We linger in our loneliness,
Far too long, does reality become distant.
But a thin stretched veil of existence.
Farewell friends. I can’t reach you from here.
You were the one’s to bring me to grips with my own truth.
Out here, in this grey misty ocean of grey solitude.
The mind can do naught but wonder the paths of the present, past and future.
Frequenting the narrow tightrope between these states
Knee deep in the black, glassy sea.
I have no reflection.
The fog is cold and thick and still.
I begin to walk
towards a sound
the ring of a high pitched bell
The black water clears
And I set upon my grey beach.
Shining shells of solitude crawl up the silver sand in natural lines.
The fog has lessened, in fact
It is plainly gone.
It lies only towards the horizon at the seas edge.
Clouds, a sheet of clouds cover the heavens and only a paled while shining beacon that is the sun, lights the land and pulls the silver glitter off the sea
I am the greyelf.
And welcome to my realm.
Desert. The seas have dried.
Still grey.
In my hands is a brain.
I’m surrounded by brains. They buzz
So powerless & unprotected
Waiting to be meddled with.
Poke my fingers into the brain and manipulate it
Not unlike that of a puppet master
It jumps & whinges a little
Electric sparks rise over the lobes
I left go of that brain. It floats a little.
& pick up another. I do the same.
This one lets out a shriek. Piercing. Chilling.
Then it wilts into a light grey green.
I let it go and it sinks a little.
I pick up another and tear it into 2
Just let it float off.
One more giggles at my touch.
I stick my fingers into its folds and it goes into fits of hysteria
I crumble this one between my fingers (how easy these brains crumble?)
and a thousand different laughs emit from each piece
And they fall to my feet.
3 brains start ramming into me. I wave them off with a hand.
The desert.
The faceless man. Spoonface I call him.
Indentation. Meditation. Reflection.
Myself in reverse, but still myself.
Myself bent, but still myself.
Brains buzz around us.
I remove his jacket.
He lunges forward and grabs my head with his hands
His formless fingers push through my eyes, into my mouth and my ears and nose
He reaches my own brain and starts squeezing.
I can feel his fear. Or is that my own?
He has formed nails which keep digging and digging
And digging and digging.
Scratching away chunks of pink, grey, white matter
He hits a standstill and his hands (if you could call them that) retreat.
Has he found the life source?
In his hands he has torn out a blue glowing ball. Digital?
The glass ball is flickering and buzzing with a blue light.
He holds it before me.
I feel the strongest urge to bury it. Bury it into the desert sand.
It flickers. That makes sense.
I start grabbing brains and breaking them open to see if they have this life force.
None of them have it. Why do I?
Spoonface man looks at me.
I see only my upside down face distorted in the curves.
There are no cavity’s in which I can tear into his mind. I see only my own.
The ball is in my hands.
It buzzes. It glows brighter.
10 million layers between me and you. Between me and them.
I’m on a beach. Pure white.
A wind is blowing picking up the sand in sheets.
That cloud would tear into anyone’s feet.
But not mine.
Meanwhile I vibrate the chords of my tangible existence
While tightly bound in this amber caccoon, impenetrable.
It is in here I wait and sleep and dream.
It starts to rain on the beach.
Acid rain.
I hear the patter from outside.
A towering wind swirls around my caccoon. Dragging sand & tears with it. Up up up.
It’s melting.
The caccoon has sprung a leak.
How can acid taste so sweet.
What does one call the space that exists between you and your cage? That small gap of air.
What would you call it when it filled up with water?
Acid burns my sensitive skin.
Yet it also burns the caccoon
From the inside out.
Caccoon melts… melting.
From the puddle forming at my feet life has spring.
Tendrils, leaves of the plant entwine themselves around me
I must help them get closer to the sun.
I support them and feel comforted by this.
It blossoms around my face – into bright blossoms.
Similar to those of the day lily.
For there is sunlight. Still in the rain is there sunlight.
Swarms of white barbed creatures gather across the sand. Back and forth they run making patterns in the land.
My body is entwined in growth
The caccoon of stone is now solely a pearlescent mess at my soles.
My white feather insects are distracted from the sand and approach my destroyed shell.
Hundreds of them.
They appear to be soaking it up. Devouring it.
I cant describe the sound they make. I’d call it a mixture of a cats purr, a birds’ tweet and a cricket on a hot summer day.
One of the assumedly female creatures flew up to my face and cooed into my ear.
A feline insect. Strange. Beautiful.
It whispered something I understood. But in a language I’d never heard before.
This is the I Hate Everything Kitten. The I hate everything Kitten epitomises mine & my team's outlook during times like these. I Hate Everything Kitten reminds us to not expect anything out of life. It also reminds us to maintain upmost cynicism with things like these and not expect sudden error-resolvement. I Hate Everything Kitten reminds us to close our eyes and cringe everytime we attempt to run our program! I Hate Everything Kitten reminds us that that only way we can feel satisfaction is through other's failure.
I'm sitting here waiting for band to arrive, so I thought I'd write about my bands
that these bands are surrounded by a sense of quality?
dge the racial awkwardness that exists in this part of time, is just awesome =]
From the day Tempos died, the industry changed. It became about 'big' record labels, Suicide Girls, scene zeenz, and event organisers. Only huge events like Season's Wither at Jet (first one was held at Tempos by the way) seem to keep the scene going (and that event is quickly failing as well).
However all is not lost for you metal fans, a new type of metalesque band are emerging namely the mathcore & prog metal bands. It seems I'm not the only muso tired of the uniformity (Finally a sub-genre of metal I love) and I think a few bands who entered the scene too early might get their chance to shine. The band who comes to mind first are Mazaru who combine Tool & Protest The Hero influences and are my favourite! Brilliant musicianship, original & interesting. They are pulling a different sort of crowd with a different sort of outlook. Props up to the Mazaru boys. Time for a reformation. Im talking about indie managed, well practiced and diverse metalesque bands who take care of their own event organisation (from flier design to sound guys to band choice) or are in touch with independant organisers who focus on quality as opposed to quantity.
ir R40 entrance to some cock who thought they owned the industry (no names mentioned - you know who you are! ) and spend the evening either moshing to noisy unkempt metalcore bands, having sex in bathrooms (scary since half the girls there were 15), getting high, getting drunk or bitching about how boring and crap the bands you paid R40 to see were. But that didn't stop us pitching up the next week.
s were too many, the sound was too bad, the booze too much, and the kids were too young (not too mention the original crowd grew too old). The raids started, the crowds dwindled, the big bands disbanded, the owners immigrated and sold the place to Authentic Ideas who struggled to handle it. The hell-hole was sold to a catholic school (the irony! ;) Kids would be corrupted by the ground they walked on) , and then finally to a group of people who opened up the beach, put on some pub bands and called it Hickory's (no jokes).
Finally, my first blog post. 'Bout bloody time!