Musings on a Wednesday: Randomness and Observations

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– There’s nothing like the smell of wet cow ass in the morning. It smells like…well, like wet cow ass.

– Must be a leak over my bunk when it rains heavy, because I slept in a wet spot that I am 98% sure I didn’t make. Okay….82% sure.

– Is it oxymoronic to despise someone you’ve just met and otherwise know nothing about, based solely on their apparent association with a hate group? I feel like it kind of is, but I also feel like I’m kind of okay with that.

I don’t have to know a KKK member to think they are a piece of shit.

— Lady Mary

– Getting paid to do a whole lot of nothing for eight hours and then being rained out for the last two make for an easy workday. But an easy workday is not necessarily a “good” workday. Because FUCKING BORING!

– Somebody should start a cell phone service marketed specifically to the oilfield and pipeline that gets decent service out in all these B.F.E. locations. Since it’s for the oilfield and pipeline, they could overcharge like crazy and motherfuckers will pay it. You could make MILLIONS.

– I often consider murder as a preferable alternative to finding ways to coexist with a deplorable person. Then I think, well, that isn’t very Buddhist of me. Then, I double check which direction the blade on my pocket knife unfolds, in case I need to open it quickly.

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– The worst thing about using a freshly-pumped portable shitter is having the chemical water splash back up from a “projectile” and coat your undercarriage with filth. Well…that’s maybe not the worst thing, but it’s up there…

– So many many things in this world piss me off. You may have noticed. But few things piss me off more than unsubstantiated arrogance and swagger. Perhaps it has something to do with the apparent “fact” that those who actually have something to be cocky about generally are conversely humble and gracious. The motherfuckers that strut and cackle usually don’t have shit to back it up. Usually.

I will not do what the tick tells me to…
… I will not do what the tick tells me to…
… I will not do what the tick tells me to…
…I will not…….

— The Ryan

– Some days, when a person or situation disrupts my delicate sensibilities to the extent that the Others take over before I can practice “letting go,” I end up in a downward spiraling snowball of scorn and loathing that grows to consume the entirety of my consciousness to the point that I can only see the destruction of all existence as a solution. I feel only hatred. I can no longer see through my own perspective and headspace to determine if this is simply a byproduct of my sickness, if my anger and sense of apocalyptic hatred is just and warranted, if anyone or anything even deserves to fucking live, to exist. I say lay waste to the wasted. Be done with it.

Fuck money, fuck friends, fuck family! Fuck pussy, fuck drugs, fuck sanity! I don’t give a shit! Why?! ‘Cuz ignorance is bliss! Right?!

— Flatbush ZOMBiES, “Bliss”

– Sometimes I like pie. But not apple pie. Unless it is green chile apple pie. Seriously, yo…that shit is bomb.

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– No matter who you are, no matter what it is…music fixes everything. At least until the song’s over. Then you might actually have to do something yourself to keep shit fixed. But, fuck that, right?! ;-D

One good thing about music, when it hits you, you feel no pain…

— Bob Marley

– The moment I am writing something, it is the most brilliant and insightful thing ever committed to paper. The moment after I write something, I despise it with the fury of one thousand suns. I feel like I am not alone in this.

– I am stuck at the crossing of what is essentially a different version of the same fucking train I spent forty minutes trapped by a couple of weeks ago. I know this because of the graffiti. Or because I only dreamt this before, and now the shit is happening for real. And I have no data connection.

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© Ryan Scott Sanders and Dharma and Belligerence: Mad Rants from a Free-Range Buddhist Hooligan, 2015. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Ryan Scott Sanders and Dharma and Belligerence: Mad Rants from a Free-Range Buddhist Hooligan with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.

Reaganomics

A significant portion of the American right wing population is perpetually calling for a return to the politics and economics of the Reagan era. I’m all for it.

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© Ryan Scott Sanders and Dharma and Belligerence: Mad Rants from a Free-Range Buddhist Hooligan, 2015. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Ryan Scott Sanders and Dharma and Belligerence: Mad Rants from a Free-Range Buddhist Hooligan with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.

Started From Blue Velvet, Now We Here… (Gallery)

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I can’t stop making these and polluting social media with them. I don’t care if I’m the only one who thinks it’s funny!

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For reasons that I’m not concerned enough about to reflect deeply upon, I started out doing this with a clear Lynchian theme…

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…and, after burning out on that material, I was compulsed to move on to other imagery…

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You’re right, though. The joke kind of does begin to lose it’s appeal…

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© Ryan Scott Sanders and Dharma and Belligerence: Mad Rants from a Free-Range Buddhist Hooligan, 2015. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Ryan Scott Sanders and Dharma and Belligerence: Mad Rants from a Free-Range Buddhist Hooligan with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.

