"All I needed was inspiration"

"There has been a new development regarding your mission

which we must now communicate to you. Months ago a man

was ordered on a mission which was identical to yours. We

have reason to believe that he is now operating with Kurtz.

Saigon was carrying him MIA for his family's sake. They 

assumed he was dead. Then they intercepted a letter he

tried to send his wife :

SELL THE HOUSE

SELL THE CAR

SELL THE KIDS

FIND SOMEONE ELSE

FORGET IT

I'M NEVER COMING BACK

FORGET IT

Captain Richard Colby - he was with Kurtz."

[legacy.]

I am not a poet, a clown to entertain you,

Guilty of nothing but parlor tricks to earn

An admirable gasp, to win the affections

Of sullen little ideological disasters with legs

Agape to devour what was left of my pride.

I don't have a gift that was bestowed upon

Me, that I have to carry like a beast of burden

Through a sea of meaningless affections and 

Trite little electronic messages of misplaced

Love. I don't want this to be my sad legacy;

A path of destruction and blood-shaped

Pools left to cake over time before the rain

Can wash away my every public disgrace.

I want to meet the Marlboro man and ride

Off with him, off into a cancerous sunset.

I want to spew bile and breathe smoke, unable

To make you smile or ever utter my name 

In your misguided orgasmic indiscretions.

I want to lay my bones amongst the rocks and

The roots, letting them dry out in the sun --

Time becomes the ultimate factor of my fallacy;

My legacy that I intend to mock until I lie.

[smile]

From out of nowhere, it hit me --

Like a freight train at full speed.

My breath short, my mind swimming

In the newly flooded deep waters.

Your eyes haunt me as I sleep,

Tossing, turning, my desires pouring

Out with every choked syllable.

Every minute I wait drags itself out,

Time and space laughing as it pulls

Me down, drags me down like gravity.

With this weight on my shoulders I

Push forward, the wind whipping

At me so fast, so hard -- breathing 

In short bursts, dreaming of your smile.

Smile.

Chinese Democracy.

To understand, to really, really understand what this album is, you have to understand the timeline. I am 25 years old at the moment and finally have this album in my hands. When I was 10 years old "The Spaghetti Incident?" was released, which was an album of covers by Guns N' Roses. As I got a little bit older, I fell into an obsession over the band Guns N' Roses, maybe due to the awesome guitar work or earnst emotion conveyed by Axl Rose, or the fact that they never apologized no matter what they did. It was music that I could connect to, and really, the first band that did that to me.

I've waited well over half of my life to listen to this fully realized album, and the question seems to be; was it worth it? The answer is yes. For an even more overwhelming timeline, think about this; Axl Rose's last release came while George Bush was in office, and Chinese Democracy comes out at the tail end of George W. Bush's 8-year reign in office. At this point the timing both doesn't matter and is crucial; rock n' roll feels all but dead. When I think of the music I listen to, there really aren't bands like Guns N' Roses anymore. I think that really, the closest thing to them I still listen to is Megadeth. Bands simply don't exist like this anymore, the current names in big rock bands are uninspired bands that sound like poorly tossed together tribute bands to the early 90's, like Nickelback. This will not do. Rock music has been waiting for a saviour, and the unlikely hero is one of the most hated men in the history of rock music, W. Axl Rose.

This album is unlike any other I've experienced, as I feel a weird connection to it. Since 1999 I've been following the oddesy that is the creation of Chinese Democracy. Every live show that leaked out with a few new tracks, every demo that hit the net, every leaked track that made the rounds I've poured over in anticipation. I think the only things in life that I had to really wait to experience were driving, drinking legally, sex and Chinese Democracy, and most of them were disappointing when I finally reached it. I remember back to the first time Axl played "Chinese Democracy" live, or when I went to go see an awful Arnold Schwarzenegger film just to hear "Oh My God" play in the background and be supportive. I still remember the first time hearing about "Madagascar" at Rock In Rio II, where Kurt Loder of MTV proclaimed it a masterpiece unlike any other since "Stairway to Heaven." To say there was massive anticipation for this album is to sell it short. It had impossible anticipation.

