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Saturday, November 26, 2005

My Final Word On P2P File Sharing.

My Fuckin Quarter's Worth!

by DJ Genocyde



Ok people, let's not kid each other. P2P file sharing is here to stay. The shame of it is? All the fucking bitching. Constantly pissing and moaning, whining and complaining. I've heard it all. I've seen the attacks done by these so-called "bands." I'm not talking just some of the ones in the underground even though there are a few...I'm talking the rich corporate bastards.

Metallica, Madonna, Eminem, Dre....YOU'RE FUCKING MILLIONAIRES AND THERE ARE GODDAMN RECORD SHOPS ON EVERY CORNER!!!

The production of CDs and their sale thereof isn't slowing down, the industry's not going under. The day Sony decided to fuck me over alongside my computer when I bought a CD...hey...they lost a customer. Nice job, assholes.

So now Sony's put my computer in danger due to their resorting to criminal tactics in order to ensure their product. Hey, I promote bands. I support them. I fuckin put nearly every bit of my offtime and even some of my money (what I can afford to let go of) to support the underground. What I get from it? I get to hear bands that I otherwise would have NEVER heard being stuck in this little shithole. I work my ass off on my shows to ensure that listeners will return and I do it all for a small price...music. I have a love for music. I have a job for money. I'll never make a fortune as a DJ. I may never make ANY money as a DJ. I may do this promotion thing forever for free. It's a fair exchange. If I download something and a band is going to sue me, I think it's a bit unrealistic. Yanno what? I love CD art. I love reading the lyrics. I love having a physical copy of a CD in case I lose everything on my hard drive but guess what? This is internet radio. I'm not getting paid for this...sometimes just to keep up to date, I don't have that luxury...deal with it.

I download but I don't share files unless it's with another DJ and even then I share only to promote.

If you don't have the drive for it, you don't belong in this business as a musician. If you don't have a love for your music first, you don't belong here. If you're not selling, you're not doing something right and finally I'm sick of hearing that all that won't pay the bills GET A FUCKIN JOB!!! I'd love to get paid for sitting on my ass dreaming shit up to talk about on my show, playing the music or otherwise putting my computer and my voice at risk. Never once have I complained about this and I won't ever again. I don't even mention it. Why? I'm having the time of my life...even if it isn't paying my bills.

Now, here's some food for thought.

Take your average P2P file sharer. Take him and sue him into the ground....just legally lay waste to him financially for good. Guess what? He won't be buying any further releases you put out there. He'll boycott your band, the label and all else for good. Guess what you can do about that? Fuck All. Now, imagine that on a wider scale. There go the profits to record shops, recording studios, musicians, the corporate backing....sure, here's your future...gone. Think you have a career as a musician this way? Think again!

On the flipside of this coin there are people who won't take notice...the very people that really ARE hurting you and your career...mass piracy operations. This type of operation has been going on for years. It's not news since the file-sharing cult of Napster came up...that's bullshit and if you believe it, welcome to the Indoctrination Of Mass Media Brainwashing.

To go on record as saying that the sound quality between CDs and MP3s share a huge difference is absurd in itself. I've listened to both compressions and I have an MP3 player. I've since ditched my old CD walkman in favor of it. I haven't noticed any difference in the sound. If there is such a big difference...WHERE THE HELL IS IT???!!!

Individual file sharers are not hurting your business...the mass piracy operations are. Suing the individual into the ground will leave you more broke than what you already are and since the mass piracy operations are still in business, you're going to be losing more and more money out of this. Get the mass piracy operations, put them outta business and I guarantee you you're gonna protect your profit margin to a much greater degree than you would if you sue the individual who just wanted to hear the CD prior to buying it or was just downloading the files for personal use.

Setting the dogs on the individual file sharers out there is overkill. It's like going after an ant with a nuke. It's senseless. Send the dogs after the true pirates and you will ensure your music career.

There was an uproar about the mixtape revolution of the '80s. Nothing happened. There was an uproar about the file sharing/rip,mix,burn revolution of today. Nothing's happened but a lotta people are in financial ruin for the rest of their lives. If you're among the few or many who say they deserve it, great, whatever, remember that when you lose a promoter who worked his ass off to push your underground product and had even paid for it.

Bottom line: I don't care how many bands now will have nothing to do with me over this bulletin or blog entry (as it will be posted there as well) I don't care how many musicians got offended. If you work your ass off on the album, it's concept and artwork accompanying it, damn right you deserve what you worked for but keep in mind that without your fanbase, you're nothing but someone playing music for their own enjoyment.

Like It Or Not, This is DJ Genocyde saying, "Shouldn't you be at home carving veins on cucumbers?"
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Saturday, November 19, 2005

Remain Silent....Trust Me

Tea And Cake Or Death: A Savage Journey Behind The Mask

by Damien "DJ Genocyde" Cross



Winter of 1997. I'd been tearing my room apart in search of a notebook. The notebook had been full of my poetry, writings, musings, psongs, psayings and pnothings.

I must admit that a sudden surge of inspiration at the young age of 18 compelled me to nearly destroy anything at that point. I would dismantle every bit of the furniture in the bedroom I grudgingly shared with my younger brother trying to find the notebook. I simply couldn't find where it went. Finally, after calming down, I'd settled upon simply jotting down the information onto a notepad for later transcription.

The notebook had been my masterpiece, artistically speaking. Both inside and out were an assortment of macabre and hideous drawings and writings. Like some teenage necronomicon, that book was sacred to me and I'd be goddamned if some swine would put thier hands upon it and defile my inner sanctum. It would be the equivalent of rape and I certainly would not be in the least bit happy about it.

With the Christmas vacation having ended we returned to school and thus, everything began. This would be the end of my junior year...the next year I would graduate and now was one of the most bottom-line better years of high school. High Schools in small towns have bad reps and with good reason. There is no amount of prejudice greater than that of the small town mentality. When children are given the "You Want To Fit In Don't You/Just Be Yourself" doublespeak, the weak minded are easily eaten and the strong are dismantled in the time of one foolish action. Since early high school/late junior high, my peers thought me to worship some nonexistant devil. Despite the fact that I was raised catholic and had even attended the church regularly, I was seen as dangerous and my catholicism at the time, a sham of a cover. Looking back on it, I wondered if I had actually believed half of any of it. The whole assumption was based solely on the long hair I had at the time dyed black, my wardrobe consisting of dark colors and shirts with hideous beasts with more hideous nearly unreadable band logos all over them and a musical selection consisting of a steady diet of Metallica, Megadeth, Ozzy and Manson (who was one of the newer bands at the time) were not helping with my image problems.

During one of my classes the intercom came on.

"Mrs. Robertson?" the voice asked. It was Coach Bonin. Not only was he one of our many coaches, he was also our new assistant principal.

"Yes?" she answered.

"Send Damien to my office," he said. There was a hint of pride in his voice. Something in his tone said he would make an example of me. I heard necks cracking to look at me. I had done nothing wrong and now I was going to prove it once and for all.

Mrs. Robertson looked at me and in a moment of near telepathy, I got up and began the long journey to his office.

I took my time. If it was bad, I'd need help, I was sure. This guy was unreadable, he never smiled. His face was devoid of expression. He was empty. If it was good, I'd let him sing my praises and be on my merry way. Either way none of the other fucking bastards would share in it. My pain or praise, hell or high water, none of them would be a part of it...ever.

Upon arrival in his office, my heart sank into the depths of my ass when he presented the notebook.

"The writings and drawings are, well..." he trailed off, "Disturbing to say the least. Damien I think you may need help."

As I grabbed the book he slammed it to the desk, nearly taking my hand in the process. Now, any hopes he'd had of resolving this issue without full use of any resource from my end to drop it and forget it was officially over.

"I didn't say you could pick it up," he said. For the first time there was a sharp look in his eye. It was the look of someone who thought he could intimidate me and I was sick of this swine attempting this type of behavior, "I could call your parents for this."

"My dad's my biggest fan," I replied, "he's read everything I've written."

"Let's see about that," he snapped.

"Let's do!" I snapped back, "Only thing is I'm not just calling my parents in on this. Where did you get this anyway?"

"That doesn't matter," he said, "it's mine now."

This swine was going to claim my work. My pain, insanity, ferocity and every violent action put to words and imagery as expression to keep me from laying waste to insolent fools like this one.

I grabbed it again, and again, his hand came down on it...and my own hand, this time taking it to the desk and racking my knuckle upon the oak.

I grabbed his phone, called my parents, told them to contact John (my uncle, the attorney) and get up here quick...there was a situation only they could resolve.

Mom, unfortunately, was the first to arrive. My first ally in this matter proved to be a real duality and not geared in favor of me. Dad was the second, my most staunch ally and then John entered and I was asked to leave the room.

"Not a chance," I said, "there are some things all of you should know. Last year we had the incident where the rock struck me in the head from behind and all he could do, despite the fact that I was bleeding was bitch at me about an earring. He won't mention where he got the notebook and on top of that," I said, raising my hand which was now reddened, "we have a case of assault."

The room got quiet. Dad looked as though he had murderous intent towars this bastard in his eyes. Mom stared in shocked disbelief at my hand which hand been forced upon that oakwood desk and John looked to him after the viewing of my knuckles which had begun to swell a bit.

