Outsider within....

Cynic - a name in heavy metal that represents a master class in extreme tech prog metal. They were way ahead of their time when they released Focus - which you should immediately listen to, unless you hate music. Founding members of this band, Sean Reinert - drummer extraordinaire and Paul Masvidal - guitar virtuoso madman. They influenced everybody who came after them and sought the title of prog metal musicians.

News broke a couple of days ago, that both Sean and Paul are gay and they have publicly come out as such and that their close one's had known for a long long time. And surely enough, long time fans welcomed this news and embraced it. Of course, what Masvidal and Reinert do on their own time is their business. From what I have read and seen, they are both classy people and of course, brilliant musicians.

The reason they came out so late (their first album, Focus, was released on 1993) was because they feared that they would not be accepted in the metal circles and would lose their fan following. And some of that might ring true, since they were touring with bands like the legendary Cannibal Corpse. Ultra macho, uber masculine death metal. And this made me think.

For starters,  The Metal God, is gay. And us in the  metal music community flocked to this music because we felt like outsiders. We could not really fit in, or we could not get into any other music. We fell to the charms of darkness and the Devil and the other worldly. We expected that our near and dear ones would try to understand us through this medium and see our love for this music as a positive. And us metalheads, who would like to think of ourselves as open minded and liberal, turn out to be such bigots that the stars of our world are afraid of being who they are in front of us? Does that not smack of hypocrisy? 

It makes me sad, that us, the outsiders, the freaks - are just as bigoted as the "commoners" - those normal people. The music counts. That is it. I think, in this sense, pop music has done more to promote social justice and equality than metal. I hope we are better than that. I hope we prove that we are better than that. 

To Sean Reinert and Paul Masvidal - we love your music and love you too. You've made us proud. Keep up the good work. Hope to see you live soon. 

Duur Kinara...

Listening to this song and watching this episode, brings back memories. A crisp summer evening in Minneapolis. Sitting around with the best of friends, watching episodes of "The Dewarists" and being inspired by songs as these. Which would then be rounded off by watching the sun sink into the  Mississippi from the Stone Arch Bridge. 

That bond and love has still remained and is as strong as ever. It has been tested and tried. And it lived well. Going from a great social and urban atmosphere to a self imposed, but not a choice based isolation was a tumbling around of my world that I never saw coming. From multiple points of reference and perspective, I am down to one. Putting my thoughts into the ether and watch them bounce off the walls, get tangled and be injected back into me. 

It was uncomfortable hearing my own thought patterns so vividly and honestly, since there was always a veil, of which they would be deflected off. That veil had been removed in seclusion. To understand the grain of my own being and recognise that this was the person everyone else was seeing, was oddly unsettling at first. But it made more and more sense, as time passed by.

I used to be of the opinion that you do not need physical seclusion to really reach that single point of conscious thought. The strength in that argument has waned quite a bit after observing myself through a similar process. Yes, physical seclusion is not mandatory, but it does remove a lot of distractions, puts you in spots where you live with your thoughts, actions resulting from them and the thoughts emanating from those. Although cannibalistic, it allows for a single train of thought that you can trace back. 

And rote repetition of this process, with and against your wish and will, has brought me to meet myself and brought peace to an otherwise agitated mind. 

So now, a year and a half later, I sit in this room in the middle of nowhere, ready for the next change, the next phase of my life - companionship. Having found my soul mate years ago, its time that a room had the two us. Our thoughts bouncing around, resulting into actions affecting us both. And a new conscious being emerges. In all its serenity, it couldn't be more exciting. 

Genesis of an Idea

A snow flake touched her skin

and her body quivered a little.

Formed in the nimbus high above,

amalgamation of earth, water, wind and fire.

And when the time comes nigh,

Clouds smother the sky

The time is ripe. 

Blow your trumpets, Gabriel,

its the birth of a flake.

Bound towards the earth

In a hurry, partly a flurry.

Blown this way and that.

Unaware of time and its part.

By itself it is incomplete and innocuous.

The landing place provides the right contrast and hue.

She stood on open plain,

Desolated grey.

In quotidian ritual.

The snow flake landed on her skin

And her body shivered.

For even in the cloudy sky,

the sun shone brighter than ever.

As apparent as air,

blood came surging to the brain,

And a smile to the face.

She breaks into a canter

with arms wide open,

to fly, fly away.

A bit of hatred.....