So to say that it satisifies me really means something. From the ominious loop that introduces "Chinese Democracy" up until the dreamlike sequence that ends "Prostitute" there is never a minute where I question what I am listening to or feel like I need to skip. Now, there really weren't a lot of surprises along the way, as by the time this came out there really were only three songs that had never been heard before; "Scraped," "Sorry" and "This I Love." "Shackler's Revenge" is also quasi-new, as it just made its debut a few months ago in the videogame Rock Band 2. For a fourteen-track album, to think that only four songs are really new is astonishing. Think about it, I've been listening to "Chinese Democracy," "Rhiad" and "Street of Dreams" for years now, as they have morphed, grown, been manipulated until they reached their final forms. I almost feel like Axl did these brief tours and passed out these CDs to people he knew would leak it to get an initial reaction, and to know what he needs to do to these songs.

People are going to complain because Slash and Duff and maybe even to a lesser extent Matt Sorum aren't involved in this, but I don't think that Axl really needed them, and I think that is what this whole exercise was in. Before you complain that Slash's guitar melodies and solos were the soul behind Guns, listen to "Better" and feel all the parts just sort of come together perfectly, from the screaching intro, the pounding main riff, the great, emotional outtro solo that blows me away everytime on top of the incredible production and feel. Listen to this and tell me that Axl "needed" any of his previous bandmates. No, this album is Axl's, and while there were people that worked with him, the final Production credits go to him, the lyrics and music credits on every song go to him, with the music being shared with at least one other bandmate, but ultimately resting on him. Axl Rose was a singer in 1993, who wore Reeboks with his name on them, a bandana on his head and a pair of spandex shorts. In 2008 he is a musician who can play more than songs with simple chord progressions in the key of C on piano, which just speaks for what sort of transformation he has forced himself through in th past few years. The process has been taking the songs inside of his head and finding a way to transfer them into recordings.

Tracks like "Street of Dreams," "There Was a Time," "Sorry," "This I Love" and "Prostitute" just prove how much went into the recording of this album, with the complexity of each and just how well the final product turned out. Each song featuring some sort of complex arrangement for a rock song. Some songs are more memorable than others, and some songs are just beyond imagination. When you ask me why I stayed 'faithful' to Axl Rose throughout all of these years, listen to "Sorry" and understand that nobody else could have written that song. The haunting beginning to the build up to the explosion of a chorus until the song continues to swirl and build to a satisfying finish. Listen to "Madagascar" and try not to be blown away by the depth and scale of the whole thing, from the intro by an ensemble with the keyboard over it, to the classic screaching guitar dueling with Axl's lyrics, all the way to one of the best and most satisfying parts of any song I've heard in years, the guitar solo over well-placed vocal samples from various MLK speeches, quotes from "Mississippi Burning," "Se7en," "Cool Hand Luke" (again) and Michael J. Fox's amazing monologue from "Casualties of War."

People are going to hate this, it is inevitable. Axl Rose has made his share of enemies and over the years his antics have made him come off like a pompus, pretentious asshole. Then some people just don't listen to music like this anymore, because quite simply, it doesn't really exist. Or people are just too pretentious themselves to allow themselves to get lost in music like this. That is fine, but for me, I am able to put aside my pretentions and listen to Axl pour his soul out over a piano with a guitar wailing in the background in "This I Love" and be satisfied.

YouTube Playlist

Sometimes it just happens, when you have a few select songs you can't stop listening to. So.

Nick Cave - Love Letter

Megadeth - Addicted to Chaos

Grinderman - Man in the Moon

Zakk Wylde -As Dead as Yesterday

Steve Von Till - Breathe

Acid Bath - The Bones of Baby Dolls

Blind Melon - Mouthful of Cavities

"They see you. They see everything you do."

[torrent.]

Fragility be damned; Alone I stand, strong.

I stand not for your smile, your heart, your love.

No, alone I stand, atop my molten-cool center,

Winding down after my heart bled torrents.

Created are these; Emotional, scarred track marks.

Dormant I've lain, hiding my festering addiction;

A passenger of dark, masquerading through the light,

Sun-scarred eyes refusing to see; Refuse the pattern.

Waiting out storms; Dry I stand, remote.

The fire warms, but the water beads, running.

Pouring down my soul's bullet-proofed window;

A stifling reminder of all that could have been.

