Gah.
Tuesday, August 30, 2011
Tuesday, July 27, 2010
Inauguration, Lord Ganesha's blessing and ringing Bell in ears.
Introduce yourself.
You introduce yourself.
Okay. I'll be trite. You be tribe. Because really, it's all about being a tribe of whatever voices still linger on in your head. To let them huddle around a communitarian camp-fire, tell their tales & compete for the chief's daughter.
Of these, one voice is pretty fucking loud right about now.
Burton C Bell's been roarin
g in my head about a year and a half. Right now, he's sparking up some synapses and setting ablaze as is his wont. Vocals soar. The fire is rising. City of Fire. Some more evidence of one of the most solar archetypes to ever scorch this fair earth & her hair curling like collective, corporate, consumerist, conformist, civilized centipede crucifixions. copy. copy c-words.
One has to only go through the numerous lyrical references to "flames", "burning" and "sparks", through the decades to see that the sun tattooed on him gets a tad under his skin.
How sweetly doth that inner molecular vibration amplify itself through machinery driving intense double-bass destruction, until riff by reverberating riff, the Factory incinerates with extreme fucking prejudice all in its sensory path.
In terms of sonic spaces locked in time, the FF of Fear Factory might as well stand for Fuck Floyd (Pink). Fuck Floyd's frail, feeble fucking dirges apathetically bemoaning their fate in this Orwellian hell-hole we know and hurtle blindly toward. Woe is them, indeed. Much deserving of some monkey love and a little sodomy. Lest that be unclear to y'all of such inclination, kindly do whine, wither and die in the wake of the machine.
Evolution is a force born of nihilism crushed in consecration of an existential ideal . Every single creative burst that blew social order to smithereens in order to reconstitute it anew came from this space in time.
This space in time, this perspective. That's all we ever have to make of the world what we will. Listen to the right voice, fuckers. And fuck "hanging on in quiet desperation".
You listen to the right voice.
Shut the fuck up.
You introduce yourself.
Okay. I'll be trite. You be tribe. Because really, it's all about being a tribe of whatever voices still linger on in your head. To let them huddle around a communitarian camp-fire, tell their tales & compete for the chief's daughter.
Of these, one voice is pretty fucking loud right about now.
Burton C Bell's been roarin
g in my head about a year and a half. Right now, he's sparking up some synapses and setting ablaze as is his wont. Vocals soar. The fire is rising. City of Fire. Some more evidence of one of the most solar archetypes to ever scorch this fair earth & her hair curling like collective, corporate, consumerist, conformist, civilized centipede crucifixions. copy. copy c-words.One has to only go through the numerous lyrical references to "flames", "burning" and "sparks", through the decades to see that the sun tattooed on him gets a tad under his skin.
How sweetly doth that inner molecular vibration amplify itself through machinery driving intense double-bass destruction, until riff by reverberating riff, the Factory incinerates with extreme fucking prejudice all in its sensory path.
In terms of sonic spaces locked in time, the FF of Fear Factory might as well stand for Fuck Floyd (Pink). Fuck Floyd's frail, feeble fucking dirges apathetically bemoaning their fate in this Orwellian hell-hole we know and hurtle blindly toward. Woe is them, indeed. Much deserving of some monkey love and a little sodomy. Lest that be unclear to y'all of such inclination, kindly do whine, wither and die in the wake of the machine.
Evolution is a force born of nihilism crushed in consecration of an existential ideal . Every single creative burst that blew social order to smithereens in order to reconstitute it anew came from this space in time.
This space in time, this perspective. That's all we ever have to make of the world what we will. Listen to the right voice, fuckers. And fuck "hanging on in quiet desperation".
You listen to the right voice.
Shut the fuck up.
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