TOU PLUS TOU FIVE EQUALS ALL PEA-QUELS

It was five years ago.

Alone with my thoughts-

on a web site-
called
Thoughts.

Doing what I had always been doing-

writing.

(Then, referred to as blogging
due to my connection with the internet.)

This connection that seemed to be the only one I would ever have.
 
So there I was-
writing
(blogging)
my very heart and soul out
for all to see.

That was when it happened-

sight seen.

Yours.
To mine.

A new connection was made-

mine-
to yours.

We were both unsure-
it was new-
and weird-
but damn!

It felt so right.

I mean, just to know that someone
somewhere
out there
understood me-
knew me-
GOT ME-
well, no matter how unusual the circumstances-
this connection was strong-
strong enough to withstand distance.

How much distance exactly?

How about all the way across the country?!

 
The miles were far-
for the distance was indeed long-
and yet

no matter how long it seemed

nothing was as long as the days and nights
that had fallen under the reign of loneliness
we both had once succumbed ourselves to.

Thoughts changed-
we changed-
we grew closer-
and as time and circumstance evolved-
so did we.

We became even closer-
until-
before we knew it-

Four and a half years later-

I LIVE HERE NOW!

Being apart was hard

on an EPIC level-

and as much as geography sucks-
we shook it off like a carpet of beetles-
withstanding spoil and foil-
because it was meant to be-
WE were meant to be.

All of that time apart seems like another world now.

But this other world was always ours-
and we were puzzle pieces-
once missing-
thought lost-
just waiting for that perfect moment-

our fitting ceremony.



And now,
five years later-
here we are.

Stronger than ever.

And in the words of your fine self-
(words spoken to me from you-
in that other world)
"We're just getting started."

These five years have been an EPIC testament-
a statement of dedication-

no longer to be crackled over a faulty phone line-
because here we are-
here and now-
you and me-
TOU-gether-
FOUR-ever-
TOU-DAY-
TOU-MORROW-
ALWAYS-
AND BEYOND-
and now
instead of having to dial up and whisper sweet somethings
into a plastic ear piece delivering words to your heart-
I can stand here and shout even sweeter everythings to the world-
our world-
because I live here now-
with you-

and five years?

Well, that is merely a single candle on a love cake-
because
my love-
my BFFSMJTPMCCNOFH-
We ARE indeed just getting started.

Happy five year anniversary!

To You-
to Me-
to Us-

TOU PUS.


2/5/2015

BG.

OSAMA BIN LADEN SEX TAPE

The blog you are about to read is a few years old. It was originally posted May 9th 2011 on my old blog page, thoughts dot com, where it caused no uproar of any kind. It was satire and, considering recent events, thankfully taken as such.

That page ceases to exist in its proper form and I have since moved many of my old blogs from there to here. As for this particular blog, though a favorite, it became sort of lost in the shuffle. At some point in my blogging tenure I realized that something of this nature has no place in today's internet. By my former rebellious standards that would of course mean it should be posted everywhere for all to see it if they choose. But I caved and I tucked it away and even though it lay pretty much forgotten it was nothing of the sort as far as I am concerned.

A little background on the blog itself: it was a response to an old writing challenge at the site. At the time the big issue in the news was the infamous Osama Bin Laden death picture and should America be allowed to see it. I have obvious thoughts on this matter and was able to perfectly convey them in this satirical piece. The theme for the challenge was "Gone but not Forgotten." This fit perfectly with both what I was trying to say and do.

Something occurred to me while making the choices which blogs made the jump here and which ones didn't. This blog, if taken in the wrong way, could have and still could get me killed. At first, that sickened me. Next, it made me laugh. Then, it kind of freaked me out a little. I filed it in the archives and have only spoken about it, and shared it, with a selected few.

The world has changed so much in these last few years. I will not blow steam here nor bother directing my rabid disenchantment for this notion in any which way. I am of course referring to the left and right. I mean, fuck it. We are who we are and nothing is going to change that. Particularly nothing in a blog posted here on the internet. What happened in Paris is important though. It demands both attention and response of any kind. Me being an artist I highly prefer something largely creative, which of course makes perfect sense considering the situation itself.