Unquenched thirst; The longing, the anticipation.

Even with open windows, it's still nothing but drops;

Bolt by bolt, Chain by chain, break down the door,

Surrender the fears, the loathing; Cold rain stings.

Lightning breaks right; Tearing the night, shamed.

The storm seeps, the open wounds, painful reminders.

The rain I begged for and storm that I had sought;

These scars still bleed from your tainted touch.

No longer can I know, I'm conditioned beyond repair.

[ruin]

I am an engine of ruin; far too aware.

I cannot stop the engine; ruin is imminent.

I never said that I don't make mistakes.

The mirror reflects a truly snowy descent. 

Sadness/Madness/Ruin.

From/Reply II

From: Storm of Lies

Drying out --
After riding out the storm
The falling tides
Washed my hope ashore

Drawing lines in the sand
Waiting for the sun to set,
The waves to rise
And this smile
To be tested
By the stormy waters
Of a lifetime of past mistakes

The storm of lies --
Bleeding.
Torrent falls, the sirens ablaze
Standing silent amidst the embers.

Your hand,
Lone defender and sign
This war is over

Reply: Lines in the Sand

Control.

Like a subtle, lone whisper, this detail confines me,

Defining what I wish I could contain.

Contain; restrain; try to separate from.

Loss is an opiate, it numbs and it stings,

Luminous and dulling all the same.

 

These walls move closer, get slicker,

I can't say I have much to hold on to –

No matter how hard I wish, how hard

I cry, tape peels, posters crash.

These walls remain resistant to change,

Any change imposed  is  change denied.

Reality dictates gravity defies your logic,

Your hopes and your dreams.

 

Hope a neurotoxin, fueled by love – hate  –

Everything in between, but always a posion.

Always just enough to send everything you know,

Everything you've built – crashing down.

Lines in the sand are lines in the sand –

You a fool, always a fool for hoping they'd last,

Standing defiant to the crashing waves.

Reality dictates they wouldn't stay obedient,

But your reality always felt so far away,

A past tale to spill over coffee and a few laughs.

 

The war was never over –

This was just a temporary distraction;

Reality dictates that you ran away,

Chasing a trail of smoke and passion.

You ran away and left it all behind,

The war will always be here for you,

Just in time for your return,

Ready to pick up right where you left off—

Cold. Lonley. Far too aware.

From/Reply I

So, I'm thinking of doing a few before/after, from/reply pieces. These are old, are open thought/closed thought.

Initial:

Shadows on the Wall

Dancing shadows on the 
wall echo the storm in my
mind. A smile so bright and
phosphorescent brings out the
beautiful intensity from your
eyes.

I'd love to stay here, my fixed
gaze on your heavy, sleepy
eyes. If only I could I'd light your
world, into a towering, dancing
inferno, like these shadows on the
wall.

Reply: Narcissistic Delusionary Malfunction

1:4 

There is
no
light in
flourescent
minds;
only nar-
cissistic delusions

-----------------------------

I knew once
What made me.
The layers, eroded
by time lay crumbled.
You cannot define
what you do not --

Understand

Your smile ignited flame,
while the mind melted
my extinguishing infatuation.

------------------------------------

I've malfunctioned;
in a classical sense.
Lone aberration
lost at sea,
choked.. back by
a collective tide.

Absolution [dark]

Prelude: I think that I should explain that all of these short poems happen on a notepad while I'm at work. Due to the tiny size of the notebook, I limit myself to around 20 lines.

---

The clouds part -- unveil
A dimming sun, burning
The last of its waning life --
Slowly fading are pasty glories.
With each passing ray, atonement
Becomes all the more abstract --
A shimmering visage of the past.

The hands outstretch, crying out
In their own way, to the dimming sky;
"Fade not away -- we need you --
I need you. I need you now!" Ignorant
Are they to cry for absolution, ignorant
To the transitory stasis of an extinguished
Sky -- the cycle is light to dark, dark to light,
Before the final dark sky paints life black.

Dream [Fade Out.]

At times I can't believe
That after all these trials,
I've found exactly what I
was looking for. When I
see your face the numbing
Starts to subside, the
Reality that is you washes
Over and consumes me.



