Poem: 'I’m Not' by Elena Karis

I’m Not

by Elena Karis, 2017

I slumbered in a peaceful grave

Just for you to find me and raise me

To be your slave.

To do your bidding as you pleased

Without consequences to anyone

Just to watch me bleed.

Toss me a treat here and there

A shiny penny or a green bill

Order after order with a smile so menacing

You say kill kill kill

I long for the sweet surrender of bliss

To be back in my slumber

That sweet release can only be given with a kiss

A kiss you have no intention of giving.

Slashing, ripping my dead flesh at your pleasure,

Abusing the privilege to force me to take orders from others in your name

Now I can’t recall a time of peace or joy

I cannot recall being free

I cannot even remember my name

Poem: 'Maiden, Mother, Crone' by Debbie Dixon

Maiden, Mother, Crone

by Debbie Dixon, 2012

Maiden's beauty, oh so fair

She ascends the sky to take her chair

Content to look upon her world

This beautiful amber eyed young girl

Once so anxious now starts her shift

Before old Sun's head has yet to lift

And when he immediately shouts commands

Maiden Moon extends a gentle hand

          )0(

Mother now remembers well

When all were captives of her spell

Content to gaze upon her babes

Looking for guidance no longer as maid

For those who were forgotten long ago

On the cold unforgiving earth below

Whose loyalties were forgotten at birth

Wrapped up in false religious mirth

          )0(

Crone who now has witnessed all

And watched the sacred take the fall

For acts brought about by gluttonous men

Who blamed the sacred blood of woman

Woman who was to bare the weight

Of all the worlds misguided fate

The rulers sat with torch to scribe

The sins of women not yet alive

          )0(

The artistry that they have wrought

The power of three, these three have brought

Those who have not the knowledge of Crone

That the silver haired beauty now doth own

Sitting as patiently as when Maiden she was

Nothing left to chance of the things that she does

Armed with the power of ultimate knowledge from above

The most potent power that is known, simply put, a mother's love

Poem: 'The Blackest Gift' by Corvo Obsidian Sahjaza

The Blackest Gift

by Corvo Obsidian Sahjaza

It is a night of dark desire, a song of blood,

wolves vent their howls.

The ethereal one wakens.

Wisps of death shrouds her gaunt form,

an everlasting wanting.

Her midnight hair cascades over

pale and tragic shoulders, and her

full blood red lips part slightly,

to taste the soul streaming from the

pale flesh beneath her.

Now a night of darkness,

I thirst.

Poem: 'His Beast' by Coralie Rowe

His Beast

by Coralie Rowe

It simmers inside him this fury

A consuming fire that burns

But noone ever pays heed

They just never, ever learn

He keeps hisself so quiet

Trying to hide this tormenting rage

But how does he control the beast

If he, is its only cage

He continues to fight it daily

He normally wins the fight

Yet somedays he can't appease it

And it boils over at the smallest slight

Then the beast is unloosed

He quivers with an unbridled need

The demon that lies inside of him

Rises now to complete the deed

Taking the one who prevoked

This insatiable need to excise

He lays you out on the table

Placing your head, tight in a vice

Painstakingly slowly

He will rip the skin from your face

Relishing in your agony

As you thrash about the place

Turning the handle leisurely

As the pressure he begins to increase

Watching whats left of your face intently

As the muscles and bones crease

Memorizing the moment

That sweet addictive rush

Watching your eyes begin to bulge

As your skull he starts to crush

Poem: 'The Sun' by Alison Stone

The Sun

by Alison Stone 

In his mother’s womb, the Buddha

blazed; her belly shone

like a translucent shade over a bulb.

Boulders, groundhogs, grass, your surly neighbor --

my light flares from everything.

With all shining, how can you not celebrate?

Let me melt

your stubborn sorrow, leave you

innocent and lovely as an animal.

