| Just a thought for the day.... |
[20 Mar 2007|01:54am] |
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music |
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November's Doom - Novella Reservoir |
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Government studies show that in the past five years there has been an increase in the number of Alzheimer's cases in the US. What with all the work done in the field of science to prolong life, one wonders why? If the eventual end of our minds is dementia if we live long enough????
In fact, I have posed this sort of question to myself several times in life....
When I am sitting at my computer in the morning with a nice hot cup of coffee, an intollerantly fattening, and devoid of any nutritional value at all breakfast treat, and lighting up another morning smoke to accompany my rich and flavorful cup - Why not put this out and smoke a few less cigarettes a day??? Prolong your life a little bit, you know; until you have some other age related problem to worry with.
I am trying to remain objective and non sentimental about this, which is somewhat easy to do as I am at work right now. What do you think?????
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| Addendum..... |
[05 Jun 2005|09:33pm] |
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mood |
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Proud..... |
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music |
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Dark Tranquility-Static |
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It is official, While Heaven Wept has now signed with Black Lotus Records.
To check out more info, goto Black Lotus Records .
The official statement is there, including a roster of other notable acts as Acheron, Midnight(former Crimson Glory Vocallist), Airged L'Amh, Thou Art Lord, and others.
The ride with WHW has been an interesting and challenging experience, and I expect nothing but great things from the new album. I will definitely keep you all posted.....
While Heaven Wept
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| Been Awhile..... |
[05 Jun 2005|10:32am] |
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mood |
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Waking....... |
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music |
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Sinatra-None but the Lonely/Into Eternity-Spiralling..... |
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A hazy morning rolling in some old audio nonsense and a hot, heavy chested humidity and a sunrise more akin to a Tim Burton movie than the pollution clogged sunrise of the south. Bright and masked in smiles and yardwork, the green smell of freshly amputated grass. Placing a drain in my bladder with some freshly brewed coffee, I'd say it's a pretty damn good morning.
Though it's a week too late, the Maryland Death Fest was ultimately refreshing. When I lived in the south, crusty blast and grind with additives of gore and humor seemed to be the order of the day. Up here?? Not so much, but it was nice to see the offerings there.
Upon arriving, I took a trip to the bathroom to find the whole of the sink covered with blood. What'd I expect? So I walked on past to the stall, which was subsequently drenched in vomit. It was a little after 3, and already someone was messed up enough to lose their stomach??? Oh well, I feel for the sorry bastard that had to clean that up.
The bands were great, though I avoided some becuz I was rather familiar with them and I wanted to chat up some of the vendors. I say great due to the fact that most bands that reside on the "extreme" side of this genre tend to shoot themselves by overdoing everything from note one, and they never quite go beyond that. So if you can hold my attention through 1 or 2 songs, I am there. I am so glad I got to see some of my old frenz from the ATL (the Deathgasm Records folks, Dan and Amoebic. Dys.,) and meet some other new folks who were at the least amusing in their drunken dementia.
As far as updates on current projects; WHW is still doing off and on studio sessions for the new album (good things take time... get over it), the new stuph will be a nice progression from where WHW was, is and is going to go - we'll figure that one out later. In between sessions I have been writing new material for Fearsore. I have released a rough demo at Fearsore , as well as a few older offerings to tide those interested over. The new material will of course be geared towards being performed live, and we shall see what comes of that. Hope you enjoy....
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| Just something my own father would say.... |
[23 Jan 2005|08:56pm] |
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mood |
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Tired..... |
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music |
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Anacrusis - A Screaming Breath |
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TO THE KIDS WHO SURVIVED the 30's 40's, 50's, 60's, 70's....
First, we survived being born to mothers who smoked and/or drank
while they carried us.
They took aspirin, ate blue cheese dressing and didn't get
tested for diabetes.
Then after that trauma, our baby cribs were covered with bright
colored lead-based paints.
We had no childproof lids on medicine bottles, doors or cabinets
and when we rode our bikes, we had no helmets, not to mention, the
risks we took hitchhiking.
As children, we would ride in cars with no seat belts or air
bags.
Riding in the back of a pick up on a warm day was always a
special treat.
We drank water from the garden hose and NOT from a bottle.
We shared one soft drink with four friends, from one bottle and
NO ONE actually died from this.
We ate cupcakes, bread and butter and drank soda pop with sugar
in it, but we weren't overweight because WE WERE ALWAYS OUTSIDE
PLAYING!
