This is why nothing gets done.

I love how it takes me five hours to watch a one hour show because I think I recognize that guy and, wait let me Google movies that star a strong Latino barber, but hang on this Mountain Dew is empty and while I’m up we’re out of chips, so I better let the dogs out to pee, oh goddamnit someone vomited and, oh shit now someone else is about to vomit, but I was supposed to clean the bathroom today, and did I finish listening to that Buzzov*en album yet? LOOK, SQUIRREL! I need a nap.

Hey, look, a distraction…

© 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.

Ten Stupid Things That Sound Intelligent and Profound (Or Do They?)

Or. Do. They? O.o

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1.))) Every experience in this life is a lesson. The most difficult moments hide the lessons we most resist learning.

2.))) The things that make us angry show us when we need to practice letting go. Typing that sentence is a million times easier than figuring out how to actually do it.

3.))) Expectations are the surest way to bring oneself meaningless suffering.

4.))) Everyone is wrong, all the time. Nobody knows what the fuck is going on. The more we resist our own basic ignorance, the further we are from true knowing.

5.))) Any statement can seem wise and profound, with the right measure of language and conviction.

6.))) A great way to relieve some of the pressures of the burden of existence is to remember you are just a mostly hairless monkey with delusions of grandeur and too much capacity for complex thought.

7.))) With all the complexities of the human mind, even the most intelligent and capable of us are still pretty fucking stupid and clueless most of the time.

8.))) For all the grandly evolved capabilities, ideals, achievements, responsibilities, and sense of self importance displayed by humankind, we are all at our core simply grasping blindly to find our place and our path in the accident of existence. You are not nearly as important as you think you are. Neither am I. Neither is anybody. There’s a sense of calm in that.

9.))) Talking has fuck all to do with getting shit done. Real motherfuckers get shit done.

10.))) Using profanity to illustrate a point is called “perfervidic expletivication” and releases the same chemicals in the brain as sex and heroin. I read it on the internet, so I know it’s true.

11.))) Fuck self-imposed limitations, in lists and in life!

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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.

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.

How Much Would?

Why are we even doubting the woodchucking capabilities of woodchucks? Are there woodchucks out there that can’t perform this task? Because, if so, I feel like they shouldn’t even be called woodchucks at all…

© 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.

Minutiae and Whimsy of a Day

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“My schedule for today lists a six-hour self-accusatory depression.”

― Philip K. Dick, Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep?

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It looks as though our last day in Tucson (for the time being) will be March 31st. As of April 1st, we will be hitting the road to live out that gypsy wanderlust dream life! Also, Imma go to my sister’s place for a bit and write a book while she cooks me mac ‘n cheese and forces me to do my own laundry.

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Ever been combing through old possessions and become angered at the person you used to be? Like, “Motherfucker, how DARE you own three Limp Bizkit CDs!”

I’m, uh, asking for a friend….

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“I did it all for the nookie…totally justifiable.” – Fred Fucking Durst

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Apparently, during ’95 – ’96, I was designing my own magazine covers. I have no memory of this, nor any notion of what made these obviously masterful rags fold. Interesting…

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Now that Sons of Anarchy has wrapped, and Molly no longer has Chibs to idolize, she has been looking for another show to watch. I thought she would be into The Wire, but I didn’t realize how into it she would get!

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She said she wanted to be like Omar, cuz nobody fucks with Omar, and anyways it’s all in the game, right?

Because a dog has to have a code…

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As I have empirically discovered this languid and glorious eve, there seems to be only one negative aspect to sitting in the dark for hours spinning Sleep and OM records and meditating on the oft tragi-comic eccentricities of this mortal ebb and flow…

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…when one eventually goes to fire up that sweet and succulent stogie, the flame from one’s lighter may be fucking BLINDING, man! I have no eyes… O.O

Earlier in the day, jets and carriers from the base were out performing thunderously loud drills. Then there are, of course, the chem-trails. Over the past two hours we have had four separate power surges that reset everything in the house and fucked up my viewing of Better Call Saul. Then, just now, while staring out the window in a daze, the neighbor’s backyard flood light began rhythmically pulsing on and off, most likely beaming top-secret codified information into my face holes.