Posting this old blog again on the internet is my response. Opinions are just that and mean nothing outside of those who have them. What is considered proper satire versus offensive is always going to be subject to opinion. So there you have it. By ways of freedom of speech, a sadly dwindling concept here lately, nothing should be off limits. Taking this to heart, and most importantly keeping it there, I have decided to let this one out of the archives and into the world, where it belongs. If someone is offended, good. If someone wants to kill me, so be it. But I am an American and a human being and I will never be scared of posting anything here ever again.

****************************************

Al qaeda. 

The asses of evil. 

Once masterminded by this Osama Bin Laden character. 

A real dude made of flesh and blood apparently because he just had his face shot full of holes like a piece of Swiss cheese. But a character none the less. Videos recently confiscated and made public by the undisputed champions of global masterbaition, referred to by many as the US Government, have shown the once feared chief architect and diabolical figure who lead the filthy rat race of terrorism had now become nothing more than a caricature of his more notoriously demented media induced former guise.

In recent reality the poised and threatening scourge of the planet was actually an unkempt and uncoordinated ailing old man.

Kind of like Charles Manson in a dress.

Playing up his image in front of the camera prior to being ridiculed by an off screen bully because his failing eye sight hampered his reading of the cue cards.

Obviously unaware that even Ozzy Osbourne can afford a teleprompter.

So the fucker is dead now.

Gone but certainly not forgotten.

Has anything changed?  
No.

Is anything ever going to change?  
No.

Still, those who harbor broken hearts from their losses in any of the attacks helmed by these dip shits do probably feel a certain sense of closure now. In case this should be lost on anyone it's that whole eye for an eye thing that we as a species seem to get so jazzed up about.

Completely overstepping the fact that this fuck head should have been exterminated a long time ago the big issue that has people up in arms and foaming at the crotch now is the existence of a picture that we had dangled in an envelope right in front of our faces and now are told is too gruesome for our virgin eyes.

Stop pulling my dick, Obama. 

 Virgins are myths, like unicorns, and we the people live for that gruesome shit. Still, there are those who wish to not see the picture. My suggestion? Go back to watching your porn.

This planet is fueled on sex and violence.

The reason we are not being allowed to see this picture is just another hand job. The government knows we need to see the fucking thing.

Not for proof.

Not for peace of mind.

Only because we are a bunch of sick fucks and we simply need to see that shit now, bitches.

If Osama Bin Laden had made a sex tape do you not think that it would be everywhere for the taking (and giving of only $999.99)?

To those who disagree I respond only that when I do want my dick pulled I'll do it myself thank you very much, so stop lying.

But for those who dare to imagine, here is how it would have went down-

The room where big papa is stored, and bored out of his mind, is small and it smells like poop. This because budgets are tight and there is in fact a bucket of feces in the corner.

A director has been hired.

Some American sleaze bag.

He is escorted into the room to meet his future star and left to fend for himself with some smelly old Arab guy.

Oh wait a minute. It's Osama Bin Laden.

Man, that dude doesn't look anything like what we see on TV.

He needs make up badly.

Before panic sets in that he doesn't speak sewer rat the sleaze bag is calmed when Osama takes out the only really cool gadget that his people have been able to make for him since 9/11. This being a vocal translator in the shape of a dildo that he rubs on his adams apple and upon speaking has his vocal patterns translated into English. When his voice is heard it sounds like Cheech Marin.

This kicks much ass because after all, who doesn't love Cheech Marin?

 Not very threatening, but it's all good.

At this time big papa has hopes of organizing a rabid media campaign that would make Cirque du Soliel soil their lacy underwear.

With the right sleaze bag as his tag along this should be as perfect as sticking a burning man sausage into a cooling apple pie.

Director and star immediately hit it off. Surprisingly this terror maverick has quite a sense of humor as exhibited through a series of "Your mother is so fat...." jokes. Man, this guy sure does get a bad rap.

When it comes time to talk business big papa stands up from his piss stained mattress and says "You would like to see my weapon of massive construction?" to which the director laughs heartily and replies this would be a great title for their movie.

