24 May, 2011


Thanks to Tim for the heads up on this video. It's exactly what I needed.

No time for a real post; on my way to PPLZ w/ Schlong. Expect a killer short story soon. Or at least an excerpt.

See you on the other side of crapulence.

- Uncle D-Man

18 May, 2011

Epic Beginnings

Recently I got the idea to make my friend Kent - that's him on the left - a multi-volume (mostly) black metal mix. We both have a lot of free time and frequent bouts of crushing depression, so I figured it'd be good for each party. I could plan and compile and put off and get stressed and finally complete it, and then Kent could listen to it in one of the lightless rooms in his modern castle set in the woods of Rochester, amongst all his instruments and globes and various other worldly bric-a-brac, wallowing in the vast darkness.

So then, here's Volume 1, entitled:

Epic Beginnings

1. "Ascension Ritual" by Vit from -.

Might be a poser move opening with this track, but these guys are from Ohio and supporting (semi)local music is important. Plus, the door opening sound to kick off the mix - come on!

2. "Jeg Faller" by Burzum from Fallen.

An even bigger poser move! New Burzum? Ech! Right? No way. Fallen is a great album! Haters be dam- well, actually you have every right to hate it, and him. I was gonna include something older and more legit like "Into the Castle from the Dream," but I think Kent will enjoy the better production. Even Varg said he wished those old albums sounded better.

3. "Intent Canticle (Prayer)" by Haeresiarchs of Dis from Denuniatus Cinis.

Yes! This isn't from the newest one, but I don't have that one and DC is still kicking my ass every time I listen to it anyway. This dude's music is so manic and tight that it seems to swirl around you, a maelstrom of riffs and blasts and Gollum-screams. I love walking home late at night all fucked up with this in my ear buds. Hateful projection!

4. "Telluric Rings" by Krallice from Diotima.

Kent was supposed to come down to see these guys with me when they played here a few weeks ago. Not sure what happened. We're super close, but we go long stretches without correspondence. That's how good friends are. Anyway, Diotima leaked like a week before the show and I listened to it quite a bit before I saw them and this was my favorite song going into that show. I really wanted them to play "A Litany of Regrets" just to see what guitar effect they used, but I needed to hear "Telluric (onion) Rings," needed to feel those riffs lift me off the ground and send me pealing through the stratasphere, know what I mean? This is the best I can do for Kent since he pussed out on the show. Hails to Abysme!, also.

5. "Bathing Open Wounds with Shards of Glass" by Necrite from Sic Transit Gloria Mundi.

This song sounds like its title. Starts with those opening bass drum hits and does not let up from there. I realize I'm putting mostly new stuff on this, but I plan on using the Elders later. This disc is only the frontline of the war. We're sending out the young soldiers to fight and die first.

6. "Quietly, Undramatically" by Woe from Quietly, Undramatically. 

More (semi)local dudes, this time from Philly. This shit rules. This is what happens when kids who grew up listening to all kinds of aggressive music set their hearts on black metal. We must embrace our derivative upbringing and use it to push the limits of what set genres can be. Dig those clean vocals, that clean tremolo picking. Fuckin' A! Go PA!

7. & 8. "The Metatron" and "Prelapsus" by Light Bearer from Lapsus.

Alex from Fall of Efrafa's new band. This time the concept is loosely based on Paradise Lost. Man, I love works that humanize and sympathize with Satan. When I first heard this song it was like being 14 again and hearing "Nerdy" for the first time! Oh man, how's that for poserdom?!

9. "This Entire Fucking Battlefield" by Weakling from Dead as Dreams. What else?

Every time I beat people at chess I hear this song in my head. That sludgy riff in the middle that they play forever specifically. I figured every good battle needs to end with the appearance of a ghost, a legendary hero fell before his time, a spectral augury of the horror to come.

Wanna listen along with Kent? Yeah, you do. Here ya go, my friend. Please listen to it on good speakers - not on your fucking laptop, you twit - or in your ears while walking around at night all fucked up on Quaaludes and cheap beer.

Expect more stories and more volumes to come! 

03 May, 2011

Not a true update.

Just posting a short story I wrote for class a couple weeks ago. This is only like the fourth draft or so. Expect the final one a year from now or never. Let me know what you think anyway. Read it while jamming this - Hails to GGP!