A part of me stands defiant,
In disbelief -- you can't be
real, I allude to myself. If
I'm pinching myself and this
Is a dream, I am so far
Gone that I no longer exist in
A waking world. If this is
Just a dream then let me
Sleep. Let me fade out.

Dig --

I fought -- and I fought --

To keep my head --

But here I am --

Heart on sleeve --

Living the same mistake --

The same numbness inside.

I loved -- and I loved you --

When I wanted to run --

To keep everything inside --

Under my control, my skin --

I've suppresed the notion --

Only to give in.

I've made my bed -- owned my mistakes --

Pursed my lips and sighed again --

Every moment I take --

Digs closer to my home --

Into this hole I've dug --

Unearthen are my sad mistakes.

[where]

This is where I am --
This is where I should not
be. Treading treacherous waters
completely alien to me. In the
end it was my decision,
no one else's to be here.
As I choke on the waves
and call out your name, looking
for who to blame, another wave
crashes, pushing me deeper
and deeper still, into my mind, my
own oblivion. This is where I stay.

This, this is where I am.

Altar

Altar.I

Many listless hours in, the stone altar stands firm.
Not a single flamed kissed the cold granite
For many ages; as this would imply sustained life.
Dust gathers, spiders spin until doldrums
Set in; Such a barren place traps nothing.

Altar.II

A cool breeze blows, the altar stands exposed.
Blood-stained, lye-soaked but still unclean
For my efforts; bound to a past of crass mistakes.
Times passes, the worlds spins its axis
In circles; while this cavern stands firm.

Altar.III

Repetition is key, the altar foolishly learned.
Form surrounds and engulfs, bringing a sense
Of order upon it; an empirical existential dilemma.
Wills imposed, the world around has spoken
Its creed; variation means uncertain destruction.

Altar.IV

Time has lost all meaning, the altar simply is.
Questions unanswered, an answer would simply
Be lost in time; fallen upon the deafest of ears.
Exist here, understand self-chosen exile from
the heart; a loveless altar misses not its flame.

Altar.V

A smile from the horizon, the altar glows red.
The spark of life, bursting upon the scene 
Causes it to falter; a lone ember burns softly.
Fight as it might, this altar cannot stand firm and
face down the flame; awash in the familiar sting.


Altar.VI

The flame burns on, the altar's form confines.
A burning sensation, alien from cold but
forgotten desires; welcomed back home again.
Form cannot sustain, the burning has taken a
Firm grasp; options thinned to flesh and bone.

Altar.VII

Form is lost -- the inferno rages.
The infectious warmth
Brought to life
An Altar
Long-past forgotten.

[bruisesXscars]

Would it be childish if I said
That I wanted you -- Wanted to
Know your scent, to know
your touch? I want to take
your bruises in with my scars,
and absolve ourselves from
our bleeding misfortune of
a world that we call home.

With your trembling hand
in mine, we could sit back
and watch the world as it
explodes around us, illum-
inating the fire in your eyes.
I'd be complete to know that
I burn inside your heart.

[sky.]

There is a certain
Lack of light
In the sky today.
The collective mind has shut down,
Spinning on its axis has
Damaged everything
Beyond reasonable repair...
If there [really] was reason,
Do you... See reason,
Or do you see what I see;
A broken axis still spinning,
With nobody in control

Album Rewind: Vehemence | God Was Created

I've decided to trek through some of my favorite albums of the past few years and write about them. While I can't assure nothing but musical analysis, instead I can offer why these albums are interesting to me. If I'm talking about it, of course the music is going to be to my liking, but sometimes what really brings an album together to me is the whole; is it, as a whole a composition? Are there underlying themes? How well-placed are the tracks? Much, much more. So, I'm going to start this off with the CD I had in my car on the way home from work today, and always a favorite after a rough day when I feel like just taking a nap or destroying something:


Vehemence | God Was Created

My relationship with metal is a strange one; as a kid growing up, I was always attracted to heavier, darker music. But I reached an age where I decided that metal didn't make sense anymore, that it was cheesy, full of cliches and was immature. While I still believe that this is more or less the case with a lot of it, the good metal is different and will not only help you let off some steam, but always take you some place musically that other forms of music are afraid to explore. When I got back into metal, it was very much about Black Metal and Thrash Metal, with some Death and Grindcore thrown in. Eventually, I decided that Death Metal was just a twinge too brutal for me at times, without any real hooks or trying to be musically deep.

