home, is where the dog is.

o que acontece é que, dentro do meu peito, mora um ansiedade constante de ir pra casa.

...e ela só aumenta quando eu já tô lá.

http://soundcloud.com/diegopoloni

why i never bought a hatebreed cd

queria postar essa parada faz tempo, mas sabendo que ninguém ia ler, nem se interessar, nem perder seu tempo lendo em inglês, sempre acabava desistindo. mas enfim, fodas-e, o lance é genial. ta aí:

"Why I never bought a Hatebreed CD"
por Chris Bickel

People involved in Punk music love to subject other people involved in Punk music to their idiotic whimsies and pathetic best-left-in-the-journal introspection. They sandwich it between some record reviews and photocopied pleas for the pardon of Mumia Abu Jamal and call it "zines". Being no different than any other self-involved would-be Punk Rock publisher, I too have produced in my lifetime a few such wastes of our Earth's dwindling natural resources. One of my efforts in the world of indiezinedom was called "SNIP". It was just as self-serving and pointless as any other zinester's effort, though gracefully lacking the record reviews, Mumia and PETA xeroxes, and bad emo-introspection/sap. The best thing that "SNIP" had going for it was the cover which featured Alphonso Ribero moonwalking in front of the Statue of Liberty. The "SNIP" logo was the "SPIN" logo cut up and rearranged. I think I managed to xerox about 60 copies of SNIP which were taken along on one of IN/HUMANITY's North American tours. I think I either sold or gave away about 40 copies on that tour. Basically, I had thrown SNIP together in a few hours as a means of getting money for RC Colas and Nip-chees. It served its purpose, as I had all the RC and Nip-chee I required on that trip around the US and Canada. After returning home I wanted to get rid of my remaining copies of SNIP, so I set up a table at a local Hardcore show. On the bill was a local band named STRETCH ARMSTRONG and some other chugga-chugga type acts. One of the bands on the bill was a newer group that I'd never heard of, HATEBREED. I didn't actually care much about who was on the bill, as I am not a huge fan of the type of Hardcore that appeals to overdeveloped gymkata-practicing short-haired jocks in basketball tank-tops . I was just there to unload my remaining zines on some punk kids. After about 20 minutes and having sold only 4 or 5 copies of SNIP I hear the kind of booming beligerent voice one might more likely hear at 3:00 AM in a cowboy bar than at a Veteran's Hall Hardcore show: "Where's the little mikexindy that wrote this shit!?? Are you the little mikexindy that wrote this shit!???" A thicknecked ogre from the band HATEBREED lumbered towards me. "Are you the little mikexindy that wrote this shit?!" "I suppose I am that mikexindy, yes," I replied. I was then blitzed with threats of a severe asskicking at my apparent "dissing" of the band's record label: Victory Records. I was repeatedly called a "mikexindy" for having written an article that poked fun at the business practices of a minor league label trying to run with the big boys. By this time a group of about 30 attendees were surrounding me. The entire band HATEBREED gathered around. Half of the band members tried to argue somewhat less than rationally about the perspective of my article (which essentially reprinted the hilariously corporate-minded promotional "one-sheets" sent to record stores to "shift units" for Victory Records -- with my own smart-ass comments written into the margins). The other half of the band continued to puff their chests and threaten me with severe pummelings. The singer of STRETCH ARMSTRONG physically stepped in between to prevent one of the HATEBREEDERS from physically breaking me in half. I tried my best to casually slouch back in my chair behind my Jackie Onassis black sunglasses and grin. Admittedly I was a Ted apprehensive of a major imminent ass pounding, but the hilarity of the increasingly absurd situation did make it easy to play it off into a coy boyish smile. I held my ground firmly, asserting that Victory Records was trying to sell false ideals of Hardcore being a lifestyle and a "movement", when their press releases to record shops clearly showed that they were no different than CAPITOL or WARNER BROTHERS. Is Hardcore really a youth movement when a record label promises "sniping campaigns in key markets to promote product awareness"? For that matter, what the hell is a "sniping campaign"? Do they send snipers out to the mall stores to shoot anyone that doesn't buy the new EARTH CRISIS CD? When a one-sheet goes out to a record store stating that "violence at shows promotes controversy, and controversy sells records", I feel no less than obligated to speak my mind. The kind of kids that put on shows at Vets Halls are into Hardcore because it means something more to them than an E chord mosh part (or D chord mosh part) and a heavy breakdown. Those are the kids that needed to be informed of the tactics labels like Victory were using on them. My article was printed both for informational purposes, and for the (higher) purpose of me doing something I enjoy: being a fucking smartass. The members of HATEBREED didn't like the article, but I don't know if they were upset over the smartassishness, or the fact that I was revealing the secret marketing strategies of their home label. The singer of HATEBREED, Jamie, was the "thinker" of the bunch and actually listened to my points and offered a few semi-valid rebuttals. Eventually the band backed off because it was their time to play. Every copy of SNIP sold after the fracas, and I smiled to look around the room and see a bunch of kids reading my zine instead of watching HATEBREED's performance. Several months later, HATEBREED returned to Columbia. I wasn't even aware that they were playing in town until I stopped by the record store I owned (NEW CLEAR DAYS) afterhours to pick up a movie to watch. There was a message on the answering machine from the singer of HATEBREED. Apparently, unbeknownst to me, someone had printed flyers up chronicling the events of the previous show and had handed them out at that evening's HATEBREED gig. Basically the flyer accused the band of being homophobic thugs amongst other not-so-nice things. (In the original argument that had taken place between myself and the band, I brought up the term "homophobic" in response to the band member that kept repeatedly calling me a "mikexindy". One of the other members of the band intelligently quipped: "oh he isn't afraid of mikexindys... he just fucking hates them.") The answering machine message went like this:

