Omen Kill-Sun, Aqueous Anamnesis, Misty Master Splinter.

Picture Owen Wilson as the carpenter.
Why the fuck not?
I've been told I look like him.
I don't know if that is a compliment.
Now Luke Wilson is some damn.

As anyone living in the Grand Rapids area knows, we are well into the shit-fest known as Artprize. (See my previous blog post HERE if you are unfamiliar with this shit-charade.) As I suspected, not only do we have the normal shit-shamrocks that haunt the streets of our fair city, but we had to import even more shit-kabobs and make life even fuckier for the rest of us. But I had a great idea the other day that would make Artprize fun for one year and possibly cause the whole thing to cease from then on. My idea is this, you have an obscure artist enter the competition. No one has really ever heard of this artist and perhaps they don't even consider themselves an artist. But they have years of carpentry experience and are a true craftsmen. They would acquire a large outdoor space downtown where they can set up. But unlike all the other "artists," this artist would not have their artwork complete by opening day. In fact the day the festivities begin, you will find this mysterious person with only raw materials, tools, and a large pile of lumber, which would peak the curiosities of any passerby. Then our anonymous artisan would go to work. They would begin working day and night, swiftly cutting and carving, hacking and stacking, sanding and staining. People would stand around and be amazed not only by their prowess but also their passion and obsessive loyalty to their trade. It would inspire young and old to gather around our artist and even bring them sustenance. And of course they would begin voting for our artist based on their will to win alone. Then after about a week, people begin to be truly touched, for it becomes apparent that our artist has built the outline of what appears to be a bell tower, complete with a crucifix. The crisp fall air would only intensify the chills one would feel from this pilgrim's piety. Another week passes and it has taken form as a small chapel, complete with breathtaking carvings of the twelve apostles, John the Baptist, David and Goliath and fuck it the entire cast of Veggie Tales while we're at it. At this point, there is no question who will be the winner this year. Both people's of faith and secular critics would agree that this artist truly is blessed. Then at the awards ceremony, everyone gathers once more around the creation of our artist, a beautiful cathedral no larger than a schoolhouse but remarkable nonetheless. Then Dick Dev-il-os would hand over a check for $200,000 and the crowd would applaud in enthusiastic agreement that they had all made the right decision. Then the moment the check was in their hand, the artist would walk over to their masterpiece and burn it asunder. People would gasp in horror and confusion. Their trust and faith in everything and everyone would be questioned. And whether they understood it or not, that is what art should embody. Perhaps they wouldn't agree with it, most likely they would despise that person and be disgusted by their actions. But that person stirred them in so many ways. They lifted them to high heaven and then crushed their spirits into the mud. After only embers were left, the artist would donate all of the money to a woman's shelter. Seeing it as a small bandage for the atrocities the sons of God have committed. It would be glorious.

This would be playing at the bonfire of course.

I love these movies.

But hey on a lighter note, have you ever had a super vivid dream that you were peeing and then woke up peeing? I totally did that at about 4 a.m. this morning. I didn't full blast let it rip pee all over the place but there was definitely some seepage. I have been feeling kind of sick so I am not sure if it was related to that but that has not happened to me in a real long fucking time. Like two decades long time. I was probably snuggling some Beanie Babies or some shit the last time that happened. Blew my fucking mind. It reminds me of this time that I lived with my brother years ago. I remember I was still in college and we were living in this apartment together. I woke up one morning to go to class and felt pretty much fine aside from being a little tired. I was laying on my back and felt some bubbling that was not out of the ordinary. I thought, "Welp, I guess I have to fart." So I began the process of farting, but I got more then I bargained for. My sphincter was just like, "Hey Zach, I am taking the day off. You may want to buy some cork or something." Needless to say I immediately emailed my professor and said, "Sup bro, I know I have missed a lot of classes, but if I come to class I am just going to poop my pants and have to leave." Maybe I am just getting old.

One of the few movies we had at my dad's house.
Still awesome.

