Uppydate

endless
by a very good friend

endless, thick cable wires,

tiny shadow-birds discreet on telephone poles,

all murmuring the car's passing window sound.

I'm on an empty four-way street,

in a thoughtless heaven

across a sky so wide I could be anywhere,

but it's an unmarked grave

in marked territory-

i won't think about it that way now,

not when there are so many clouds

that can push forward

when they weigh nothing

Sasha Says:
and for the record,
I've been entirely too lazy with this junk. Completely. There's no excuse for not keeping up with a self-made commitment like this zine except for laziness. Someone please help me hold myself responsible, because I need someone to grab me by my virtual lapels and shake some sense into me. Danke and good night.


and one last thing,

Let me be your derivative so that I can lie tangent to your curves, baby.

Diary of an Angry Girl: Charles Darwin film deemed "too controversial" for U.S.

"Really, guys?"

Here's the original article for your reference.

Disclaimer: Now, granted this might just be good old fashioned sensationalism on the part of the site that initially published the article I link to above. And if that turns out to be the case, then we can move on. With that said, I only know as much information as I've found on the interweb. So here goes.
I'm angry, as per subject line. Just need to get that out there. Here's the deal: BBC Films and the UK Film Council developed a film called Creation, and it surrounds the life and times of Charles Darwin. Well, being that he's the father of evolution and all, U.S. film distributors have decided that this is much too controversial a subject for the likes of the religious right here across the pond, and ultimately, the film won't sit well with an American audience. So as far as we know (IMDB told me so!), it will not be released in the States.
There is no way to act passive in the face of a story like this, at least not for me, and let me tell you why.
We embrace violent movies about war. We watch torture porn religiously (ahem). We enjoy watching Nazis get scalped, and a group of friends having sex on camera for rent money (these aren't from the same film, mind you). Cannibals and zombies are a-ok with us, and games like Call of Duty are bestsellers.
Now I have nothing against war movies or sluts getting stabbed. But I resent the fact that we, as a nation, can embrace these things and yet shun a film about a scientist and his theory.
Say yes to Hitler, say no to Darwin. That's the way it works here.
Never mind my own religious affiliations or lack thereof, and never mind whether I am a creationist or an evolutionist. It is a matter of opening your mind.
You don't have to watch it, man, and if you want to be a total asshole about it, fine, you have the right to protest it, but the fact that U.S. distributors have decided that we as a nation can't handle a movie about evolution is a grave indicator that we are simply incapable of putting the Bible down for a night at the movies. And that is so sad.

We can handle science, even if it's just in the context of a film.
Speak up and show the world we're not entirely manic.

You can watch the trailer here:

The film stars Paul Bettany as Darwin and Jennifer Connelly.

# 2 and 3/4: Tuesday, August 25, 2009

In Defense of "The Mainstream"
by Sasha Faust

If you're one of those Pabst-chugging hipster kids who scoff at anything even remotely popular (but don't get me started with you, because we all know that there are legions of you people liking the same "obscure" shit anyway), piss off. Same for you anti-establishment punk types, with your aversion to anything even vaguely conventional. I'll have you know this isn't about me defending the transparency and dead-behind-the-eyes glamour of MTV and mainstream magazines, this is about something else. Rather, I'm defending your right as a viewer to just say no, but at the same time, I'm proposing you give everything a fair shot first before you put the nix on it.
There are some people out there who say that MTV is force-feeding you music and visuals---sort of like junk food for your eyes and ears. And well, yeah, while the Pussycat Dolls are undoubtedly the metaphorical equivalent to a cheddar, bacon, beef, and Splenda burger, that's not the point. The point is, MTV isn't forcefeeding you anything. You can turn that shit off if you want to. But I challenge you not to (right away at least).

This is my way of keeping your attention because you've still got like, five paragraphs to go.