This guy is a genius. No wonder they made him boss.

As it turns out what constitutes big to those of foreign descent is actually quite paltry to Americans and the director informs Osama that a stunt cock might be advisable for preservation of his mack daddy status.

Next up the cast is brought in.

The sleaze bag asks Osama if they can film in a more suitable locale. Something bigger than a broom closet and where filming will not be aggravated by the smell of feces.

Osama throws his body down onto the mattress and lights a fart that elicits some oooohs and ahhhhs from everyone present but mostly is met with apprehension because they know the room is so small that should his garments catch on fire they will all burn to death.

Once everyone has relaxed and helped Osama up from his juvenile charade he tells of a warehouse in the South corridor that he knows would be perfect because there is plenty of fake shrubbery they confiscated from a tryst that Osama had with Paris Hilton at one of her lodges. There is much ambiance to be had because despite the fact that Osama is out of touch with society and shitting in a bucket he knows a hell of a lot about women and one of the things he knows is that women love to fuck when they are near palm trees.

First things first, get this fucker into make up pronto.

The party is moved into the GREAT BIG ROOM. There is much fun to be made and after hookahs and Arabian moonshine are passed around the crowd of party makers and no shit takers have forgotten why they gathered there in the first place.

Oh yeah, porno history is to be made.

Not the first sex tape to be made starring a legend in his own mind but what will undoubtedly become the most important, from a purely historical point of view, once the viagra kicks in.

The first lucky contestant on "Who wants to be Jizzed on by a Millionaires son?" steps up.

Osama asks that she remove the bed sheet so that he can use it to keep warm later but demands the woman face the wall as he is hammering the crusty nail from behind. She becomes angered and flips out, creating a scene out of a different kind of movie, horror. Osama says that is okay because this is how he rolls and in between bursts of estrogen propelled hell fire he does manage to insert something into some orifice or another.

Due to time restrictions penetration will have to be determined upon playback and the next woman turns from sex kitten to ravenous beast as she rips off her dress and attacks Osama. With his flesh flag flying dutifully in the breezes of glory from all the viagra he has ingested Osama shows the former orphan who her daddy is and shoves his throbbing member into her ear where he ejaculates out of the other side of her skull onto the face of another woman in a tactical weapons maneuver he gleefully refers to as "two baggin."

Hopped up and hyped over from a sperm actuated spill frenzy the once seemingly decrepit and glaze eyed old timer now begins running around the room pointing his throbbing, and immense though still humble sized by American standards, stick of dynamite at those still standing while pop and locking in the center of the floor and motioning to the bodies of the spent women laying at his goofy looking feet and claiming that "I am Conan, the conqueror of bitches."

Without his knowledge this is all being filmed by the director for possible inclusion on the DVD extras.

Upon asking who is next to be ready for the mack daddy of girth and goo one shy women steps apart from the crowd and raises her hand.

 Osama says "Bring it, she creature" and having no idea just how prophetic his comments would prove to be prior to being uttered, the woman, who is in fact a horrid creature once concealed by the garments she wore, does just that and "brings it."

The sight of the fetid wench and her horrible stench even overpowers a man who shits in a bucket and sleeps in his own piss and once his viagra filled knob falls off the director yells "Cut!" and that is a wrap.

I'm sure the sleaze bag who shot this imaginary piece of celluloid history would feel pretty powerful because believe me, if this was real everybody would want to see it. After all, when it comes to sex and violence and the people of the world there is a reason that sex cums first. Though violence is never to be discounted, do understand that the government has good reason for not making this image of dead Osama made to the public. It's just another way to control our thought process and keep us living in fear by forcing us to remember him the way they wish to preserve his image. With make up.

FIVE NOVELS, ONE NOVELLA, AN ANTHOLOGY AND AN ART BOOK- BEST OF 2014

There are a number of reasons that I rarely do best anything of the year lists. I tend to ignore newer films and music, so there goes both of those lists right out the window. Since I am one of those people who always seem to walk around with a book in my hand though it might make perfect sense for me to do a best books of the year list. I will never claim that I am the most patient of readers and I probably wind up shelving more than I finish. This is no fault of either myself or the writer. I merely like to be grabbed right away and if I'm not, well then.... okay, yeah totally the writers fault.

