Sunday, June 21, 2009

Depression Can Be A Real Motherfucker

Depression sucks. Big sweaty fucking balls. I should consider myself fortunate that it doesn't affect me the way it used to; whereas depression would once render me literally useless for weeks at a time, it now generally comes on and lasts only a few days at most, and the intensity of the DOWN is not typically as far DOWN as once before.

One of the things about depression that really pisses me off is the way that it comes on, hitting me like a tidal wave - all the bad, empty, devastating feelings coming over in an instant, but at the same time taking its sweet fucking time (all of about 15 seconds) so that I feel myself falling farther and farther from normalcy. I fucking hate it because the wave of depression falls over me so suddenly, for no apparent reason, and I can feel the cocktail of chemicals in my brain being shaken up with poison in it. The really unfair and unfortunate part is that when the depression lifts, there is no corresponding raising of the shades, if you will. Not for me, at least. I have to wonder how others experience this.

It makes me feel like curling myself into a ball and laying in a whole that I dug with my own weathered hands. I feel like no one gets it. I feel like punching people in the face for not getting it (though I don't have to be depressed for that to be the case). I feel like I could and should be alone for the rest of my life. And worst of all, none of the music that colors my life sounds good. I have nearly 7000 songs in my iTunes library, which, if played on a continuous loop from song 1 to song 7000, would take about 785 hours to listen to. And when I'm fucking down, none of it sounds good. It all sounds like bullshit.

I'm glad this latest bout with the motherfucker that depression is ended before Father's Day weekend, so I can enjoy the weekend with my wife and kidlets... though I'm still not feeling 100%.

Anyway, enough of this fucking crying.

Monday, June 15, 2009

We've been experiencing a lot of thunderstorms of late. I love them, for a number of varied reasons.

We've had thunderstorms for each of the past 3 days and nights, off and on. But there are little thunderstorms that come and go, their bark worse than their bite, and then there are thunderstorms that should be considered harbingers of the motherfucking apocalypse. The latter is what we endured last night.

To go with the torrential downpours, how about a side of hailstones the size of nickles (much like bullet holes the size of matzoh balls!)... Wind that blew the table over and practically put the umbrella through the siding of the house... Thunder that shook the very earth, and lightning that lit the entire sky like nuclear death, for 2-3 seconds at a time... it was unbelievably violent, and amazingly beautiful. Lucky for everyone, the world did not end. The sun rose again this morning. We didn't even lose the electricity.

I'm hoping for more of those today :-)

Sunday, June 14, 2009

Suspended Animation

Hell, I feel ANIMATED today.

Perhaps it has something to do with the fact that I've been drinking small but substantial quantities of wine since 2:30PM this afternoon. Need to keep it up :-)

I was supposed to climb on the roof and clear the gutters, but suburban domestic servitude can wait. Cheap wine is today's over-arching theme. Not so inebriated that I can't help take care of my kids, but just enough so that I feel pretty good about it and everything else.

Man, the Black Pyramid s/t CD is supposed to be "stoner rock," but neither weed nor weed culture is my style. Cheap wine, apparently, is my style. And that record still sounds great, from the Middle Eastern sounds on the first track to the blues-y riffs and solos throughout... I don't play it nearly enough. I wish it were out on vinyl, because I love vinyl. I'd rather not buy another CD ever.

Black Math Horseman up next...

Saturday, June 13, 2009

perceive, to;

I either just formed a more honest and intimate relationship with the Earth and the immediate ground beneath me,


that is the last time I mow the lawn in bare feet.

Thursday, June 11, 2009


One of my friends sent me a link today to an mp3 excerpt of "Miserere," one of the songs that will be appearing on Bloody Panda's new record, Summon (due out August 11th).

Here is that link:

Holy. Mother. Fucker.

I had to ask him if it was possible that the Panda's oppressive style of doom has become even darker and heavier, because that's just what I was hearing. I don't often get this excited for records, but whereas I was super-thrilled for this record before, I am now practically drooling. August 11th cannot come fast enough.

In other news, I'm considering going to Allston again on Monday night to see Bone Awl, Ashdautas, Volahn, and Witch Tomb at O'Brien's. If I can get Marilyn to pick up the kids, I think I may...

Monday, June 8, 2009

How many posts can I title "Clean Hands Go Foul?"