We would leave home in the morning and play all day, as long as
we were back when the streetlights came on.
No one was able to reach us all day. And we were O.K.
We would spend hours building our go-carts out of scraps and
then ride down the hill, only to find out we forgot the brakes. After
running into the bushes a few times, we learned to solve the problem.
We did not have Playstations, Nintendo's, X-boxes, no video
games at all, no 99 channels on cable, no video tape movies, no surround
sound, no cell phones, no personal computers, no internet or internet
chat
rooms.........WE HAD FRIENDS and we went outside and found them!
We fell out of trees, got cut, broke bones and teeth and there
were no lawsuits from these accidents.
We made up games with sticks and tennis balls and ate worms and
although we were told it would happen, we did not put out very many
eyes,
nor did the worms live in us forever.
We rode bikes or walked to a friend's house and knocked on the
door or rang the bell, or just walked in and talked to them!
Little league had tryouts and not everyone made the team. Those
who didn't had to learn to deal with disappointment. Imagine that!!
The idea of a parent bailing us out if we broke the law was
unheard of.
They actually sided with the law!
This generation has produced some of the best risk-takers,
problem solvers and inventors ever!
The past 50 years have been an explosion of innovation and new
ideas.
We had freedom, failure, success and responsibility, and we
learned HOW TO DEAL WITH IT ALL!
(*I censored this portion becuz you just dont know my dad....*)
Kind of makes you want to run through the house with scissors,
doesn't it?
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| Drowning the Earth...... |
[10 Jan 2005|10:53am] |
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mood |
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Thankfully Waking... |
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music |
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Dark Tranquility - Yesterworld |
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The images behind this link are fairly bleak (No bodies, but equally disturbing), but I thought I would share them with you all. These are before and after pix, very grainy, but nonetheless accurate pix.
Tsumnami Pix
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| Woke up thinking bout' the south.... |
[07 Nov 2004|10:46am] |
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mood |
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Shifting..... |
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music |
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Rotting Christ - Triarchy of the Lost Lovers |
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Woke up remembering.... Damned hate doing that...
The smell of a hickory autumn mourn, burnt fall leaves casting changing patterns on rooftops with the wind swilling round about. I suppose it happens everywhere around now, but I am thankful. Thankful I can get those memories here, and not have to be there
I woke up with a vision of how everything has changed, came to pretty quickly, spike of consciousness. Felt quite a bit nauseated, more aware than I was actually awake. All the roads had changed, houses that were once bright and filled; all now vacant, empty and gray. Maybe it didnt change so much eh??? I miss it, but I abhor it.
Maybe a hot shower can scour the dream out of my head....
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| A few thoughts on this first eve of autumn...... |
[22 Sep 2004|11:07pm] |
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mood |
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appreciative...... |
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music |
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Fates Warning - Static Age.... |
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When you crawled out I barred the door...
and when the sun burns down on a new chilled earth
We'll find our memories dwelling deep behind our eyes.....
Lacing the pit of our stomachs with the sharp, lead, barbituate stretching....
And like nylon cords woven through our tear ducts
Dragging liquid pain by invisible hooks......
Worry not about the past brothers and sisters,
Inhale and exhale the beauty and splendor of experience,
then release the tension you hold upon your heart.....
Our time together is an integral part of our path...
We walked together in the forest of unknowing sheltered by shadows of possibility and hope. Now, thousands of miles of gutted asphalt apart, we travel on our own. I wish you all the best in the next season and may the gods bless each mourn you wake, each sunset you lose yourself in, and every choice you make on your path to new tomorrows......
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| Updates.... |
[26 Jul 2004|11:21am] |
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mood |
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Slowly Waking.... |
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music |
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Limbonic Art, Primordial, (OLD)Pyogenesis |
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For the curious, or the "where-the-hell-did-he-go" crowd:
I found my way up to NoVa/DC through the many twists and turns, and now I sit entrenched in a bit of a cult legend in the doom world. Apparently this area is reknowned for doom dating way back into the seventies (See Pentagram and their side projects hehe). So I have joined up with the guys from While Heaven Wept to work on their new album. I cant give very much info on this album but to say it is lined up in a timely fashion to coincide with the many other projects surrounding this band (Twisted Tower Dire, Brave, October 31, too-many-to-list). And for those that are curious as to the likes of my own solo project, I plan on giving little previews of where it's going in the next few months just to see what you think. If all goes well I expect to be able to release a compilation of some of my faves from my solo work remastered and some remixed just for old times sake come about december (maybe earlier). I am still here, still lurking-somewhere......