Coincidences?! I think NOT!!! I’m onto your clever, pygmy-conspiring, brain-wave manipulating ruse, you bastards! You’ll never decode my mind, NEVER! I’ve unsystematically randomized everything!

MUAAAHAHAHAHAHA!!!! ;-P

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After I go live like Thoreau in the North American wilderness for a bit and write my book, I’m tossing around the idea of renouncing all worldly possessions and desires and living as a pious reclusive monk in some remote Buddhist monastery in the Himalayas, pondering upon the nature of scorn and loathing and tending to the tiniest, most fragile and sickly of bamboo stalks as I observe vows of contemplative silence followed by therapeutic bouts of soul-screaming…

Step 1.))) Find out if “renouncing wordly possessions” precludes me from bringing my record collection along. I wonder if any of the Himalayan monasteries are presided over by a Master who appreciates some good DOOM?

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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.

A Mad Musing on Flight and Cheese

It seems the air base is out conducting tactical flight manueverations or some shit. Well, the people within the base, rather. Pilots, specifically, I am sure. They seem a bit confused, though. Where one might expect sleek newfangled 21st century jet engine technology, these silly bastards are out in single and twin engine fighter planes and shit, conducting ridiculously low fly-byes and kamikaze tactical manuevers and whatnot. Are we planning on going to war with the Japanese?! Somehow I doubt it. They love our zany American culture and our many vast and widespread tourist traps. And we buy all their cars. I’ll tell you who we’ve got o look out for — those too-polite Canucks up in Canada, sharpening their ice skates up at the North Pole and biding their time until they can come down en masse and take all our cheese!

This could end badly ;)

In about an hour, We shall be venturing out amongst the other monkeys to attempt to procure and nurture basic human kindness and cooperation concerning a “crazy person healthcare provider government insurance clusterfuck” type of situation.

There are several local psychiatric care units and hospitals in the greater Tucson area.  If things go south here, I encourage someone to organize a betting pool on which one they take Us to.

I’m betting it’s the one with the best straight jackets.

Cheers! 😀

Indiscriminate Musings, Callous Language, and Nerd Rage

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Last day in The Meadows. Happy sadness. Miss me Dawgs!

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Partially delusional with sleep deprivation. Unable to type complete sentences. Terrible vibes all around us. Are these my hands?!

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Side Note! The Ryan + Meshuggah x 1200 mg Caffeine ^ Manic Moments = We may have broken something  \m/..\m/

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Conversations Held at Target (The CHAT):

Lady Jenn: “You need to get out more.”
The Ryan: “But I don’t want to get out more.”
Jenn Baby: “Your isolationism has made it so you have no idea how to interact with people.”
The Ryan: “I interact with people fine. You just don’t like the way I interact.”
Jenn: “You are ridiculous. I’m going to look at different stuff.”

Five minutes earlier…

Ry-Guy: “Baby! Check it out, I didn’t know they made Game of Thrones toys! It’s a tiny Tyrion Lannister. Well…tinier.”
Child of Seven: “Look! TRANSFORMERS!”
Seven’s Clan: “Kyle!”
Ry-No: “Mine’s bigger.”
Seven: “….”
Clan: “Kyle…get OVER here.” *uneasy, wary glances*

Aaaaand SCENE! Fuckin’ Kyle, man…Fucking. Kyle. 😀

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Perhaps 1200 mg of caffeine in a 90 minute period is too much. But I can hear colors (purple sounds like jet engines and bonfires) and it feels as though the Universe is coarsing through me in ecstatic trance, which is kind of cool. The downside is that I want to bury my brain in the crust of the Earth and use my spinal cord as a longbow in an epic battle with the piskies that have been invading my ear cavities and burrowing into my soul at night.  I should probably drink less liquid insanity. :/

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In just over an hour of milking the local library’s WiFi for all it’s worth on a manic, frenzied, stream of consciousness surf of the Interwebs of DOOM, I’ve managed to find a good two thousand dollars worth of vinyl and digital downloads that I am now obsessively longing to possess.

