i've taken to writing "literal video" lyrics. so far i've done "Walk on the Ocean" by TOAD THE WET SPROCKET and "ESTRANGED" by GUNS 'N ROSES. thinking i may try a death metal video next. maybe CANNIBAL CORPSE - "Seeing through the Eyes of the Dead". i dunno... metal videos aren't as much fun. it's usually just a bunch of dudes twirling their hair in a warehouse/abandoned prison/bombed out playground/mortuary/forest/abandoned hospital... maybe some model done up to look all decadently hard edged persuing someone/being persued by someone. they're like direct to DVD Slasher/Torture movies post 2003, only with more hair twirling.
Broke down and d/l the director's cut of WATCHMEN. made it about 40 minutes before shutting it the fuck off. jesus jumping cow rape.... this is what children who are forced to watch their puppies being skinned alive and ground into insulation for low-income housing must feel like. Sorry, all you misguided clown shoes who gave this barnyard oddity of a film a pass, but i just don't have it in me to sit through 3 hrs of music videos, a mangled story, and line readings stiffer than Bea Arthur in a room full of ceramic hard-ons. i don't need the sub-shit when i have Moore and Gibbons' book sitting on my shelf.
and here's what the collector's edition looks like ;
ugh... it's cool i guess, but anyone who would spend 80 dollars on this movie is a gaping prolapsed asshole. Does anyone actually buy these needlessly ornate collector edition DVDs with the giant toy cases? i could see it if it were the only way to get a certain film, but are there people out there with DVD shelves that look more like a booth at Toy Fair than a respectable film collection? I don't know.... i'm a sadsack, but i'm not a dingleberry... and people who waste money on these things must have problems with their cocks. i say cocks cause i don't believe even the most prude of women are that allergic to sex as your typical male collector dingus.
finally found an MP3 of CODESEVEN's version of "Boys of Summer". reminds me of the summer of 98, when i just barricaded myself in my room, cranked up the ac, and listened to WSOU and NCC Radio in hopes of expanding my budding knowledge in underground metal and hardcore. It was like the last "innocent" summer... cause the following one was all about falling apart over you-know-who, plotting revenge, storyboarding murder-suicide attempts, coming to terms with not having the testicular fortitude to go through with any of it, and apologizing to her for things that were out of my control. should just let em go. pretty much have. every now and then though, the memories creep up like one of those farts you have when your sitting down... you know, the one that seems to snake up the space between the top of your thigh and your balls. it's a nice feeling, but then it's gone, and all your left with is the stench of ass.
remember when i said i wouldn't write anymore lyrics? i lied;
TORSION ANENOME: Minutes are snails breeding in tandem with mis-digestive churns. Sucking in my cheeks. I ring them out on decay-bearded teeth. Hands at the back of my head, smashing a cross down the bridge of my nose. Hiding rodent doors with feet of typing paper. Tempting breast cancer hollows. Marital bed at a crisp. Toss a sheet over me to dull the smolder. All deviants are canonized beyond their last days, lauded for advancing the flesh acids creamed away.
TECHNO-BOKOR: Drained Achilles. Lightning behind knotted varicose veins. Moths caught in open windows, dying on my clogged and crooked knees. Suspended by burning ropes. Faces that swim in smoke. She cuts holes into my shoulders, slipping in her arms. Thumbing pork. Shellacked with pulled chicken skins. Preserved in blue-red ash. I hurt myself because it’s more rewarding than working for what I want.
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