Then I heard Vehemence. Vehemence is brutal, brutal, brutal. Growling, guttural vocal attacks mixed in with anguished screams, pounding drums, punchy basslines and brutal to beautifully melodic guitar work is what makes up Vehemence. In 2002, Vehemence released their second album, God Was Created, and it floored me. Their first album was good, but didn't hold my attention all that well. This album was different, not only was it a well-crafted album, it was a concept album delving into the mind of a troubled teenage boy at odds with himself, religion and having any sort of healthy relationship. It is an album that lyrically is not only dark, brutal and disgusting, but about self-discovery and realization, maybe even self actualization in a way.

No doubt, this album was released during the height of my militant anti-God, atheist stance on religion, and fueled many a passionate rant on society and religion, but thankfully it has held up even as I've passed through the tunnel into agnosticism. The album starts off with a frantic but clean guitar line, which is quickly interrupted by Nathan Gearhart's passionate cry of "JESUS!" accompanied by Vehemence's musically brutal riffs providing the stark contrast that you'll come to know and love throughout the album. The twists and turns the song takes, accentuated by the revving scream of the lead guitar are only the beginning of the journey.

Musically, there is a theme that they return to a few times, a riff they'll revisit at different times in the album, different progressions in the main character's descent into madness and clarity, with the early climax coming in the aptly titled "Christ, I Fucking Hate You!" as the music and lyrics take a turn from self-loathing and disparity to hatred and denial. The calm doesn't come until "The Last Fantasy of Christ" gives the listener a brief break from the brutality of the last few tracks to contemplate the experience so far. While the break isn't long, the interlude in the song is one of the absolutely shining moments of the album; "Even if you did exist, you'll never know what happened to us... You died before it even began..." is spoken before the rest of the band decides to unleash themselves upon you, the listener again.

The album's climax begins at the title track, "God Was Created," introducing listeners back to the musical theme again, as well as the character coming to his conclusions about God, Jesus and religion; "I am my own savior!" -- as well as -- "God was created by human minds!" -- and -- "You are your own God/I am my own God!" The folly of the main character is realized now, as there wasn't anything controlling him but his own foolishness, as the classical guitar to round out the brutality of the title track brings us into the unifying tracks with enough of the brutality and melodic guitar work to bring the entire album together and make it, as a composition, not only whole, but incredible.

Vinyl

I've been pretty quiet on here of late, you could say that I've been kind of busy with work, traveling, training, just plain doing shit. But whatever, no excuse. In the past few months I've started to amass a pretty decent collection of vinyl. While I haven't photographed everything, I have taken some of some of the absolute best stuff I've gotten.


SunnO))) & Boris - Altar

This is from a limited pressing of 510 picture disks with photos from their big 'Altar' show they did together in London. Every side is absolutely awesome.


Kayo Dot - Dowsing Anemone with Copper Tongue

When I saw a new limited pressing of this album came out, I hopped on it. Well worth the wait (nearly a month), I think.


SunnO))) - Oracle

Their 2007 release that while its only 2 tracks, still blows my mind. Helio)))sophist is really one of their top works, ever. Plus on clear vinyl it kicks all sorts of ass.


Kayo Dot & Bloody Panda Split LP

They finally repressed this one, and I finally got it. "Don't Touch Dead Animals" is one of my favorite Kayo Dot songs, so I had to have this.


Neurosis - Given to the Rising

I'll admit I had a hard time getting into the latest Neurosis album, but having it on vinyl makes it a bit easier to listen to, and I've found things I didn't hear before on it.

Enclosure in Flame

9. Enclosure In Flame

Of time that we rode
Darkest vows seal my woe
I was seen in your head
The waste flew from
Our throats - desires
Fate is low - bleed
My eye - heal my stone
I will open a door
And bleed in your dreams
Silently praying for
Enclosure within the
Flame of origin

Sometimes I truly feel like I have problems expressing myself without accompaniment. Music is always the answer because it can be so expressive; every note, every crash, rise, fall, every beat or note can convey something completely different. Listen to this song.

