One More Round the Bend (Blarobbarg's half-assed journal where he recommends stuff)

Blarobbarg · 01-21-2019, 02:03 PM

Run (Part 4)

“Ya know Davy, you ain’t going to be able to run forever.”

David looked up at the sound of his Papaw’s molasses-thick Appalachian accent. The older man’s gnarled, work-worn hands were gripped around a rake. It was nearly Halloween, and the leaves were thick on the ground in front of his modest home. It wasn’t much—but it was bought with the hard-won earnings of a man who worked for himself. Like every other home here in Hazard, Kentucky it was bought by coal.

“Whatcha mean, Papaw?” David was 19. He was back from basic training for a visit before he headed out to Iraq to fight for his country. His friends told him he was the best shot at Basic—he attributed it to years taking pot shots at squirrels and birds attempting to poach his grandfather’s garden. He was in that very garden right now, pulling up the old plants and working them into the earth while it was still soft. He didn’t fully understand why the old man insisted on doing something like this when you could just wait for the winter to take care of it for you, but Papaw had always been stubborn and particular, and there wasn’t anything to be done about it. So, he dug.

“I mean,” he started, and then took a moment to cough into his shaking fist before spitting on the ground. He tried again.

“I mean you’re young and healthy and you got prospects. You got good grades and a future.” He scratched his protruding stomach with too-long fingernails. “Y’aint like me. No need to throw yourself away. Stay here, Davy. Go to college. Find a gal.”

He paused a moment, face tight and unsure, as if he was wrestling with the words to get them out of his mouth. “Stop beatin’ yourself up over somethin’ that weren’t your fault.”

David, his face still turned towards the earth, stiffened. His grandfather had tried this same conversation at least half a dozen times before.

“Mom ain’t coming back, Papaw!” David’s voice cracked in a semblance of the puberty that he had so recently gone through. He paused to gather himself and said with finality and venom, “I ain’t either, so stop tryin’.”

Blarobbarg · 01-25-2019, 09:29 AM

Run (Part 5)

David’s movements were quick for a man whose left arm was useless and who had lost a considerable amount of blood. He wasn’t quite running, but he was moving expertly forward in a deep crouch, on towards his jeep at the edge of the hills. He assumed he would be by himself, this deep in Daniel Boone National Forest. Sure, his family lived a little east of here, closer to Williamsburg—but aside from a few neighbors, there ain’t too many in these parts—at least, that’s what he had thought before heading into the hills. Obviously incorrect, his shoulder reminded him, as it snagged on a low branch and forced him to his knees.

He recalled, with grim sense of irony, a similar experience with roles reversed.

The .50 caliber sniper rifle in his hands.

The shot that blew the goddamn arm off an unsuspecting towel head who was working diligently in the distance, planting a land mine on the edge of a ravaged town.

The young man—couldn’t have been older than 16 or 17—dropping to the ground, flailing in agony, trying to escape whatever dark god was smiting him from the sky.

The flower of viscera that bloomed after he tripped over his own trap.

The laughter and jeers he shared with his friends.

Who was laughing at David now, somewhere out there in the woods?

At this miserable thought, he stopped for a moment to consider his now-black surroundings. It was freezing, and he could see his breath in front of his face by what little light the moon provided. He gripped his grandpa’s knife in one hand. The small blade offered little comfort.

Suddenly, there was a crack somewhere behind him and to his right. It was the sound of a foot breaking a twig on the ground, and he dropped without hesitation.

Straining his eyes, he peered into the pitch, all looming shadows swaying against solid gloom. He saw nothing. He held his breath, listening, but heard as much as he saw. After a few tense moments, he released a breath and started to pick himself up.

A thwip sounded and he felt what could only be an arrow whir past his ear and into the thicket, and he took off into the brush.

Blarobbarg · 01-31-2019, 10:10 AM

Run (Part 6)

David lay in his bunk in the mostly-empty barracks. He was still pretty new to life in Iraq, but he was smart enough to take downtime seriously when he got it. He chewed the wad of tobacco that was stuffed into the side of his mouth as he watched his new roommate, Luis, who was bent over, pulling a shoebox out from under his bed.

David propped himself up on one arm. “Whatcha got there, Luis?”

