Monday, May 18, 2015

Hidden Partner, the end


Inspired by the topical and earnest lyrics of crossover thrash, metal and hardcore punk music, I began to write song lyrics at about the age of 14. Armed with my lyrics, and hampered by a lack of support to play an instrument, I assumed the role of singer in the bands I would join and form in my high school years and beyond.

When I was 18 and 19, or in 1992 and 1993, increasing complexity of my life circumstances, along with experimentation with new music, inspired me to write within myself to create more personal and original words. I also began to try to incorporate basic elements of poetry into my lyrics. As the years progressed I found my rhythm and the writing became less of an exercise and more of an experience. Things just happened and I would often take stock of what it was and what it meant later on.

I took a hiatus in late 1995, but came back in 1997 when the opportunity arose to play music again. Using the same inspiration, I wrote with a little more clarity and insight, often more methodically and straight forward, but sometimes still riding that divine inspiration that would spontaneously occur. This period ended in 2002, and I entered into a dormancy period where I thought I was finished writing.

In 2007, in the throes of adult responsibility, I was inspired to play music again and joined some old friends in a seriously heavy noisy band. The lyrics took a darker and deliberate tone that expressed a loss of idealism about the world at large. Shortly thereafter, I started this blog as an outlet for a creative period of deeply personal poetry that ended in 2013. I'm not sure if I'll write creatively again, so I wanted to punctuate this blog by cataloging what I consider to be my best stuff, or at least that which doesn't make me cringe to re-read.

In order to do that I went back and added a lot of old stuff. I've tagged everything for easy reference. There's a tag for year written. There's a tag for the band the lyrics appeared with. The later stuff that was never used in music is tagged "No Music." There's also a tag for any album the lyric might have appeared on. Also, almost all of the lyrics I've added to this blog over the last month or so were re-written from memory.

Finally, I'd like to acknowledge and thank the musicians I worked with over the years that helped inspire me to be as creative as I could possibly be. A short note about each of the bands I was in- Venosity was a great start for me but there's nothing I could use here. There are a few Bloodspoon lyrics, that's where I started to catch my stride. Car vs Driver, pretty much everything I wrote is included (any omissions were probably Jon's or Steve's lyrics). All of Chocolate Kiss lyrics are here, and most of Sonn Av Krusher.

So anyway, thanks for reading.

Matt


Angel Dust 500


Spirit behind the wheel. Left turn designed to kill.

Walk out the glass. Stumbled last good goodbye. Fumble for the keys. Headlights race toward. Division of the sphere. Dead on target.

Spirit behind the wheel. Left turn designed to kill. Intoxicated orgy. And death is on your breath.

Walk out the glass. Stumbled last outside. Mirror of the fumes. Headlights race toward. Division of the space. Dead on target.

Headlights pierce the darkness. Lines on the road cut through you. One moment blurs the next. Watch the path out of body.

Driven this way before. But the road ends now. All your roads end now.

Tuesday, May 12, 2015

The Widower


The widower rides from Hell. Backs of unholy maelstrom. Lain shrapnel death machine. Kill glory from innocents.

Manic stares down a barrel. Eyes pierced on fire tread. Inferno shaping blades. Wears remnants of the dead.

This mortal trophy blackened by sun.

Speed through shifting skin. Holding unholy message. Give the devil his due. Cash bounty in their blood.

This mortal trophy blackened by sun.

Ritual encampment. Fuel-fed carnal detachment. Mirror of depravity. Full speed acceleration.

Sunday, May 10, 2015

Snake Mountain Death Ride


Sweat heat shack rust. The anguish of sin expulsion. Nest in smoky hills. Sinister sound of jubilation. Outside law of man. God protects us from serpent's tongue.

Feel the pulse of electricity. Running through the wires. Of your god and demon.

Through distorted frames. Of life everlasting. Strychnine acid tongue proclaims. Coming down of savior. Exorcism in hand. The brightest light blast.

The smoke from the trees. The sun from the fucking sky. Deep into the black sky. Venomous pulsating music. Blood-poisoned true salvation.

On The Backs Of Blitzkrieg


Form in lockstep march. Bayonet on shoulder blade. Crushing carcass beneath steps of. Filth soaked boots. Fight for fractured land. Rain blood running soaked ground. Forming sky of smoke. Rising from crater of hell.

Seeping on the backs of fellow man. Draining life from dying man. Risen on the backs. On the backs of blitzkrieg.

Cannon smoke burnt orange. Burning rotted flesh below. Tattered stitched gray uniform. Of cold starvation army. Demon watch on horseback. Circling around the death march. Impaling the climbing bodies. Rising from crater of hell.

Driving on the backs of dying man. Snapping spinal column. Risen on the backs. On the backs of blitzkrieg.

Bullet lodged free fall. Shattered bone over brow. Thinning forward over down. Ashes in crater of hell. Last hungry breath is drawn. Gasping for diseased air. Thinning forward over down. Ashes in crater of hell.

Saturday, May 9, 2015

No Funeral


I have a right to complain about timing. As much as anyone, I'm sure. After twelve years of this I'm convinced. That there's no such thing as order or organization. My high school friends watched me tie the knot. One Saturday between school days. And I was sixteen.

Late one night at a party thrown. By the employees of a local Taco Bell. I was sneaking around. Behind my parents' back.

That first taste of freedom that summer of '90. Fucking for about twenty minutes too long. On a rubber that traveled in my velcro wallet. For about eight or ten days too long. And with a girl who needed anything. I could give her. And I needed someone too.

Somehow discussions turn in circles. How could we be parents? It wasn't a question.

Her home broken into pieces before we met. She told her aunt and her uncle, they said. The only logical choice was to abort. "You'd never even have to tell his folks." But how could she give up something she'd always needed? My mother had tears in her eyes for three straight days. She'd never known what teens would do. My father was silent - he said nothing. They were good Christians, what else could they do? They offered us one choice. It was their help for our matrimony.

And there it was. A sixteen and seventeen year old. With my shaved head and her nose rings. Exchanging vows at a church on a sunny day. In the October of my Junior year. I was back in school on Monday.

Cooperation


Marked for life with circles. Longing for circular motion and movement in time. Swinging around. Run around again. Repeating tender moments and the same mistakes. I still ponder at the sunlit window. But I cannot separate the blinds. To look outside. If the circle is complete.

And there I am. My love for you goes in circles. It's never stuck on points of a line. It's tide rises and falls but never subsides. It rides like a Sunday drive. Or through minefields in a war. It never stops turning away. If the circle is complete.

Days will turn in circles. From the alarm that fucks you off. To the frustration. The comfort, the restraint. To the love, the hate, the fear. To the compensation. To whatever puts you to sleep. Rise and fall within it.