NEAR-METH EXPERIENCE

The following guest post is a bizarre dope-fueled music-geek fantasy, as imagined by Gabriel C. Zolman of THE AMEN CORNER in his obviously copious free time. Meanwhile, catch the good Bishop over at Gabriel's site (confused yet?), for more sundry sacri-licious fun.

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INDUSTRIAL BLOCK PARTY

The following is a fantasy for nerds. It started as a complicated joke on a message board, and devolved. I make no further apologies, apart from the acknowledgement that a.) this sort of thing would get me shot over at my own site, and b.) this is what happens when you're a rock journalist for too damn long. Oh, and it's also what happens when you hang out in message boards. Sorry.

Anyway, it goes like this:

Trent Reznor is in the corner, moping and brooding—yet the chicks are just all over him. He only wants to be left alone, and yet cannot seem to keep himself from being constantly fellated, despite his grouchy protests. Marilyn Manson, being the accomodating fellow that he is, gladly offers to take the ladies off his hands (and cock)—that is, if he’s absolutely sure he doesn’t want a hummer from him as well.

In an opposite (yet equally dank and squalid) corner, Al Jourgenson is ranting madly into the air with his cowboy hat held high—alternatingly frightnening and inspiring all around. He stops his tirades now and then to mumble that he’s sober, but can’t stop nodding off between assertions. Every so often, he banters phenomenology and existentialism with a pale and pasty crew of drunken, stone-faced Germans—who are mostly made up of Einsturzende Neubaten alumni, and perhaps even some members of KMFDM (however, in all fairness, most of them are outside by the grill, setting themselves on fire with those Rammstein guys.

Any surviving Skinny Puppy members are shooting up in the bathroom—scribbling insanely on the wall in blood and puke—after having bought their drugs from the dope weasels in Chemlab down the hall. Members of Frontline Assembly fistfight in the dancehall with those mopey VNV and Apoptygma guys. Assorted nerdpersons from Front 242, Clock DVA, and such are there, but won’t get off their LAN lines in the kitchen to say hi.

Foetus is watching porn; Bile keep chiming in to ask if he would like to see something more “hardcore.” Meanwhile, Killing Joke’s Jaz Colman is arguing with Genesis P-Orridge of TG and Psychic TV over something rather lively; they each take turns walking outside to chant forbidden names or foreign swear words. Godflesh simply blew the party off.

Sorry you missed it? Don’t be; the entire thing was picked up via Martin Atkins’ webcam, and might surface as a Pigface disc next year (if Cleopatra Records doesn’t beat him to the punch).

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