Korn and a Nightmare Before Christmas

Check out this video from our buds in Raw Sex.
http://www.facebook.com/video/video.php?v=10150893346745019

Pretty sure its their full set from the recent Death Threat show in Quincy.  Send them some love and come check us out on tour with them this winter. 

okay one more. 45 Grave

WOOT WOOT GOTH ROCK!!! EVIL!!!!!

Sunday November 6th

We will be on WTBU, Boston University's  radio station.  Check us out on your radio wave transmission devices or at www.wtburadio.org.
We will be taking all sorts of questions and showing off some new stuff.  Be sure to ask Coy what he is currently reading and about his favorite directors as we just love to hear his opinions on the arts, and you should too.

The charge of the Light Brigade

The great charge happened today, 157 years ago during the Crimean War.  The poem that I have included however is not the one by Alfred, Lord Tennyson, but rather somewhat of a post-script written by Rudyard Kipling many years after the devastating charge made by Lord Cardigan's cavalry.


There were thirty million English who talked of England's might,
There were twenty broken troopers who lacked a bed for the night.
They had neither food nor money, they had neither service nor trade;
They were only shiftless soldiers, the last of the Light Brigade.

They felt that life was fleeting; they knew not that art was long,
That though they were dying of famine, they lived in deathless song.
They asked for a little money to keep the wolf from the door;
And the thirty million English sent twenty pounds and four !

They laid their heads together that were scarred and lined and grey;
Keen were the Russian sabres, but want was keener than they;
And an old Troop-Sergeant muttered, "Let us go to the man who writes
The things on Balaclava the kiddies at school recites."

They went without bands or colours, a regiment ten-file strong,
To look for the Master-singer who had crowned them all in his song;
And, waiting his servant's order, by the garden gate they stayed,
A desolate little cluster, the last of the Light Brigade.

They strove to stand to attention, to straighen the toil-bowed back;
They drilled on an empty stomach, the loose-knit files fell slack;
With stooping of weary shoulders, in garments tattered and frayed,
They shambled into his presence, the last of the Light Brigade.

The old Troop-Sergeant was spokesman, and "Beggin' your pardon," he said,
"You wrote o' the Light Brigade, sir. Here's all that isn't dead.
An' it's all come true what you wrote, sir, regardin' the mouth of hell;
For we're all of us nigh to the workhouse, an' we thought we'd call an' tell.

"No, thank you, we don't want food, sir; but couldn't you take an' write
A sort of 'to be continued' and 'see next page' o' the fight?
We think that someone has blundered, an' couldn't you tell 'em how?
You wrote we were heroes once, sir. Please, write we are starving now."

The poor little army departed, limping and lean and forlorn.
And the heart of the Master-singer grew hot with "the scorn of scorn."
And he wrote for them wonderful verses that swept the land like flame,
Till the fatted souls of the English were scourged with the thing called Shame.

They sent a cheque to the felon that sprang from an Irish bog;
They healed the spavined cab-horse; they housed the homeless dog;
And they sent (you may call me a liar), when felon and beast were paid,
A cheque, for enough to live on, to the last of the Light Brigade.

O thirty million English that babble of England's might,
Behold there are twenty heroes who lack their food to-night;
Our children's children are lisping to "honour the charge they made - "
And we leave to the streets and the workhouse the charge of the Light Brigade!

Winter Tour.

So the word is we havent been playing much cause we are supposed to be recording.  We lie alot.  Men are just arrogant pigs.  Keep checking back here for show announcements and flyers. <3

As of Right now:

December weekend tour with the girls in Raw Sex
12/9 CT?
12/10 Jersey
12/11 Philly
12/16 Boston

Its not so much a tour as much as a shopping trip for all the gals.

Bust It! | Hell is Other People CT Record release: Empty Drawer / Hard H...

We practiced last night. Not much talk, except reoccurring dreams from all members of Jesus with chainsaws for arms, going on a huge rampage, killing all the dinosaurs and Moses running around with a shovel burying them all so we true believers can find them later. Kind of like a sick twisted Easter egg hunt. Jared was upset by this. Eren consoled him. Coy ate tofu. I contributed nothing. check out this video from our record release in CT where Rich from Get Young almost died cause of all the cancer flakes in the air. I love Basements.

Give me the mic, so they can take it away.

"8/18 12:00 am"

Its not that I hate them.  That's not it at all.  I just don't like how blood shot my eyes get, and how raw my scalp becomes from taking a step back, scratching my head, and just staring in utter disbelief.


Grasping at flaws

Toe the line while I jump ship
You're trapped, entombed with an empty clip
Nothings how you planned, so you just bitch and whine
Quit overcompensating, and ruining my good time.

I'm still the one at the back of the room
setting all their things on fire.
To fucked to foresee any backlash
has nothing changed since high school math?

Smile, pretend, its all one big facade.
I'm laughing in your face, at the choices you made.
An ego exploded based on the shit that you own.
What about integrity?  A seed never sown.

I'm still the one at the back of the room
still trying to set the world on fire.
Taking it all in, cant help but laugh.
I win, You lose.  It's simple high school math.

You're always monkey see and monkey do.
I never fucking wanted to be like you.
You're social stigmas stick to you like glue.
Its so cool!  You're so cool.

It all falls apart.

It would be nice if I could get my shit together.  I'm an anxiety attack, constantly blown apart by thoughts, ideas, beliefs, distrust, love, lust, and a constant sense of impending doom.  I know when it all began to crack, splinter, grow.  I honestly believe that everybody is full of shit.  They sing and dance for a cause which never can be obtained.  Because, if they ever so happened to "win", they wouldn't be able to bitch anymore, or would have to make up some other excuse, quote and recycle somebody Else's over used yet just "under the radar" thoughts.  This occurs when they have now taken any sort of suspicious eyes and cast them aside in astonishment that someone could be and remain so profound and fresh.  People naturally crave warmth.  Where is there a warmer place?  Besides the spotlight?  Self loathing ignites sympathy, sympathy leads to someone always saying " I'm sorry."  Sorry is to easy of a word to say.  Apologies are given when you feel threatened of forced removal.  The whole has rejected you.  There is no warmth in New England.

-Unspoken Truce