"Hello, this message is for Chris, this is Jamie from the band HATEBREED. I happen to be the most unforgiving and intolerant member of the band. I also happen to be a homophobe... and I was just calling to try to straighten out this little matter that we have here. Apparently you are distributing some sort of flyer or pamphlet trying to slander us, just like you tried to slander Victory and our friend Raybees in the last little fanzine that you had. Well, we are gonna give you one chance to apologize and straighten this out because we are somewhat, ya know, cool people. You don't know us... You think you know us... you've tried to slander us in this little pamphlet that you put out... All I can say is the other guys in the band don't even wanna talk this out... we don't wanna go to jail while we're in Columbia, but we'd just as soon go to your store and SMASH SHIT IN YOUR FACE AND BREAK EVERYTHING YOU OWN, which we WILL DO if we HAVE TO. I don't know how you handle things around here, but we don't let people go around and spread lies about us and just let them get away with it. Now I'm not saying you made these flyers or whatever, but I don't know who would... and you being the prominent member of the South Caroliona scene that you are, we figured that you are probably behind it. So if you'd like to straigten this matter out give us a call at Chris from STRETCH ARMSTRONG's house... and if you would not like to straigten this out then I hope you don't have any plans on touring, and THIS IS A THREAT, because we don't appreciate this, OK? Thanks."

This tape was dubbed off, had the VILLAGE PEOPLE's "macho man" mixed in behind it and was used as an opening tape for a number of IN/HUMANITY's shows. So I called this guy at the place where they were staying and talked to him for an hour about what was on the flyer. At some point I eventually convinced him that I had absolutely nothing to do with the flyer and that it would not be a good idea to "smash shit in my face and break everything I own." He told me that the band's reaction was "survival"-based, as a flyer like that could damage their "career". As the conversation went on, I almost felt sorry for him as he seemed to be a fairly articulate guy in a band full of orangutans who were pressing him to dish out some street-style justice. Of course I didn't feel too sorry for him, as he did admit to being a homophobe, and he did threaten to destroy my store which was my frigging livelihood, and all of his ridiculous overreacting was based upon a silly article that was in a crappy zine I had thrown together in a few hours and had printed no more than 60 copies of. Later someone gave me an audio bootleg of HATEBREED's Columbia show which featured the all-time-classic between-song-banter: "fuck Chris Bickel, fuck IN/HUMANITY, and fuck SNIP fanzine!" (Crowd cheers). All of this and the fact that I hate chugga-chugga metally Hardcore, that's why I never bought the HATEBREED CD.