It was the second time I'd seen some form of expression to him. The predatory look was gone. The mask of a lion had crumbled to reveal the makings of a meek kitten. He tried all he could to collect himself but he knew what he had done. The sins of the past were combining with the fangs of today and they sought to destroy what had made a pathetic career.

John picked up the notebook, briefly flipped through it, handed it to me and said, "Damien, give us a few minutes with him."

To this day I still don't know what was said in that room. I remember seeing dad leaning over his desk through the window, angrily pointing a finger at him and what seemed to be John talking as he did in his own calm way as that bastard tried to make sense of the world which had just come undone for him. My mom sat by and let it happen. He'd been rendered impotent in one magic moment.

Once he shut the blinds, minutes seemed to take hours but once that eternity was up, my dad stormed out muttering something to the effect of "Fuckin Moron" with my mom in tow, attempting to calm him down. John came out a few moments later and took me with him out into the hall.

"I don't think he'll try anything else," he said. The man was so calm that giving him a valium would end his existence.

"If he tries anything else or he wants to sweep anything else under the rug," John said, "call me and let me know."

All of them had left after that. My victory came in getting that notebook back. I was sure he had tried to go predatory again but when confronted by an angered ex-marine having a bad day coupled with a calmly venomous family attorney, he was possibly cut back down to size.

One simple thing I learned from this; When you're being questioned by anyone in authority whether it's the cops, higher ups at some school, your next door neighbor. The Right To Remain Silent is just that...your right. You have nothing to prove. Let the burden of proof weigh heavily upon the opposition and if you're staring into the face of heavy adversity and you're sure they're bluffing, have an attorney present and don't say a word until that attorney shows up. Whatever you say, they'll use it against you...doesn't make a damn what it is, they'll do it. The Swine are in control and they are armed with mechanisms for legalized invasion of privacy. Call their bluff when you're absolutely certain that the chips are in your favor and fight razored fang and sharpened claw to ensure that the swine get what they deserve
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Friday, November 18, 2005

A Wellspring Of Waffling


If This Isn't The Truth I Don't Know What Is. Posted by Picasa


There are times when I wonder just how I got myself here. How is it some hotheaded kid from Bum-Fucked Egypt, Louisiana managed to become a near overnight sensation over the internet? How could a nobody in high school have achieved popularity to this magnitude and have made something of himself, even if it were a total ass at times?

What I wonder most is how something so simple...something of a hobby could turn someone like me into a near media frenzy? Maybe Deb was right when she said there should be a movie made of my life. It has been interesting. Life has taken me down some interesting roads. Not all of them were good and a great many of them I'd never travel again but now it seems as though nearly everything I'd ever wanted in life has happened to me. Some things, I'm still working on.

I get like this sometimes. I wonder why? Why has this happened, why has that happened? Where the hell was this popularity when I was a teenager. Granted I had no sense of style and shit like that but fuckin hell, what a rush. Working class dude makes good finally. Finally making my break into journalism...doing it my way. Write on a 4th Grade Reading Level, my ass.

I had a thought somewhere...there was probably a point to this.

It's gone.

Flatline
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Wednesday, November 16, 2005

Is Your Computer Endangered By Sony?


Hold On To Yer Lug Nuts, Boys...It's Time For An Overhaul! Posted by Picasa

DRM this, Sony!
By Molly Wood, section editor, CNET.com
Thursday, November 3, 2005
Molly Wood Updated November 10, 2005

I hope this is the week that everyone in the world finds out what a root kit is. And I hope it's a week we look back on in amazement, as we consider just how far Sony was willing to go to criminalize consumers in its efforts to preserve control over its product. Because I believe this is the week that Sony effectively declared war on the consumer, announcing what most of us had already suspected: fair use is a joke in the movie and record industry, and the companies who control mass-market content will truly stop at nothing to protect their profits.

We're not gonna take it
But let me start at the beginning. On Monday, October 31, alert users discovered that Sony BMG is using copy-protected CDs to surreptitiously install its digital rights management technology onto PCs. You don't have to be ripping the CD, either--just playing it from your CD-ROM drive triggers the installation. The software installs itself as a root kit, which is a set of tools commonly used to make certain files and processes undetectable, and they're the favored tool of crackers who are, as Wikipedia puts it, attempting to "maintain access to a system for malicious purposes." In fact, root kits are often classified alongside Trojan horses. And Mark Russinovich, who created a root-kit detection utility and was one of the first to blog about the Sony intrusion, discovered another little gem when he tried to remove the DRM drivers. It broke his computer--disabling his CD drive.

TalkBack
So, I think we all agree that this is pretty bad, right? Tell it!
Post your comment here
So, let's make this a bit more explicit. You buy a CD. You put the CD into your PC in order to enjoy your music. Sony grabs this opportunity to sneak into your house like a virus and set up camp, and it leaves the backdoor open so that Sony or any other enterprising intruder can follow and have the run of the place. If you try to kick Sony out, it trashes the place.

And what does this software do once it's on your PC? It enacts unbelievably restrictive DRM, including possible incompatibility with computer CD-ROM players, DVD players, and car CD stereos. And in a deep-dive into the Sony end-user license agreement, the Electronic Frontier Foundation found some astonishing fine print. For example, if you lose the original CD or it's stolen, you lose the right to any digital copies you've made. You can't keep your music on computers at work. You must delete your songs if you move out of the country or if you file for bankruptcy. The list goes on and on. As for the artists whose names have been sullied by their association with the root kit, it seems that at least some of them didn't give permission to Sony to use the backdoor DRM technology and want no part of it.

Happily, and despite the use of scary words like root kit, this story hit the Web in a big way. The PR for Sony is, shall we say, not good. On Wednesday, November 2, Sony had announced that it would, in conjunction with the company that developed the root-kit plan in the first place (First4Internet) release a patch to antivirus companies so that hackers wouldn't, hopefully, be able to take advantage of the backdoor they just opened on your property. But the patch only reveals the the antipiracy software, it doesn't uninstall it. And of course, it leaves the insanely draconian copy protection cheerily intact. If you want to remove the software, you must beg Sony for an uninstall link. CNET's Brian Cooley reports that he received the link via e-mail, but that running the uninstall gave him an error. Visiting the support site to request help with the error, Cooley was sent to a form whose first field asks which country you're from. Neither USA nor North America are options. That's not trying very hard to fix the problem.

Actually, Sony's response to the mess it caused is almost as bad as the mess itself. The company continued to insist, despite growing evidence to the contrary, that its components weren't harmful in the first place. And in fact, the president of Sony BMG's global digital business division, Thomas Hesse, told National Public Radio that most people don't know what a rootkit is, so they shouldn't care that it had been secretly installed on their PCs. Mr. Hesse, they care. And they should start caring a whole lot more--on November 10, BitDefender uncovered the first Trojan horse (but possibly not the last) that takes advantage of the unpatched DRM technology to open a backdoor on a Windows PC. So, if you're the recipient of the rootkit and you haven't yet received a patch, Sony has officially endangered your PC.

No, we ain't gonna take it
This is an unacceptable development in digital rights enforcement. I don't know how to put this any more clearly. Don't get me wrong--we've long since crossed the line of DRM insanity. But this--using the tactics of criminals to invade our PCs without our knowledge and to expose us to further attack, just so you can keep us from, say, burning a mix CD and giving it to our friends--this is beyond the pale.

And as many news sources are beginning to point out, there's some reason to think it might also be illegal, under the U.S. Computer Fraud and Abuse Act. As of this writing, two class-action suits had been filed against Sony BMG over the root kit--one in Italy, and one in California. I'm quite sure that won't be the end of it.

We're not gonna take it...anymore
Companies: You will never get the increasingly technology-aware, mass media-consuming populace to support your right to copy protection or digital rights management unless they are on your side. And because we are increasingly technology aware, your ever-increasing assault on not only our fair use but also our common sense will virtually guarantee that we use our God-given ingenuity to find a way around whatever bizarre restrictions you see fit to impose. Why? Not because we're dying to break the law, but because you have sold us a crappy product, and, fundamentally, because it is not our responsibility to protect your profits.

What's the solution? In the near term, for us, it's not to buy any Sony CDs, and maybe not any Sony anything. In the longer term, it's to start agitating for a rewrite of copyright law in the manner so eloquently suggested recently by Walt Mossberg of the Wall Street Journal. He suggests copyright law with actual teeth that can chomp on massive-scale piracy, but with broad exemptions for personal use, because excessive DRM is hampering innovation and alienating consumers. I couldn't put it any better. And companies? Sony? Are you really going to tell us that overhauling these outmoded rules is harder and more destructive than suing retirees over honest mistakes made by their 12-year-old grandsons? This is the path you're going to choose?

I'm truly sorry that there are, out there in the world, mass-production piracy operations that are digging into your bottom line, but you know what? I'm not one of them. Neither are most of the people who will be laboring under the nasty little flags, Trojan horses, and FairPlay/Plays For Sure doublespeak that you see fit to slap on the stuff we legitimately purchased.

And you know who's not going to labor under those restrictions? You know who's not even going to notice? The mass-production piracy operations, that's who. You know it, and I know it. So why are you engaged in this nickel-and-dime, small-time thrust-and-parry with me and my friends? Trust me, you're not going to make back the money by dropping viruses onto my PC, because my almighty dollar and I are going elsewhere--and you're probably not going to like where I end up.