A lot of people who are supposedly very close to me really don't "get" me, and while I shouldn't, I do fault them for it. I'm not hard to read - in fact, I'm right here, laid out about as bare as one person can be, with my heart bleeding all over my sleeve. It pisses me off when these folks claim to know what's going on in my head and why I behave in the manner that I do.

This has nothing to do with the aforementioned long lost friends - I don't see them often, but they know me better than anyone on the planet, and they always have. They know when I'm headed in the right direction and they know when I'm full of shit - and, luckily for me, they have no problem pointing it out to me. Bailed me out (no, not out of jail!) more times than I can count.

But some people who claim to be my friend and claim to mean well are in reality full of stuff far worse than shit - twisting my words, actions, and feelings to their own twisted ends. You wanna twist my words? Fine. You wanna claim to know the intentions behind this or that action? Alright. You wanna twist my feelings to make yourself feel better about your fucked up little world? No beans motherfucker. No, I'm not gonna hurt you or even hold it against you, because who the hell has time for that? Not me. I'm simply going to forget you exist - and that's your fucking problem. And why is it your problem? Because I'm an awesome fucking person who has more REAL LOVE to give than most people dare dream of, and I'm am not afraid to give it. Not. Even. A Little.

I hate to sound like I hold my friends to abnormally high standards, or that truly being my friend is some sort of great privilege - like belonging to some elite club -because that's not it. I have friends all over the place - all over my immediate area, my home state, the country, all over the planet, and even in cyberspace - that I would literally bend over backwards for - simply because I CARE.

I don't claim to be perfect. I openly admit to having fucked over some people that didn't deserve what they got from me. I've fucked up, I've been wrong. Yeah, I've been bad. The difference is that I will say that I've done wrong, and I will tell you that I'm truly sorry, rather than twist around whatever you did or felt to make it look like I wasn't so bad. Because even though I've done wrong, I likely respect you enough to give you the truth.

If you're a friend of mine that reads this - be it an in-person friend, a person a million miles away, or one of my fine feathered internet friends - do me the favor of telling me if I've done something wrong. If I've made you uncomfortable, if I've screwed you over, or if I just plain neglected to do the right thing - do me the favor and call me out. You don't owe me that, but it would likely be in our mutual best interest

I never intended this blog to be for this sort of stuff, but if not here, then where? This shit comes out of me whenever I listen to Khanate's final album - the grand opus Clean Hands Go Foul. Somehow that record, and particularly Alan Dubin's agonizing vocals, bring me back to center on these things that keep me awake at night. And it fucking ROCKS, slow and mean. Those guys are sorely missed.

Today I'm...

...skipping out of work early to meet some long lost friends at the Albany Pump Station for lunch. I'm so psyched. While I'd like to go see Eddie Vedder at the Palace with them, there was no way in hell I was ever going to pay 75 freaking dollars to the guy who fought the good fight against Ticketmaster's fiendish practice of overcharging for concert tix, only to turn around and do it himself.

Hey Ed: you're now the Pot, buddy.

But lunch!!! Can I get a Woo-Hoo???!!!

Sunday, June 7, 2009

I may not like this tomorrow, but tonight it makes perfect sense...

strike me down, should I go to hell for what I have done

i am alive
and what's more -
i am awake
she lives to give
and in turn i care only to take

ready to see, to feel
to burn through the night
i am the fire
and - out of nowhere
She is the light

my angels go silent
my demons, they creep;
yes, i may slumber
but though i lie, i cannot sleep

this soul takes hold
i embrace its caress
thine spirit cries out
with a need to express

we came looking for ash
but found only soot;
this love we consume, devour,
and trample underfoot

left in ruins
love we send to the grave
betraying a promise
we chose instead to enslave

convictions dissembled
morality left behind
a beauty to explore, to transcend -
and a memory to find

a whisper, a wonder
and a check left blank
to look back and question
why that crumbling ship sank

my will breaks
my spine cracks
with each passing lie...
without this one true love
we wither
we blister
and we die

Saturday, June 6, 2009


I can't remember the last time I slept for 10 hours... it may have been before the kids were born. I don't even think I slept for 10 hours when I was in the Adirondacks by myself last summer.