Just kidding.

I don't wish to slam anybody here. We like what we like and don't what we don't.

Actually, my main excuse for hardly chiming in with any of those nifty books that made my nipples tweak for any given year lists is a simple one. I tend to read more old books than new ones. In fact, some of the best books I, not only finished but, found myself completely enamored with were those that fell into the meant to read but up until now I just haven't section. This is not to say that I didn't find myself being moved the right way by something fresh off the new release shelf.

Best of lists mean absolutely nothing outside of said "besters" opinion.

I get that.

But they're fun to look at because I'm sure to find something on every list that is a new book for me to give a go. I feel like one can never read too many books so there you have it. More lists equal more books. I have to admit that the more bloated lists put me off. I mean, life is short. A year is even shorter. If someone drops their best 100 or so what-evers for that year I will pay attention up until the first few and then most likely go back to what I've been doing, which is picking my to be read pile from my own brain.

Other problems that no doubt affect any list I'll attempt include time and money. Oh believe me, I would love to just sit around year after year and read every single book that looks worthy to me. Not gonna happen though. Life simply does not permit it. Piggyback that with the fact that I just can't afford to read every book I would like to and there you have my own existence, and my lists, in a single sentence. I read what I read and I liked what I liked and I'm here to tell you about it.

There are a few books I am really wanting to read. Given enough money and gift cards for Christmas this will happen. This is not to suggest that I will like them better than the ones I did pick here though. According to good reads I actually finished 171 books this year. Of that figure 140 were old and 31 were released in 2014. I also shelved 34 books, 3 of which were from 2014.

This isn't a worst of list so fuck those books.

This is the best of the best.

The 5 books that dropped down onto the public in 2014 and resonated most with me in particular.

 They are my crown jewels of 2014.

Well, sort of.

I'll explain as the list progresses.

I have also added 3 titles to the list because technically they do not qualify as novels but they were amongst the best titles of the year for me and should absolutely be recognized. I am always interested in hearing, or reading, other peoples thoughts and lists so please feel free to post either or both.

Next year looks to be a monster year as many of my favorite authors have major releases already listed for pre-orders. Hell, my top 3 favorite writers of all time are amongst these releases so 2015 looks to be most exceptional actually.

But let us not take away any glory from these releases nor their authors.

For they were the best of 2014, for me at least, and I look forward to reading more books by all of them in the future.

The Moon Sisters by Therese Walsh

One of the most heart wrenching tales of any year, let alone this one. I found myself stumbling sometimes because I couldn't read it fast enough.

It's that good.

Two sisters set out on a journey that is every bit as soul searching for its characters as it will be for anyone who picks it up. Believe me, once you start reading this one you will not stop until it's over and long after closing the final page it will stay with you.

Only being the second novel from Thesese Walsh I anxiously await anything she will turn out in the future and I totally need to track down a copy of her first book, The Last Will of Moira Leahy. She is truly a wonderfuLL writer. Yes, 2 L's.



One Kick by Chelsea Cain

It's the start of a new series for Chelsea Cain, and like the title characters nickname, things have started out rather kicking here. This is a bit lighter than her Archie/Gretchen saga but no less masterful.

Kick Lannigan was kidnapped and rescued as a child. Now a young woman, she teams up with a mysterious bad ass named Bishop and they work together to solve several cases of missing children.

It's the most fun I have had between the pages of a book this year.



The Fever by Megan Abbott

Really now, what is there is there to say about Megan Abbott that hasn't already been stated by everyone else that reads her? A new book by Megan is a sure thing for me. One simply can not help but find themselves enraptured by her unique blend of crime and girl power.

Her early work has been a fresh take on the noir genre. If you have not read Queenpin, well you need to rectify that ASAFP. It's one of my all time favorite books.