Released from Hell in Ecstatic Frenetic Suffering: An Evening with the body and Full of Hell

Original Image by Keith Coombes

Original Image by Keith Coombes


The dreary, morose mood hanging in dense, foreboding clouds over Cheyenne yesterday was ideal to set the day’s tone and prepare this sleepy town for the deceptively inconspicuous arrival of two of heavy music’s most devastating forces.  For a few frenetic hours, downtown Cheyenne’s Ernie November store was home to the cataclysmic DOOM of Portland’s the body and the schizophrenic grind of Maryland’s Full of Hell, a rare and intimate record store appearance on the two bands’ current swath of decimation across the States.  While the style and tempo of extremity offered by the two groups paints a jagged brush stroke across several of heavy music’s varying subgenres, both groups are equally mired in themes of misery, rage, internal conflict, cathartic suffering, and exploration of the darkest recesses of human consciousness.  As such, their disparate sets provide a glimpse of both sides of the same desolate, leaden coin, and hint at what we might expect from their planned upcoming split album, anticipated for release later this year.

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Watching the body set up their deceptively simple-looking gear, those not prerequisitely attuned to the sonic terror and devastation offered by the duo of Chip King and Lee Buford might be tempted to underestimate the suffocating aural intensity that is about to be unleashed.  All assumptions are quickly compressed and obliterated by the first impossibly heavy notes to fill Ernie November’s space, as King’s thundering guitar rig and Buford’s gargantuan drum kit unleash psychosis-inflected hell upon the unsuspecting hordes.  King and Buford are merely tuning in their instruments, tweaking sound levels, but this is enough to draw the loitering masses in from the street.  As corpses begin to crowd into the record store’s tight back room, there remains a conspicuous barrier of space between the masses and the body, as though some shared unspoken dread is coursing through the crowd, urging us to keep a safe distance from this feral beast.  By the time the duo have waded midway through the sludgy, panicked insanity of their first song, however — with King’s trademark shrill wail cutting through the murky depths of sonic hell like obsidian — the sheer weight emanating from their very cores has consumed us and drawn us all close, mutually aggrieved lost souls marinating wearily in the aural intensity of our suffering made corporeal.

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Throughout their roughly half hour set, the pained severity and combative, introspective vehemence of the body never lets up.  Individual songs bleed into one another in walls of chaos and noise.  Split seconds of apparent reprieve are quickly subversed and subjugated, the air at once purged from the room just as one gasps for a desperate breath.  While the brand of extremity offered by the body is not designed nor intended to get the psychopaths in the pit churning, the sheer gargantuan and suppressive ambiance and tone of internalized fury created is enough to leave the languidly headbanging crowd prostrate once that last piercing bit of feedback and grinding distortion fades out.

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In ironic comparison to the initially timid gathering before the body’s set, the throng congregates dangerously close as Full of Hell complete the set-up on their equipment of destruction — ironic because the experience offered by Full of Hell is the one more likely to result in potentially inimical confrontation.  Indeed, the entire place erupts into a teeming mass of flailing limbs and furious headbanging at the first lunatic sound emitted from the instruments of this demonic four-piece.

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Full of Hell ringleader Dylan Walker meticulously builds a monolithic wall of chaos and noise before his cohorts rip brazenly into their opening track, a method he will repeat at points throughout the set, providing the band and the crowd both with fleeting moments of schizoid sublimity in which to catch their breath before charging headlong into the next phase of exorcistic fury.  Walker flings himself around the room in erratic frenetic purgation, blurring the line between performer and participant as his feral shrieks and grating, raspy explications blend with the manic insanity of sound created by his bandmates.  Dragging around a broken leg in a cast, bassist and co-vocalist Brandon Brown weaves the low end of his instrument through the jagged, chugging riffage and feedback-laden madness emanating from guitarist Spencer Hazard’s wall of Orange, alternately bent over in rhythmic deliberation between bouts of guttural vocal scorn.

Original Image by Keith Coombes

Original Image by Keith Coombes


The true psychopath of the bunch, however, proves to be drummer Dave Bland, whose enraged, loathsome punishment of his kit leaves one keen to avoid becoming the object of his wrath.  I’m not sure how much money that drum kit owes him, but Bland is intent on collecting the balance in blood and suffering — whether plodding headlong in thunderous, leaden exultation, or charging furiously with frenetic, manic rapidity, there is no question of where the tortured, pulsating heartbeat of this group lives.  Dude is a goddamn madman, and yet by the time the final caustic note fades on Full of Hell’s set, he is likely the least exhausted carcass in the room.