Keine Morgens, Heute Der Welt....
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| Sometimes my mother gives me some really fun stuph to read..... |
[13 May 2004|08:40pm] |
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mood |
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Highly Amused..... |
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music |
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Aphex Twin-Come To Daddy (Blacklung Remix), Hellsau - Vain, |
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Quote For The Day:
"'No, the crackers down South is white people, real mean white people.'
'Is Mr. Goldman a cracker, Sonny?'
'No, he's a Jew'
'But he's white and look real mean.'
'I know that, but some white people is crackers and some-a dem is Jews, and Mr. Goldman is a Jew. You see, Pimp, white people is all mean and stingy. If one-a dem is more stingy than he is mean, he's a Jew; and if he is more mean that he is stingy, then he's a cracker'
'But, Sonny, how kin you tell 'em?'
'That's easy. Just ask me. I'll tell you what they is.'
'Sonny, I aint goin' down South.'....."
Excerpt from MANCHILD IN THE PROMISED LAND by Claude Brown
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| S' Emmior....... |
[22 Mar 2004|09:14pm] |
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mood |
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1/3 here..... |
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music |
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Air - Another Day |
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It's cold out, wind blowing harsh through the trees and throwing things about - such a fidgety child. So much to say, so little time to get to it.... rises to my lips as foam on a wave, yet recedes just as it seems to catch my tongue. The scent lingers around, and my eyes come close to leaking. Holding back. Warm breezy day wandering about the park with munchkins and coffee. Faceless people wandering - disgusting lardassed fashion toting cute little dogs pissing on the walk. If I close my eyes I am able to completely ignore the humans, feel the sun warm my eyelids and contently revel my face in it's rays...... Wandering junk shop treasures, glass eyed thoughtfulness; better days to see. A myriad of art work to dissect and place in dream bound houses in our heads. To place with travels we've yet to see......
Night walks about the neighborhood, about the noise and garble of the night people. Trying to ward off the abundance of sugar and garlic in our daily diet and the heavy stomach that sneaks in with those wonderful bits of sustenance..... Some wonderfully revamped beatnik stylings amongst local rock, one damn fine bassist dancing dazed with his sleek and breathing upright. The wonder of such preceding the most awful lesbo-veggie-liberal-off keyed wailing ever pulled from the shallow floor of an ocean of whiney, jewish bred, dull, personality-less, rank patchouli (<<<I dont care that I didnt spell that nasty rotgut right - the price of crack) bathed, homosexual, lost cause wankers (some scene I do not wish to know the name of). Yet still capping off the evening with the brash and bouncey rantings of self styled pirate blues: Hellblinki Sextet (thought appearing this night as a trio). I cannot begin to explain the wonderful amusement this band dolls out in mass quantities.
((Your Ducky has anointed my car with it's permanent presence. Squeaky, the silent flying wonder ducky.))...... Back to an evening of comfortably losing myself.....
Eventually to end up lost here, and missing.......
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| Thy Children Have Bled... (PT.1) |
[16 Feb 2004|10:10pm] |
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mood |
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Empty........ |
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music |
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The Swans - Not Alone..... |
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Underneath the dangling dagger icescapes, beside rotting carcasses wedged between steel walls of rusty dumpsters, into the dark labyrinth they call downtown; is a place no newcomer hears tell of. This place is where the dead and the dirty are hidden, every city has one of them, just a matter of how deep the city buries it’s trash. Inside this particular alleyway sits an androgynous figure in an immaculate sorrow. His hair knapped in thin strands draping his eyes, so oily and discoloured from it’s original ember that one would not guess it to have been blonde, drips of melting ice. Skin, tarnished grease and earth, prickled with nerve ending’s flare, knighted with the reek of waste; does nothing but add to his bleak demeanor. Shredded clothes adourn him like a mismatched quilt, ripped holes revealing what they would call indecent exposure, actually just a bare chest shadowed by ribs. He’s another story, lost in nowhere. No two are ever the same, but they always end up here festering in this cess of twisted sex, mind wrenching drugs, this tomb of lost souls for the ‘wasted’.