Technology will march on. Technology is the reason we're in this fix in the first place, and technology will keep on giving us solutions to whatever irritating, invasive, and potentially illegal roadblocks you keep throwing in our path. And damned if we and our almighty dollars, no matter how long it takes, don't eventually win these little wars.
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Monday, November 14, 2005

I Couldn't Help Myself


I Had To Do This...It's My Favorite Judas Priest Song!!!
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The Dark Lord Genocyde Speaks About....Whatever! (In Memory Of Eddie Guerrero)


So Long, Eddie...We'll Miss You! Posted by Picasa



WWE Wrestler Eddie Guerrero was found dead in his hotel room. Unbelievable...at only 38 years old. I still wonder where my Latino World Order shirt went. I'd be wearing it right now in Eddie's honor. He started that whole thing back when he was in WCW. Sad thing really. Wrestlers as a whole...even though it's "fake" tend to have short life spans. Drugs, alcohol, car wrecks, a laundry list of violent crimes, and if it's none of the above, it's the wear and tear on the body over the years of physical self-abuse from the chair shots to the head, falls from high altitudes...you name it.

Eddie was a different caliber of wrestler. Love him or hate him, he was entertaining and I'd bet my balls to a barn dance he died of a heart attack. Chavo, his nephew, found him by forcing his way into the hotel room. Damned sorry to hear about that Chavo. Just know I was a fan of your uncle. Despite the fact I haven't watched it in forever and a week, I was still a fan of watching Eddie do his patented Frog Splash to finish the opposition and crush his opponent.

Last year, it was Road Warrior Hawk and Big Boss Man. BBM was something else. Big dude from Cobb County, GA who marketed himself as an asshole C.O. I don't know why but I thought that was funny. Unfortunately, it still gave the rest of us a bad rap. Not that I didn't still enjoy the humor of the fact that he started dressing all tactical. OH man did I forever use that image against those goons that let it go to their head. Road Warrior Hawk was another one I heavily respected. "AAAAAAHHHHHHH WHAT A RUSH!!!" Whatta line! Nothing said "Tough guy" like that line. Good thing The Rock has a good head on his shoulders and some acting ability...should I say Talent. That man has played the Action dude, the gay dude, the serious guy, the comedy role. That's one dude that Knows His Role. Steve Borden aka Sting has even turned his life around. He still wrestles but isn't really in the limelight anymore. I'd like to see him make a comeback. There are some greats in there still but this loss will be a devastating one to the WWE same as when they heard during WWF In Your House '97 that Flyin Brian Pillman died of a drug overdose in his hotel room. Not too long after that, on May 23, 1999 at the age of 32, Owen Hart died when his harness snapped at WWF Backlash. For those who are not fans of wrestling, lemme tell ya something. You may not care and that's fine but these dudes get out there pulling dangerous stunts that the guys from Jackass wouldn't even pull and each and every night they risk life and limb for the entertainment of others. Fuck football, baseball, hockey and basketball....it's bullshit. THIS is the last of the gladiator events in this nation and it's still a worldwide phenomenon. Whenever our Titans end up in jail, it doesn't make the news. Personally, I'd like to know what happened to Lex Luger over Kobe Bryant anyday.

Speaking of criminal shit, a friend of mine is now in deep trouble thanks to someone who was supposed to be her friend. Our system's flaws rear thier ugly heads again. Seems this friend of hers stayed with her for a couple of nights, broke into a house, stored the stolen goods at her place and left them there. Now she has a court date and the cops are still "trying" to find him. Nice.

Give me three days up there....guaranteed I'll find him. When I do, I'll take him in myself. Granted he wouldn't be in "mint" condition but falling back on some old aikido and jeet kune do would help greatly in this moron's downfall. Furthermore, he'd forever have my face burned into his retinas for fuckin with someone I've been close to for the past ten years. Karma Incarnate with Evil for flavor. I hope he reads this message. Turn yourself in before I'm forced to. Nuff said. Don't FUCK with a DJ Who is Evil Incarnate, motherfucker. Karma's a bitch, I'm a motherfucker. I won't kill you. I won't do anything of the sort, I'll just take your fuckin soul.

Third item. I've often realized that, by talent, I'm an entertainer of sorts. There is one thing I'd like to make mention of. Some rivers flow consistently. Some don't. I'm one of those that doesn't. I need to reload every once in awhile. Hence, the reason I haven't posted lately. I can understand that there are some who have nothing better to do but it baffles me when I show up to get the third degree on where I've been. Not trying to be a prick here but while I may have chains hanging off the wall behind me as a conversation piece, they don't connect me to this computer. I've got walks to take that I haven't been on since the Hurricane's damned curfews came around, movies to watch, shows to prepare, bands to talk to and a laundry list of shit to catch up on. Like I said, not to be a prick but, for fuck's sake, gimme time. Once I'm done with all that stuff I'll come out with better stuff and it'll be stuff that will blow your top, I guarantee it. I have a lotta ideas I need to work on before I lose em. You'll love em, trust me. I just need the time to get to them, that's all.

(Left Field Moment...Delusion Of Grandeur In Here Somewhere):
Price of fame's a motherfucker too, I know. Being an internet celebrity means shaking virtual hands, autographs and then the people at the mall have me on the horn wanting to do book signings, Johnny Depp wants to play me in the movie and then he and Vin Diesel got into a fight over the part....ugghh....does it ever end? Fuckin Bush wants to meet me and was appalled at the price I asked. Come on! Paying 11.2 Mil to meet the man who beat him to the punch on Building An Empyre Effectively isn't too much! That's Fucking Moderate, you prick! I'm your Lord and Master, now, Pay Fuckin Tribute....MY NAME IN LIGHTS!!! DARTH GENOCYDE, BITCH!!!

Now, that I got that outta the way. Your Lord And Master is officially done. SQUIRRELY WRATH!!!!
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Monday, November 07, 2005

Un-FUCKIN-Believable!

All I have to say is I can't fucking believe this memegen!












Your Deadly Sins



Wrath: 40%

Envy: 20%

Lust: 20%

Pride: 20%

Gluttony: 0%

Greed: 0%

Sloth: 0%

Chance You'll Go to Hell: 14%

You will die in prison, in a puddle of your own blood.

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Sunday, November 06, 2005


Dangerously Undermedicated... Posted by Picasa
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Karma....Motherfucker!

The frustration is over for me. I'm not so raw about FEMA anymore. Why? Karma.

That's right. Earlier on I said that those who abused it had probably caused me to get screened down to a nitpicky detail that didn't allow me to get what was probably comin to me. I was pissed about it at first, frustrated next but now, I don't feel so bad about it.

I said it came down to two words for those who abused it: Karma...motherfucker!

Well tonight I had to go do laundry. I set about my normal ritual of packing the clothes into my backpack, putting the detergent into a couple of sandwich bags (I love the looks I get at the laundromat over that one), got change and took a leisurely stroll down to the laundromat and set about the task. Black clothing in one washer, whites in the other, powder in both and set the ball rolling. With that over, I lit up and listened as my MP3 player droned with the pain-filled sounds of All:My:Faults "These Hours Of Emptiness".

()_______)______________)))

I wondered what to do next. I could stand here bored, amidst strangers who no doubt were becoming very creeped out by my presence. Perhaps it was the baphomet sigil around my neck or on my t-shirt that was bugging them. Perhaps it was the fact that I dumped what looked like two baggies of coke into the washer. Whatever the case, I had decided that tonight was not the night for confrontations. Saturday nights in this town can be awful when confronted by the status quo of Redneck Society. Especially when the kids cannot stop staring at The Principles Of Evil Made Flesh standing there in the laundromat, smoking away on a Marlboro light, twiddling his thumbs with a head full of gothic rock blaring in his head.

After looking at the clock display on my mobile phone, I'd decided to see if the nearby video store had any good secondhand movies for sale. I listened to more of the darkness surrounding my mind like a brain cloud as I browsed through the movies. On DVD I'd found Beyond Re-Animator. $5, not bad at all. I'd bought a copy of Re-Animator on DVD through eBay because of the reviews I'd received on it. I'd heard all about it's cult following and that any fan of Jeffrey Combs (Faust: Love Of The Damned, Doctor Mordred, Necronomicon: Book Of The Dead, Fortress) would love it. Being that I am a fan of sorts, I grabbed it. Not yet having seen the first Re-Animator, I figured I'd get a head start on one of it's later sequels to see how the first would stack up. On tape, I'd snagged CB4, Full-Tilt Boogie and Fire In The Sky.

I'd exited the video store to the sounds of Celldweller "Switchback". My stomach rolled. Dammit. The steroid I'd taken before leaving was now bound and determined to give me problems. I'd put the movies next to the back pack and went to the nearest place I could get something to throw down my throat. After having eaten and finished washing the clothes, now came the long part....the drying.

I'd put the clothes in the dryer, pumped my last quarters in and began the machine. Finally, the laundromat's owner came in and we began talking.