From Ordinary Magic, published by NYQ Books August 29, 2016

Poem: 'Slave Labored Severance in Sovereign Obelisk Shadow' by Alan Lisanti

Slave Labored Severance in Sovereign Obelisk Shadow

by Alan Lisanti

from below these monuments

wide eyed wonder, astonishment

and they, immortal in aging stone

un-weathered by the curse of time

and their stories transcend centuries

and their legends larger than past lives

their legacies upheld, strengthened by mortal minds

and imaginations, in rituals, in worship, in ideologies, in laws

and principals, in sacred temples, in ancient texts

in prosperity and plague and blood and perpetual death

the gaze of admiration tempts him twisted in the soul, he is

primed for elevation won’t the unworthy bow around his presence

lifted from the curse of mediocrity

a throne fit for a king on a cloud

power unbound unquestioned unthwarted

flesh eternal in this world

where every story has an end every being an expiration

he will be revered beyond these forces

carried in the hearts of men to bridge the void in flawed design

to assert meaning beyond the relative in the theatre of divination

to offer them the purpose to serve

to cast aside their cause their power and their virtue

to be doused in the blood of swine
disguised as sheep and stripped of instinct

to be cloaked in the jesters’ robes
to be the hand of creation on the assembly line


serving self-appointed deities


charismatic and celebrated


puppets on a power trip


pulling strings and mouthing clichés to the masses


hanging onto these false promises


when every word was bought and sold


every ideology paid and polished


so when the hooks sink into their jaws


and pull in opposing directions,


you receive the force fed teachings with ease


you swallow the fabric sewn by desires of ambitious lament


so that he may be impostor standing tall on holy mountain


and those below, and you beneath


carving granite with the chisel of dementia


bloodied fingers wrapped around tools of the trade


like scalpel, brain surgery-architects of pestilence


steel glistened when reflected light from sun,


 catches eyes, reawakens realization


this device also a weapon


work is done

Poem: 'The Doll' by Abyss Forgottentomb

Poetry Collection " Mutism : The Shadow's Shadow "

CHAPTER 1: " Cage "

Poem #2

The Doll
by Abyss Forgottentomb

Here's a toy with a porcelain heart ,

Beating like an old broken clock out of time ,

The doll is a broken piece in a golden cage ,

With sadness in the eyes , feeble and paralyzed .

In the golden house of cards lives a king ,

A Joker as twisted as Loki ,

Great Master of Illusion with thousand keys ,

He broke the doll's heart without remorse , given her a ring .

In the golden dungeon full of chains ,

The murdered doll complains ,

No one can hear her through

Those walls are sponges swallowing her cries and fears .

In the house of tricks and horror ,

The painful atmosphere is haunting everything ,

Corrupted Joker is playing thousand games ,

Ravens shouting loud "nevermore" .

Daughter of Oden , half sister of Tor himself ,

She's sitting alone on a dirty shelf ,

Muzzled and blind in chained to the cold darkness

Paralyzed by the fears , broken by the aristocratic weakness .

Sister moon , with a white cold face , torn like a birch skin ,

The doll only remembers , mute , and broken hands ,

That tomorrow is the same as yesterday , cold like a machine ,

Waiting for the day All-Father will take his child back forever .

Video Review: INTERNAL BLEEDING Final Justice by Dave Wolff

INTERNAL BLEEDING

Final Justice

Recorded at Down the Drain Studios, Ronkonkoma, New York

Produced by Internal Bleeding and Frank Bones

Mastered by Tsun Tsun Productions

Video Credit: Washed Up Media, Sean Ageman

Unique Leader Records

In memory of Bill Tolley (1974-2017)

Though I’ve always listened to Internal Bleeding on and off, they’ve gradually grown on me the past few years. The godfathers of slam are one of the first death metal bands to come from Long Island, and with Suffocation, Mortician, Pyrexia and Incantation they defined a genre that surpassed the aggression of thrash metal and laid the foundation for generations of brutal bands, proving the notion that taking that first step beyond perceived boundaries can make for lasting upheavals. Released in the wake of the tragic death of drummer Bill Tolley, the promotional video for their new song Final Justice is introduced with a dedication to the band’s longtime percussionist and friend who was there since their 1991 rehearsal demo. Releasing the video as a homage to Tolley has been met with an unfaltering outpouring of condolence and support from people who knew him. The song itself was composed to be the next stage of their evolution. If you wanted proof that extreme metal still has the capacity to elaborate on its past milestones, Internal Bleeding are refining their formula, tightening their trademark components of blast, groove and slam to form new arrangements for them. Old school fans will appreciate their hardcore and proto-DM influences being cultivated in similar fashions. All this is tightly compressed and the transitions between time changes allow for each new riff to build on the previous one. The delivery is such that you want to hear the song more than once. Independently co-producing with Frank Bones has allowed for the band’s primal expression to shine brightly, or darkly as the case may be. There is a depth in the sound that makes for a pummeling, demolishing presence with impeccable impact on the listener. The way the band’s heaviness is tempered with twenty five plus years of experience reflects their desire to capture their live sound and expand on their 2014 full length Imperium. Here the band live up to their reputation and their rabid fan base. -Dave Wolff

