Thursday, May 15, 2014

Monday, May 12, 2014

Safer Bombs




heres some free music from my band SAFER BOMBS
yeah we're not very good but you might still love it
hard
and in the face


anyway its a live cut with minimal editing so


enjoy

https://www.soundcloud.com/this-is-the-stampede/safer-bombs-kicking-vegan-live-at-the-pilot-house 

or

http://www.ministryoflove1.bandcamp.com/album/kicking-vegan-live-at-the-pilot-house

Friday, April 11, 2014




"well..." Watch Officer Grande stood and wiped the spatter from his face with a cloth, "isnt that how they always seem to go," he walked toward the exit as his accompaniment checked Cage's body, "leave him, the clean up crew will be here in a few moments. We have the information we need." The tips of latent magical aura lapped about him with dying tinges. "fucking cowboys."
The street was empty outside the pub, the usual onlookers had disappeared with the gunshots, but at the ends of the dark corners of tenement buildings, Grande made out shadowy orphan ghosts leering from within the gloom. Grande zoomed in with his optical nerve; no imminent threat.
"sir," said one of the guardsmen rounding his left side, "was that wise?" Grande choked out a laugh.
"I suppose not," he said, coughing and spitting out a chunk of phlegm, "but he was trying to kill me."
"Yea..."
"Well, I may or may not have known that was the inexcusable outcome of meeting such a dangerous suspect upon what you may call his home turf, but," he gave the escort a wicked smile, "I achieved my overall goal. I know what I need to know." He strode out into the empty anvenue and the guardsmen followed.
"Brecken?" said one of the guards.
"Brecken," Grande said.

Two hours later he was still sitting in the lobby waiting area of the Inspector General. Two bloody hours. The Inspector was known for making a big to-do about using magical attacks on civilians inside the dock, but this was a bit much. One of his escort was sleeping on the wooden bench, the other flipping through a tablet magazine. Grande crossed his arms and tried to look as visibly irritated as possible, as if that would speed the old gizzard up. Another forty minutes passed when the server at the desk, all glistening metal and woven gears, spoke in that tinny, empty voice.
"Im sorry gentlemen," it said, "but the Inspector General has left for the day." Grande pulled the tablet from the guards hand and tossed it at the wall as he stormed out the door, the guards frantically accompanying him. 
"that bastard," he swore under his breath, "that absolute ruddy bastard..."

"where we going?"
They were speeding up the Genoshinka highway in his patrol car, the two guardsmen in the back, his server, whom they had picked up in route, carefully guiding them from the helm, Grande rifling through records and data and photographs and time sheets on his mobile tablet device. He didnt answer for a moment.
"Brecken," he said finally.
"what about him?" said the other guard.
"we know why the Triad wanted him dead, right?" there was silence. He glanced back and the two men shook their heads no.
"Other than he was a low level scumbag and a dealer," said one.
"and a snitch," said the other.
"Look, you were there, you saw his expression when I asked him if he was gonna cause trouble...Cage was hiding something for them, cept he didnt even know what it was..."
"what?"
"it dont matter anyway, hes dead..."
"where are we going?"
"just shut up back there, Server, put on some tunes will you?" the sound of classical 20th century music filled the patrol car. Gilbert and O'Sullivan. One of the guards snickered, but Grande ignored him. They were simple, ignorant, bomb rats who were only ever recruited to fill body bags. Low class and ignorable. He made a mental note to send the snickering guard into harms way as soon as humanly possible.
"take the next exit to China town," he noted to the server, and the patrol car swerved, completely in control, toward the off ramp.
"we going to bust some heads?" asked one of the guards.
"we are."