During the conversation the hurricanes came up and then...FEMA. This man had lost more on his land as did his son. None of them received assistance either. Then we began on the subject of those who did recieve the assistance. Many of them are having to pay it back. Two of them were found to have used the money to give their drug empires a boost. They'd gotten the money, bought drugs with it, rented apartments and then began selling out of them, living like kings the entire time. The funny part...they were caught.

It was everything I could do to keep from laughing. The government in their foolishness could have seen me put that money to legal use and get myself into a position where I would possibly not have to worry about calling them again but instead they had given it to these assclowns and the others who wanted it just for whatever. Now, they have to find some way of getting all that money back and the fools that cheated them are having to pay that back.

Karma...motherfucker!

Now, I don't feel so badly about it. I'm glad I never got it. I've got pretty much everything I'm going to need on this end. I've got my new banners up. Got Curse Icon's banner added to my site, got my girlfriend's site full of links to my blog, my site, Krush Radio, some pain center and some others. One more steroid left and I'm done with the medications and the upper respiratory infection is almost little more than just a bad memory. Did all that on my own. Glad to have done it too. Now no one has any right to tell me anything really.

Personally, I think that's why we do what we do. It's the root of our pride for good or ill. We really don't want the help in some ways because then it means someone else has a mastery of us for some period of time however long that may be. So we do the pain in the ass work just to say that we're free enough to do whatever it is we have to do to do whatever we want. We do what we like and we like what we do. We get to watch as people get what we deserve sometimes and while it frustrates us, we're willing to let those others have it. Why? Well they'll be found out eventually. I'll fire The Fuck You Cannon at them sometimes just to vent. Then again, there's always the midget porn to help me vent as well. You probably didn't want to know that. I know. Keep reading, you came this far.

There's the twisted, the depraved, the animosity, and the anger that takes hold when doors get shut in our face only to have them open for those who don't need that door. Some cry, some kiss ass, some beg, some get all pissy about it and we just sit by and let them. Why? We know what's going to happen and, in the end, we also know full well what happens to people who just want to sit there and take advantage of others. Some will learn, others will not. Mistakes have been made, believe that. Others will be blamed. We can leave it a clusterfuck or we can start changing the policies to further benefit us. I like the latter of the two myself. I'm on the public awareness level of that. I try like hell to bring it to the attention of others. Some will listen, some will not. For those that don't care to hear it, they'll end up on the short end of the stick. For those that do, they will be the ones making the policies that will set our civilization toward a better tomorrow.

In the end of it, just remember that there are two words for anyone who wants to put cracks in a flawed system.

Karma....Motherfucker!
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Saturday, November 05, 2005


Night Two...Ass In Agony But Ride Was Successful Posted by Picasa
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The Genocydal Maniac Rides Again!

Here Is Part Two Of That Story....The Postscript!

It's amazing how many more memories can be brought about by the simple act of mounting the Mongoose Mountain Bicycle (aka Black Moonlight) and setting off into parts unknown.

Tonight had become chilly and we still needed a few things from WalMart. Another trip. It would be all three of us this time. Deb, Phoenix and I made our way to WalMart and as soon as I'd arrived....I made a beeline for the bike section again. I needed things too. Namely something to quell the agony that my posterior end suffered at the lack of mercy of the Mongoose Corporation in a conspiratorial scheme to take it out on the ends of every rider by means of a narrow saddle that was little more than some sadist attempting rape. In that department I found myself with hundreds of choices. Shit...I hate that because the only bike like mine was at the top of the rack and there was no way to check and see if the pads would fit. I could always replace it, of course, with a superfly BMX saddle and pad that one. Then, the other choices presented themselves. Schwinn also had a saddle but it was well padded and ergonomically correct. It was every bit as narrow if not a little wider than the one I already had....shit. It was soft though but this had to be the choice. It had to be made this night or I'd be in for another round of gleutial agony coupled with the frustration of having spent our plummeting dollar to no avail. Bell (I love this company) put out a saddle. It was wide and looked to be very comfortable but the padding was a little firmer than the Schwinn saddle. Hmmm....this was going to be a dilemma. Finally, Deb and Phoenix joined in the fray. I was going mad. Why was this decision made so tough? What happens next?

We found a sales rep who reeked of the Trick Biker. He looked as though he didn't work at WalMart but went there to give the bikes an abuse test by performing all manner of insane stunts much to the chagrin of those who polish the floors or assemble the bikes. He was a tattooed Chris Cornell look-alike and spoke about the Mongoose Diamondback...a stunt bike that was only handled by the most insane tricksters with deathwishes that made Charles Bronson blush with shame. I admired the kid...his knowledge of these goddamn things was extensive and he went back two decades...nearly year by year. Ahhh the memories.

Memories of days when I took my beat up BMX and nearly killed myself time and again, attempting the performance of deadly jumps and rail grinds over concrete with no stunt pegs. I'm no stranger to the pain of the fucking animals they can become the minute that the human trait known as arrogance takes over. There is nothing more helpless, irresponsible or depraved as a child who thinks he can slide along a rail on nothing more than nuts and bolts. Perhaps that and the scars I was accumulating were my reasons for giving up the ghost on the fact that I'd never be any good on stunt bikes. It certainly wasn't my fear, no, that would not be me. It was simply the fact that the scarring along with the time it takes to heal was taking me off my bike for far longer than I had wanted. I had True Grit within me...even embedded into my flesh at the time...but it was beginning to wear smooth with every spill I'd taken.

The Sales rep took the Mongoose like mine down for me so I could see if an ergonomically correct Gel Pad would fit upon the saddle. It did....but with a little slack. I'd decided that it would suffice and grabbed the pad, a saddlebag and something called The Ultimate Bicycle Tool ...all made by Bell. Bell has an inventor working for them to combat the evil that had been done to me, I'm willing to wager my retirement pension from the prison on that. I'd love to shake this man's hand for what he's done. First, a GelPad for uncomfortable seats. Then, A bag to keep an air pressure guage, a chain for hitching the bike off, and any manner of devices or tools I'd need...including... Finally, the Ultimate Bicycle tool. This thing is one of those all-in-one tools made strictly for the serious mountain biker such as I. Every manner of size wrench you could need, phillips and flathead screwdrivers, allen wrenches, tire removal tools....all fitting into one toolset that is so compact it's the best thing since the Leatherman tool. Great Odin, bless the Bell Corporation and the Bellman who made this stuff for me!

Earlier that day, we'd mounted the water bottle onto my frame by way of two allen screws that were loose and holding nothing onto the frame. I could have used The Tool then but I hadn't seen it and thankfully, my friend Denny came to the rescue, madly wielding a set of allen heads and a screwdriver handle in glee. Many thanks to Odin for that luck.

Upon our return, I'd immediately set about installing the new gear. Everything went well and I stored everything I thought I'd need into my new saddlebag. This was no longer a mountain bike...this was now a vehicle of survival. If it broke down, I could fix it on site and not have to worry about how I'm getting home. Many blessings to the Engineers who took the time to think of these things.

When I was done, I ate dinner and set about the show again. Gotta get that done. I made my openings and announcements and geared up for my Nightly Ride.

When I was ready, I took off, feeling the chilly night air blasting me in the face. I was cruising, total control now. No worries. No weight on my shoulders. Water in the bottle, check...tools, defintely check....chain, check....pressure guage, check. My gloved hands gripped the handlebars and off I took with a new sense of purpose even though I had none but to listen to the dark music from my MP3 player still full of illegal MP3s and ride until my legs could take no more.

Visions of my past came to me as I tooled along the backroads and residential districts of this town. Memories flashed in my mind of me flying along on a black and neon green Huffy Mt. Storm doing nothing in particular but pretending in my mind to be Ghost Rider flying off on his hellfire and brimstone wheeled crotch rocket cafe racer from Hades to mete out justice to the evil in the form of a Penance Stare or throwing them a severe beating with a chain. Memories of that horrible night when a basketball was hurled at my front wheel and I took a nasty case of road rash, losing my new walkman in the process. Some punk kid had done it. I'd find out later that my hip and leg were so deeply bruised that I'd receive a headache each time I bended over or squatted at work.

It was the reason I fell in love with the mountain bike in the first place. Lack of pain or recovery time.

My wheel too had been warped to the point where the tire and tube would no longer hold air. My precious Mt. Storm was gone forever from the punishment it had taken that night...and so was my way to work. I'd have been infuriated had it not been for my Van Halen tapes cosoling me during my recovery.

Then came the Huffy Mt. Havoc...junk to me. The pedal assembly popped each time I'd pedal. So loudly so that I could hear it over the Megadeth blaring from my headphones. I couldn't take it. I was happy to sell it because I could not fix it. I didn't have the tools. I resigned it to where it sits now...on the side of the house, collecting dust. A great disappointment in the dust of Black Moonlight's wake.

Now it was night two and the pain in my gleuts had diminished to a tolerable level and the gelpad was helping immensely.

In the meantime I'll mention I've always been a one-gear man until now. Most people find one gear that they are comfortable in using and they stick with it...that was me. Hardcore to the last but now, figuring out how many uphill and downhill slopes there are to this little town, I've learned that shifting gears is for me until my legs get into shape again. Finally, I'd parked her at the baseball field and decided to go for a brisk walk around the walking path. I wasn't even around the track the first time when my stomach did cartwheels. The stir-fry vegetables must have sounded the alarm for a rapid bowel evacuation. As quickly and as cautiously as I could, I made my way back to Black Moonlight and, in the distance I saw that one building at the baseball complex was still alight. I flew to it by way of Black Moonlight and THANK ODIN! AN OPEN BATHROOM!