MTV is merely a broadcast, and whether they're spewing total bullshit (Miley, Britney, Asher Roth), or legit musical talent (Kings of Leon, Silversun Pickups), believe it or not, you have the power to decide for yourself what works for you and what doesn't. And while the barrage of shit "artists" greatly outweighs the good on your television screen, that's okay, because it should help you keep perspective. Not all of this "underground" business is genius, either; wherever you go, you'll find music worth ignoring and music worth listening to.
And being able to decipher between the two is a huge part of what being an avid music lover is all about. And being able to say you like Lady Gaga in a room full of punks because you genuinely feel that way takes a sturdy set of lowhangers. If you've got passion for your music, then you should at least have the guts to try something new, even if it isn't your typical preference, even if it completely sucks, even if its playing on MTV. Because sometimes, it isn't so bad. And sometimes, it might even be good. Maybe great.
Don't get me wrong, though, subculture is a beautiful thing. It gives lesser-known artists a forum to do what they love for people willing to listen in a world that embraces aesthetics and packaging more than the tunes themselves.
But you can't call yourself a music lover if you never go above ground, so to speak; refusing to listen to something on the basis of its popularity, genre, or appearance on a major music broadcast. You're only putting up unecessary walls and constructing irrational limits on what you think you're allowed to like. The entire "purist" mentality is a joke, anyway; it's supposed to be about conviction and principle, but you can't be a total purist because there's always a loophole someplace. It's that kind of holier-than-thou elitism that makes you look just as self-important as the kids who thought your music was lame.
And you most certainly can't blame MTV for being responsible for being the only noteworthy crap-factory. There are plenty of so-called underground sites littering the blogosphere with complete bullshit, too.
In conclusion, open your mind! Or suck it.

Because she's totally legit and I love 'er.

For the record.

"Be regular and orderly in your life so that you may be violent and original in your work."

Gustave Flaubert

issue # 2 & 1/2: Andrew Jackson Jihad & Company, Cafe Metropolis, Wilkes-Barre.

Sean Bonnette of Andrew Jackson Jihad

So the show tonight at Cafe Metropolis in Wilkes-Barre, PA was a good time. Great music, awesome energy, and lovely people. And everyone sweating a great deal. But that's part of what makes a show at a small venue so fucking charming (you know, everyone sharing their DNA and such). So for those of you who couldn't make it, here's the rundown...
The Greek Favourites played first and got everybody hot and bothered (oh, you know they did), then this guy named Greg (AKA These Elk Forever) brought everybody's heart rate down about twenty notches (in a good way) with a few mellow tunes on his guitar. Afterward, Delay, hailing from good ol' Columbus, Ohio, radiated what can only be described as a mixture of gusto and perspiration (mostly gusto) from every pore, for everybody to see and hear. Those kids can rock.
And last but certainly not least, Andrew Jackson Jihad (folk-punksters outta Phoenix, Arizona) did their thing. And what a thing that is. It's energetic, anthemic, and from the sounds of nearly every soul in the audience singing along in time with Sean and Ben, you can tell that this is a band that unifies people. And isn't that just what music's supposed to do? I'd say so, and if you don't agree, then you suck. And I'm sorry.

I was enjoying the show far too much to bring myself to reach for my camera and take more than one picture or video, so all apologies. But here's "People" by Andrew Jackson Jihad. Forgive the sub-par video sound quality and try to enjoy it, eh? Okay.

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issue # 2 July 26, 2009

untitled by eathelin h.

i try muffling the rising waves with my palms, but they crawl through my fingers, and somersault onto the sand.
so i cup my hands.

now i can't control myself.

The sunrises, I sleep, the day brings hectic vision.
Expecting a wake up call from the finest of creatures.
I think I'll just pull the covers further over my face.
Blocking out what used to be my steady going life.
Substitute my aching organs with a pillow,
Some ambient nutjob music, and a single thought.
Stop making me fulfill an "under your bed" monster's fantasy
Of a 27 hour scare.

Today we will be exploring some old (genuine!) hobo slang.
"To Beef On" apparently means "to inform", although admittedly it brings some very unsavory imagery to mind.
As in:
"For my presentation today, I'd like to beef on you..."

