Sub Terra Vita: The Wonderful Hearing Bleeding of Audio Parasyte's Oozing Wormlies In Song
Sub Terra Vita
By Scipio Cepiacanus
November 29, 2010
The Wonderful Hearing Bleeding of Audio Parasyte's Oozing Wormlies In Song
Den Haus, Aqua City, May 30, 2010
It bit me inside my pleasure-halved brain, like a coiled Star Trek lizard biting into my cortex and giving a sonic tonic effect to the vibrating synapse in my head. I possess no rightful means or wordy deeds to describe the band Audio Parasyte this past late spring, now five or six months gone by me. I remember well what I viewed of the Den Haus crowd. I recall what and HOW I heard.
The band in which a long time friend played his raging bass, Audio Parasyte combined talents for Skipe's mentoring energy with others he taught. My waiver aged, and the songs did pass me in time. I recall not exact the words or the songs themselves. I never did understand music enough to rememorize or vomit the tune on to my own ears. Yet, the feel and the in-toned impressions remain.
Before the big show, the big Memorial Day Eve party, many friends implored, “Come, come and see.” What I saw mattered little compared to what I heard. Now, how those sounds, and the feel of that sight, made me feel then, I do wish to remember.
That night, I stood blind to others in the corners of my friendships. I chose not to see to “a band.” I chose to let the bug of Audio Parasyte dissolve conscience in the menzy of a verving thalamus massaging my social “out there.” If words do fail, let the metal music reveal to others the “funner” night in the Valley Underground everyone shared.
As metal music goes, Audio Parasyte sounded much more better than the average band. It pounded not metallical, and instead it purged the acid from the base, shedding the bass player's sweatlets swinging in all high-intensity directions. Unsinkable sound, it was, despite the oceans of water and whiskey in the room. It was, near, Metal-Titan-tic. It caused a head bang, furious, danging and dropsy in many of the audience. The frenzied downed their spilling beer and vodka faster in the move, quick to fill again before spilling their sense on the floor in the cobalt-blue wet light bullets streaming from Skipe's forehead. I, un-drinking, almost drowned in the seas of flinging souls, though Audio Parasyte's cold kelvin crisp beats kept me unsinking on the wave of crushing dancing bodies. The party, later and later in the afternight bedlam, entered into the Den Haus's hypnotic dark room's black velvet “nada-verve-and-nether-vana.”
Electricity good and in Merlin-style magic shot from metal plated string-words, wrapped in powered up effect: The instruments of enlightened metal filled the smokey lounge. We, the crowded crowd, stood or danced ghostly from those to avoid, played well and helpless in revelry in the tooled merry dronic and spirituous roaring. The Eve's song strong for Memorials ran in drum taps cadenced to honor those who had heroes pass before them. We lived because they did more than us this night; they served; and the honor bestood us to honor them.
And Audio Parasyte thundered onward after midnight. They played even slow songs in the mix of lickity quick ones, though still on the metal-Viva. “where is my dream. . . don't let go.” Pick up that heartful liquid sad puddled at your toes, I thought, as my notes say I did. Put your cleansed spirit, washed with somebody else's bloody ear-tears, on your face refreshed and new. Rebring the motion of joy, life retaken as an Excalibur extended for majestic-wielding of the good in you!! Seize the prayerful moment. Smile wide on this earth, this Terra incognito, this Sub Terra Vita, as life underground is always good when known to others. Music can save a mortal soul and immortal memory a rolling laughter. Let the god, the time, the times, or Time itself, bring a saving with a frugal sense of greatness having served the honest good in joy for others, the sense of wonder at Star Sky in May unending in friendships. Live and get life alive. Live the music like the aural parasite eating dead flesh from the cancerous sadness of the former petty painful cuts and our own ego's pride.
Young, behold not to fate, only define yourselves to be the best “you” a person can be. The spirit of other thoughts rings an ear of pedal and metal-Titan-tic amplified. We are all one, even when all but one get welcomed. The metal band symphony brought us there that night last May, and Audio Parasyte felt in me warm sustenance, in the crowded room with those few close friends in the way of a meal of sustaining regard from the few who accept “It.” Not friends from a cold leftover winter, but those who “get” what people want to be thriving on today, and expect and deserve tomorrow. Into a cusp of summer sun next day, my friends that Memorial Day remembered in the morning, and it brought to me more gratitude for living, and for being me, for I have the choice and the chance to do it.
Such was a memorable Memorial Day weekend in the St. Croix Valley Underground. Viva life!