Luis looked up, at David and smiled. Back home, David had only met a handful of non-white folks. They were always around, but his people didn’t typically make friends with theirs—and the feeling was generally mutual. But as they’d gotten to know one another over the previous few weeks, David had come to truly respect, even love, Luis and the other brothers-in-arms that he worked with. Despite Luis’s brown skin, he was a standup guy.

Luis opened his shoebox, revealing a large black candle, rosary beads, a box of matches, and a small framed portrait of a skeleton wearing nun’s robes. The skeleton held a scythe in one hand and a globe in the other.

Luis pulled the objects out, methodically, one after another. He first propped the portrait up so the undead nun stared at him. He then set the black candle down next to it, lighting it with a match. Finally, taking the rosary, he began flipping through them, one by one. Glancing up at David, Luis explained: “This is Santa Muerte. Back home, my tía would sometimes perform little services for folks who had been hurt by someone. She would pray to Santa Muerte for them, they would light a candle, and then...”

Luis trailed off. He looked at the painting of Holy Death, and in the flickering of the black candle, she looked back. “Well,” he said with a chuckle, “I don’t really know what would happen then. But I was always told that Santa Muerte would get revenge for those treated badly, sinned against. She would protect them from harm.”

David cocked a dubious eyebrow, but before he could say anything, Luis waved him off. “Listen man,” he said, “I know it sounds like bull****, and it probably is. But we’re out here fighting for our lives. It can’t hurt anything.” With that, Luis turned his back on David, picked up his rosary, and began muttering under his breath, down on his knees, looking intently to the lighted, robed skeleton.

Santa Muerte, gripping her scythe and her globe, looked right back.

OccultHawk · 02-08-2019, 04:14 PM

I listened to Jeff Rosenstock, “POST-“ on your recommendation today.

That track “Let them Win” is such a fantastic anthem! I was like RIGHT ON!!!

Blarobbarg · 02-09-2019, 05:07 PM

Quote:

Originally Posted by OccultHawk

I listened to Jeff Rosenstock, “POST-“ on your recommendation today.

That track “Let them Win” is such a fantastic anthem! I was like RIGHT ON!!!

That was one of my top tracks of last year overall. It's such a ****ing banger. The whole album is great and makes me appreciate pop punk again as a genre, but HOLY **** that song.

OccultHawk · 02-11-2019, 02:28 PM

Quote:

6. Obliteration, “Cenotaph Obscure” (cavernous death metal)

This is a ****ing hella creepy record.

OccultHawk · 02-15-2019, 06:14 PM

Quote:

Originally Posted by Blarobbarg

If you like that, you should listen to Portal's album Ion from this past year. It's in my top 10. It's not even heavy, really... just scary. It sounds like a bunch of horror movie villains came together to make a ****ed up metal album together.

Liked this a lot. Again very Gorguts to my mind.

**Frownland** · 02-15-2019, 08:03 PM

Quote:

Originally Posted by OccultHawk

Liked this a lot. Again very Gorguts to my mind.

It's all about Vexovoid. Their whole discog is awesome.

Blarobbarg · 02-16-2019, 09:19 PM

Quote:

Originally Posted by OccultHawk

This is a ****ing hella creepy record.

Quote:

Originally Posted by OccultHawk

Liked this a lot. Again very Gorguts to my mind.

Glad you liked those albums! They're both top shelf. I agree with Frown, Portal is amazing no matter what album it is.

Blarobbarg · 02-16-2019, 09:23 PM

Run (Part 7)

He had never intended to run. His buddy Earl had told him going into the village that they were highly sympathetic to the United States.

“They hate Saddam!” he exclaimed happily, clapping David on the shoulder and giving that bucktooth grin of his. He continued in his weird, off-kilter canter that he always got into after a night of uppers and anxiety. “They’ll welcome us with open arms, about-goddamn-time I tell ya, how many days in a row have we been up to our ****ing ears in bullets and mines? Anyway, you and me pal, we’re gonna get in there, we’re gonna find the guys with that good contraband, and you ‘n’ me’ll get wild. And, hey!” He winked mischievously. “Maybe we’ll find ourselves a couple of local girlfriends and have ourselves a good time, yeah?”

David was too exhausted to answer, but he indulged in the first grin he’d had in a long while.

It was all cut short when the truck at the front of the line blew up. Rocket launcher.

It was a blur of lead, blood, and screams. And then—desert. Nothing but sand and regret.

He, once again, outran Death. He didn’t have to run fast—he just had to run faster than everyone else.