Original Image by Keith Coombes

Original Image by Keith Coombes


Having moved to Cheyenne only a month ago, this show served as my personal welcoming party to the great Wyoming outback, and I couldn’t ask for a more potent, affecting, or purgative greeting.  Perhaps single-handedly injecting life into what might otherwise be a non-existent live music scene in this area is local Ernie November proprietor and savage beard tamer extraordinaire — not to mention recently annointed “Janky Promoter” — Keith Coombes.  As is the case with most other acts hosted at Cheyenne’s musical mecca, the show tonight was funded through donations from those in attendance, a refreshingly DIY approach in today’s live music world, where music fans are more accustomed to dealing with price-gouging promoters and ticketing agencies.  It seemed everyone was only too happy to kick in whatever they could, be it a few loose bills or the product of several hours skilled labor.  After all, touring ain’t free, yeh fuckers!

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To further fund their trek across the Mother Land, the body and Full of Hell brought plenty of choice merch to the party, as well.  Particularly impressive was the vinyl selection offered by the body, which nearly covered their entire prodigious discography (saved for a wealth of rare 7″ and EPs that one must in turn scour the earth for).  Full of Hell also had their studio discography on display for purchase in vinyl or compact disc format, along with a band logo patch, ball cap, and several fashionably filthy t-shirts.  Before the show, I was able to snag a copy of Full of Hell’s recent collaborative LP with Japanese noise god Merzbow (aka Masami Akita) from Dylan himself, along with a much coveted copy of the body’s 2014 collaborative EP with Louisiana’s Thou, entitled Released from Love.  (Read my review of their 2015 collaborative full length, You, Whom I Have Always Hated, by clicking here.)  

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I nearly nut in my pants upon seeing that this album was available for purchase, as I had thought the initial limited pressing was out of print and now unavailable for purchase outside of collector trade circles — needless to say, I snatched that burdensome bitch up quick!  Not content with my haul, however, that good post-show glow found me sacrificing the rest of this week’s sustenance fund to also snag a pressing of the body’s Master, We Perish, one of the remaining few outliers to their discography I lacked in possession, along with a patch from each group.  My only regret is that I didn’t try to trade a kidney, or bring more money, though a parting fist-bump and bit of fan-boy adulation with Chip King helped dull my suffering.

However, seeing as how Keith is still holding the latest release from psychedelic voyagers White Hills for me, which he was kind enough to special order, perhaps this extra kidney will still come in handy…

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The best experiences in life are often those which find one left wanting, and such was certainly the case by the end of this night’s celebratory rage party.  For the ride home, always a somber affair post-concert, I plugged in the body’s recent self-released CD-R rarity, an EP entitled The Tears of Job, which was issued to backers of the group’s recent “Help the body get a van” Indiegogo campaign.  A striking shift in style from their customarily overpowering compositions, the tracks that make up this EP are much more sparse and spacious, a fitting denouement to the evening as I drove through the ethereal fog and gloomy, rain-drenched streets of languid Cheyenne, a lonesome drifter reluctantly returning to the “real world.”

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© Ryan Scott Sanders and Dharma and Belligerence: Mad Rants from a Free-Range Buddhist Hooligan, 2015. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Ryan Scott Sanders and Dharma and Belligerence: Mad Rants from a Free-Range Buddhist Hooligan with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.

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There’s more than one way to pleasure the beast…

Image by Bill Smith

Image by Bill Smith


Whilst pursuing various “scholarly endeavors” today, I’ve been listening exclusively to Converge’s entire discography — including splits (no fucking demos, though) — in chronological order. The experience is akin to masturbating furiously and then punching oneself in the dick just before climax, over and over again, with fluctuating intensity. And I mean that in a good way.


Les 3 Meres by David Nebreda

Les 3 Meres by David Nebreda

All Mike wanted was a Pepsi…

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If ever there was a tale to illustrate the need for widespread reform in how mental illness is handled in our society, it is the story of Mike.  All Mike wanted was a Pepsi. Just ONE Pepsi.

Next thing he knows, poor Mike is locked away in an institution.  Experience a first-hand account of Mike’s trials and tribulations below…

Sometimes I try to do things and it just doesn’t work out the way I want it to.
I get real frustrated and I try hard to do it and I take my time and it doesn’t work out the way I want it to.
It’s like I concentrate real hard and it doesn’t work out.
Everything I do and everything I try never turns out.
It’s like I need time to figure these things out.
But there’s always someone there going,

Hey Mike:
You know we’ve been noticing you’ve been having a lot of problems lately.
You know, maybe you should get away and maybe you should talk about it, maybe you’ll feel a lot better.