A "Beagle" is a hot dog. We're not sure if that actually means the phallic Memorial Day picnic treat or if it's a whole different kind of bag. Will investigate further.

Ergh...
As in:
"There's nothing tastier than a beagle covered in ketchup!"

inevitable morning
by eathelin h.
backdrops print out the play's final battle,
where she keeps her keeper and he wins his honor.
spotlights rustle the crowd into enigmatic applause-
they trifle with the sense of pleasure that good beat evil
and agony of the cold seat firmly stationing their backs;
formal attentions brought to the unspeakable matter.

they clap like clowns,
redefining regret into what didn't occur.
then they wonder
if lucky people ever ask why life isn't fair.

morningtide

I woke up on a tightrope between day and night reversed
and saw sequined moon and sun pour marrow into the eye of the other,
coexisting in that point of morningtide,
where they share an infinity
alike denied

the full-bellied sun never reaches the dispatched moon
in her back-broken fight against constant change--
the endless chase of morning

It was a lovely summer's day in classy 'n' sophisticated East Stroudsburg, Pennsylvania when Bungle Brigade blog-keeper Sasha decided to have a little chat with Sean Elsasser, vocalist for NEPA punk band Blood Oranges. Watch and listen here to find out why they're named after a gory citrus fruit, and hear all about Sean's tentative plans to perform naked.

EPISODE 1: Sean Elsasser of BLOOD ORANGES

*Sasha would like to address that she was in fact not giving Sean the stinkeye the entire time (or at all, for that matter).



DEATH OF A TELEMARKETER.

First of all, I'd like to address that when your parents, teachers, and guidance counselors all told you that with a positive attitude, life could be peachy always, it was a blatant lie. And that's because some things will inevitably suck, regardless of your approach. It went like this:
I took up a job as a telemarketer on July 13th. About twelve cumulative hours later, I quit. Why, you might ask? Because it's telemarketing, you douche bag. And if you ever want your self esteem systematically punched in the lungs, then by all means, take up a job as a telemarketer. Because that's pretty much what it's like. For me, I've realized that spending four hours a day on the phone with people who probably (no, definitely) hate you was never, ever going to be worth the $7.15 earned hourly for doing so.

Thank you and good night.
And as an added bonus, this was my "Rebuttals" page.
(You know, the bullshit I was expected to feed to people who had enough common sense to tell me off within the first fifteen seconds, with the hopes they'd abandon that common sense and listen to me instead.)


It is now a pile of soot, which is the state of being it deserves.


the elf especially suggests you check out PERKASIE, a wonderful band from the lancaster/philadelphia area, and a supremely awesome live act.

we drop our pain into canyons
designed for the purpose
for the hard swallowing sound
where dreams stagger homeless

Three Wheels
by eathelin h.

Curtain raindrops sank to the bottom of my stomach. I lessened myself.

Here's the story of time capsules gone wrong,

where two steps backwards meant climbing into cocoons of storms that passed 1,567 days ago (and further into the future)
How many raindrops just hit the ground?
In this larger than life comic book

the thunderstorms are pixel pictures with a man's face in half view
that stir up the wetted dust on the blacktop
and make it fly.
Fly.

I'm doing brain surgery with boxing gloves
shouldering your absence
hunched inside a shrinking room
with a license to believe it's real



A great big, massive, throbbing thank you to our contributors on our second issue:
Kevin Michael Briggs
Ayla Eichler
Sean Elsasser
Roberto Faust
Eathelin H.
Jake Weinberg
Book excerpts from "Tristessa" by Jack Kerouac and "American Psycho" by Bret Easton Ellis, respectively
and lastly...
Wayne Arnold... an old friend whose book I found the other day in my bedroom, and I know he wouldn't mind that I put a few of his poems here. I haven't heard from him in a long, long time...so Wayne, if you're out there, my family's still thinking of you.

The Bungle Brigade is a webzine dedicated to art, poetry, music, culture, life...
© all rights reserved to the respective creators of the content that appears on this page.
all content compiled and designed into one big pretty mess by Sasha Faust

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