If I might not have adequately put it before, I bloody well hate religion. With the news of violence coming in everyday, from almost every nook and cranny of the world, religion is helping humanity plunge into the darkest recesses of doom and dismay.

For some time now, I have been at casual ( and the occasional heated argumentative) loggerheads with people over religion and standing the ground, waving the flag for total eradication of this horrible remainder of civilizations old. And in the heat of the argument, the hatred would spill over for the person. Who can possibly believe in this horlicks called religion, if they had half a brain? Why would one be such a moron, on purpose, day in and day out? Aargh, the idiots!

One such argument was with my own parents, as you have. And at the end, momentarily though, i had a twinge of bad feelings for my mom. Which is preposterous of course and I was only very happy to realise that. Which is when, it caught me. As someone has said, "Don't hate the player, hate the game". Religion has survived by making sure that humans believe it is the only true form of salvation. And humans, trying to find a crutch in their darkest hours, are only happy to oblige. Do this for enough generations, and voila!

And so, everytime, I get into an argument about this heinous anathema called religion, and it starts to get a bit heated, i just remember the loving face of my mom. A religious housewife. Who wants nothing but the best for her family. Inspite of the religion. How can I hate her ever! 

Upon this stone, this city shall stand......

On this sad day of the passing of Nelson Mandela, I read another terrible news. Now, this is as terrible as things get and usually I will say many unkind words about priests, pedophiles (not sure there is a difference, but I will reserve the judgement) and religion and go my way. For I cannot do more than that.

But this news comes out of St Paul, Minnesota. One of the Twin Cities, where I spent 2 very happy years of my life and feel very connected to the Twin Cities and its people. Of course, its in the name. St Paul. And of course, as anybody else drawn to this city, I went to the Cathedral of St Paul, several times. Marveling at its beauty. Enamoured by this royal edifice.

I remember sitting in this magnificent building, one wintery morning. Looking at the stained glass portraits. And the crucifix. Statues of the saints. And thinking to myself. This is what us humans can do when we come together, for a common cause. This is what represents a great side of human nature. Creating beauty. It truly is a testament to the best of our species. And without the people, this is nothing. Absolutely nothing.

So, such a thing should happen in the Cities that I love, makes me very very sad. It truly does. These Cities gave me a million beautiful sights and sounds and the people treated me with care and warmth. I truly hope that justice prevails in this case and the victims can find some peace and closure.

Moving mountains

What is true joy? Inner peace? They do sound like buzz words, pop culture references to something that has been buried under a mountain of cliches. So, you and me do not care for such, when going about your daily routines.

But when those quotidian distractions are removed, to an extent where you feel detached from normal life, is where you can start to search for the true meaning of those phrases. You have done a long and tiring hike, you are driving through a narrow, beautiful road in the high Rocky Mountains. And this song is playing on the sound system.

You come to a halt. Your senses are dissolving into one smooth and soothing mixture. And then you come upon a view as such. It is difficult to not have a tear in your eye. It is difficult not to be overwhelmed. You close your eyes. And the existence of your being stands alone and suspended. In the same moment of comatose bliss, your being is most alive. 'Tis in that moment, that you experience true joy. Inner peace.

Rule of the Fucktards.

Putting a spanner in somebody's pleasant vacation day works is bad.Starting riots because a Dalit man married a non-Dalit woman, is, a heinous crime against humanity. This is going to get very ranty and obscene, so here is the ticker. If you are religious, you are not going to like it. If despite reading this, you start feeling uneasy in your pants, it is your own fault.

I happened to read this news, thanks to Facebook, which has worryingly enough my source for much news.

First of all, in my eyes, if you do not treat another human as an equal, from whatever part of the world he or she is, then you do not deserve to be called human.

If you do not treat somebody as an equal, because you differ in what religion you follow, you are enormous retards. All gods are cunts. All religions are bullshit. Fucking fairy tales making humans kill each other.

If you believe in misogynistic practices - female infanticide, dowry, restricting woman's rights - just because they have been around for a long time and your parents and relatives follow them, call your self an educated moron. That education, clearly, has not enlightened you in any way and made you a better human being. Stuff that money you have earned, up your colon. It is useless.

If you want to discriminate between humans because they have a different color to their skin, you are the scum of this earth. You deserve to be put in an isolation ward on some island.

All these tags that exist, should be done away with. The one that should exist, is humanity. My opinion, anyways.