There were some things I wanted/needed to accomplish last night, but I guess it doesn't really matter. Because I feel great :-)

Ready to enjoy the weekend like a badass motherfucker, like this guy:

Friday, June 5, 2009

The Isis-Dark Crystal Connection

This is the best way for me to describe what Aaron Turner from Isis was like last night. Keep your eye on Fizzgig, the little ball of fur on the ground. Dead ringer for Mr. Turner and his new afro/bushy-beard combo.

Also funny - Pelican guitarist Laurent Schroeder-Lebec was sporting a Darkthrone t-shirt with the sleeves ripped off, in addition to the bandanna around his neck. Looked like he should have been working at a gas station in Appalachia somewhere. Pure awesomeness.

In related news, the sequel to the original Dark Crystal, called The Power of the Dark Crystal has been pushed back again to 2011, though a couple of sources say that fans shouldn't expect it until 2013.

Thursday, June 4, 2009

Signal Fills the Void

I'm sure than anyone who may or may not be reading this knows how it feels when you're tired... so fucking tired that you cannot get any restful sleep. I've slept for 4, maybe 5 hours total over the last two nights, and whereas I could once push myself through that lack of sleep without problem, it's getting more and more difficult as I age. Not only is my body tired, but my soul is just drained, exhausted, and lifeless. I thought all of the exhaustion that accompanies a semester of grad school would dissipate a few days after the semester ended, but it has been a few weeks since I turned in my research paper (the research paper on missile defense that raised me from an B+/A- in US Foreign Policy to a grand A!) and that hasn't happened yet, and I am more exhausted than ever.

There won't be much sleep coming tonight, so I'm looking to tonight's activities to rejuvenate my restless spirit, much like the Wolves in the Throne Room/A Storm of Light/Krallice show did a couple of weeks ago. Seeing Isis and Pelican should do the trick, at least for a while. Perhaps this is too much to expect from one concert, but there's something about Isis's new album Wavering Radiant, their entire back catalog, and Pelican's collected body of work that has led me to believe that this one night of live music could ease the constant tension on my heart and soul. There's one catch, though - I may HAVE TO hear Isis play "Hall of the Dead" and "In Fiction," and Pelican will certainly be REQUIRED to play "Last Day of Winter." Don't let me down, boys.

The gentlemen in opening band Tombs would be pleased, perhaps, to hear that I expect nothing from them. Not that they're not a good band - they are - but they don't get to me the way Isis and Pelican do.

My little kidlets are doing their best to (unintentionally) keep me smiling, as they always do. I mean, how could this not make you smile:

Or this:

They are such good girls. It also helps that they love one another.

... I love them to death - I mean, more than anything in the world. But there's something to be said for some silence once in a while, too. Having two kids running around doesn't leave much time for quiet reflection - something that has been in short supply. I'm looking to my upcoming trip to Minnewaska - my favorite place in the world - to provide the quiet and solitude that I need.

It also doesn't hurt that somehow I've actually managed to form what seem to be meaningful friendships ((** GASP **)) over the internet. You know who you are (that's not supposed to sound so foreboding). Thanks for being cool.

The 99 Toyota Corolla leaves for Northampton in t-minus 4 hours or so, and since this is the quiet (and I mean COMATOSE) period of the year at work, I can fill those four hours with music as loud as my laptop speakers get.

Here's hoping the boys rock out with their cocks out!

Tuesday, June 2, 2009

Clean Hands Go Foul

Leave it to Alan Dubin's tortured but mesmerizing vocals to lift me from a shitty day. No matter how bad my day has been, it would stand to reason that with a voice like that, Dubin has had a hundred days that were a thousand times worse.

Further confirmation, I think, of Schopenhauerian philosophy.

Long Day

It's been a long day of incredulity at things that shouldn't surprise me in the least. I'm jaded enough that fucked up things shouldn't shock me, but sometimes I lose track of that, and my jaw hits the floor.

It's also been a long day of internal conflict. I'm torn in two different directions, neither of which is here and now. Damnit, I fucking hate that.

Now, I'm struggling to stand upright, as some malicious nauseating virus has turned my digestive system into a battleground.

I take solace, however, in the entertaining fact that I can go from listening to Xasthur and Lurker of Chalice directly to playing Counting Crows, and find myself feeling more depressed by the latter - perhaps because Counting Crows sounds like Main Street in Cold Spring when I was 20 years old.