No, I don't mean put it on and go do dishes, or flip through the TV or read a book. I mean listen to the song. Turn the lights off, close your eyes, turn it up and let it engulf you. Music is emotion, it is lifeblood. There is no hatred in this song, what it is, what this song is is the end-cap to the soundtrack to the apocalypse. Don't blind yourself and assume that it is full of hate or vengeance, there is so much more to it, layer upon layer. Through Silver in Blood is bar none my favorite album of all time.

I can't possibly begin to explain myself sometimes, and wish people would just listen to fucking Locust Star or Aeon and 'get it.' TSIB is a journey, and 'Enclosure in Flame' is realization, it is a solemn optimism as well as acceptance. It is the main themes from the album, only slowed down, fleshed out, revisited one last time before the last few notes of the guitar slow down, fade out and dissipate into nothing. It is power. It is understanding.

Whenever I hear this song, after the whole ride Neurosis takes you on, the only thing that I can think of is that no matter how brutal it is, no matter what dark places it takes you, it leaves you wherever you want to be, it lets you decide. Does the understanding tone seem foreboding to you? Does the slow, droning, sludgey tone scare you for what could possibly come next? Or do you hear what I hear? Do you hear emerging from a dark place, seeing the sun, not knowing what the fuck is next, but understanding that at this very moment you control it, no matter how scary that is.

I'm an addict.

Reflection.

It was almost like you could feel him regaining consciousness, sense him feeling the warm trickle of blood drip down his face and into his eyes, stinging as it slides its way down. His leg is hurt, you can tell by the way he picks himself up, doing his best to not put much pressure on his left leg, grasping on his way up for anything to catch a hold of, but only finding dirt, rocks and rough, dying bushes around him for support, or lack thereof.

His face was rough, blood caked on, fresh blood trickling over it and his hair a mess, accenting the bags under his eyes. His face was warped and was, for the longest time my definition of violence. Maybe it wasn't the malice in his eyes, the open wounds or pouring blood as much as it was the indifference of the cars whizzing by him that struck me with fear. Regardless of the shape he was in, something was clearly horribly wrong. Something is horribly wrong.

Maybe it wasn't malice in his eyes and just pain, just that the blood, the bags and the pain all reflected that made that strong impression, but the reality and gravity associated with a man on the side of the road beaten and battered without anyone giving a second glance. Whatever it was, the malice was so real and was so thick that it was marring the air around me, each breath I was taking feeling like it was taxing my heart to its fullest. He staggered out into the road, a car putting on its turn signal and switching lanes seemlessly, to avoid both hitting him and engaging him, instead leaving him at the mercy of the next wave of cars, all doing the same, this time a different lane.

The median tripped him up, his body crashing like a wave, face first into the dirt -- narrowly missing a rock. Just when I felt that my breathing couldn't grow more erratic, the closer he gets the heavier the world feels on me. As he picks himself up again you can see the pained look and just how heavy this all is weighing upon him. I want to move back, to turn around and run away, but I'm frozen in place by the sight of him, and the world flying by like he isn't there.

His composure somewhat regained, he lurches forward, stumbling over a rock, but staying on his feet. It is at this point that his eyes raise and lock with mine. I'm locked into his trance now, not able to look away or as much as blink. An overwhelming sense of both fear and comfort has washed over me as step-by-step he comes closer and closer.

The injured left leg drags behind him slightly, the foot at an inhuman angle to match the vacant look in his eyes. Cars are whizzing by behind him still, but the road between him and me feels like an empty two-dimensional plane. His form just keeps growing and growing as he moves closer to me, there is no moving right or left, its just straight through to me.

I can smell the breath and the burnt, rotting flesh now; it is overwhelming at first, but I can't stand to cough, gasp or look away. He keeps sliding towards me, blood trickling down his face, seeping into the crevices on his face and highlighting his already-defined features. My heartbeat quickens and my breathing grows more and more erratic as he grows closer. My legs feel like they are just dead weight now, bolted into the sidewalk I stand on. I can't hear a thing outside of his heavy breathing, or the gurgling sound of the blood in his throat. He stops for a second to spit out some of the blood and wipe it from his face, leaving streaks across the side of his face and neck. He reaches out for me with his bloody hand, stumbling forward letting out a gasp as a car horn quickly fades in, is interrupted by a loud thud and a smash before it fades out, the man now laying on the ground not moving, his body pushed 10 feet back.

