Ignacia sat on top of the collapsed husband as if to pin him down. Sedated, incapacitated, he could hear, see, and feel everything but his muscles just weren't responding to the maelstrom of signals in the storm of his brain. He knew for sure that they were both going to die, he and his wife. He just wished he could turn his head to the side and gaze one last time into the hazel eyes of the woman he'd loved more than half his life - and maybe reassure her that at least the kids were safe, far away, at least they'd survive, but her gorgeous face was contorted and twisted like a caricature waxwork by Ignacia's cruel handiwork. She called it art. Art that'd make you want to vomit and gouge out your eyes at the same time. You'd never guess how warped the human face can become without falling to pieces. Little did he know that half the reason for her cries was the fact that, splayed out on the lawn of their front garden, she had the perfect view of Henrietta swaying from a noose, naked, bloodied and bruised right in front of the bedroom window bathing in the bright sunlight that lit up the room where she and Charlie had been waiting to surprise them on their thirtieth wedding anniversary with flowers, and champagne, and chocolates, and a dinner reservation overlooking the purple sunset river where all their bodies would eventually be dumped. Henrietta was going to let them be the first to know that she was pregnant with her first child of a husband who jumped off the top of a car park when he got the call from the police that everyone was dead. He'd never know about his child: the baby who forever lies choking in the bloody hole of her belly, a bit like Charlie, dead and bloody in the bath, bludgeoned, his brains all across the ceiling, walls and floor in the adjacent en-suite bathroom, his hands clasped around the stems of eight once-white roses, apart from their new colour, otherwise unchanged. Ignacia reached down her dress and pulled out her favourite blade from her underwear, already dripping wet, and kissed the sticky side before she plunged it deep into his chest, and looking straight into his eyes, kissed his hand, and snapped every finger, watched a single tear fall from his left eye before she grabbed a nearby rock and started the process of breaking every bone in his body. She'd saved the ones in his torso till last, ran to the shed and came back with a sick grin, thick black blood dripping from her mouth, and the old rusty circular saw. When I dared to look over again, she was done. She'd emptied the organs from his torso, and sat in his ribcage. Split agape, she sat inside him, the same cavity that once held the heart now leaking in her mouth, the same cavity that once held the arteries she'd tied into jewellery. She looked like zombie Jesus with a bloody crown of thorns and a matching necklace, and that was her throne as she refocused her gaze on me. His wife had been reaching for his hand the whole time as I glanced down, one hand up inside her, the other pressing down on what was once her symbolically intellectual forehead. She probably could've fought me off and saved herself. I guess she didn't want to abandon her husband or live without him. She couldn't save him. She'd just been grasping for his hand, clawing the dirt with broken fingernails. So I drove an old metal pole through her hand, which quivered for a second then stopped, like a different creature dying all alone. Not a treatment for uterine atony, she’s my post menstrual canvas bitch. I begin the bilateral salpingo-oophorectomy. Congratulations, it’s an organ! I need new eyes. Disgusting human filth. May fear and despair and loathing be everything. The meaning of life? The fine game of nil. When she finally saw the finished piece she began her screaming, and I guess that gave birth to that frantic, desperate frenzy, all other thoughts cast aside as I began the same violent process to stop her screaming. I just kept stabbing and stabbing but it seemed like it'd never end as Ignacia's blue summer dress collected more splatters, which as they dripped down made it look like the swallows were crying the same blood they were drowning in. Her screaming never ended. I just wanted to silence her, but now that's all that's left of me. There's no feeling left, nothing.
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P.S. Hello Genevieve, I love you. You are great....more
An often overlooked grindcore classic. Unique riffs with a well-honed formula, rhythmic and oblique drumming, and some of my favourite high-pitched shrieking this side of the Earth's crust. Listen. Absconding Life
If you haven't heard of this classic, what are you doing here!? Although far from being my favourite (Hybrid Noisebloom was my first noise love), it is important to recognise its legacy and influence. Absconding Life
This has little in common with the above (who actually played together and more), but there are many good reasons why this band's heart logo was tattooed over my wrist. Remember what you love and why. Absconding Life
The first release on Cacophonous Revival, from experimentalist Samuel Goff, uses avant-garde approaches to get at personal narratives. Bandcamp New & Notable Feb 4, 2020
The Doom Trip label never misses, and the latest LP from the genius Heejin Jang is a trip into thrilling industrial terror. Bandcamp New & Notable Jan 30, 2023