When I was done in there, I took my water bottle from the cage at the bottom of Black Moonlight and took a drink. Suddenly I saw something....something was floating in my goddamned water and the ice that I had placed inside was melting. Taking it back into the light of the bathroom, I opened it and found the culprit. It was a small plastic bag with two mounting screws in it.

"I'll be damned," I muttered, "There the whole time huh?"

The bag had begun to fill with water. I squeezed it out and put the bag into my saddlebag. Boltwater...what a concept!

I turned the lights back on and made my way away from the complex, not feeling like making another round. I drifted along the streets, taking in the night and made my way back home with a feeling of euphoria. This is the madness I follow...the freedom and ecstacy of riding the mountainbike back home to Joan Jett and the Blackhearts "I Hate Myself For Loving You."

Modern technology, when applied to a primitive concept can truly prove to give you something for your work.
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This Was My Baby The Night I Got Her.  Posted by Picasa
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Madness On Two Wheels Or The Dangers of Total Liberation And It's Disasterous Consequences

This Was An Old Post From My LiveJournal. After Reading It, It Still Remains One Of My Favorites!

I hear it all the time. It's said in biker bars. Hunter S. Thompson couldn't even stray from it. The allure in velocity, the feeling of being shot out of a gun completely out of control and bearing down with the Sausage Creature staring you in the eye all over again.


But there was a fallacy in the statment that a motorcycle holds total freedom. No No NO! Has everyone failed to see how the System has used that as a scam for thier brainwashed little minds? Yes!

With the Motorcycle there is still oil to be considered. While the CEOs and Big Wigs sneer at Motorcyclists around the world they know they profit from these mad creatures flying at speeds in excess of hundreds of miles per hour...laying down the large machines in the road over a deer and then long hospital stays afterward to replace a living skeleton with a titanium one. The insurance companies then get to drop you because you're spending far too much of the money they've asked you to allocate without condition as they return the favor with conditional coverage.

Yes, you motorcyclists...you've been scammed.

I, on the other hand, remain free...no insurance to speak of and I don't care to have the goddamned stuff. So last night at approximately 8:30pm, I purchased the first thing that I had fallen in love with. My eyes set upon it as it gleamed in the light of WalMart. A gleaming Black and Silver Mongoose XR200. A Mountain Bike if there ever was one. Since childhood, I'd wanted a Mongoose. Mountain Biker had Mongoose and Trek running neck and neck one year...probably about 1998 as the two best bikes on the market with Schwinn beginning to fall behind, losing it's eternal hold on the Mountain Bike Marketplace. The dilemma I faced was that it had no price tag attatched.

This is the dilemma that faces the lives of every man wanting a vehicle that will afford him total freedom even if it is momentary. If you have to ask...you cannot afford it. But due to the persistant inquiries by myself and Phoenix, we finally found that this would be just a tad over what I had intended to spend but it was far less than the shitty Huffy I'd purchased six years ago. I'd found myself wishing such was the case back then...I wouldn't be anywhere near as out of shape as I am now.

I looked upon it with pride. The more time I spent with it, the more of a kinship I developed with it. I imagined me and this fine piece of machinery flying as fast as my legs could carry me down deserted highways and byways at 1am in this little shithole and then another thought struck me....accessories. I'd need a water bottle as this didn't seem to have one for hydration, a small air pump and a chain with a combination lock at least in order to keep this beautiful thing from being stolen if I had to park it in public for any length of time. I began grabbing them when Phoenix informed me of yet another law plaguing my dying breed. Now I'd have to add a headlight. Goddammit. It struck me that if it were law, they should come standard.

I placed the items including a pair of rider's gloves into the cart. Again, I looked upon it. Beautiful black with the end of the black bleeding into a tribal design down into the silver. Dual shock suspension, making it less painful on my ass when I hit those rough patches and less jarring on the joints of my arms as well. Then....something made me turn my head sideways and give it a closer inspection. No longer did these things come with the caliper brakes for the front and back. Now it was just the back...and the front now sported a disc brake. What an odd and curious thing that was. Disc brakes on a bicycle. But when faced with a bike of this caliber...there is no questioning it. I would be mad not to take this torpedo and ride it to its end...bitter or otherwise.

WalMart profited off of me handsomely that day. My taxes having been spent on bills and the bike as a reward and several items from Satanic organizations because I have an affinity for baphomet designs on ANYTHING!

I was sure that my purchase of the dark beauty would certainly give me more benefit than simple money. No, this would put itself toward my good health and looks...if it didn't kill me first.

Upon returning with groceries, the dark beauty and its accessories. I immediately began the task at hand of airing the tires. After the tires were aired and a series of questions pondered as to where the hell we should put the water bottle cage and Air Pump strap on the bike's gnarly frame, I said to hell with it. I mounted the front and rear lights and placed the batteries into them and took off on the initial test run.

There's something to be said about the feeling of flight on a bike named for a savage little creature made into the fairy tale of Rikki Tikki Tavi. Civilization could not touch you even if you were cruising on this thing through the residential districts on a head full of acid. No way...this was true freedom. No feul, no insurance....just me, the savage aluminum pack mule and the wind on my face as I barrel recklessly towards parts unknown. No stationary bikes for me, no motorcycles, no bullshit hassle. Just me and the road, like old friends, picking up our courtship where it left off so long ago.

Initial test: Successful...no complaints.

So I pulled up the playlists for the show that was to start at 1am and I waited. Patiently waiting. I wanted to get the bullshit speaking part over with and just haul ass on my new toy. She called me. She spoke the name. Black Moonlight. It's what I would call her forever, her mixture of the gothic black and silver playing their tribal games in my mind. Through the intros, through the theme music for the show and finally...I spoke.

I rambled on and on for a few minutes about this new machine. This new partner. This new disease that had infected my soul in my search for the aphrodisiac powers of it. Goddammit, I felt alive just thinking about it.

The Death Of The American Dream was over for me. It's Resurrection and Resurgence within me would be likened to some hideous orgasm. A post Nietzche-ism ism. Finally, with the talking done...I let the music roll. I tied my sneakers on, grabbed my fanny pack of miscellaneous small items I'd need, slung the mp3 player chock-full of illegal mp3s around my neck, put my headphones in and ZZZZZZZZZZANG! I flew as fast as my legs could carry me. Onward and forward, I sped to parts unknown but familiar to me. I would ride all the old streets of this shithole without fear as to what lie in front of me and what lie behind me. It's not really fast. It's a slow ride...a cruise. Perfect...flawlessly weaving through time and space. Destination: Your Childhood. T-Minus your life and counting.

I pumped my legs until sulfur burned within the muscle fibers, never remembering the feeling. The pain was like a visit from an old friend but now I had motivation to make them burn. I would cut the fat from my legs and midsection and once again restore myself to being the light of my feet body that I was back in highschool with only the Huffy I had back then. That one had no shocks to it....so I got jarred to hell when i'd ride but what a helluva thing that was. I'd bought two bottles of water on my trip. Everytime I stopped, the sweat rushed in torrents through my pores. I'd concluded during my stops that I would indeed have to find a way to drill holes into the aluminum frame in order to get my bastard Water Bottle on there.

When I was done gulping down the first water. I headed out again, my back red tail lights flashing in strobes fast enough to kill an epileptic. Through the highways there was nothing and no one about. Just me, the road and my music flying along like some dragon freed from this world to fly about in space. This is what the Gods had intended for man when they decreed that all should be free. Some took it to extremes though and they've paid the price, I'm sure.

On the backroads around my neighborhood...I encountered the Sausage Creature that The Good Doctor had mentioned when a car came flying up behind me and I zigged and zagged in a near unsucessful attempt to get away from the red missile of a Mustang doing Mach 9 down the highway. My adrenaline raced and I pedalled faster than ever. Goddamn...what a rush.

I travelled to the place where two baseball fields stood in my youth and to the place where baseball fields now stand. Then, I made my way back home.

Upon my arrival, my shirt and I were soaked through with sweat. I'd only been riding for two hours and my legs could no longer take the punishment, my thighs feeling the equivalent of melted cheese and my ass in agony from the uncomfortable seat that was set upon my bike. The people at Mongoose had built Black Moonlight with me in mind, of this I am sure but not her seat.

On my memorial they'll carve "It Never Got Twisted Enough For Me."
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Friday, November 04, 2005


Firing The Fuck You Cannon Now! Posted by Picasa
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Wasting Time Again

I sit here after just waking up. Talking to Helen about the FEMA situation was just an excersize in frustration all over again.

Two things caused me to lose out. The first was they didn't put down that I'd been without power for nine days. Certainly, others had been longer without it than I but then again, when you don't get along with the sun, trying to be a day person and nearly hallucinating from the heat, having to take cold baths just to keep me from going stark crazy. I'll admit that while I did live through it, I don't wish to go through that again. The second thing was that others who didn't need it were abusing it. As far as I'm concerned, they can have it. I made it this far on my own, I will make it farther. I applied, it flopped. In the words of Bill Hicks, "It's a piece of shit, walk away."

