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.
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.
*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
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.
update! october 1st, 2009 bitsies and pieces Danke and keep reading! Sasha
"We all die; the goal is not to live forever, the goal is to create something that will." anonymous
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