If he wasn't dead yet, he was now, but I'm not sure anybody but me knew he existed.

Romance in the key of Z

"C'mon," Jeff pumps his fist into a downed man's face, the man tattered, torn, rotting. "One of you fuckers has to have a ring on you -- Pete!" He looks around, dropping the man, still convulsing, hissing and grabbing towards him, taking a hold of his foot. Jeff pulls only to see the man's mouth, bile dripping from it, coming towards his heel. "Oh, you fucker. No ring, but you sure can bite." In one swift motion he pulls out a handgun and unloads a bullet into the back of his head; twitching again, bile leaking out of his head and finally letting go. "Pete!"

"Shit.. Jeff... Jeff, I think that we have a problem," Pete calls over to him, hunched over next to a tree, a small pile of bodies surrounding him, and blood trickling from his right bicep. His breath is growing heavy as he tries to pull himself up using his gun as a can, only for Jeff to place his boot onto his chest, pushing him back against the tree, gun falling from his hand.

"You didn't get -- Jesus, Pete!" He points his gun at his arm, waving it around as a cigar hangs from his mouth. "You got fuckin' bitten! Reckless mo'fucker..."

"Don't get any ideas, man," Pete starts to hyperventilate, reaching for his gun. "It ain't like that, it ain't like THAT!"

"Did'ja get a ring?" He pushes his boot tighter against Pete's chest, as blood oozes from his arm, Pete's eyes beginning to look heavy, yellow beginning to appear around his eyes. Jeff leans in close, blowing a puff of smoke into his face, looking down at the bite, "because man, that bite don't look pretty."

"It ain't pretty man," he writhes in pain, his skin yellowing more and more, the life seemingly draining from him. "It ain't pretty at all, but I know how it..."

"Ring?" Jeff smiles, cigar in between his thumb and middle finger of his free hand, index finger tapping away the ash, it fluttering onto Pete's wound, ash melting away into the red-turning-black blood oozing out of him.

"Man, I got problems beyond that -- look at my fuckin' arm, man! Hey, hey, hey," he reaches his hand up and points behind Jeff as a snarl and a hiss comes from behind him, a hand reaching towards Jeff's shoulder, only for him to flick the cigar into Pete's lap, grab a hold of the hand and whip the whole body of another decaying, mangled person onto Pete, this time a woman. Jeff glares down at the hand to see a shiny diamond glaring back at him.

"Pete," Jeff pulls his gun out while still keeping his eyes locked onto the ring.

"Jeff git'em offa me! I'm already bit I don't need this..."

"We got ourselves a winner," he pulls the trigger, unloading a slug through the forehead of the woman, spraying ooze all over Pete. Jeff tugs at the arm, as it rips off, the body slumping over to reveal the bullet struck through Pete as well, motionless, decaying and covered in bile. Jeff pulls the ring off and tosses the arm aside. "This one sure is a winner," he inspects the ring closely and begins to head back as Pete's eyes dart open, he hisses and lunges for Jeff, who still staring at the ring lands a kick to the chest of Pete, whips his gun around and unloads two shots into his head, sending him slumping over.

"Fucker," Jeff mutters, eyes fixed on the ring. "Shoulda' known it wouldn't be long," he shakes his head and stuffs the ring into his vest pocket, heading back towards the high concrete walls in the clearing.

----

"Jeff," a flashlight pours over Jeff's body, him reaching his arm up to deflect the light, as the guard quickly swings open the iron gate. "Where is Pete? Did you guys get what you were looking for?"

"Stenches got'em," he mutters, reaching into his vest to pull out the shiny diamond ring, holding it up for the guard to see. "But got me a nice little present from a cocksuck'r," he pats the guard on the back, hard, then trots off as the guard closes the gate. "Oh yeah," he yells back, "somebody better go clean that mess up, must be about 12 of 'em out there."
"Oh man, oh man," the guard looks on. "Poor Pete, man... That old Pete, I mean wow..."

