Divest the corpses of infants into the epilimnion to rotate their emaciated limbs like filamentous cyanobacteria reorienting themselves, heliotropic, nitrogen-fixing vernal blooms. This is what has superseded and invalidated nursery finger painting the days away. In spring, the endosymbiont organelles of Rhopalodia allow for the fixation of nitrogen too. With lightning, Nitrobacter, Rhizobia, God has almost all he needs to do nothing. Foraminifera will turn the skeletal remains into limestone again, the years coldly effaced to marble. Like the dust of animal bones, dead from anthrax that we cut our heroin with. An end is put to the profligacy of the Republican oligarchs prophesied by Plato. Timocracy ruminating over a thin green veneer, glass ceilings over starvation, sifting, waist-deep through the waste products of genocidal multinational corporations for salvage, or lost children, a lit cigarette loosely dangling from his lip, fixed in place by the adhesion of spit and paper. When scientists got tired of submitting to the every whim of bureaucrats with ulterior agendas, they ran their own tests, and at some point, before the newfangled anarchists corrupted themselves they proved the pseudoplesiomorphy of man and God. And the nihilistic void was too much, schizotypical psychopathy became pathological holy delusion and all started screaming, “Don’t use the term ‘gay’ unless as an acronym for ‘Got AIDS Yet?’” at children holding hands with same-sex pupils on school trips to the junkyard to learn useful knowledge for later life. Margaret Mead had at least elucidated the pathology of our education, or lack thereof, playing with dolls. Mercury was in retrograde when London was razed in nuclear holocaust, but by then we had lost social psychology and all recollection of anything called ‘The Baader-Meinhof Phenomenon’. With the population cutting themselves with biodegradable razor blades to social media feeds, most missed the self-immolation of books at 233 degrees Celsius, 451 Fahrenheit. It was a hot ash cloud summer, choking on exhaust fumes like cigar smoke sucked in too deep. “Analysis paralysis, tetrapharmakos. She wants me more than you want me, so let’s all fuck over my car crash wrist. Grave harmonics. I remember the twenty-third of March, 2015, love and other demons. Serena in the City of Angels, with dead wings of Ephemerids, and pornographic graffiti on concrete.” Vergangenheitsbewaeltigung in Chemnitz, where music is made truly industrially, the metal workings of machines recorded by machines and played on the radio. Pop: ‘Music to Lose Focus To’. Insufficient volume. Multifunctional orifice. Disfigured. Dead. Profit? No more lay years cut with clover. Biodiversity reduced to one. The Anthropocene extinction, where God sends his son to anally rape all our dead bodies and cum in our fucking faces. It is what we deserve.
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If none is specified it will go to this month's charity: The Orchid Project.
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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