Helen, however, wants me to appeal the decision and fight for it. Nah, don't wanna. Don't care enough about it. This whole incident further reinforces my current lack of faith in our system. What frustrated me most was that there were criteria that had to be met in order to obtain the assistance. This is fine, I have no problem with this. Had I known what it was, I'd have not been one more case for these guys to have to check out and deal with. I'd have never applied in the first place. The Gods pulled two favors for me, asking a third would be like pushing the issue.

I'm happy with what I have and I'll stick with that for now.

Here's the other reason why our system will never be able to help those that truly need it. Too many others abusing it. It's just one in a laundry list of complaints that I have with our current system of governing things. I thought we were supposed to be the ones in power here? Correct me if I'm wrong but in our Civics classes were we not taught that WE make the policy and THEY carry it out? Now, it's the exact opposite. THEY'RE the ones making the policy and we have to toe the line...whether we like it or not. Political savagery time and time again. The strongarming of the work away from us happens because we let it happen. Complacent Consent rears it's ugly head once more. What's worse is the fact that there are those that don't care that they're abusing the system. The rest of everyone who needs it whom still haven't had their needs met get fucked while these bastards get fatter on it. Look to these swine to run for office and win by landslides. They talk a great game. This is how the bastards get you.

Covert control simply works by getting people to think in a way you want them to think. If you can convince someone that it's necessary for their safety to do something, they'll do it. It's marketing and these swine that run around getting everyone else's share know how to sell themselves.

In some cases I'd say let them. Soon, there will only be two words I love applying to them. Karma...motherfucker.

Soon these people who abused the system and caused time of mine to be wasted by increasing my waiting will have to deal with whatever happens to them. I will laugh. I'll laugh first at the abusers for having done so many stupid things and squandering what others in even deeper need that I could have used to bring us up a little and then I'll laugh at those that gave it to them for their foolishness. In some way, I think if they were stupid enough to get ripped off like that then they deserve to deal with it but I know that it's those of us paying taxes that will. Then again, those that abused it deserve whatever shit comes thier way.

I actually know a guy who, day in and out since the hurricane, complained that he may not get it. He told us stories of how he'd call FEMA and bug them to give it to him. He got it. With that money he put in a spray in bedliner to his new truck and then I watched in utter stupefaction as he placed an order for $900 worth of supplements for his workout program. Unbelievable! The funny part was this guy already had about $3k between two bank accounts and lived better than some of us out there. I know his type though. He talks tough but really, he's one of those who likes to cry a lot about shit.

Way I figure it, the rest of us out there that got denied toughed it out. Some of them choose to fight it and I hope they get what they're fighting for. I know some of them deserve it. I however have other things to do and I remember one thing that most of the others don't.

Karma...motherfucker.
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Any Ideas For A Caption? Posted by Picasa
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Her Ghost In The Fog (A Side Trip...Nothing To Do With Anything)

I was frustrated. I ended up finding out why my application was rejected by FEMA. One simple fuckup on their part. In the application, where they asked if I'd lost any essential utilities, there was no answer.

For those of you who have never had to live through something as raw and evil as Mother Earth's awesome wrath and Her Aftermath...it's hell. Being without electricity just isn't the place you want to be while the sun blazes and everything around you seems to be ground to a screeching halt. No lights, AC, fridge, washers, dryers, gas for your car...all of it that you take for granted just gone. For nine days I lived like that. Sweating, burning amidst a sun with which I do not get along. Everyday, no hope for a better tomorrow unless the highs would only reach in the 70s and those goddamned mosquitoes, man. Terrible shit.

I was frustrated to be certain. I knew why I was going crazy. My vacation had been hindered by both storms and then when it was finally open again, I came down sick. I'd been stuck in this house for far too long. I needed to get out. Whether I'd recovered or not, I needed air, space, open places, streets and streetlights. Maybe even a walk to the cemetary would do me some good. Maybe the baseball complex. They leave those two things open here. I'll never understand why. I don't mind though. Two places of nice total sanctuary. A place away from the noise where I can ponder some of this rotten state I'm in and focus on what comes next.

I'd made my journey off. Heralding it, of course, with Nightwish's "Nemo" a beautifully painful song regarding the Captain of the Nautilus.

The night was filled with a dense fog. Still, I wouldn't be swayed. I kept walking. There was no way in hell I was going to just crap out now that I'd started. The time out would do me some good and the air would be just what I needed. I walked through the sounds of All:My:Faults, Apoptygma Berserk, 6Bit, Biopsy and finally, upon reaching one of my hallowed sanctuaries away from my own, Cradle Of Filth.

"Her Ghost In The Fog" came up. Sometimes, listening to that song is a particularly painful excersize and I'll never know to this day why I continuously subject myself to it. It was one of the favorites of myself and someone I loved dearly. She never knew that though. I would never tell her that. We were as close as any two people of opposite genders could be without actually being in a relationship or fucking. Many would have thought that but the opposite was true. The unfortunate aspect of the whole matter was that she did like her drugs and they did claim her. Tonight, I sat there in a dugout of that baseball complex and listened to that song. I didn't see her ghost in that fog standing in front of me, nothing but a ghost in my head to be honest. the song was over and "From The Cradle To Enslave" chimed in.

This was just one of my favorites.

"This is the theme to a better Armageddon," Dani screeched, "Nightchords rake the Heavens...PanDaemonAeon!" (prounouced Pan Daymon Eon)

These songs were not songs of heat and torment. No. They reeked of a cold inner desolation that would be forever a void. Some hellish part of every human psyche. And the boys in the Cradle camp saw to it that every song was worded like some twisted spell.

Tabulatures of gravel law
shall see Gehenna paved
when empires fall
our nightmares crawl from the...

From The Cradle To Enslave...

This Is The End Of Everything...

Except for this part, of course. This sounded like the heralding of a shockwave from a nuke and the rolling and roiling mass of fire and debris that would follow, consuming all but the spellcaster. This was the sound of existence unmade in the blink of an eye.

After the Cradle Of Filth cover to The Sisters Of Mercy's "No Time To Cry" and thier cover to Twisted Sister's "The Fire Still Burns" came Dope with thier cover to Billy Idol's "Rebel Yell". I have often found this song decadent. While bands like SiNDADDY and The Murderdolls chose to cover "White Wedding" nothing would ever come out with the emotional intensity or decadence of "Rebel Yell." That song was an anthem. It was a gross salute to the fist-pumping, wild-eyed, state that took some of us through the 80s even as children. More than an anthem it was a sex-driven lovesong. Possibly, there were misplaced emotions all throughout the song but it was loud and terrifying to the societal structure back then. Dope gave the song their signature edge and made it more so now than it ever was.

Then, there was The Genitorturers "Sin City", a song obviously about Vegas life but with such an evil edge that it likened Vegas to a more enjoyable level of Hell.

My journey ended on a more somber note when Girls Under Glass covered Madonna's "Frozen". Thier sound was larger than Madonna's was and that feeling of desolation was more so pronounced in their version. Overall, just a better version of it. By the time I had arrived back home, the fog had rolled away. The old ghosts in my mind had placed themselves back into their respective graves and had finally left me alone. I suppose my next trip will involve the bike. Perhaps, perhaps not. I don't know.

It's ocurred to me that the times we call The Wonder Years were the advent of the time we spend wondering when the world stopped making sense. During that time in our lives we knew everything and now, we must readily admit we know nothing. It's not an easy task to face, but it's ours.

Everyone deals with it differently. I've always dealt with it though my music. I suppose I always will.

"Let it burn
til there's nothing left but ashes..."

-The Dreaming, "Let It Burn"
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MY NAME IN LIGHTS! DARTH GENOCYDE, BITCH! Posted by Picasa
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Where You Going, City Boy?!

I've come to accept certain things in life. Sometimes, bad things happen to you. Sometimes, people take advantage of you. Sometimes, people use you to better themselves...and then they'll fuck you over once the heat's on them. I've come to accept those things. I've even come to expect them to happen.

That, however will not stop me from shithammering the assholes who do dumb shit like that. Now it's one thing to do it to The Genocydal Maniac but to his friends, his family, HIS FUCKING EMPYRE! NO! That's when all bets are off. The gloves get thrown into the vaporizer and the lightsaber comes out becaus blood will fly and my evil will show through.

I'm a champion of the underdog. An Enemy of the Status Quo. A hero to some, villain to more. Loved by few, hated by many, respected by all. While some may view me as a nice guy with whatever positive qualities they like to list, I know what lurks deep within. I know the evil. I've looked it dead in the eye. Time and again it's gotten my ass into slings and then there are times, times like these, where the leash and collar come off of this beast and it strikes forth.

I had decided after talking to the FEMA inspector (my application for disaster assistance has been denied...I couldn't tell you why and it comes well over a month after I applied) to check the computer. Bara and Pet needed someone to take the stream to keep the listener count jacked so that Bara could pull Fayt's shift. Fayt was sick, you see and like any band of musical warriors we pull together for our own. Today would be no exception.

"Why not?" I said, "Give it here, I'll do another flight."

"Thanks, mate!" Bara replied.