01-21-2019, 02:03 PM	#21 (permalink)
Blarobbarg Do good. Join Date: Feb 2011 Location: Minneapolis, Minnesota Posts: 2,065	*Run (Part 4)* “Ya know Davy, you ain’t going to be able to run forever.” David looked up at the sound of his Papaw’s molasses-thick Appalachian accent. The older man’s gnarled, work-worn hands were gripped around a rake. It was nearly Halloween, and the leaves were thick on the ground in front of his modest home. It wasn’t much—but it was bought with the hard-won earnings of a man who worked for himself. Like every other home here in Hazard, Kentucky it was bought by coal. “Whatcha mean, Papaw?” David was 19. He was back from basic training for a visit before he headed out to Iraq to fight for his country. His friends told him he was the best shot at Basic—he attributed it to years taking pot shots at squirrels and birds attempting to poach his grandfather’s garden. He was in that very garden right now, pulling up the old plants and working them into the earth while it was still soft. He didn’t fully understand why the old man insisted on doing something like this when you could just wait for the winter to take care of it for you, but Papaw had always been stubborn and particular, and there wasn’t anything to be done about it. So, he dug. “I mean,” he started, and then took a moment to cough into his shaking fist before spitting on the ground. He tried again. “I mean you’re young and healthy and you got prospects. You got good grades and a future.” He scratched his protruding stomach with too-long fingernails. “Y’aint like me. No need to throw yourself away. Stay here, Davy. Go to college. Find a gal.” He paused a moment, face tight and unsure, as if he was wrestling with the words to get them out of his mouth. “Stop beatin’ yourself up over somethin’ that weren’t your fault.” David, his face still turned towards the earth, stiffened. His grandfather had tried this same conversation at least half a dozen times before. “Mom ain’t coming back, Papaw!” David’s voice cracked in a semblance of the puberty that he had so recently gone through. He paused to gather himself and said with finality and venom, “I ain’t either, so stop tryin’.” __________________ https://rateyourmusic.com/~Blarobbarg ｡･::･ﾟ★,｡･::･ﾟ☆　^my RYM^　｡･::･ﾟ★,｡･::･ﾟ☆ (◠‿◠✿)

01-25-2019, 09:29 AM	#22 (permalink)
Blarobbarg Do good. Join Date: Feb 2011 Location: Minneapolis, Minnesota Posts: 2,065	*Run (Part 5)* David’s movements were quick for a man whose left arm was useless and who had lost a considerable amount of blood. He wasn’t quite running, but he was moving expertly forward in a deep crouch, on towards his jeep at the edge of the hills. He assumed he would be by himself, this deep in Daniel Boone National Forest. Sure, his family lived a little east of here, closer to Williamsburg—but aside from a few neighbors, there ain’t too many in these parts—at least, that’s what he had thought before heading into the hills. Obviously incorrect, his shoulder reminded him, as it snagged on a low branch and forced him to his knees. He recalled, with grim sense of irony, a similar experience with roles reversed. The .50 caliber sniper rifle in his hands. The shot that blew the goddamn arm off an unsuspecting towel head who was working diligently in the distance, planting a land mine on the edge of a ravaged town. The young man—couldn’t have been older than 16 or 17—dropping to the ground, flailing in agony, trying to escape whatever dark god was smiting him from the sky. The flower of viscera that bloomed after he tripped over his own trap. The laughter and jeers he shared with his friends. Who was laughing at David now, somewhere out there in the woods? At this miserable thought, he stopped for a moment to consider his now-black surroundings. It was freezing, and he could see his breath in front of his face by what little light the moon provided. He gripped his grandpa’s knife in one hand. The small blade offered little comfort. Suddenly, there was a crack somewhere behind him and to his right. It was the sound of a foot breaking a twig on the ground, and he dropped without hesitation. Straining his eyes, he peered into the pitch, all looming shadows swaying against solid gloom. He saw nothing. He held his breath, listening, but heard as much as he saw. After a few tense moments, he released a breath and started to pick himself up. A thwip sounded and he felt what could only be an arrow whir past his ear and into the thicket, and he took off into the brush. __________________ https://rateyourmusic.com/~Blarobbarg ｡･::･ﾟ★,｡･::･ﾟ☆　^my RYM^　｡･::･ﾟ★,｡･::･ﾟ☆ (◠‿◠✿)