__
chris bickel, na época, era vocalista do in/humanity e depois foi vocalista do guyana punch line. in/humanity, na minha humiRde opinião, é/foi uma das melhores bandas de hardcore/punk que esse mundão já viu. só o fato de eles terem inventado aquela piada do "emo violence", fazendo a criançada toda abraçar o termo como se fosse, de fato, um novo gênero já vale esse posto! hahaha enfim, genialidade sem limites!

novas idéias em matemática...

aos seis segundos do quinto minuto das quatro horas do sétimo dia do mês de agosto desse ano a data vai ser exatamente "04:05:06 - 07/08/09".

coisa linda, não? :~

o fim dos tempos

começa com a sensação de um certo vazio. já não há muito o que fazer, não se tem muita direção. e essa sensação só aumenta conforme o tempo passa. chega-se, então, no dia d, o marco zero, o ponto onde a contagem regressiva pro fim, de fato, começa.

25.

tudo para. o fim começa. 6 dias. cidade vazia, cabeça vazia, existência vazia. a rua já não faz mais barulho. a partir desse momento todos os dias passam a ser surreais, não só os chuvosos (que raramente aparecem nesse curto espaço de tempo).

buraco-de-minhoca.

é como se, por alguma razão, fosse criado um universo tangente, uma outra dimensão, que vai entrar em colapso em seis dias. a sensação apocalíptica do fim próximo, o calor, o vento, o silêncio. a luz, ao contrário do que se esperaria, é quem toma conta. à escuridão reserva-se apenas algumas horas. seis, as vezes cinco. seis dias.

31.

5, 4, 3, 2, 1, e é o fim. não há mais nada. tudo acaba. o universo tangente entra em colapso e somos jogados de volta ao universo principal, à dimensão "oficial," ao mundo "real." alguns deixam partes de si do outro lado, alguns não passam ilesos, alguns não passam.

e, ainda assim, eu amo essa sensação.

26: segundo dia.

nem sempre o tempo é seu amigo

milhares de textos incompletos nos rascunhos desse blog.
vida é uma parada que definitivamente não existe no fim do 9º semestre.

nunca é dia de dormir cedo.
nunca é dia de dormir.


il sole è come un'onda. cancella le scritte sulla sabbia, uccide i pensieri di prima mattina, ci solleva dalle domande, dal freddo che tiene svegli quando il silenzio fa paura.

non ero stanco, ma ho dormito per anni.

nunca é dia de acordar cedo.
nunca é dia de acordar.

manifesto

extraído do diário do tenente coronel Mervin Willett Gonin DSO que estava entre os primeiros soldados britânicos da libertação de Bergen-Belsen em 1945.

camp

I can give no adequate description of the Horror Camp in which my men and myself were to spend the next month of our lives. It was just a barren wilderness, as bare as a chicken run. Corpses lay everywhere, some in huge piles, sometimes they lay singly or in pairs where they had fallen. It took a little time to get used to seeing men women and childen collapse as you walked by them and to restrain oneself from going to their assistance. One had to get used early to the idea that the individual just did not count. One knew that five hundred a day were dying and that five hundred a day were going on dying for weeks before anything we could do would have the slightest effect. It was, however, not easy to watch a child choking to death from diptheria when you knew a tracheotomy and nursing would save it, one saw women drowning in their own vomit because they were too weak to turn over, and men eating worms as they clutched a half loaf of bread purely because they had to eat worms to live and now could scarcely tell the difference. Piles of corpses, naked and obscene, with a woman too weak to stand proping herself against them as she cooked the food we had given her over an open fire; men and women crouching down just anywhere in the open relieving themselves of the dysentary which was scouring their bowels, a woman standing stark naked washing herself with some issue soap in water from a tank in which the remains of a child floated. It was shortly after the British Red Cross arrived, though it may have no connection, that a very large quantity of lipstick arrived. This was not at all what we men wanted, we were screaming for hundreds and thousands of other things and I don't know who asked for lipstick. I wish so much that I could discover who did it, it was the action of genius, sheer unadulterated brilliance. I believe nothing did more for these internees than the lipstick. Women lay in bed with no sheets and no nightie but with scarlet red lips, you saw them wandering about with nothing but a blanket over their shoulders, but with scarlet red lips. I saw a woman dead on the post mortem table and clutched in her hand was a piece of lipstick. At last someone had done something to make them individuals again, they were someone, no longer merely the number tatooed on the arm. At last they could take an interest in their appearance. That lipstick started to give them back their humanity.

fonte: imperial war museum

p.s.: mal aí pra quem não manja de inglês, mas nem fodendo eu vou traduzir isso tudo. google translator é a minha sugestão.

letras / larry

"urband legend / true story"

não é que eu sou contra discos que vem com as letras no encarte, pelo contrário, eu acho isso ótimo! o fato é que eu sou contra ler as letras logo nas primeiras ouvidas.