Otherwise, I have pretty much just been slaying dragons on Skyrim and working. Tristram is going to be playing a show on the 2nd of October at the old Turtle Den. I guess it's called The House Of Pancakes or something like that. I will probably always refer to it as the old Turtle Den. That is a way cooler name. But hey, I am just some fucker who is going to play there, I am grateful for the space and time. The best thing is it's about a 3 minute walk from my house. So when I come off the adrenaline from playing and remember that I hate everyone I can totally bail. Man I love bailing. I think in some ways I maybe have social anxieties and shit, but I also truthfully think that most people have nothing enriching to say or discuss. Also I get this overwhelming inertia when I see bands play. I guess you could call it inspiration but I see a band and often time I feel like "Why the fuck am I here I should be practicing so I can do what they are doing." I just went to the Knife Ritual, Cloud Rat, False, Thou show in Muskegon last week and it was fucking incredible. I am really glad I went but I got that feeling hard while I was there. Rorik and Cloud Rat overall are the reason I decided to start playing guitar. A lot of other guitarists had influences on me of course but after I saw Cloud Rat I was like, "Fuck it, do it live. These smooth criminals are doing it live real hard." So yeah, I guess I am saying I should go see my friend's bands more often, but I should also not go and practice so I can play with them and go on tour forever and ever.

Mourning Memories, Allegory of Atrocity, The Pink Passenger

You will not be missed, but never forgotten

Enjoying my morning today which I seldom have the opportunity to do. Usually I am about halfway through my shift by now. Wow, what a fucking loser huh? Anywho, I am feeling lighter and more regenerated lately. I have begun working out again and have cut back on soda and other shitty shit. I also removed a lesion I have had for a long time now. I had a giant fucking mole on the top of my head removed. The procedure itself was pretty unremarkable, they numbed me, took a razor blade to cut it off then cauterized the wound. Which it's pretty gnarly to smell your own flesh burning. Pretty metal. Fucking brutal actually. But like anything, when you are at the end, you think about the beginning. I remember the day that I even noticed that mole for the first time. I was 19 and I went to the mall with my first real girlfriend Audrey. She went into a shoe store while I sat on a bench outside. As I sat pontificating and flatulating, I began exploring through my scalp like any bored sailor would do. Who knows, perhaps there would be some dry skin or maybe some food I had misplaced earlier in the day. But on that day, I stumbled upon something new and exciting. My instinct first told me that it was my sebaceous glands causing a blockage of the bacteria known as Propionibacterium acnes more commonly known as a pimple . I would occasionally find those on my head so I began the struggle to remove the contents. I battled long and hard and to no avail. I had decided to give up and try again later and then Audrey came out of the store. "What happened!?" she inquired. Apparently I was bleeding down the side of my face and neck and hadn't realized. So basically to any passerby I was some guy who had probably just been beaten up. Which upon review, fuck those people! Here I was, bleeding profusely and no one had the decency to see if I was okay? Wow, what shitasses.

Me roadtrippin' with some pals
back in the good ole days.

Being taken back to the magical age of 19 takes me even further back, to the days when the strapping Zach you all know and love today was a little less strapping and a little more chaffing. I was what most people would consider an atrocity. I basically looked like Freakshow from Harold and Kumar Go To White Castle except I was fatter and had braces. But when I look back at these times, I miss the simplicity and innocence I knew then. I think most people do, but I would literally play World of Warcraft and bass guitar simultaneously for 8 to 10 hours daily and that was on school days. Wake up at 6 a.m., go to school, get home by 3 p.m., play until 10 or 11 at night. Repeat. I can tell you one thing, I was a far more disciplined musician during that time then I am now. 16 year old Zach would kick 24 year old Zach into the dust. And my naiveté was a blessing and a curse as it always will be. I had zero concept of what "The World Of Sex" was like. I would just day dream that one day I would be good enough at bass that perhaps someone would want to hold my hand and we could dance and sing with gumdrop smiles. But I received very little attention until my body image had made a 180. Which is an unfortunate but necessary lesson I had to learn. No matter how much trust you have upon others, or how much you romanticize the actions of your fellow mammals, at the end of the day we're all just beasts. At times we can be noble beasts, but our shallow thinking will always be our tether holding us from nirvana. And pushing us towards buying the records of the angst riddled euphoria of the hit 90's band Nirvana. What ever happened to that guy? Oh...right...

Ain't that some shit.

My internal being. Actually he looks
a lot like Diglett. Maybe my mole was
a piece of my soul. My soul mole.

In a lot of ways, I feel like that boy is still raging inside of me. My perceptions of people instinctively are usually good, because at the core of me I'd still like to believe most people are honest, loyal individuals. But years of trials and disappointment has shed the light of wisdom upon my fairy tale. But I do believe most people enjoy the company of what lies at my core, and I suppose that is a good thing. Perhaps they ignore the bitter, hateful cloak I have placed upon myself and try to see through to the gooey gummy-bear guy inside.

