Baley

What you need: Cynic The Melvins Dredg Brujeria Atheist Ephel Duath Sleep Electric Wizard What's fun: Finntroll Darkthrone Anal **** Napalm Death Extreme Noise Terror

I'm hurt, Muso.

Poems? Like this? My dog ate a kid last Sunday They called him John Little John the Shining Prince Hero of the forest He was barely five years old Lived in Princeton Ohio Ten minutes from my house His parents loved him His teachers gushed with praise He was always the first to answer All the questions they always ask But he's dead now His remains in the washroom Bleaching politely.

Listening to Son House, Babbling curses, hurling sentences ****ing myself with a knife in the mirror Loud and obnoxious Romanian blood A real man, an old time hero Just like them Shouting bout mommy and daddy up in Heaven Singing, dancing, boozing All alone. Father's rotting Somewhere, I don't know Can't remember Buried, deep down, seven feet of dust And vomit and despair Mother's crying Praying In her flat Too far away Can't hear her anymore. All cause I don't know who the **** Juha Vuorinen is.

On Life I was one of them fortunate sons, born in the middle-class flats of Toxania, eyes wide open from day one, looking after the money we all loved so much, surveying the highs and lows of Mount Indulgence, impotent to the wishes of my father before me, uncaring to gazes of mother dearest on her throne of manure. I laughed and laughed. Kept on laughing all through my childhood, became a clown in my adolescence, making crude jokes on the streets and singing in the rain like a ****ing buffoon. I grew up, got me some cars and chicks and drugs and bones, started eating at the finest restaurant, sleeping with the lowliest bitches, kissing the boots of all them rich pigs in oily suits. It all happened one Friday, have you ever seen the rain flowing down some modern building all dressed in glossy apparel? Well I've lived a long time and seen many a things, but nothing like that, nothing big, my eyes aren't like that, I'm weak and frail, good at counting doe in seven languages and snorting white stuff off dirty counters. They came, I was listening to some old Hank Williams songs, keeping a beat with my eyes locked from the inside, sitting in my Porsche and making strange faces at the passing children with their pointy heads and gloomy snore-inducing mugs. I was licking the windshield, some kind of devil juice had lead me into that particular situation, unaware of the cosmic imbalance that echoed all around me. Buzzing sounds from buzzing windows, dying children singing in unison bout their uncles and their uncles' uncles, all happy and shiny. Saintly figures were surrounding my car, I was still inside, hand tightly squeezing my dog's rubber thingamajig, They shouted my name. They shouted their God's name. They shouted things like salvation, abstinence and holiness. I unzipped my trousers and showed them where they could stick all that garbage. They jumped on me, eyes staring, mouths muttering some inane ****, all in white, all in black, all in green and orange too. Capitalism, Socialism, Fascism, Communism, Liberty and Death. Boo****inghoo!! The Night was young, I was lying head down, fixated on an invisible spot spawned from my mind's detachment. It was all so chaotic, one minute some clearly devout **** was pounding my face, the other the cops were howling curses, throwing axes and spears and coca-cola bottles at the fleeing silent majority. My head felt free, my body felt numb, my eyes felt weary, my hair felt all classless and subdued. Rebellion was being delivered unto the world, shallow, hollow and dumb, children with sticks fighting in the name of God, for God, with God. Children with swords fighting for powers, children with baseball bats fighting just because they were all alone and scared of the big bad world. Well, I didn't care about all that stuff, right then and there all I could think about was a cup of coffee and a Thai massage from that Asian chick I had been seeing for a couple weeks, saving some cash and moving out of this hellhole, somewhere tropical and sunny perhaps.

Sun Ra - Plutonian Nights

16 Horsepower Black Flag Can Dead Can Dance Dredg Kyuss Minutemen Melvins Mr. Bungle Nomeansno Top 10.

I've been exposed to pornography and violence since I was 7, my parents never censored anything, I was allowed to watch whatever I wanted, play whatever I wanted, listen to whatever I wanted. Look how well I turned out.

Mississippi John Hurt - Joe Turner Blues

Dredg - Brushstroke: An Elephant In The Delta Waves

****ing Godsmack? My father's twelve year old fermented **** is more metal than Godsmack. ****. ****. ****. ****. ****. What the ****'s next? Kenny G the best Jazz saxophonist? Eric Clapton the best blues player? Mother****ing Queen Latifah the best rapper? **** this ****.

Bergman's idealization of women.

To a point, yes.

You see? That's why The French New Wave is so malign, it sucks you in with pretty dames and artsy fartsy dialogue, but it's all empty, it serves no real purpose, except murdering art from the inside! Say no to heterosexual want!

I'll let you know that I get plenty of exercise.

Godard represents the worst in mankind. Pretentious, Boring, Self-important, French.

I'm crying inside. Soon you'll be going all Socialist drone and wanking to his other faux-intellectual ****stained pieces of celluloid. The French New Wave has struck again. RIP

Watched some Futurama, good stuff. Gabrielle, I demand to know why my IP has been banned from The Frozen Throne forum. When have I ever trolled? How dare you use my personal IP in such a barbaric fashion. What sort of online vendetta is this?

I concur.

But serious discussions are a trademark of the Obsidian Entertainment forum!

So who do you believe to be the most overrated band from a critical point of view? (MMM-wise)

The Mainstream Music Magazines, or so Lou has led me to believe.

Do critics actually rave about dweebs like Nickelback? Anyway, Radiohead and The Mars Volta, I suppose those are the most over-rated bands of our time. And I really do hate pointing this out, but one doesn't have to be a professional critic to rate(under or over, depending on personal preference) a certain something. We do it all the time. Now, of course, one can always claim something to be overrated from a particular point of view or cultural perspective. Take the music snobs (and I mean that as a compliment) on these boards, the Pixies are clearly overrated among the members of this peculiar circle, obviously from my personal perspective.

It's just a relatively useful plot summary, I've never seen anyone on imdb comment on them, and I'm so pathetically drowned in my own apathy that I would really not wish to lead by example. Been thinking about watching Repulsion.

It's not like I wrote it.