01-31-2019, 10:10 AM	#23 (permalink)
Blarobbarg Do good. Join Date: Feb 2011 Location: Minneapolis, Minnesota Posts: 2,065	*Run (Part 6)* David lay in his bunk in the mostly-empty barracks. He was still pretty new to life in Iraq, but he was smart enough to take downtime seriously when he got it. He chewed the wad of tobacco that was stuffed into the side of his mouth as he watched his new roommate, Luis, who was bent over, pulling a shoebox out from under his bed. David propped himself up on one arm. “Whatcha got there, Luis?” Luis looked up, at David and smiled. Back home, David had only met a handful of non-white folks. They were always around, but his people didn’t typically make friends with theirs—and the feeling was generally mutual. But as they’d gotten to know one another over the previous few weeks, David had come to truly respect, even love, Luis and the other brothers-in-arms that he worked with. Despite Luis’s brown skin, he was a standup guy. Luis opened his shoebox, revealing a large black candle, rosary beads, a box of matches, and a small framed portrait of a skeleton wearing nun’s robes. The skeleton held a scythe in one hand and a globe in the other. Luis pulled the objects out, methodically, one after another. He first propped the portrait up so the undead nun stared at him. He then set the black candle down next to it, lighting it with a match. Finally, taking the rosary, he began flipping through them, one by one. Glancing up at David, Luis explained: “This is Santa Muerte. Back home, my tía would sometimes perform little services for folks who had been hurt by someone. She would pray to Santa Muerte for them, they would light a candle, and then...” Luis trailed off. He looked at the painting of Holy Death, and in the flickering of the black candle, she looked back. “Well,” he said with a chuckle, “I don’t really know what would happen then. But I was always told that Santa Muerte would get revenge for those treated badly, sinned against. She would protect them from harm.” David cocked a dubious eyebrow, but before he could say anything, Luis waved him off. “Listen man,” he said, “I know it sounds like bull***, and it probably is. But we’re out here fighting for our lives. It can’t hurt anything.” With that, Luis turned his back on David, picked up his rosary, and began muttering under his breath, down on his knees, looking intently to the lighted, robed skeleton. Santa Muerte, gripping her scythe and her globe, looked right back. __________________ https://rateyourmusic.com/~Blarobbarg ｡･::･ﾟ★,｡･::･ﾟ☆　^my RYM^　｡･::･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆ (◠‿◠✿)

02-08-2019, 04:14 PM	#24 (permalink)
OccultHawk one-balled nipple jockey Join Date: Dec 2010 Location: Dirty Souf Biatch Posts: 22,033	I listened to Jeff Rosenstock, “POST-“ on your recommendation today. That track “Let them Win” is such a fantastic anthem! I was like RIGHT ON!!! __________________ 2016 2017 2018 2019 2020 Member of the Year & Journal of the Year Champion Behold the Writing of THE LEGEND: https://www.musicbanter.com/members-...p-lighter.html

02-16-2019, 09:23 PM	#30 (permalink)
Blarobbarg Do good. Join Date: Feb 2011 Location: Minneapolis, Minnesota Posts: 2,065	*Run (Part 7)* He had never intended to run. His buddy Earl had told him going into the village that they were highly sympathetic to the United States. “They hate Saddam!” he exclaimed happily, clapping David on the shoulder and giving that bucktooth grin of his. He continued in his weird, off-kilter canter that he always got into after a night of uppers and anxiety. “They’ll welcome us with open arms, about-goddamn-time I tell ya, how many days in a row have we been up to our ***ing ears in bullets and mines? Anyway, you and me pal, we’re gonna get in there, we’re gonna find the guys with that good contraband, and you ‘n’ me’ll get wild. And, hey!” He winked mischievously. “Maybe we’ll find ourselves a couple of local girlfriends and have ourselves a good time, yeah?” David was too exhausted to answer, but he indulged in the first grin he’d had in a long while. It was all cut short when the truck at the front of the line blew up. Rocket launcher. It was a blur of lead, blood, and screams. And then—desert. Nothing but sand and regret. He, once again, outran Death. He didn’t have to run fast—he just had to run faster than everyone else. __________________ https://rateyourmusic.com/~Blarobbarg ｡･::･ﾟ★,｡･::･ﾟ☆　^my RYM^　｡･::･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆ (◠‿◠✿)