And ZERO fucking Dollars of DOOM. Wait a minute, though…do I really need two kidneys? This guy over here looks like he knows a few things about the black market vital organ trade…

Reason Number 5280 why I require “Adult Supervision.”

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SWEET BABY JESUS.

Zappa Plays Zappa at the Brooklyn Bowl Las Vegas, you say?! I am so glad I didn’t sell my spare kidney for vinyl money earlier. Cuz I may need to sell that bad boy for Zappa tickets!

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Or maybe I will just live here on the strip until April, making that good street money whilst perfecting my one-man “Ian Anderson Does Aqualung” solo performance routine, as well as gathering material for my “Post-Post-Apocalyptic Mutant Zombie-Stripper Waster-land Dia de los Muertos New King of Vegas Spiritual Saga Semi-Autobiographical Prophetic Novel”…

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I just found out that the fucking fluoride they put in our tap water is petrifying my pineal gland and driving my subconscious deeper into the abyss! This is some motherfucking CIA mind control Illuminati social conditioning bullshit. I prefer my pineal gland to be nice and pliable and juicy, goddamnit! This is a fucking conspiracy!

VENDETTA!!!

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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.

Monday Morning Musings

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Careful, motherfuckers, The Ryan is on the loose! No adult supervision! This could end badly…

As the “responsible” party in this relationship, Jenn Baby had to return to work today in order to further pervert and reshape the minds of America’s youth. The little bastards! >:]

As such, rather than leave me at home all day to play indoor, multi-story fetch with Sir Oswald and sniff my way through the roommate’s panty drawer, Lady Jenn gave me the keys to her luxurious German sedan (Volks-VAGON! NEIN!!!), and carte blanche to do as I please. “Within reason.” But, what is reasonable? Whatever my mind regards as a logical and conscious act, I suppose? >:D

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Since this is a public site and open to viewing by my Sweetness and anyone else who cares to stop by, I should point out that I am planning to spend the next eight or so hours driving to the Pacific Coast chilling at a nearby park and writing writing writing! If only the weather would cooperate…

Speaking of weather, um…what in the good and righteous fuck is this white shit covering the range surrounding The Meadows?! This is the DESERT, amiright? In goddamn FEBRUARY?!  So, unless one of Colombia’s infamous under-radar drug flights spontaneously combusted high in the sky, showering its contents across the Las Vegas desert valley range — I didn’t sign up for this shit.

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I was in an irritatingly chipper and vibrantly manic mood since waking this morning. My random, compulsive and cheerful yammering nearly got me a punch to the gooch from Madame Jenn on the way to her place of “bidness.”  It lasted all of another five minutes, until I came to stop at a red light on Alexander and Durango.  Suddenly and without warning, I wanted to punch the entirety of existence in its stupid fucking FACE. And for no discernable reason, mind you…but sometimes a belligerent bad Buddhist just needs to be consumed by scorn and loathing, motherfucker. 😉

I use the swear words a lot. I notice that most other bloggers and social media users do not, or do so sparingly. I am going to go ahead and assume this is not because you people find callous, direct, and offensive language to be a tool of the weak-minded and under-literate. I’m thinking I probably just give less fucks about rubbing the other dumb, ugly human meat-wrapped bags of calcium and liquid the “wrong way.”

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Just so you know, I include myself at the top of the list for dumb, ugly human meat-wrapped bags of calcium and liquid. I do stupid shit constantly, I make horribly illogical and functionally poor decisions, I hardly ever truly know what I’m talking about, and — much like the rest of us — I have zero goddamn idea what I am doing in Life or in any given speck of a moment.  We are all simply struggling to find our path through this frightening and chaotic mess of existence and toil!