White Diamonds
by David Pearce

Pushing the front door open with her butt, Kim entered the living room, laughing into her phone.
  “Oh my God!” she screamed, “I know! And did you – I know, I know! But did you see what he was wearing? Like, he really think it’s still the 70s, but not in a good way.” She threw her monogrammed LL Bean bookbag on the couch and said, “Hi Alex,” to her nephew and “Hey BaBa” to her grandmother, who sat with Alex in her lap, both of them fascinated by a fat man with a goatee shouting about his new line of citrus-powered cleaning products. Kim popped a fresh piece of gum in her mouth so her mother wouldn’t smell cigarettes on her breath and made her way into the kitchen. Her best friend, Emmy was still mocking Mr. Lebant, their AP Literature teacher, in her left ear – she nailed the lisp.
  Suddenly, Kim stopped between the kitchen and living room and turned around. She drained of all color, dropped her phone. From the floor, Emmy’s tinny laughter was still audible.
  “Kim, honey? Is that you?” her mother called from the kitchen.
  Kim couldn’t answer. She was frozen, staring at her grandmother in disbelief. Her mother came up behind her and pulled her into the kitchen. Kim moved like a dog being pulled away from another dog’s butt. Her mother had to snap in front of her face to get her attention.
  “Kim, I’ve been trying to call you, why don’t you ever-”
  “Mom, BaBa’s in the fucking living room!”
  “Kimberly Anne, you watch your mouth!”
  “Mom, BaBa’s in the fucking living room!” Kim reiterated.
  “Yes, I know,” her mother said, with a distant look, “She came to visit.”
  “Mom! What?! BaBa died last week!”
  “Shh! I don’t think she knows,” her mother said, turning back to the carrots she was cutting by the sink, “Your father will be home soon. I’m making a roast.”
  “You don’t think she knows? How did she get here? Did she catch a bus? Is she gonna, like, steal Alex or something? Where’s Margaret?”
  “I sent Margaret to get some things from the grocery store. I told her we’d watch Alex. BaBa came by this morning. She offered to help with dinner, but I’d rather she just sat and rested. She’s missed Alex, you know? Family is important to some people, Kimberly.”
  “Mom. Seriously. Can you hear me? Is this a dream? Slap me. Pour water on my head . . .” Kim leaned back into the living room. Her grandmother looked at her and smiled sweetly. All things considered, her grandmother looked perfectly fine. A little pale, but better than she had looked at the viewing – so bloated and plastic, and painted like a  . . . well, like a corpse. But she looked fine sitting there with Alex giggling in her lap. There were no visible signs of decay. She was still wearing the blue dress and gray cardigan she’d been buried in. Her hair was still poofy and violet white. Her eyes were weird, though, Kim noticed. Like the eyes of taxidermy animals. Empty and never focused. Dead.
  “Did you cut your hair, sweetie?” Kim’s grandmother called from the recliner in the corner; her voice sending chills like tiny spiders down Kim’s back.
  Kim was about to ask her mom if she’d been watching the news; if there had been a zombie outbreak or if the Rapture had descended without her realizing. Instead, she leaned back into the living room, hesitant to get too close, said, “Oh yeah, I did. I got it cut for the view – I got it cut last week.”
  “Well, I liked it long. Your face looks too chubby now,” BaBa said, playing with Alex’s blond hair.
  “Thanks, BaBa,” Kim said, turning back towards her mother.
  That’s definitely BaBa, she thought.
  “Kim, would you mind setting the table? Your father’s on his way home,” her mother asked, dumping chopped carrots and celery into a boiling broth. Seemed she was making a point to not look at Kim.
  Leaning in close to her mother, Kim said, almost harshly, “Mom, please tell me what’s going on? BaBa's supposed to be dead. Her funeral was on Saturday, so-”
  “Kimberly, have you been smoking again?” Her mother narrowed her eyes at Kim.
  “What? Mom-”
  “Kim, so help me if I catch you with a cigarette I’ll send you away to a boarding school and you’ll graduate with a bunch of strangers and no friends! Why do you want to ruin your beauty and your teeth? It’s such a nasty, stinky habit. Go wash out your mouth and set the table. We’ll discuss this more after dinner with your father. He’ll be home soon.”
  “Yeah,” Kim said, leaving the room, “You said that.”