On the subject of innocence, yesterday was of course the anniversary of an unfortunate event that will be talked about for decades to come I am sure. But I looked back at that year and realized that some of my favorite records I listened to when I was younger (and even now) came out that very same year. And I believe the most unfortunate thing that happened that year was we all lost our innocence. No one is innocent. The lighthearted spirit we all possess took a deep cut that year, and things will never quite be the same. And I can only imagine what the next few generations have in store for us. All I can say is that, God Hates Us All, and we must keep our eyes open for those sparks of humanity that keep us getting out of bed everyday. We only have each other.

Been in a huge Maynard mood.

Breaking The Abbot, Testos-Your-Own, Empathy Pure

Track pants are a band requirement.

Taking a break from recording some shit and I figured I would hop on this shit like it ain't no thang. I have been working on material all morning for a project that up until now was just a myth called Arson. It feels good to be spending countless hours mixing shitty tracks to make shitty demos. Forgetting to eat, drink, and I pretty much just poop whenever I am rendering a file. Arson is something that I have been wanting to do with two of my favorite sailors in the whole wide world for a long time. Ryan "Pistol Whip" Brady and Joe "Fuck Ya'all" Moon. As of now we have never practiced and this will probably be just a damn fun thing to do when we can all find the time but I am excited enough that I just finished a third song a few minutes ago. It's really easy to write music when you don't have to worry about how good it is and just have fun with it. And then you find yourself surprised that it actually sounds pretty fucking gnar gnar all on it's own. So yeah, I am really pumped about opening that fucking pit. The biggest hurdle we'll have to jump will have to be finding a good drummer as always. They also have to have that certain sparkle that only certain sailors have. A real genuine goofball and degenerate all at once. I fear that this city is tapped out of crazy shitbags like us.

This is nice. I like his socks. And his rock hard bod.

As far as inspiration for this band, so far they musically include Bolt Thrower, Corrupted, Mournful Congregation, Boris, and Sleep. But other inspirations include Die Hard, Arnold Schwarzenegger, Trailer Park Boys, doughtnut burgers, hating everyone, and I am watching Men In Black right now so toss that in why the fuck not? In a lot of ways this band reminds me a lot of my old band Chumm that I was in for a short while. We just tried having fun and I think it's been a long time since this town or even this state has had a good fun band around. You can't walk three yards without bumping into some pompous, uninspired wang-slap musician in this shit-box. I hate a lot of things, but I pretty much hate anyone I am associated with more. I hate most musicians, most vegans, most straight edge kids, most males, most Caucasians and most Maggots. And when I say most I would say probably 98%. But it is nice to know that there are a few decent souls amongst the ruins.


Speaking of charred remnants from a forgotten past, remember all those old friends we once had? Boy those were the days huh? It is incredible to me how quickly things can just vanish when it comes to friendships. I never had that many close friendships, but the few that I did have for the most part are completely disintegrated. Not to say they can never be repaired or strengthened, life just has a way of getting in the way. People grow up and shit happens. There is really no further explanation then that in most cases. But I find it difficult to comprehend why friendships seem to spiral into disrespect and hatred in a very short amount of time. And I think at least in my case I have come to several conclusions. First of all, fuck it. My mother taught me long ago that some, (and I could tell she was being generous by saying "some.) Some people are just complete fucking piles of shit, and there is nothing that anyone can do to change that. So you will rarely find me loosing sleep over someone being a turd-train to me. But I also see how my apathy towards people can be taken as a dismissal. Which I think if we grow close enough, anyone can see that I at least try to be a decent person and try not to shit on too many people. So I am always astounded when the shit gets shoveled, no plowed onto me until I am buried up to my neck in other people's bullshit. But I see what the problem is from my side. Nietzsche once wrote "It is not a lack of love, but a lack of friendship that makes unhappy marriages." Well I believe it is not a lack of closeness, but a lack of empathy that makes unhappy friendships. No one can relate to anyone else's problems anymore. I see so little character in people these days. Just faceless, narcissistic parasites leeching off one another till there is nothing left. I have just been thinking about the virtues of empathy a lot lately, and when I try to relate to people who have done me wrong, I find it difficult to imagine that they are doing the same. But in the words of Slipknot, "Fuck it all, fuck this world, fuck everything that you stand for." Maggots for life. God Hates Us All.