For her last few books Megan has traded in the stylishly sexy noir world for the modern day high school yard. The Fever tells the tale of a group of teenage girls plagued by a mysterious outbreak of sorts. As always, with both story and prose, she snaps, crackles and pops the reader all the way until the end. Megan Abbott is a master of her craft and never disappoints.

She also happens to have written the best short story I read this year as well, "My Heart is Either Broken", which can be found in the George RR Martin edited anthology Dangerous Women. Though it came out on the tail end of 2013 I actually read the story this year. This mind blower, and heart breaker, of a tale has also been slated for release this year as part of another anthology, The Best American Mystery Stories of 2014, edited by Laura Lippman. Like everything else of Megan's, it's a must read!



Strangers by Bill Pronzini

Bill Pronzini is a hard boiled veteran of the crime scene that has been clocking in quality fiction longer than all the other writers on my list added together. He's a master at what he does and the fact that all these years later he is still relevant at not only working it but getting the job done is a testament to greatness in itself.

His Nameless Detective series is one of the longest running, and still most entertaining, reads out there. In the most recent tale our hero is taken to Sin City to look into a rape case made against the son of an old girlfriend.

Pronzini hits you hard from the bottom of his soul with brutal procedure highlighted by his unique flair for geographical sense. His books are always a quick and fun read and you can almost smell the change of seasons between opening and closing the covers.

Strangers proves that he is like the Energizer bull of crime fiction.



Night Film by Marisha Pessl

Okay, so this book technically came out in 2013. It was issued in paperback in 2014 though, and this is the year I read it.

It's such a monster-piece of literature that I felt a few months couldn't spoil my decision to shower it with praise. It's unlike anything I have ever read. Not so much of a book as it is an experience to be reckoned with by the reader. Night Film stayed with me in between readings and even after I read the final line. That is what great writing is all about. This book used my senses porno style and fucked my head each time I sat down and found myself lost in its complexities.

It's basically a tale of a mysteriously reclusive director and the journalist trying to track him down, and yet it is so much more than that. The media dogs are called out following the apparent suicide of the directors daughter and this beast of a tale simply does not let up for all of its 700-ish pages in length. My general lack of enthusiasm for long books make this one worthy of every bit of its glory here.



Dinner with the Cannibal Sisters by Douglas Clegg

Douglas Clegg is one of my favorite writers of any genre. When people drop their picks for maestros of horror fiction pretty much all the usual suspects get ample nods. I never see people mention Doug Clegg though and that is both a damn shame and an improper oversight. I just got turned on to him a few years back and have become a huge fan. He has only recently seemed to be re-activating his output with lots of new stories and the cream of the crop is this beautiful novella, both in prose and layout, released this year from Cemetery Dance. Over the years this publisher has turned out some spectacular releases and this one is no exception. It's so well presented here that I almost felt bad about having to soil its pages with my fingers.

Obviously, with the title, one would tend to think this might be some kind of gore fest. This being Douglas Clegg though you never know what you are going to get outside of being nothing short of magnificent. It's stylish and filled to the brim with that brilliant prose that Clegg is known for.

Centering around a meeting between a man and 2 elusive, and reviled, sisters this tale is somewhat of a mash up of a quiet horror tale and a historical fiction piece that may very well be the best thing I have read all year. Being a novella I was able to sit down and read it all in one sitting and when I was done the first thought I had was that I simply could not wait to read it again. Kudos to both Doug and Cemetery Dance. A landmark release on both of their parts.



Fossil Lake: an Anthology of the Aberrant

Okay, so first I have to say something up front. I'm in this anthology. My story poem, The Rack, can be found here. That has nothing to do with my decision to mention this one, I swear. It's an anthology and as much as I love anthologies I kind of don't. They can be uneven at times in terms of both quality and pacing. My story aside, This was one of the best anthologies I have read in a while. Although I will blow my own horn here and say that my story fits in nicely. I wouldn't have made the table of contents if it didn't, right?

I actually dug every single piece that was included here and I am overjoyed to be amongst such stellar company. I won't bother singling out specific stories or poems and just say that if you want to have a whole lot of fun and read some quality stuff well then this book has got you covered. It's available as both an e-book and in print from Amazon.




