Tuesday, September 18

Dead Eyes

You get up some mornings. The clouds in the east look a little like sky turds. The rest of the heavenly expanse is a dull orange, or a flat gray-blue. It's nearing autumn.

The whispers of Dead Eyes start up. Some kind of tape looped backwards, it upswings in a strange tone, as though it's going forward, even though you're hearing it in reverse. The whisper rises, just a bit more, and then Justin Broderick hits his first ka-chung! of a note, except instead of guitar strings, I swear he's playing the cables that hold up the Golden Gate bridge. The sound is HUGE, and he must be swinging a Thor level hammer to get that chime out.


Then it hits again.
and the drums beat at the same time the bass is in there somewhere-for all I know, the guitar is the damned bass, but by now either you're in, or you don't get it at all.

The reverse loop rises, and the drummer fills in the spaces between hammerstringing, then you hear it. That faded, e-warbled voice. It's fuzzy, like a bad comb; no truly identifiable words are coming out of that mouth. It's the goodbye at the airport, Spock asking if the ship is out of danger, the breakup after all hope is lost, and you both know it. The words are vapor. The meaning still gets to you.

This is Dead Eyes. The air around you thickens, as though snow and gloom have combined to sludge your progress. The voice is your beacon, but it's not one that is telling you that things are going to be OK. The ground shudders under the weight of all that is doomed.

Hammerstrings fade, finally, the voice says his last. The reverse whisper starts to go quiet, the eye of the storm has approached...

Until a low, electronic, guttural tone is thrown from a machine surely belched from hell, and then Broderick is suddenly smashing the strings like a black door that must be opened, like the violet sun from claws of darkness, there is the rising, and FUCK YES every song should end like this, should have this Unfuckwithability, the countertone to the howling hammerstringing is almost barely noticeable, but it's SO THERE, and with the four pings upward, reaching higher the whole song makes sense. The hammer chords stop, cut as though the tone was killed. Then it fades out, the reverse whispers drifting away, a wraith on the bog.

I wonder why people listen to Coldplay. Ever. Even for a second.

Wednesday, September 12

Long week, no lunch break

All my predictions about the week sucking?
Very True.

And I currently want to punch the guy who created the 'Reply All' button in email. FUCK.

Wednesday, September 5


For work related reasons, today is going to suck like a black hole.

Saturday, September 1


For the last year I've been helping my girlfriend take care of her two darling/devilish children. Today the experience culminated in this thought: The fact that more parents aren't alcoholics proves, to me, the existence of God.