At the dinner table, it was much of the same. Everyone was treating BaBa’s presence as if it was just another visit. Except Kim, who picked at her food and stole glances at her BaBa, half-expecting to see her turn into a monster at any minute. Her mother glared at her from across the table for whatever reason. Her father sat balancing his company’s checkbook next to his plate of roast and unbuttered potatoes. Margaret’s focus was on feeding Alex. She made small talk with BaBa in between airplane noises. If her older sister was even slightly wary about BaBa’s surprise visit, Kim couldn’t tell. Then again, she hadn’t actually talked with her sister about anything besides borrowing her car in probably a year.
  Kim felt her pocket vibrate. It was a text from Don. “Sup” he wanted to know. In boyspeak, “sup” means “wanna fuck?” And Kim might’ve lost her appetite sitting across from her grandmother, but she was still a seventeen year old young woman who felt validated by her gorgeous boyfriend’s gorgeous erections. Don was the quarterback for West Catholic varsity football team. Kim went to Northship High, the public school, but all of her friends, besides Emmy, went to WC. Kim’s family was protestant and not very religious anyway, but she’d always been jealous of the WC kids. They were just cooler there, everyone knew. They seemed to flourish beneath the oppression that was meant to stifle them; whereas Kim never had much to rebel against in her normal, suburban, luke-warm life.
  “Mom, is it cool if Don comes over to help me study?” Kim asked her mother, whose eyes were glued on BaBa.
  “What, Kim?” Kim’s mother said, still looking at BaBa.
  “I asked if Don can come over and help me study?”
  “Study what?” Kim’s mother wanted to know, “You don’t even go to the same school.”
  “So? We still have the same Calculus class. What’s the big deal if he comes over?” Kim said, getting huffy.
  “Not tonight, dear. I don’t think that’s a good idea. Plus, you should be spending time with your family,” – gesturing to the people sitting around the table, none of whom were paying any attention – “not necking in your room with some boy from another school.”
  “Daddy!” Kim urged her father.
  He looked up, surveyed the area, put his head back to his work, said, “Listen to your mother, Margaret.”
  Kim gave a loud scoff. Margaret flashed her a commiserative frown.
  “How’re you feeling, Mom?” Kim’s mother asked her grandmother loudly.
  “This meat’s too dry,” BaBa replied, “Did you buy it from Jerry’s or from the Wal-Mart? Only get meat from Jerry’s, Carol Anne. Everybody knows that Wal-Mart meat isn’t fit to feed a dog. I don’t even give it to my little Russell. Speaking of, where is he? Where is my little Russell?”
  Russell was BaBa’s blind, half-invalid Dachshund. She loved that dog. But Kim and her mother had taken Russell to the vet’s the day after BaBa’s funeral and had him put to sleep. The vet reassured them they’d made the right decision, that it should’ve been done way earlier.
  “Oh, I’m sure he’s around,” Kim’s mother lied while Kim and Margaret watched her, “He’s probably sleeping upstairs. You know how he likes to sleep on the register.”
  “BaBa, what’s it like to die?” Kim blurted. Her mother kicked her hard in the leg which made Kim knee the table, spilling some of her father’s coffee onto his work.
  “Ow!” Kim moaned, rubbing her leg. Her mother was livid, burning Kim down with her eyes. Her father dabbed at his checkbook with a white linen napkin, shaking his head. Margaret stared nervously at BaBa, who sat slowly Fletcherizing a piece of beef. Alex giggled, slammed his wrists in his mashed potatoes.
  “Kimberly, you’re excused to your room,” her mother said, getting up from the table, probably to get her dad another napkin or something.