The countdown and spamming had gone smoothly. The transfer of computers on the server was without flaw and then....the madness and the mayhem, intensity, ferocity, fear, loathing and a full-on embodiment of The Principles Of Evil Made Flesh (my tired ass) came on, roaring and frothing at the mouth. Mendoza was listening. I had no idea until he had approached me after the first set.

VMUnderground: Dude I need your permission to use your voice for the next episode.

Ahhh the VM Search For Element Episodes. And now, I was to be a part of that.

VampyreDJ666: Consider it done. Anytime you need permission to use my voice just consider it done.

VMUnderground: Ok, I need you to go crazy like you did before

VampyreDJ666: Oh don't worry. I'm jazzing for another powertrip of Impyrial proportions.

That's when this happened.

thuudd: Hello mr dj.

VampyreDJ666: Hiya, sorry had to do a vocal moment there

thuudd: Well, Genocyde, I'm coming to you from Audiogoo.com and I'd like to hire you.

VampyreDJ666: Hire me?

thuudd: Aye.

I was thinking about my CD book suddenly overtaken with a surge of CDs from various underground gothic rock, metal, industrial and EBM bands but this was not so.

Audiogoo was apparently an internet radio station. They supposedly operated on a 128-bit stream (high-end sound for those who'd tune in) and used SAM3. We all use SAM2 and operate on a 64-bit stream (still pretty damned good sound quality but an earlier version of the program). Even though my mind was made up, I let him talk and even send me the SAM3 zip file after the show.


Besides, the night before, our own DJ Mirage sent this to me:

  • Krush Radio Dot Kom: It's Not A Complex...We Really ARE Superior

  • It was a fine testimonial to the cohesiveness of this unit and the By-Cernunnos-Go-Get-Em Attitude to which we all subscribed. No DJ Left Behind!

    When I showed it to Fred tonight he was amazed. In a sense, he was right....my name in lights! Wicked cool if you ask me.

    I rejected the offer flat out.

    VampyreDJ666: Can't do it. We're too much like family here. I like it, no complaints. Can't do that to my people.

    He said he understood.

    Still I raged the rest of my show, Mendoza having reaped huge benefits from the roar and overall absurdity in my colossal powertrip and all of us having a laugh before I finally retired to the couch, watching The Exorcist: The Beginning and falling asleep.

    I awoke about 7pm. I needed to talk to Doc and tell him what happened. I gave him the message immediately and then, my own startling horror came when he gave me the facts on this guy and then....my mind recoiled in horror. Zeph, Lycan, and Cheet had jumped ship on Freak Radio Dot Net to join this new station and the information was sketchy. Furthermore, the disclaimer was set up to where if he began taking heat, they could fuck the DJs nine ways to sunday. Then there was the SAM3 issue. If he was passing out a hacked version, the DJs were right in the path of oncoming reptiles. This program "phones home" and lets the developer know who's doing what with it and how illegal it is.

    We at Krush are licensed, if we play some Metallica and Lars claims I owe him a couple of bucks, he talks to Doc.

    The conversation between Doc and myself, with Doc's findings went out in an emergency email to Zeph, Lycan and Cheet after having spoken to Cheet over the phone. Things were not looking good. I'm close to these people. While they may DJ at another station on the net, we've known each other far longer than we've known these stations. We too, are family. I would not let them go down, should that be the case.

    Thier decisions to leave Freak Radio, to me, are odd but then when they're promised total creative freedom, better programs for streaming, etc. I can understand.

    I'm not going anywhere though. I've been through enough with Hear The Poop. Many of us left and went about our separate ways DJing wherever we could find a spot. I have a shot at primetime, more time should I want it, possibly even a solid schedule but none of that will make up for the caliber of people with which I work.

    To me, Audiogoo looks like a can of worms that I wouldn't touch with a 30-foot pole. Why? Too many questions unanswered. Here, at Krush, I'm certain of the people I'm dealing with. I know which ones are as unhinged and as twisted as I and I know which ones are not.

    No, I'm not going any-damned-where anytime soon.



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    Wednesday, November 02, 2005


    Hi, Mr. President? YOU'RE FIRED! Posted by Picasa
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    I'm Cleaning Out My Mailbox

    I Was Cleaning Out My Mailbox And I Came Across This. Can We Effectively Remove This Fucktard From The Planet Now?



    Here's an interesting post I picked up off one of the myspcae groups I'm on. I thought you might like to read it as well.



    This has nothing to do with Goths or music but it is very important that this information get to people so when found this in another group I decided that I should repost it here

    KATRINA COVER UP


    After having recently taken two trips to New Orleans, my life has changed. I was schedualed to leave on Monday August 29th @ 7: 00 am. My friend Jeff and I were able to get the last two seats on the last flight that left New Orleans that day. I came home to see some of the most horrific images that I have ever seen. I watched the events unfold, as most of you did. I could not help but place myself in the shoes of the people there.... It could have been me... I felt very fortunate for having been able to leave, though i would not trade that experience for anything.

    Having been there up until the Hurricane, the thought of New orleans being destroyed made my heart ache. It is a place like no other.... Beautiful buildings, the food, the music, the crazy street hustlers, strippers, bars that don't close, the SOUL.... that you feel, when you are there.... All gone.... That thought alone was horrible to swallow. But to then see... on TV the blatent disregard for human life I was floored.

    It just did't make sense. This is the United States! Not a third world nation. Right? I kept watching in horror thinking, "come on do something, someone.... please." I just didn't understand how nothing was being done... Nothing.... Those people were just left there..... Why?.... I kept asking WHY.

    I thought "Not even George Bush is this incompetent"!!!! Nobody can be this incompetent!!!!

    I heard people everywere I went saying, "use every resource".... Lending common sense ideas on how to help these poor people. Most people who watched what happened had their hearts ache, when they thought of babies going thirsty, old people left to fend for themselves, people being critisized for "looting" SO THEY COULD EAT. None of it made sense...... Not even the Government is this useless.

    ONE LESSON THAT I HAVE LEARNED IN LIFE IS; IF SOMETHING DOESN'T MAKE ANY SENSE AT ALL, THERE IS A REASON FOR IT!!!!!!!

    The whole thing stunk of coorporate greed. Again another opportunity for big business to make a profit. A great opportunity for more money to be stollen from us by the oil companies. But that wasn't it, that is normal.

    My mind entertained the idea that was being thrown around, that it had something to do with the governor of LA not always agreeing with Her republican majority in recent months....... No she is still one of THEM that can't be it.

    I wracked my brain for days as I watched the familier faces of people I was just among suffer..... Why is nobody in the government demanding these people be helped? Not one! None of them!!! Why?

    THEN SOMETHING TIPPED ME OFF.... THAT WE WERE REALLY MISSING SOMETHING HUGE!!!! I BETTER FIND OUT WHAT.... I REALIZED THAT OUR "GOVERNMENT APPROVED NEWS SOURCES"..... FOX, NBC, CNN.... THEY WERE ACTUALLY DOING THEIR JOB.."REPORTING" THE THINGS THAT WERE HAPPENING...SUFFERING....DEATH....GOVERNMENT INCOMPITENCE.... THEY WERE EVEN CRITIZING THEIR BOSS GEORGE.

    THEY ALMOST... ALMOST ....MADE ME THINK THAT THE MEDIA REGAINED ITS SOUL.....ALMOST.....

    THE MOMENT.. WHEN I SAW BILL O'REILLY... CRITISIZING THE GOVERNMENT... I KNEW EITHER I WAS MISSING SOMETHING.... REALLY... IMPORTANT... OR HELL WAS FREEZING OVER AND NOBODY INFORMED ME!!!!!!!

    I decided I WOULD figure it out!... Unfortunatley I now know that I was on to something even more horrible than just incompitence. I was reading some articles on Katrina and I came across one saying "Superfund" after reading it I did some research. I found out that one to three feet below the soil 90 acres of New Orleans is TOXIC WASTE..... 90 acres.... thats alot of TOXIC WASTE!!!! I thought to myself "Now all of that TOXIC WASTE is oozing out into the water that is flooding New orleans." Not to mention the countless VATS OF CHEMICAL WASTE located all over New orleans and pools of something called "TOXIC SLUDGE" just a few feet underground in New orleans.

    http://www.epa.gov/superfund/health/index.htm

    http://www.epa.gov/oswer/riskassessment/superfund_toxicity.htm

    This info came from the EPA superfund website along with a nice list of all the chemicals in it.

    THIS WEBSITE WAS MYSTERIOUSLY "UPDATED" SEPTEMBER 12, 2005, MAKING IT MORE DIFFICULT BUT NOT IMPOSSIBLE TO FIND.

    http://www.epa.gov/superfund/sites/npl/nar1441.htm

    During this research I also came across some other interesting documents, compliments of the EPA. I came across the "RIGHT TO KNOW ACT". Basicly this ensures the public be informed if there lives were to become endangered due to contact with TOXIC LEVELS OF CHEMICALS.