There was a brilliant and intellectually revitalizing line of thought that began to form in my head during that last paragraph, which I intended to flesh out here. Unfortunately, I get distracted by self-editing as I write, and so I have haphazardly wandered from that vital subjective musing, and now cannot find my way back.

LOST! All is LOST!!!

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WHYYYY Lawd?! It shoulda been ME!!!

© 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.

A Catastrophic Purge of Torment Into Oblivion: The Body & Thou Lay Burden Upon Existence

The Body Thou Hatred Collab CD Cover

I awoke this morning with a powerful craving for fresh vinyl. I knew not why; I knew not for which specific piece of pressed wax I was searching. I knew only that there was The Calling, and that I needed to, once again, comb through my personal back-catalogue of music and film, identify some long-suffering hangers-on with which I could be convinced to part, and run that shit on down to the local Zia Records. STAT. This was a mission from the gods, that much was certain — but WHICH ONES?!

As it would turn out, the answer to that question had been heralded by the semi-apocalyptic swath of late winter/early spring storm weather to blanket the landscape of our scattered and scarred homelands. For our purposes here in SoAz, that storm manifested itself in a weighted, churning torrent of DOOM clouds, oppressive blankets of humidity, and the merciless, cleansing deluge brought down in tears from the heavens. So. Much. GLOOM. The relatively sunny disposition of the morning which greeted me this day would belie the terrible discovery I was soon to make.

Though guided by the hand of Beelzebub himself, no sooner had I dropped of my trade items to be reviewed and processed than I found myself standing before the looming magnificence of Zia Oracle’s “New Vinyl” stand. There she was, the Virgin Mother of our Megalomaniacal Saviour Herself, Mary “Joe’s Girl” Christ, in stunning portraiture. In one of those innumerable moments of chance and destiny, I nearly turned away disinterested to go peruse some dusty, forgotten corner of the used albums section, when a loathsome, sickly feeling in the very cockles of my loins urged me to halt.

The Body Thou Hatred Collab Front Cover

I had missed something.

There, in the upper left-hand corner of the LP I had glazed over cursorily, just above the Blessed Mother’s somber profile, an unassuming annular adornment.

The Body Thou Hatred Collab Sticker

The Body
Thou
You, Who I Have Always Hated
Thrill Jockey

MOTHER OF GOD.


TheBody-Band

Since their accursed formation in 1999, Portland by-way-of Boston experimental DOOM-sludge titans The Body have been steady straight dropping split LPs, collaborations, EPs, and full-lengths at a frighteningly manic pace, with no less than four massively dense albums released since the dawn of 2014 alone. It was late Summer 2014 that I first became aware of the terrifying, savagely introspective, soul-scarring music that heavily-armed duo Chip King and Lee Buford create. I was researching several bands unknown to me in preparation for an upcoming weekend of riffage and torment at Tucson’s own premier extreme metal festival, Southwest Terror Fest. My expectations were appropriately heightened by the information I had gleaned from online articles concerning the corrosive brand of punishment offered by the impossibly weighty pair, and I have no problem admitting that I was physically and psychologically terrified as I pressed play on that first track.

My expectations were NOT disappointed.

The Body’s primary goal as evidenced by the music they create would appear to be complete psychological catharsis and cleansing through anguish. Vocalist/guitarist Chip King does not “sing” or “scream” in any of the traditional metal, or otherwise musical, senses. Instead, he emits desperate, agonizing wails like those of a feral, tortured beast in the final, bloody throes of a savage death. After looping his guitar through an intricately arranged network of sample machines, processors, and vintage Sunn amps, the final product emitted from his monolithic stack of speakers is the biting, burdensome wall of tone and distortion of metal fragmented, deconstructed, pounded unrecognizable, and then reassembled as something wholly new and terrible. Drummer Lee Buford rises to the task of not only matching but accentuating this indescribably dense patchwork of misery and toil by pounding his percussives with the calculated ferocity of an ironworker forging weaponry from the very molten core of existence. Every seismic beat serves to propel the already catastrophic purge of metallic fury into utter oblivion.