In her room, Kim put on a Dinosaur Jr. record and texted Don; told him to meet her at Bruster’s around midnight. She had to tell someone.
  Maybe this kind of thing happens to people all the time, Kim thought, but they’re just too embarrassed to tell anyone.
  She would’ve preferred to tell Emmy, but by now, Emmy was stoned and watching Golden Girls and not answering her phone, or stoned and making out with her boyfriend, Ben, and not answering her phone. Either way, Don was the only person she trusted to tell about her grandmother coming over for dinner.
  Before her vanity, Kim contemplated her hair. BaBa was right. Her short hair did make her face look fat.
  She had been sad when her BaBa died, but felt she wasn’t “sad enough.” It was Emmy’s idea to cut her, said, “Why not double your losses? Chop it off! You’ll feel terrible, I promise.” So they got high and it ended up way shorter than either of them had anticipated.
  Whatever. Don liked it. At least he said he did.
  There came a faint knock on Kim’s partially open bedroom door. Her grandmother entered like a curtain billowing in the night breeze. The record ended, but kept spinning, filling the room with an ominous scratching cadence. A sound Kim had once found relaxing.
  “Hey BaBa,” Kim said, sliding down the bench in front of her vanity, but praying her BaBa wouldn’t sit down.
  She did. Kim noticed a scent similar to the one in her Chemistry class. Her Baba asked, “Kimberly, do you still have those diamond earrings I let you borrow for your Homecoming? I just want to see them on again. Your grandfather got those earrings for me for our 25th anniversary, you know? God, I miss him so much sometimes.”
  Grandpa must’ve went to Heaven, Kim thought, then immediately felt bad.
  “Sure, BaBa,” she said before she recalled having lost one of them in the back of Don’s car while everyone else was at the Homecoming Dance. Kim pretended to root around in her jewelry box.
  “You lost them, didn’t you?” BaBa asked.
  Kim looked her BaBa in her empty eyes. “Yes,” she wailed, starting to cry. Her BaBa hugged Kim’s head and held her. Kim cried harder than she ever had. She cried for BaBa and Grandpa; she cried for poor, little Russell, lying on the steel vet’s table, kicking lethargically as the cyanide coursed through his veins. She cried for her mother, her father; she cried for her sister, who was such a good person and didn’t deserve to be abandoned as Alex’s father had done. She cried for little Alex, growing up without knowing his father; and the D she’d gotten on her last Calculus test. She cried because she probably wasn’t getting into NYU. She cried because her BaBa was holding her again – and so what if BaBa smelled like ammonia now instead of White Diamonds. She cried because that’s all she knew to do in that moment, and it felt good.
  Pulling away, sobbing loudly, Kim said, “I’m sorry, BaBa. I’m sorry I didn’t come visit you in the hospital more. I’m sorry I lost your earrings. I’m sorry I didn’t cry at your funeral, I just-” And back into BaBa’s bossom . . .
  “Shh . . . shh . . . it’s okay, Kimmy. BaBa loves you.” Like a mantra, Kim’s grandmother repeated these words in a soft, hushed voice. “Your hair’ll grow back, sweetie, don’t worry,” and “it’s just baby fat, honey, it’ll be better before you’re married.”
  “Will you be there, BaBa?” Kim said, wiping the tears from her cheeks. “Will you still be here for my wedding?”
  But BaBa’s face looked scared, as if she were suddenly in a great deal of pain.
  “I’m sorry, BaBa. I didn’t mean to upset you,” Kim said.
  BaBa grabbed at her heart, her face clenched tight, dentures bared.
  “Kim,” she gasped, “You asked me . . . at supper.”
  “What? Mom!” Kim called loudly, beginning to panic.
  “Listen to me, Kim!” her grandmother whispered, her breath turning to vapor before her face, “You asked me . . . what it’s like to die.”
  BaBa’s eyes were wide, she was squeezing a handful of her dress over her heart. Her breathing, heavy and labored, coming out in white puffs.
  “Mom! Dad! Come help! Something’s wrong with BaBa!” Kim shouted and moved to stand, but her grandmother grabbed her wrist and pulled her back down with incredible strength.
  “Kim, listen to me!” Her grandmother squeezed her wrist, her fingers like ice.
  “Mom!” Kim shouted again.
  “It’s terrible," her BaBa said finally, then slouched over, heavy and lifeless on Kim’s shoulder.
  Kim’s mother rushed into the room and grabbed BaBa.
  “Mom! Mom! Oh, no! Not again! Please, no! Mom?!” Kim’s mother slapped BaBa’s wooden face, “What happened? What’d you say?”
  Kim sat and stared at the wall. The record spun, the scratching echoed through the room, out the hall. Downstairs, her father was listening to the weather. The meteorologist and anchorwoman were joking about being replaced by smart phones. Alex was laughing at something. Outside her window, Kim heard cars splashing through the star-speckled puddles. She wondered if Don had texted her back yet.
  “Kim, what happened?” Her mother pleaded.
  “Nothing. I mean, she died,” Kim said, “Again.”