EP Review: HANGMAN Hangman II

HANGMAN

Hangman II

Independent

The second EP release from Hangman (Long Island, New York, USA) makes little secret of frustration and disillusionment felt by people still trying to make sense of a world in which honesty continues to fade into the woodwork and more people pretend at politeness and courtesy. If the search has been going on for a long time and yielded nothing there is bound to be frustration. It’s a natural impulse. Fortunately hardcore is still a medium where you can express it if you’re in a band and the people who see you understand what you mean to one degree or another. As for those who still don’t, Misfits road crew member John Grimm said it best in Living The American Nightmare: The Story Of A Rockstar, “The horror is out there; the norm need to … have that little twinge of fear of ‘hey, this could come knocking on my door’.” The scene in Long Island has made a comeback of sorts with clubs booking bands from the immediate area and neighboring locales, so you know they’re at least gathering down the block so to speak. People with pent up desire to remain themselves and change what they see happening in the world for the better is met with increased pressure to conform and accept what they see. I gather this from the lyrics written for Heat: “This world, it's getting worse by the day/Honest people have gone away… So, sit around like no problems exist/While all I can do it fucking clench my fist/Nothing that I can do.” The song goes on to ask if this is really adolescent, directionless angst or maturing with a genuine desire to change the world. At the same time questioning those who pay lip service to it when their true desire is personal gain. This is summed up in the lyrics of Conviction: “I don't need the moral guise, you hide behind/I Don't wanna live in your perfect world… Save your breath and preach to someone else.” If you’re struggling with unwelcome pressure to be like everyone else, Hangman can give you a lyrical shove against the opposition, and a musical shove on top of that as the musicianship reflects the drive and determination of the lyrics they’re backing. Somewhat like All Out War meets crust punk with more than enough energy to sweep you up in all its abrasive, aggressive glory. -Dave Wolff

Documentary Review: "New York City Subculture 1996" by Dave Wolff

NEW YORK CITY SUBCULTURE 1996

Filmed & Edited by Chloé Le Roux (The Visual Artist formally known as Nia Janeen Brown)

New York City Subculture 1996 is an unofficial documentary released on social media back in 2006. It’s a gritty depiction of the punk lifestyle in pre-Quality of Life East Village filmed video style, presumably with no additional film crew and no scripting.

Granted it’s an amateur undertaking a decade old showing an even older side to punk. I felt now was appropriate to air my thoughts since NYC subculture has been grossly misrepresented by movies like CBGB (2013) and more recently Enchantments (2015), and Joe Corré’s 2016 publicity stunt in which he torched five million pounds’ worth of rare memorabilia. Almost as if the closedowns and forced evictions of the clubs wasn’t enough. Regardless, you wouldn’t know it’s far from dead, as you would if you ignored the hype and traveled to Manhattan for yourself. As one New Yorker said, the lifestyle and movement never died but rather went back underground.

The best way to see how things were is to watch documentaries; and what strikes me about New York City Subculture 1996 is un-sensationalized presentation. People who play in bands, see shows, work at local tattoo parlors and live on the street are introduced on a first name basis and interviewed one-to-one, more in conversation than questions and answers. It’s similar to street life documentaries HBO aired in the 80s and 90s like Life Of Crime, without the gratuitous drug use and criminal mischief.

Perhaps Another State Of Mind is closer to the mark as nobody is speaking for the kids but the kids themselves. As one of them put it, it’s a “suburban view” of New York punk. Local scene members (including Pat and Kaya of Deviant Behavior and Scott of Skitzopolis) expose city life, not arguing pro or con but giving interviewees reign to say what they feel and letting the viewer decide how to relate.

In fact no message is set in stone since each interviewee has a different experience to speak of, but a common theme is finding one’s own way without turning to society. Even if homeless and possessing almost nothing by first impressions, they choose their lifestyle with a clear conception of their individuality. Appreciable is the doc’s honesty and the respect shown for them as having something to say. You might be shocked, but you’ll come away with more of an understanding of street punk. -Dave Wolff