Thou band performing live

I am, admittedly and unfortunately, quite a bit less versed in the history and lore of Southern-Fried, NOLA-bred warlords of DOOM, Thou. This is an oversight that will most assuredly be remedied post-haste. However, hailing from the birthplace of such legendary names in the world of miserable, loathsome, down-tuned riff-laden DOOM-sludge as EYEHATEGOD, Crowbar, Soilent Green, and Goatwhore, the scornful bastards that make up this modern-day harbinger of destruction have clearly paid attention in class, and have most assuredly benefited from rolling up and smoking their homework. Similar to their comrades in Hatred, Thou is likewise prone to a dizzying pace of sonic proliferation, having put out an impressive assortment of DOOM-product since their 2005 inception to rival that of The Body.

Illustration by Megan Acosta, unceremoniously ripped from Meat Mead Metal!

Illustration by Megan Acosta, unceremoniously ripped from Meat Mead Metal!

The Body and Thou first came together in collaboration early last year on the deceptively titled Released from Love EP. This four track work was discreetly birthed into the world as a vinyl-only limited edition album, and is now being included with the digital and compact disc releases of You, Who I Have Always Hated for the first time in those formats. While not a necessary requirement for anyone approaching these two bands with fresh ears, Released does serve as an outstanding introductory work or companion piece to this new full-length. The remaining six hereto unreleased tracks that make up Hated stand fine enough on their own, but the immensely cathartic if exhausting experience will certainly leave any proper extreme metal aficionado parched for more, and Released will do well as a small but welcome offering to that void.

As for Hated itself. There is NONE heavier. Nearly as soon as my turntable stylus touched down between the freshly-pressed grooves of side one, I was overcome with the crushing, monolithic wall of leaden sound that is “Her Strongholds Unvanquishable.” FUCK SAKES. My chest hurts, and I can’t BREATHE… While the four tracks on Released certainly provided worthy evidence of the terrible power at hand through the unity of these two savage forces, it is clear that their horrifying tools of battery were honed to maximum barbaric supremacy for this record.

The Body Thou Hatred Full Artwork

From the very beginning, it is evident that the collaborative energy conjured by the unity of these two forces of subjugation serves to push both entities together into wholly new, more extreme, and ultimately more savage and unrestrained territory. The demon hordes called forth by Thou, in their sluggish, plodding might, at first may seem to overpower and bury the more atmospheric, expansive framework for which The Body is known. To assume this would be a mistake. More attuned ears will have no trouble hearing The Body’s maelstrom of nihilistic desperation weaving serpentine throughout the massively thunderous plodding surge set forth by Thou.

Throughout most of the album’s six gargantuan tracks, it is clear that the whole is by far greater than the sum of its parts. Even an initially stumbling foray into “covers” territory results in a transformative, revitalized section of creativity that does well to turn the original — NIN set-list mainstay “Terrible Lie” — into a new and largely unrecognizable permutation. While the re-imagining does not quite hit with the same sparse weight of “Coward” (the final track on Released) — itself a complex, forlorn retelling of an emotional bit of songwriting by the late Vic Chestnutt — it nevertheless gives the record a welcome draw-spring for the industrial metal undercurrent that The Body bring to their creations, smoothing the stitches between the two entities welded in hatred on Hatred.

Elsewhere, the two bands make effective use of dissonance and forced coalescence to accentuate their brand of torment on the thunderously severe “He Returns to the Place of His Iniquity,” and make up for the perhaps intentionally pretentious title of “Beyond the Realms of Dream, That Fleeting Shade Under the Corpus of Vanity” by imbuing that track with the ruinous, cataclysmic rage of a vengeful scourge unloosed. By the time we reach the apocalyptic final refrain of “Lurking Fear,” we are so thoroughly pummeled, worn and threadbare, that whatever lurking beast to come next can only be greeted with welcoming arms — if only they had not already been torn from our torso and used to mercilessly beat us into submission.

The Body Thou Hatred Collab Back Cover


© 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.