    Seeing that this was attached to the Superfund website, it wouldn't be so inconcievable for one to think that this applied to the Superfund site...Then I read on... curiously the dangerous chemicals listed under the RIGHT TO KNOW ACT are listed as being in the Superfund site in New Orleans....Then I looked again at the RIGHT TO KNOW ACT and saw that the list of Dangerous Toxic Chemical as written in the RIGHT TO KNOW ACT refers to the list as sec 112r "THE CLEAN AIR ACT"

    http://yosemite.epa.gov/oswer/ceppoweb.nsf/content/chemicalinfo.htm

    http://www.epa.gov/region5/defs/html/epcra.htm

    Then I thought to my self........... "DIDNT THEY ADJUST THE CLEAN AIR ACT ON AUGUST 30th THE DAY AFTER THE HURRRICANE" .........YES.... YES.... THEY DID CHANGE THE CLEAN AIR ACT................

    http://www.epa.gov/compliance/katrina/waiver/index.html

    PERHAPS THEY THOUGHT EVERY AMERICIAN CAN'T READ!!!!! BUT I WENT TO SCHOOL BEFORE,,,,,"" NO KID LEFT BEHIND"... AND I READ IT.......

    In what i was sure was just a "coincidence" at this point (yeah right) the EPA changed THE CLEAN AIR ACT to "save us money on gas... (cause that worked didn't it?) .... What did I find? They changed sec 211 c4C of the CLEAN AIR ACT, In addition they also changed g,h,i . Which in turn affects, what felt a million other pages...

    IT IS VERY TRICKY AND HARD TO READ BUT IT THEN IN THE SEC 7413d(2) b BASICLY SAYS THAT THE ADMINISTRATOR CAN WAIVE ANY PUNISHMENT FOR ANY REASON FOR NOT ADHERING TO THE LAWS AND PROTECTION THIS DOCUMENT PROVIDIES.

    http://www.law.cornell.edu/uscode/search/display.html?terms=7413&url=/uscode/html/uscode42/usc_sec_42_00007413----000-.html

    you can use this to read the whole thing and share my miserable experience

    :)



    REMEMBER WHAT'S PART OF THE RIGHT TO KNOW ACT???? THAT'S RIGHT THE TOXIC CHEMICAL LIST.....SEC 112r ....AS PROVIDED BY THE CLEAN AIR ACT. THAT HAS NOW BEEN CHANGED SO THAT NONE OF "THEM" CAN BE BLAMED FOR IGNORING THE LAW

    IT IS THEIR LOOPHOLE TO IGNORE THE CHEMICAL WASTE.... TO IGNORE THE RIGHT TO KNOW ACT..... AND TO IGNORE THE PEOPLE BEING POISONED

    NOW IT MAKES SENSE

    THERE WASN'T MAJOR FLOODING REPORTED IN NEW ORLEANS UNTIL 18 HOURS AFTER THE HURRICANE HIT

    NOW THERE ARE REPORTS THAT THERE IS HARD EVIDENCE THE LEVY WAS BLOWN

    WHY DID THEY MAKE THOSE PEOPLE STAY THERE WITH NOBODY GOING TO HELP???

    Could it be they didn't want to expose more to DEADLY chemicals?

    Why are there so many reports of help being turned away?

    WHY?

    COULD IT BE "Them" covering up the incompitence of the government run EPA?

    OR

    "Them" not wanting to have the burden of cleaning this site properly?

    OR

    "Them" not wanting to be held acountable for the deaths of thousands?

    OR

    IS IT that the biggest cover up of our lives is going on right now.

    We have to make our voices heard because the people in charge are spineless.

    We need acountability now!!!!!!

    NOT FOUR YEARS FROM NOW LIKE SEPTEMBER 11TH

    FOR ALL YOU BUSH HATERS IM PRETTY SURE THIS WOULD COUNT AS AN IMPEACHABLE OFFENSE

    All of this info is on the EPA Website!!!!

    Look for yourselves don't let these people have died for nothing.

    Let us show that we are not gonna let them get away with this.

    Please help get the word out !!!!!!!

    ANYONE reporters, writers, aspireing Civil rights, lawyers, environmrntalists, chemists, anyone with a soul left please contact me while we have time to hold them acountable!!!!!

    It is time for our generation to take a stand together. We can't save the people that already died but we can exersize our rights and demand accountability.
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    You See This Face? Look At This Face! This Is The Last Time You're Gonna See This Face! I Am Damien's Smirking Revenge! Posted by Picasa
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    The Misadventures Of The Genocydal Maniac - Episode I: The USS Virus Attacks

    The Misadventures Of The Genocydal Maniac
    Episode I: The USS Virus Attacks

    I'd been talking about it ever since I'd first read through the blog. What fun it would be to scoop everyone on this story...including Dateline.

    Fred had a message to get out there and I had a scheduled show for tonight. What an advantage! This would be one hell of a story to be certain! Thankfully, Fred agreed to do it on such short notice. I had had the computer running for days on end. When I wasn't blogging or running around listening to music or whatever, I'd been falling asleep to DVDs on this contraption. It ran tirelessly. Like a goddamned sentinel, it stood true and ran program time and again without a break.

    I was too close to doing the show now, no turning back. Soon, I'd ponder this rotten state and figure out what, once and for all, I'd do to compensate.

    Cru was in quite the state, his exhaustion taking over and his frustration taking hold. His Disciples of Rock show took a horrid turn and his vibrations became nasty. But why? Had we, as DJs reduced ourselves to animal ferocity? Was I speaking? Did they hear me? Still, the listener count came up slowly, steadily.

    My Impyrial Propagandists, Anuan and Felix began a maddening scramble to get listeners on the air. These weren't just some dingbats I'd found on the net, man. These were kids with true grit. Goading, prodding and plain annoying the piss out of anyone who refused. These two were evidently not taking no for an answer. Fred's vibrations had already taken over my diligent crew as they passed along my spamming of the lists to spamming their lists. My friend Steve knew the importance of this show and began piping it through ShoutCast channels. He'd relate to me that by the end of the night, the computer through which he'd piped it had begun lagging due to the high volume of listeners.

    Then, it happened, the countdown came and went and the sounds of Faith And The Muse "Cantus" engulfed the airwaves. Like some cinematic chaos of Biblical proportions, the song raged on being followed by my remix of The Imperial March. Through it all, Fred was on the phone, eagerly awaiting. I sensed his desire to finally get through the show's intros and get to the heart of this story.

    Finally, the station ID rolled through and the sounds of 6Bit's "Crucifixion Experiment" instrumental came...that was my cue. Time to be about the job now. I made the introductions that were necessary and then finally, came Fred. I was thankful that I had not posted this particular playlist. Pantera, The Mercy Cage and Inkubus Sukkubus had to be weeded out to make room for more music to talk over as Fred venomously addressed the issues. His timing was like magick as he ended the first part with, "Everytime I had a door slammed in my face it made me that much more angry to the point where I said, 'enough is enough and I'm not going to take this anymore!'" Well put, I thought. Drive and determination personafied and what a great lead in to the song by Hatebreed "I Will Be Heard."

    I found myself wishing Tammi could be hearing this live. She would have had a field day with this one. It would be her I'd have to think for valuing the opinion of an unstable, unhinged Maniac with delusions of grandeur for pointing me in this direction...and all it took was a blog. I began to wonder as the songs tore through, with menacing voracity, if she'd realized that what she'd created by combining a Living Middle Finger such as I with the Drive and Determination unparalelled of one like Fred Brito, was not just a monster...but a living breathing Fuck You Cannon!

    The set went through and the next bit came up. I called Fred again and put him back on the air, again making musical room for him to talk. Not that the man was longwinded, but he had much to say. Much that two hours was not going to cover alone. I knew I had a show next week and this time, it would be more prepared...better prepared! Fred attacked the issues. The cracks in the system were exposed and I, of course, pointed out that our own complacent consent had gotten us into this mess.

    Fred's interview pieces rocked solid and what's more, this 50-year-old man found himself lost in the raucous mayhem and madness that was my musical selection.

    I closed out my show with a small bit of my opinion and then found myself with a playlist that was short. I adjusted it and the....the horrible exhaustion on this computer system's taxed RAM took it's toll. The internet connection to the DSL failed. I had to shut down and reboot, causing my SAM2 to stop encoding and begin again, cutting the show into two pieces. Goddammit!

    I did finish out the show, though...a tad extended. T-Dubb hadn't come up for his show. Going over was not a problem. No one objected. Had it been a problem, I'm sure someone would have said something. Finally, I dropped the station after the KMFDM "WWIII"/Matrix outro.

    Fred, meanwhile, was still going manic, locked into some mad discussion with me.

    "With music as good as this," he said, "Who has time to sleep?"

    Ahhhhhhhhhhhhh....had he only known my hard drive. The man would drive himself into the bitter arms of madness with the intensity that lurked within it. The scores of songs of death, destruction, mayhem, madness, evil, and euphoria are enough to drive anyone insane if they're not ready for it.

    The show is over now. Part one is finished and Fred has his Date with the Dateline people. Good luck with that. My TV has no antenna...it won't catch a signal or else, I'd watch myself. I'm certain though, that I haven't missed a damned thing. I'm now part of this story. It would be dangerous not to ride this strange torpedo to it's end for good or ill. Now, I have a job to do...exploit the cracks in the system, Get Fred all over Krush Radio. This story will be told for all to hear and soon, this mess will have crawled out from whatever ghastly rug under which it had been swept.

    Now, there's no stopping this. This isn't some machine...this is now an endurance contest.