They never quite talk about this place except for when they sit in their cleanliness amongst the deco in their dens in deep trance with the horror reports on the news broadcast on big twenty inch TV’s more expensive than the waste disposal technology that visits us each mourn. They never understand the why’s to a dead realm such as this. They just sigh and babble forth pity, the ever present vocal elitism. ‘Poor things!!! How did they ever get into this sort of mess?’ and ‘It’s so sad to see what ill upbringing will do to a child.’ as if it could never happen to one of their own. To them, the representation of our labyrinth is done by those fortunate few of us who are delusional so to the point they think they can go back to the life they left. Those that don’t realize what could happen, and don’t mind the examples of those that went before. Them, they release themselves from this abyss, this mortal coil, one way or another. Them, they that can be released one way or another.
Those fortunate few wander out into the dawnlight, when the rest of us have fallen back to the shadows. Their ignorance to the ways of the dawnlight people, they get disrespected and turn to relieve one of their own life for it, or maybe they make it into a 7-11 and get beaten for stealing, sometimes arrested, and even shot. Some find the end right as they walk out onto the pavement by one of the passing vehicles. Others that adapt well end up lonely and confused in what they call the lower middle realm. There, I have heard; agonizing screams retreat the open windows of lofts like daemons being exorcized and cast out into the abyssal labyrinth below. Those particularly fortunate few who have actually tasted the lower middle realm and existed there, they find themselves rejected into the hell of the labyrinth or drive out their own life with a dream of life beyond their mortal existence. In either instance, they meet their own final decision to tear at the wrist with broken glass, or choke on some toxic key to heaven.
I listen to my friends, I hear their tragedies, but it doesn’t matter. Their stories are as old as the matted clothes they wear, and most who lend their patience listening - forget them almost as soon as they are told. Like lines cracked and driven into some ancient wall, each small fragment of their stories bares some scar on their minds, ornately shaped our weathered flesh to it’s final condition. I wont lose your lives, I have embedded your stories’ seed into my mind. As you told them, I tore their pattern into the fabric of my memory. As I did; the tissue began to blend, their strings wrapping organically about each other, adapting to the brutal etching. As the result of all of those dear who have relinquished their trust in a young boy with such a small understanding of the world, much less his self; I have written these. You will not be forgotten, unheard..........
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| D'hiver Mort @ The Masquerade.... |
[01 Feb 2004|05:05pm] |
Thursday, February 5th 2004 @ Masquerade
Attitude
Down to Reality
Driven
As the Seasons Grey
Dhiver Mort
Saturday, February 7th 2004 @ Masquerade Doors@8pm
Professional Murder Music
Crooked
Scent
Dhiver Mort
Weerd
One of those rare events where we actually leave DeadWorld,
I hope some of you will come out. We have tickets for sale for either date, it's $6 at the door. But of course, one of the two of us will be out front trying to pawn tickets off on you.
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| v.8 |
[26 Jan 2004|09:23pm] |
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mood |
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Elsewhen....Neverwhere |
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music |
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Current 93 - Island |
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Slipping on thinly veined sheets of ice, just another frigid mourn. The sun barely tints the darkened sky, fog engulfs the tops of all of the skyscrapers rushing quickly by; holding itself visibly defined yet fading into transluscence.
Slowly rolling through the day's death, watching an old man fall and decay. There is a tree rising from the earth amidst urban squallor. It rises wrapped against another, two seperate skins united. Opposites attracting and rejecting in their slow course to the sky, always coexisting in a beautiful duality. Rich coloured houses with ornate porches backing up to rotting and gutted buildings. Buildings that spill their insides out across the barren lots, their tarskin dangling in half censor across the gaping holes. The old falling beneath innovation, their tradition and long standing walls decadent in need of dying - not even fit for cremation or burying. The young shall rise and destroy the old, it is written as solidly a prophecy as any can be. That is not the way, innovation must be woven with tradition. Just as all that today is will coexist with the essence of tomorrow; for without one, there would not be the other. Yet if there were one without the other, existence without origin; the future would be nothing, and thus there would be no past ever. We would be the most dull and unfortunate existence of one miniscule moment only. Enjoyed in only what one aspect the world's various eyes could see at that moment, and then that would be all. Gone... Forever.... As if we'd never been there in the first place....
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| Without as Within....... |
[19 Jan 2004|12:35am] |
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mood |
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Missing..... |
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music |
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Non - Ultimatum..... |
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Insomnia, the assertive backdrop so appropriate for an evening such as this. Cool, black, silence only broken by the wind blowing in arrogant and invasive, or the security lights blaring stale, bright and artificial. Lost in a realm of thought, dream, and query, no way of interpretting coherently. Our mark on this universe is left beneath the skin of perception, etched deep within the bone structured blueprints. Would you assume that such a small signature be meaningless, and non effective??? Would you assume otherwise that if I burned you with this cigarette that it would altar your day constructively??? Would you have been assuming had I not asked either???
