are you fucking kidding me, life expectancy and an end to feudalism aside though I hear that's making a comeback in select markets, see above.

In the past, you couldn't ignore what was stabbing you.

Thanks to cheap anesthetic hawked by the real Satanic cult, now you can, but you're still gonna end up as someone's meal.

Ebb tide

Was unofficially saving this, the riffyard where I lifted this dump's subtitle, for the final whatever, but whatever. Kinda struck me the other house on haunted hill, mind and matter meeting over reruns and free beer I forgot about: I'm tired, out of shape, dead & bloated minus the dead but the bloat's a boat not far in the harbor, a place to go in the quest for firing negative reactors because doing so saves lives, or so we're told. Easier said when the Surround Silence isn't 'round tick tock.

Should be a bit o' yay honey since the oh-fer's now a one-fer, but you know, so? Brain's still a tumescent sloth happy to pine box space out, too, see above. Leave summer blockbuster clawing for the undead and characters from Poe.

Hell ain't just them but sing song, yingless yang -- hey, I should use that -- Newton's cradle stuck on static. Okay, five minute rule: sucks. Fine line between yabba dabba doo. A wonder anything's scrawled with this screaming quiet.

But hey, that's on you. J'accuse, accuser. You all through two of 'em, base ten. Seems this is how it's gonna be until we're worm's-meat. Yippee.

Maybe it's got everything to do with me.

Fuck the pen! because you can die by the sword!

Jeff, welcome back. 
-- Satan

Swing and a miss

Suburbia hole-up tea chug, Stooges on repeat, half oblivion to the FA Cup on the tube & the usual too, the page dirtied by shit verse #752 = ¡Viva la Revolución!

Passive aggression

It's taken decades, but I think I'm beginning to get why some, many, most, who knows, prefer clinical cold to that gummiest of monkey wrenches one finds jamming up the circulatory warp and weft so often that of course it was built that way, it's just that I really hate math. Where's that confounded bridge?

Family, religion, friendship. These are the three demons you must slay if you wish to succeed in blah.

I'm sure I've played this a dozen times last week, so here's a dozen and one butchering the baker's count for making candles von too tree ha ha ha make sure they're weird. On second synapse, monkey's tired of dancing. Always tired.

Ergo, stop hanging around and go frolic in the street.

Curse ye and thy ninth-level spell of disjunctive unmotivation!

Rock and/or roll, the only* constant 'fore the mortal coil shuffle.



*yes, yes, the banality of most everything else.

If a tree falls in a forest and no one is around to ignore it, does it still talk to itself?

Blah blah blah.

Clap your hands say fuck yeah that's over

Sitting on the can early [read: early] Friday morning feverishly watching the brine bubble up out of pore after pore, my body's tubing behaving as if I had just downed a fifth and a box of prunes, c'est-à-dire, the Compleat St. Patrick's Day, but without all that pesky socialization.

To celebrate my victory, some select pieces of delicious ear candy. To celebrate yours, that I didn't go into even more detail, feel free to suggest others.

Axiom grease

If something's going good, give it twenty-four hours.

Every three months, The Blizzard rages.*

Here's some metal, 'cause monkeys dance.



*not exactly axiomatic, but what is the internet but lies and porn?

His brains are boilin' when he hears the guitars roar

Messrs. Shermann & Denner, young & wild. 

A choice ironically comical or comically ironic, haven't decided yet.

Nothin' goin' on, no gong-banging, no it got-on, just stuck in neutrality like Switzerland. Sans Nazi ingots, of course. Such a stash could fuel serious bootleg acquisition. Since I'm no DaiMon, no Rules, only old shows once too young.

Bunch o' other crap, but who fucking cares. Brain's tired of hearing it, and so would you if you already aren't here, there, mmmm, Cadbury creme eggs.

'cause I haven't posted metal in awhile, and 'cause you know it, no bitchin', 'tis what twixt is

[an infinity of redaction 'cause imma 1.7 track mind and where I do push pen you can't see and you don't wanna be trust me 'cause it sucks like a Mack truck of godawful fuck sixteen tons and whaddya get space cadetted that's what]

Naval lint

The oceans are full of sailed ships.

You, 61° in Cleveland on January 30th, I hope you die of heat stroke.

Doing the right thing can be incredibly unfulfilling.

Each time I think I might want to make an actual friend, I thankfully remember that people are terribly overrated.

Responsibility [and X-Files reruns] keeps me from being a woodland hermit.

This post was paragraph after paragraph, surprisingly poetic -- not grandiloquent and moving, more easy flow rhyme-ish shit never there during actual tries.

Ergo, should turn discards into verse, or chuck this writing gig altogether.

Hey look, a shiny thing.