Imaginer: Volume one by Thomas Negovan

Imaginer is an art book that collects reproduction prints of paintings by Clive Barker. It's part of a proposed series of 8 books and Barker himself claims it to be the greatest book that has ever carried his name on it. How could I not include it here?

It's Clive Barker so that means it needs to be here. Everything this man does is of the highest quality and this collection is no exception. Though his literary output has been scarce these last few years 2015 looks to be quite a year for us Clive Barker fans. A new novel, along with some special novella releases, and Volume 2 of this series, the first of which is still available in limited quantities and well worth picking up for fans of Barker and art alike.

BUNGLE GRIND IS ONE EPIC MOTHER FUCKER

Although the politics behind their new material might seem intriguing, almost noble even, I'm still having a hard time wrapping my head around a new Faith No More album being released. I mean, step away from the plate for a moment and realize something. This band is important to me. They are not Mr. Bungle important. Still, they were an already killer band made into something so stellar and unique, with the addition of one Sir Michael Patton, that it was almost cosmic.

This band was like a ride. The coolest ride for those of us who were there on opening day at the amusement park.

Then-

 the ride stopped-

people got off-

and most of the band members faded into obscurity.

Except for Mike Patton.


The other members showed up here and there.

Most visible would be drummer, Mike Bordin.

He joined Korn and got to overdub drum tracks on the first two Ozzy Osbourne albums, as part a deranged agreement with resident wench Sharon Osbourne to discredit and disrespect original drummer, Lee Kerslake.

He even showed up as a contestant on "Who wants to be a Millionaire?"

But Mike Patton has stayed active ever since with a cavalcade of musical projects. If anything, for a while at least, he became even cooler after the band broke up.

What this man contributed to my existence is something that words alone can never truly convey.

I was Bungle Grind damn it!

I still am.

Patton's legacy can be attributed to a list of projects and guest appearances too lengthy for a proper role call. Arguably he has projects that are


far more experimental (Fantomas)

monstrously ambitious (Mondo Cane)

 

way cooler (Lovage or Peeping Tom)

and even more epic (Mr. Bungle)

But Faith No More will forever be known as the band to put this Mother Fucker on the map. They are his commercial juggernaut.

Bands split up all the time. Many stay gone, as they should. Some fathom themselves starships and launch new campaigns in efforts to reclaim something that is just not possible.

Their glory.

You see, glory is not just about some cool tunes. Glory is about a lot of things. For many bands glory is something achieved as a result of an era. Many of the most important bands of the past were made so partly by simply being a product of the times. Sure, the music may have kicked ass. But what made the appeal of certain bands so monumental was demand. They were needed.

Bands like The Doors.

Bands like The Smiths.

Bands like Rage Against the Machine.

Bands like Mr. Bungle.

Bands like Faith No More.

Bands can do reunion tours or one off shows and hereby relive a simplified, more concentrated, moment of this glory. It's hard to pull off though. Still, it can, and has, been done.

Releasing new material is an alternate beast. If there is any method known to constrict, and even annihilate completely, a creative flow worse than an extended hiatus I don't know what it is. Such matters are only to be more so complicated by the doings of time. Bands such as the ones mentioned, along with many others, have the luxury of recording songs that not only helped define the lives of people who were there the first time around, they helped to define the fabric of the very time itself. Era's such as the 60's, 70's, 80's and 90's are remembered more for their music than most other common occurrences. Music is a universal language that speaks to and for us all. Even a one hit wonder can somehow manage to stay relevant forever.

So then the idea that such a band is going to record new material, material that will sit on the shelf next to classic albums such as "The Real Thing" and "Angel Dust", is a perplexing one. Especially since the band, at one time, seemed to poo poo even the thought of such material happening in the first place. Interviews suggested they were done once their live flow had been spent.

Now, the fans know the truth. New record, new tour.

Maybe it's a challenge. I mean, the band seemed to approach the concept of a live reunion with the very same hideous reluctance. Then, "From out of Nowhere", they came, they played and they kicked ass. I guess it only seemed a natural progression in the thought process to ask "What is next?" for a bunch of guys with nothing better to do. Even Patton on his own seems bored these days.

