The Wake

1a.m.

A Man Outside My Window: “I WANT A FUCK! I WANT A FUCK, NOT A DICK-SUCKING!”
A Woman Outside My Window: “YOU HAD YOUR CHANCE!”

Crabcore is a style of music that has briefly become, to the shame of us all, profitable. Though some crabcore has its roots in screamo and deathcore, some in suburban whiteboy rap, and some in no-talent laptop techno, all crabcore is made by very young scene kids, all crabcore combines screamed vocals with autotuned vocals, and all crabcore absolutely fails at electronic music.

Here are some crabcore bands to familiarize yourself with. It will be painful, but it is a sacrifice worth making as it is a necessary step on the way to arming yourself against these fucks:

Attack Attack!
brokeNCYDE
Dot Dot Curve
Dropping a Popped Locket

The last three “bands” are of a sub-style commonly referred to as “Screamo-Crunk,” but I’ve decided to bring all of this failure together under the umbrella of crabcore because …

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I know that somebody told you that Isis is a metal band (though that information was erroneous), but that doesn’t mean that you don’t even have to listen to the music before deciding how to respond to it.

You are stupid.

You guys, Isis is not the sort of band that generally provides you with that sort of cathartic release, certainly not on their last two albums.

Which are not metal albums.

Okay.
-Deniz

P.S. Here is their press paragraph for this tour:

“Isis is a progressive band from L.A. with heavy riffs and psychedelic themes.”

Look! Look how hard they’re trying to not identify as a metal band! You are stupid!

A guy with a beard and a bedroll on his back and a smell around him and a general sort-of recreational-chemical deadness inside his eyes:

“Hey man, I hop trains, do you know where a freightyard is?”

And I don’t, so I get into my friend’s car and say, “That guy hops trains and wants to know where a freightyard is.”

And we pull up next to him and roll down our window and give directions and he peers redeyed into the car and says, “Thanks man, hey, do you guys smoke herb?”

At a busstop checking when the 16 comes and a man walks up with smiling lips and smiling eyes and wild gesturing cigarette:

“Youre a musician.”
“Yes I am.”
“What do you play, man, you play guitar.”
“Yes I do.”
“I knew it man, just look at the hair, everybody with …

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“I Am The Dolphin Sprayhole Fucker”

It never ceases to amaze, how suddenly and thoroughly a piece of music can change your mental state. The idea that emotions are reasonable disappears the minute your treasured existential despair is dissolved in Black Moth Super Rainbow.

A comprehensive and in-depth answer to the question of what a novel is and what a novel can do:

A novel has three basic characteristics:

1. It is ostensibly fictional.
2. It is written in prose.
3. It is a long-form work.

Elucidations/clarifications:

1. A novel is by definition assumed to be fictional (and generally claims to be fictional (on the publication information page if not in the text of the novel itself)), though it may be drawn entirely from life, be narrated as though recounting true events, be filled with factual information of all kinds, or contain original journalism and reporting.

2. The primary method of composition in a novel is prose (though it may contain poetry), but there are no stylistic limitations whatsoever on that prose. Most novels are narrative, easy to comprehend on the level of basic action, and …

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I do love books, but they take so long to read. Even if I read all day every day, I make no headway into the vault of books I want to read; in fact, reading only makes that stockpile grow larger, for each book read provokes desire for a half-dozen more. But upon reflection, it is good that books come in the form that they do, because if books were food I would eat until no more would fit into me—until I was backed up all the way to the rim of my esophagus—and then I would vomit them all out and it would be like I had read nothing, and if books were pills I would swallow them by the handful and call a friend and tell them how many pills I’d taken and …

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They’re like, “Say your name, and your power animal, and what you like to do,” and when it gets around to me I say, “My name is Deniz. I am a powerful animal, and I enjoy making statements.”

Later, she decorates the woman with sliced strawberries and whipped cream and icings of many colors while she is being fucked on a table.

[please note that the woman's restriction of movement is entirely voluntary and consensual as she attests to (after the icing has been washed from her) while sitting on a couch with a towel covering the naughty bits of her body, her face red with either excitement or shame or slapping, which is another thing that she likes, I assure you]

I can never be sure if the reason why I think Ipecac Neat is far and away the best P.O.S. album is because it’s actually better than everything he put out after it, or if it’s because it was one of the first hip-hop albums I ever liked, because I listened to it over and over and over and over in high school memorizing every word. This is the problem with all criticism: your response to every record you hear is conditioned by your life’s experience of music, by what you’ve heard and when and how many times and how you felt about it, and also by what you haven’t heard. So throughout this review let’s keep in mind that I got into rap through Rhymesayers and enjoy it now primarily through anticon., and that …

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“You must never let them know that you care or they will kill you.”

Dawkins [with smart-sounding British accent]: “Hitchens.”
Harris [pointing at Hitchens' podium]: “Hitchens.”
Hitchens [passed out drunk on his podium]: gurgle, snore