By Scipio Cepiacanus
November 29, 2010
The Wonderful Hearing Bleeding of Audio Parasyte's Oozing Wormlies In Song
Den Haus, Aqua City, May 30, 2010
It bit me inside my pleasure-halved brain, like a coiled Star Trek lizard biting into my cortex and giving a sonic tonic effect to the vibrating synapse in my head. I possess no rightful means or wordy deeds to describe the band Audio Parasyte this past late spring, now five or six months gone by me. I remember well what I viewed of the Den Haus crowd. I recall what and HOW I heard.
The band in which a long time friend played his raging bass, Audio Parasyte combined talents for Skipe's mentoring energy with others he taught. My waiver aged, and the songs did pass me in time. I recall not exact the words or the songs themselves. I never did understand music enough to rememorize or vomit the tune on to my own ears. Yet, the feel and the in-toned impressions remain.
Before the big show, the big Memorial Day Eve party, many friends implored, “Come, come and see.” What I saw mattered little compared to what I heard. Now, how those sounds, and the feel of that sight, made me feel then, I do wish to remember.
That night, I stood blind to others in the corners of my friendships. I chose not to see to “a band.” I chose to let the bug of Audio Parasyte dissolve conscience in the menzy of a verving thalamus massaging my social “out there.” If words do fail, let the metal music reveal to others the “funner” night in the Valley Underground everyone shared.
As metal music goes, Audio Parasyte sounded much more better than the average band. It pounded not metallical, and instead it purged the acid from the base, shedding the bass player's sweatlets swinging in all high-intensity directions. Unsinkable sound, it was, despite the oceans of water and whiskey in the room. It was, near, Metal-Titan-tic. It caused a head bang, furious, danging and dropsy in many of the audience. The frenzied downed their spilling beer and vodka faster in the move, quick to fill again before spilling their sense on the floor in the cobalt-blue wet light bullets streaming from Skipe's forehead. I, un-drinking, almost drowned in the seas of flinging souls, though Audio Parasyte's cold kelvin crisp beats kept me unsinking on the wave of crushing dancing bodies. The party, later and later in the afternight bedlam, entered into the Den Haus's hypnotic dark room's black velvet “nada-verve-and-nether-vana.”
Electricity good and in Merlin-style magic shot from metal plated string-words, wrapped in powered up effect: The instruments of enlightened metal filled the smokey lounge. We, the crowded crowd, stood or danced ghostly from those to avoid, played well and helpless in revelry in the tooled merry dronic and spirituous roaring. The Eve's song strong for Memorials ran in drum taps cadenced to honor those who had heroes pass before them. We lived because they did more than us this night; they served; and the honor bestood us to honor them.
And Audio Parasyte thundered onward after midnight. They played even slow songs in the mix of lickity quick ones, though still on the metal-Viva. “where is my dream. . . don't let go.” Pick up that heartful liquid sad puddled at your toes, I thought, as my notes say I did. Put your cleansed spirit, washed with somebody else's bloody ear-tears, on your face refreshed and new. Rebring the motion of joy, life retaken as an Excalibur extended for majestic-wielding of the good in you!! Seize the prayerful moment. Smile wide on this earth, this Terra incognito, this Sub Terra Vita, as life underground is always good when known to others. Music can save a mortal soul and immortal memory a rolling laughter. Let the god, the time, the times, or Time itself, bring a saving with a frugal sense of greatness having served the honest good in joy for others, the sense of wonder at Star Sky in May unending in friendships. Live and get life alive. Live the music like the aural parasite eating dead flesh from the cancerous sadness of the former petty painful cuts and our own ego's pride.
Young, behold not to fate, only define yourselves to be the best “you” a person can be. The spirit of other thoughts rings an ear of pedal and metal-Titan-tic amplified. We are all one, even when all but one get welcomed. The metal band symphony brought us there that night last May, and Audio Parasyte felt in me warm sustenance, in the crowded room with those few close friends in the way of a meal of sustaining regard from the few who accept “It.” Not friends from a cold leftover winter, but those who “get” what people want to be thriving on today, and expect and deserve tomorrow. Into a cusp of summer sun next day, my friends that Memorial Day remembered in the morning, and it brought to me more gratitude for living, and for being me, for I have the choice and the chance to do it.
Such was a memorable Memorial Day weekend in the St. Croix Valley Underground. Viva life!
posted by Scipio Cepicanus @ 12:42 AM
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