When I breathe, I think I am returning abit of myself to the air. To be nourishment and brood in the veins of plant life, then to be recycled into smaller components of oxygen. How important every breath is, to be returning to the earth and back to others. Dreaming often that my essence is being filtered into some artist finishing the work that will epitaph their entire life. Re-admittance of this thought makes me take my next few breaths deeply and cautiously.
Everything seeping in now: the blank slated thoughts of no real character or texture, the end of the day creeping into my eyes and stepping patiently - slowly - heavily down upon my eyelids. Attempt once again to drown in sleep...
Yet we know I shall lie there only half as the dreams scurry in fluid resolve...
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| Transmissions unclear......... |
[07 Jan 2004|09:00pm] |
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mood |
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Calm..... |
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music |
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My Dying Bride - Symphonaire Inferrus Et Spera Empyrium |
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Tonight is very cold and impersonal, dark, and the ice is eatting it's way to the very inner arteries of this old house. Amongst the frantic shaking of people cramping from the frigidity, I sank further into the warm confines of my truck. There was the smell of hickory charring the air, and the clouds met the ground in a sea blue haze. The trees were reaching to the sky, their bone exposed fingers towering above earth flesh still clinging in life hope to their trunks. The atmosphere was not of hope, but rather content despair. Truly humbling, somehow peaceful - even with the negative grip of loss, bitter still with disgust for everything that has torn this world down - digging our graves with the ease and patience of a slave. Often visions over take me in these brilliant moments of silence, driving delicate needles into the cornea's of my eyes. Flashes and movements of times gone by, and ventures to come. I sat there in my seat aching for them, trembling and falling away. The moon beckoned the eastern horizon, more of a bright razour scream shredding the damper of the night. She held my confidence in her distant state, and we spoke awhile. We spoke of things I know, but more of things I am unfamiliar with. As I reached for smoke to cleanse my ripening headache, a further silence descended. Through all of the loss, we gain so much. Through every failure, a success. And still those eyes embrace my mind where ever I go......
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| Pax...... |
[19 Dec 2003|09:27pm] |
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mood |
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Yawning... |
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music |
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Nothing - Self Spiller, Slowvent - Beneath the Passage |
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I talk to myself in 3 voices, one of instinct, one of logick, and one of emotion, but there is a 4th voice that resides externally to them. This voice drifts endlessly amidst the three providing a purgatory between them, a solid ground, a place where all outcomes have been consumed, the most affordable sacrifices and consequences have been absorbed and spit out into solutions. I whisper in the dark, in my mind; it's mantra, repeating over and over in rythmic sustains and breath heavy tones. I find myself transcribing the voices into notes written to the dead, tear soaked paper adjusting to the dry air and staining off yellow-brown clouds. My tears are spiced with salt dripping across my lips, burning the backs of my deeply cracked hands as I reach up to let them roll from my face down past my wrists. The open sores are like tiny slit mouths parched with thirst, aching for moisture in any form.... choking down tears in painful twitches of epidermal nerves. The sensation becomes more of a numbing vibration, vibrating the mantras in perfect synchronization with the rest of me. Soon my body begins to melt on a molecular level into the soft fabric of my bed. I can slow my heart down from here, carefully planned breathing methods forcing bpm's to a crawl. There's a choir singing warm and draconian, a full barrage of aged voices in various pure toned waves. Emotionally piercing, I feel each and every nuance of their song, and it layers in perfect dissonance as I plunge deeper into the void. A rippling silver cascade shifts from the center of my eyes to the edges of sight, everything appears to be concave and convex at once. It blurs everything out in throbbing hues, translucent but vividly conquering. Now I pass from the waking world into the void complete, to be resurrected with remnants of dreamscapes to be revisited in the morrow.......