Thursday, April 10, 2014




Cage slid the neck of his bolt pistol from its mooring, discreetly under the table, as the watch officer sat. He was thick and puffy like most officers in the dock, sweating under the heat light, mopping his brow with a cloth. Easy prey. The bar was emptying, there were two guardsmen with him, carrying rifles. The watch officer ordered a drink and his men took their places behind him. Great globs of sweat went racing down his fat face. Cage took a drink.
"what," the officer asked, sort of asked.
"excuse me?"
"what?" definitely a question this time. The two guards both stared at Cage with vacant eyes.
"what the hell do you mean by "what?" You just come walking up here and sit down at my table and say "what," like you aint got no sense?"
"Its juss the way you been looking at me is all," he said.
"oh, zat right?"
"yeah. you been sitting there with yer wiskey casting me an evil eye," he said.
"youre fucked," Cage laughed, "and is that somehow against the law officer," he read the name off the tag, "Lewinson? what kind of a damn name is that?"
"why dont you shut your mouth," one of the guards started, but the officer put up his hand.
"listen," he began.
"you got identification?"
"nope."
"oh really? how'm I supposed to believe you is who you say you is then?"
"listen, Cage, you're in a whole shitload of trouble, so why don't you just listen for one goddamn minute afore I have to get violent with you all," he stood up, and for all his largess, he looked strong as a bull, and was a terrifying sight to behold, "and we wouldnt want any undue violence now would we?"
"I guess not," said Cage.
"thats good," said the officer, "youre being a real help with all this you know." Cage spat in the dirt of the floor.
"what do you mean by that?"
"you juss been kind is all," he said
"kind?"
"most folks aint all that kind, you see, when you come and get em. Most folks is libel so fly off the handle with their pistols, if you catch my meaning."
"I do," Cage said, his hand sliding onto the handle of his own pistol.
"most folks is damn foolish about it, why, even in a place, not THIS place, mind you, but a place very much like it; even in a place like this some damn foolish idiot of a man could make the choice to put his mettle to the test against some fine, upstanding, and law abiding, headhunters? But hell naw, you wouldnt go and do a damn idiotic thing like that? Would you?"
"Why, is there some other way you're thinking it could possibly go down?" Cage said. The officer was quiet for a moment, then he smiled.
"No, I suppose there isnt," he said, "good luck to you sir"
It was then Cage fired off his pistol under the table.


THIS IS A POST ABOUT BORIS


BORIS
a band from japan
and their
album PINK

are my favorites




anyway
this album came out a few years ago and it changed my life
I'm an otaku (see, complete nerd) by design, and have what one may call a passing
unhealthy obsession
with the nation of japan
I mean
I've seen every episode of Detective Conan
and Dragon Ball
and Dragon Ball Z

Im not bragging this is a serious issue for me

I also have an unhealthy obsession with metal and experimental heavy music
Burning Witch
Isis
Sunn
Earth
that sort of sound

these two worlds ultimately collided in Boris.

Japanese Stoner/doom/metal/shoegaze trio

the guitar player is a woman.
oh and she shreds

and their music is fucking amazing and awesome

almost too perfect.




nope just perfect enough




HA!
derailed!
fuck you vegeta you asshole


Namek 4 lyfe




Thursday, April 3, 2014

Noms


From "Noms Tourism Guide"

"This is a place like any other, friend. A city on the brink of survival, struggling needlessly through the apogee of the echo-cromomatic age. Barely breathing above the surface of a lake of fire molten running down your throat so you cant even scream or nothing; trapped under the bedrock never to be found again. The street here is paved in sorrow, just like everywhere else friend. Broken silhouettes slide shiftlessly through blank corridors; never quite pushing up to the sun. Dead eyes sit in rotted sockets, but yet still live lingers on tediously within. Stench rises up like from the graves of the dismembered and shit-ridden, lines upon lines, upon lines of tenement house buildings, packed full of starving, indolent, shit ridden children, uneducated, snipped of spontaneous reproduction as a service to the state, they scream like folding pigs in glass abattoirs, burning, pushing, churning up from the fires of the Glakkisemesh Pit, sent aimless into the world, starved for an angry birth; slit eyed and stinking they course the pavemented, aligned avenues like winter ghosts; friend, this is a place where your dream already went, long before, and deigned to die.
    That of course is what you might call, a poetic description of the city of Noms; sat deep south on the Valosian coast against the warm waters of the Nomarian Sea, with its ancient palisade walls, winding streets, stone and mudbrick bulidngs, and even a sort of (half collapsed) tunnel system, all from a long lost era of man. Such  records have long been forgotten, lost, or simply destroyed. And I wouldn't be bringing it up too much to your local Security Bearuea, unless you're ready for abrupt awakenings in the dead of night by trained militia men in black masks with rifles telling you to "stop asking so many damn questions." I know all about that; masqurade balls and polotical shills for favors and status ranking. All to get the cold barrel steel of a muzzle against your temple and a kind "back the fuck off. We have your mother in custody," before disapearing back into the night from when they came. Its what you might call one of the risks of the job." - Walter Pennick
first post in months and months





woash!

new stuff coming soon, part two of the burning ground (or whatever part Im on)
safer bombs
pretty pictures
apparel
total world domination