"Yeah, sure," Jeff waves his hand towards him.

"Well, Jeff... That Jodi sure is a lucky girl, eh?" He is shouting after Jeff now, but Jeff isn't listening. He slams the gate shut and locks it, staring back at Jeff, only to turn around to be face to face with another, well, zombie, growling at him and sending him onto his ass. The zombie reaching through the bars, trying to get through to no avail. The guard scrambles for his gun and unloads a clip into it, it finally falling over and hissing its last hiss, spraying its last bit of bile. "Shit! That was fuckin' close."

---

"Jo, hey Jo," Jeff calls as he slams open the heavy iron door to the brick-walled house. "Where are ya', babe?"

"Shit, Jeff," a small blonde girl runs out from the bathroom, white towel wrapped snugly around her. "Ya back already? Its only been -- shit, your a fuckin' mess," she looks him up, and holds her nose. "Ya fuckin' with them stenches again?"

"Yeah," he laughs as he slams the door, fastens the deadbolt and plops down in a recliner, pulling out a cigar and flipping open his cast-iron lighter. The flame dances in front of him as he takes a deep breath, cigar lighting and the flame coming to an abrupt halt as the lid slams shut. "What 'bout it?"

"You are gonna get yourself killed, ya' know that?" She sighs and storms into the bed room, the sound of her rummaging through the closet as he laughs to himself, pulling the ring out and staring at it through a haze of smoke.

"Me? Naah," he laughs smugly to himself.

"Yeah, right," she stomps through the hall back into the bathroom, glaring at him on the chair, her eye catching the glint from his hand. "You are gonna get yourself -- hey, hey Jeff," she moves in closer as he lets the ring drop into his palm, him clasping it shut.

"Hey, hey what?"

"What was that?" She tugs at his hand, him keeping it tightly clasped with a smile on his face.

"What was... What?" The smile on his rugged face is ear to ear now as she keeps pulling at his hand, now with both arms, her towel shifting a bit and Jeff staring down her towel. "I don't know what you are talking about."

"You fucker!" She balls her fist up and pounds on his arm. "You know what I'm talking about, now let. it. go!" She grabs a hold of his arm and pulls with all of her weight, giggling as he struggles with her, him letting go, the ring spilling to the floor with her. She collects the towel and stands up, glancing down at the ground and dropping the towel, in shock. "Is that..."

"Something like that," Jeff leans back in the chair and grins, exhaling a ring of smoke.

"Oh Jeff," she leans over and picks up the ring, holding it up to the light, forgetting she ever had a towel. "This is beautiful, I mean, wow."

"Yeah, I fig'red you'd like that," he pulls himself out of the chair and she jumps into his arms.

"Oh Jeff," she holds him tight. "Does this mean?"

"Damn straight," he gives her a squeeze, then pulls her back, takes a long look at her slick, glimmering body and licks his lips. "Go finish washin' up," he smacks her on the ass, she yelps and jumps. "I'll be in soon."

"Oh, I will.. I'll be waiting," She darts off for the bathroom again, as he calls behind her.

"Oh, and, uh," he runs his fingers through his hair. "If I were you I'd just give that a quick washin' to be sure there ain't nothing on it."

Who are they? Are they a threat to our beliefs?

I realized a while ago that posting nothing but opinions can be difficult for me to keep up on. I write MMA shit now when I have time, at Total-MMA.com where some awesome dudes talk about the art of cramming your fist into some dude's face, or throwing him by his clothes.

For now, this is my dumping ground.

--
Rivers

Walls of perception melt into time,
Waves crash and fall -- evening out.
The horizon blurs over, confusing my senses.

The vanishing point is completely gone;
Like it was nothing but an afterthought.

I should be fooled so easily --
Comfort comes at a severe price.
It can't hold you forever,
And in time will turn and bite.

The venom depends on the level of trust,
the amount of doors left open in plain view.
Being vulnerable is proportionate to being alive.
Being alive is bleeding rivers.

When the river stops flowing, the world stops turning.

-----

Ideas

My ideas are my demons,
I only write to draw them out,
To clear myself of them.
After they've left
I could care less where they go,
What they do or who they touch.
They aren't my demons anymore.

Its your choice what to make of them.