Machinations.

A lazy Saturday morning is just what the doctor ordered. I know, there is work to be done.Phone calls to be made, groceries to be bought, stuff to be cleaned. I know, I bloody well do. But those amazing extra hours of sleep in the bright hours of first sunrise is a placebo for all woes.

But wake up, I must. The ritual of weekendification mandates 2 hot cups of ginger laced tea which equals a lot of pleasures that I am yet to discover. Temporary amnesia calming all my real world worries, the sound of music from the internets of the world pipes into my living room and my head is buried in a particularly loved magazine. Reading from paper is a bit rare these days. 

Benighted. The strains of this dark and melancholic music, whilst serenading, also prove to be a bit like a spell. I lift my head out of the magazine long enough to notice the weather playing puppet to the sounds. Dark cloud are being towed into view. Winds pick up. Cheery dancy sunlight is replaced by a pall of gloom. My mind is awake enough to realize. A affirming smile and I raise my cup of the spiced aromatic potion. A more perfect setting, to help scramble away at life's troubles, cannot be found. On with the reading then.........

In my time of need.......

In this self imposed seclusion,

Comprehend the shape of your thoughts.

Silence, to soothe your fevered brow

The golden disease that terrifies.

Figurines that lunge and grab,

The proverbial throat.

The comatose suddenness of it all.

Divine the meaning of all that you are,

And stare into your perception of self.

Cheery at time and dark otherwise.

On this mental landscape

A million myriad paths

All seemingly equal and inviting.

To chose to follow and tread on one

Is the unfortunate contradiction to conviction.

In my time of need

Sound of summoning,

Of desperate reckoning.

In my time of need, 

Your voice emanating from realms real

Cut lose from tentacles

Of my own imagination.

Rest Easy, Angel of Death.

There are no subtle intro lines to this and so lets just cut to the chase. When one of the architects-in-chief of heavy metal as we know today, Jeff Hanneman of Slayer, passed away a couple of weeks back, it came as a rude shock would be an understatement. In his memory, instead of the customary silence, fans around the world cranked Slayer songs , Raining Blood comes to mind, for prolonged duration at hearing injury inducing levels. If you think that is a bit odd, well, it is pure metal. And you are an idiot.

As the metal world lets the news sink in and pay tribute to a fallen brother, its just a lot of good will and  vibes around. And in this real world we live in, there have to be checks and balances of all kinds, for some reason. Enter the sub-single digit IQ'd numb nuts of the Westboro Baptist Church. Instead of me wasting words on anything, I will let the pictures below paint a much more compelling picture. 

Now, there are many scenarios that can be seen here. Some funnier than the others.

1. That imagery does not really dissuade any Slayer fan. We find peace and strength in songs like "Dead Skin Mask", "God Hates Us All", "Angel of Death" and the list is too long and I am too lazy.

2. Your "God" has already consigned Jeff Hanneman to hell or some other place like that. So why bother picketing Jeff's funeral. You should be celebrating in your shithole.

3. Picketing at funerals of soldiers KIA is bad enough. Leave their families alone. Picketing the funeral of man whose fans are known to carve the bands' name into their own flesh has to mean you have reached a new level. Congratulations on finding the balls to think about doing something like this. 

4. WBC, you are just 40 strong, with a bunch of banners and posters. Jeff Hanneman's fans number in the millions world wide. Thousands will show up at the funeral, take my word for it. Your best case scenario is, they just form a human chain around the funeral procession.

5. Beyond the above mentioned, it just gets better. Drowning out the "God hates your stars" rhetoric in a rude open air ambiance of Slayer songs. Moshing around the picketing morons. Dousing them with pigs blood. Inflicting some injuries. Violent clash resulting in the eventual wipe out of the Westboro Baptist Church. Take your pick. 

I am not a religious apologist. Don't want to be one today. But I want to ask you to leave this one alone. You do not want to face a crowd of grieving Slayer fans. We want to remember and celebrate the life of someone who was an awesome musician, wrote some songs that have since become immortal in the annals of metal and above all, a genuinely good human being. It has already been conclusively proven that your god, your church and your pickets stand for nothing good and worthy. Go and bury your head in the sand and think about what you are going to do before showing up at the Palladium, Los Angeles to a reality inducing sound track of "God Hates Us All". 

Jeff Hanneman, you frigging legend. Rest easy. Your legacy is intact and immortal. \m/.