And I go:
No it’s okay, you know I’ll figure it out, just leave me alone I’ll figure it out.
You know I’ll just work by myself.

And they go:
Well you know if you want to talk about it I’ll be here you know and you’ll probably feel a lot better if you talk about it.

And I go:
No I don’t want to I’m okay, I’ll figure it out myself and they just keep bugging me and they just keep bugging me and it builds up inside and it builds up inside.

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So you’re gonna be institutionalized
You’ll come out brainwashed with bloodshot eyes
You won’t have any say
They’ll brainwash you until you see their way.

I’m not crazy!
(In an institution!)
You’re the one who’s crazy!
(In an institution!)
You’re driving me crazy!
(In an institution!)
They stuck me in an institution
Said it was the only solution
To give me the needed professional help
To protect me from the enemy — myself.

I was in my room and I was just like staring at the wall thinking about everything.
But then again I was thinking about nothing.
And then my mom came in and I didn’t even know she was there she called my name.
And I didn’t even hear it, and then she started screaming: MIKE! MIKE!

And I go:
What, what’s the matter?

And she goes:
What’s the matter with you?

I go:
There’s nothing wrong mom.

And she goes:
Don’t tell me that, you’re on drugs!

And I go:
No mom I’m not on drugs I’m okay, I was just thinking you know, why don’t you get me a Pepsi.

And she goes:
NO you’re on drugs!

I go:
Mom I’m okay, I’m just thinking.

She goes:
No you’re not thinking, you’re on drugs! Normal people don’t act that way!

I go:
Mom just give me a Pepsi, please.
All I want is a Pepsi, and she wouldn’t give it to me!
All I wanted was a Pepsi, just one Pepsi, and she wouldn’t give it to me!
Just a Pepsi.

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They give you a white shirt with long sleeves
Tied around you’re back, you’re treated like thieves
Drug you up because they’re lazy
It’s too much work to help a crazy.

I’m not crazy!
(In an institution!)
You’re the one who’s crazy!
(In an institution!)
You’re driving me crazy!
(In an institution!)
They stuck me in an institution
Said it was the only solution
To give me the needed professional help
To protect me from the enemy — myself.

I was sitting in my room and my mom and my dad came in and they pulled up a chair and they sat down, they go:
Mike, we need to talk to you.

And I go:
Okay what’s the matter?

They go:
Me and your mom have been noticing lately that you’ve been having a lot of problems.
You’ve been going off for no reason and we’re afraid you’re gonna hurt somebody.
We’re afraid you’re gonna hurt yourself.
So we decided that it would be in your interest if we put you somewhere.
Where you could get the help that you need.

And I go:
Wait, what are you talking about, we decided!?
My best interest?! How can you know what my best interest is?
How can you say what my best interest is? What are you trying to say, I’m crazy?
When I went to your schools, I went to your churches,
I went to your institutional learning facilities?! So how can you say I’m crazy?

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They say they’re gonna fix my brain
Alleviate my suffering and my pain
But by the time they fix my head
Mentally I’ll be dead.

I’m not crazy!
(In an institution!)
You’re the one who’s crazy!
(In an institution!)
You’re driving me crazy!
(In an institution!)
They stuck me in an institution
Said it was the only solution
To give me the needed professional help
To protect me from the enemy — myself.

It doesn’t matter, I’ll probably get hit by a car anyway…

Suicidal Tendencies released their ninth studio album, 13, in March 2013. “Institutionalized” can be heard on their self-titled 1983 debut full-length.

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© Ryan Scott Sanders and Dharma and Belligerence: Mad Rants from a Free-Range Buddhist Hooligan, 2015. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Ryan Scott Sanders and Dharma and Belligerence: Mad Rants from a Free-Range Buddhist Hooligan with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.

Schizophrenic Listening Habits

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I’ve just gone from spinning an album called Rudiments of Mutilation by underground power violence psychonaughts Full of Hell to listening to Springsteen’s Born in the U.S.A. with absolutely no segue or transition of any kind. That’s weird, right?

But, actually, having experienced this dichotomy of aural tone and theme first — before recognizing and then analyzing the apparent strangeness of the situation — I have to say, the two albums compliment and play off of one another more than you might think. Give it a try!

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© Ryan Scott Sanders and Dharma and Belligerence: Mad Rants from a Free-Range Buddhist Hooligan, 2015. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Ryan Scott Sanders and Dharma and Belligerence: Mad Rants from a Free-Range Buddhist Hooligan with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.