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| Mourning curiosity..... |
[14 Dec 2003|10:13am] |
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mood |
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Off in nowhere..... |
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music |
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The Swans - Soundtracks for the Blind |
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Swimming in the slate grey sky, the air is light and calm just cold enough to make my hands ache. The beautiful hues of autumn have fallen from their anchors and now lie in sludge upon the damp mossy ground. Inside my comfy cave peering out from the warmth through black bars. Instilled with very little but awe at the stability of the early mourning. A well known dictator was captured this mourning, I wonder if he felt this awe this mourning. Was he sitting about his bed peering out into the mourning smiling becuz he had survived the night's plethora of dreamscapes, looking at his lonely bed and glinting his eyes at his pillow thinking it would be nice to sleep a little longer, but there is so much wonder outside of this room that I must taste this mourning??? Could he have been enjoying a cup of hot cinnamon coffee and finishing off a cigarette when the soldiers took him??? Was he thinking about his family and how much had been lost when he was escorted away??? I wonder was he crying??? I wish I could speak with him this mourning, I wish we could sit down and speak of the things no one wants to know. Make him some brisk tea and ask him about his family, what things he longs for, would he like to see the sunset before he is lost in the american judicial system, what was his goals when he was in power, but most of all, is he scared. I can only imagine how interesting this whole drama of events over in Iraq has been for him. An adventure of mass proportions, running and hiding, seeking refuge where ever your consorts would have you, watching your country blasted and defiled by Americans. By saying interesting I mean in no way something your average person would wish on themselves, as your average person does not like to deviate from the normal and mundane. Your average person does not see how many new and interesting feelings and situations could be derived from becoming a fugitive. I think that once a person finds themself in a position of fear for their life, a position where everything mundane and normal is lost further and further upon each new dawn; that this person should find a new appreciation for life. An appreciation of all the new confrontations and conflicts that arrive on one's door in the alter ends of life. (Disclaimer: I am in no way implying one should go out and make themself an enemy of the state to experience. Just remember that if it ever does, the situation will be so grandly interesting and new for you that you should never lose appreciation of that.)
And then, when you die, remember to be burning, for your ash will disintegrate into the air, to feed the hungry lungs of others and your energy will live on for brief seconds of breathing giving you an apt opportunity to be thankful being able to experience death complete.......
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| I dont post lyrix.. but I thought this was appropriate... |
[25 Nov 2003|09:11pm] |
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mood |
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Amusied and Irritated.... |
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music |
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CopShootCop-Ask questions later.... |
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SURPRISE SURPRISE...
The Lower they go, The higher they fly
There's more than one way to play
and I say an eye for an eye.....
It's been going too far, been going to far
for far too long....
I want to set it on fire, want to set it on fire
drop the bomb...
Surprise, Surprise.... The Government Lies....
It's okay to kill in the name of democracy
And dictators are swell if they like the smell of american money
It's making me sick, I want no part of it
Stop waving that flag...
All you idiots bought right into it
And who's left holding the bag???
Surprise, Surprise.... The Government Lies....
This capsized countries sinking fast
I've got leaches and landlourds and lawyers
crawling all over my ass....
We've been playing along, and they've been playing the song
we wanted to hear....
But the melody's meaningless, it's wasted on my ears....
Surprise, Surprise... The Government Lies.....
Turn it off, turn it off, turn it off......
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| Is 'Tornadic' a word??? (Absurd and general updates) |
[17 Nov 2003|11:22pm] |
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mood |
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Proud...... |
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music |
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Iron Maiden - Powerslave..... |
] |
The sun withers behind the water, smooth cool with no steamy aftermath. On the west side of town among the industrial subsections that seem like they have been glazed with alchohol and are much too clean, I found my new bed, a wonderful self affirming purchase. I have not owned a bed of my own in nearly ten years.
Studio B is quite nice these days, a wonderful setup with all the neccessities of sound engineering right at hand. My latest project shall be released soon on CDR from deadworld. I was not planning on publicly releasing this treat as I have written it specifically with someone in mind, however; circumstances regarding this recording have made me so proud of where the idea came from that I shall release it. (Funny that I have not released Mour A'Dymar yet and it is now nearly ten years done, with several alternate covers that I hope to plaster onto the new cover whenever we get around to releasing it.)
D'hiver Mort is settling into the new studio setup slowly and surely, soon there will be a rearrangement of several of the pieces we are working on, and hopefully we will be able to put them up for those of you interested to take a listen. Currently you can access the latest demo track Naiad on our purchase page at D'hiver Mort
And the older FearSore stuph (which i do no promotion for besides a few blurbs here and there as most of the older material is of questionable quality at best) at
FearSore (Bare in mind (heh) that mp3.com will be shutting down soon as it has been sold (yet again), so this link will be null and void soon.)
Soon there shall be a housewarming gathering, where if the mood strikes anyone, who the fuck knows what might happen. I hope some of you will join us when that time comes around.
Keine Morgens..... Heute Der Welt......
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fearsore's journal