...ok, deixa eu me explicar.

existe um momento na vida de quem aprecia (ama, na verdade) música em que, derrepende, se descobre que nunca mais as coisas vão ser como elas eram. obviamente, você que está lendo, sabe do que eu tô falando. lembra daquele dia em que você colocou aquela fitinha cassette, da banda da sua vida, e, logo no primeiro riff, nos primeiros segundos, caiu a ficha de que o mundo, derrepente, mudou completamente, que tudo começou a fazer sentido? pois é.

a partir desse momento você começa a entender as coisas de uma maneira diferente. uma das coisas que esse momento me ensinou foi que comprar/copiar/baixar um disco tem todo um outro significado. não é só dar play e ouvir umas notas e dar umas bangueadas. o que acontece é uma coisa muito particular. é quase como transar com alguém.

... ok, deixa eu me explicar denovo.

existem dois pontos: o ponto a e o ponto b. o ponto a é a banda/artista, ele(a) tem suas idéias e impressões, que são compartilhadas nas músicas/letras. o ponto b é o ouvinte, que também tem suas idéias e impressões e que podem ser ou não parecidas com a do artista/banda. quando se adquire um disco, o que acontece na primeira ouvida, é como um intercurso sexual. ponto a e ponto b se relacionam diretamente e criam uma ponte, um ponto c, que é o fruto da cruza das impressões de a e b. ou seja, é um momento íntimo em que se trocam idéias e sentimentos. é como a primeira vez em que se transa com uma pessoa. vai-se descobrindo, se entendendo, não existe mecanísmo, é uma coisa intuitíva.

quando se ouve um disco pela primeira vez com as letras na mão, lendo-se o que ta sendo cantado, se destrói esse momento. é como transar com uma prostituta, só se segue um manual. é o que causa o fim de muitos casamentos...

tá, saindo um pouco do sexo e indo mais pra ciência, então.

ler é uma coisa muito "lado esquerdo" (do cérebro, só pra esclarecer). é um processo mecânico, decodifica-se um código de letras. ouvir música é uma coisa totalmente sensitiva/emotiva, ou seja, acontece no lado direito do cérebro.

quando se ouve um disco pela primeira vez, na minha opinião, deve-se "devotar-se" a ele. sabe? ouvir sem pensar, sem nada na cabeça. ouvir e sentir. quando se ouve lendo as letras, você se priva dessa primeira impressão de como o som vai te afetar, que é a mais importante. imagina se na mona lisa tivesse escrito, sei lá, "biblioteca"? hahahah ...entendem? é tipo explicar uma piada, ou seja, a coisa mais sem graça do mundo.

mas enfim, só escrevi isso tudo por que eu li, depois de dois meses, umas letras do disco novo do pinback.

isso sempre acontece comigo. eu ouço a música e vou montando a letra conforme o que eu vou entendendo que o cara canta. mas o que me irrita é que, seguido, as letras que eu imagino ou penso que ouço são MUITO melhores do que as originais.

agora, tem algumas bandas que sempre me surpreendem. e o pinback é uma delas. hoje eu descobri que a música que eu mais gosto do disco novo é sobre um cara que eu acho muito foda, o larry walters, e é por essas e por outras que eu concordo com o farófa do garage fuzz, que diz que pinback é a banda da década.

pinback @ north six: "tripoli"

faroleiro #1

coloquei uma música nova lá no meu myspace (e tentei até morrer colocar no tramavirtual...). ela se chama "faroleiro" e foi gravada aos pedaços entre o final do ano passado e esse fim de semana. a letra reflete bem o período atual contemporâneo de hoje em dia da realidade de agora de minha pessoa. extremamente emo, não? enfim, dêem uma conferida; talvez possa ser do seu agrado! se não for vou vender pro nxzero! ;)

dwp @ myspace: myspace.com/4trackdemons