It is thoughts like these that make me cringe. A band that said they would never record new material is now recording their first new album in 18 years because they are bored.

Oh joy. Sign me up.

As long as the material is shrouded in secrecy all hope is not lost. I admit that I was filled with flame flavored bile upon hearing of the original reunion plans. I felt like Patton was so above this at that point in his career. When I saw the clips from that first show I swallowed all that flame right back down because the band sounded refreshed and tighter than ever.

Things seemed to be just like the chorus of their opening cover song stated.... "Reunited and it feels so good."

 As with life, so it shall be with bands, things change. People change. Times change. A few shows overseas turned into a few shows in the US, which turned into more shows overseas and then.... well, what exactly? At the later shows unfamiliar material began rearing its ugly head. Covers, maybe?

Patton once sang in Tomahawk that "the cats in the bag and the bags in the river." Well, the cats out of the bag and ready to piss all over eardrums everywhere. This new album and tour seem much more like a real thing with the arrival of the bands first new single. A tender experimental little ditty called "Mother Fucker." 

In the modern technological age nothing is shrouded in secrecy any longer. New songs don't have to be only rumors for long when everyone with a cell phone can upload them onto yourtub and before we all know it, we're all special because we've all heard the new shit that is being spoken of and nothing brings out the freshness and accentuates the highlights of a brand new song from one of your favorite bands quite like a shitty clip shot from the back of a dark concert hall, or in the parking lot of a festival, with a cell phone.

Faith No More seemed to be a band on the verge of achieving the impossible. I swallowed my pride in admitting their reunion wasn't such a bad idea after all. Especially when I got to see them myself on one of those few precious shows with the love of my life on the night before my birthday. What could be more perfect than that? Certainly not their new material.

When I first heard "Mother Fucker" a younger, more emotional and eager, me would have cried enough tears to fill a last cup of sorrow. The adult me was pretty much expecting the new material to range from "eh" to "they should have broken up again." The song sucks. This is not exactly a surprise.

But things change. People change. Times change. That was weeks ago, after hearing a shitty yourtub clip. The single is being released on Black Friday so it is now posted everywhere in its proper state, which is my preferred way of experiencing new material.

Allow me to explain why this is so.

Sure, we all want to be special. We all want to be able to say we were there the first time one of our favorite artists busted out that new song that is someday going to ask fans all over "Do you remember where you were the first time you heard this?" A query that those of us who think too much are going to respond with dueling answers.

"Uhhhh, do you mean the first time I heard the song in a drunken stupor with stage divers smashing down on my head and the amps so loud I could barely comprehend the idea that I was actually hearing a song I had never heard before?"

or maybe it goes like this-

"Yeah, I was cruising with the windows down, the wind through my hair making me so wild that even my groin wanted some, and the dj blasting that new song from so and so with such excitement that I almost wrecked."

But then again-

"I can recall every detail about the day I raced up to Zia Records and grabbed the record off the shelf, took it home and threw on my headphones so that I could hear every single nook and cranny of sound, even the subliminal messages that surely will have some people talking while causing others to do unmentionable things in the streets."

I think too much. I won't apologize for that though. I just don't see things like regular people do. I also like what I like and those are the rules of being me.

I listened to "Mother Fucker" again today.

The clarity almost was enough to make me feel as if I were hearing it for the first time. How do I feel? The song is okay I guess. I don't hate it, which was how I felt the after the first few listens of those yourtub clips. Still, the song is nothing to spank ones monkey over. We all know what "The Real Thing" is and this sure ain't no real thing. After actually hearing the song though, some random thoughts floated through my head.

I have heard two other apparently new songs, via those pesky clips, and they sound way cooler.

If this were a b-side or a hidden track I would probably want to buy it a lobster dinner and croon to it.

It's only a single and singles are rarely the best tracks on the album. At least, that's how it is these days. Gone are the mammoth singles like "Immigrant Song" or "Smoke on the Water." A single today just says "Hey, the few radio stations still around need something accessible to cuddle the general public." The real fans will buy the album and discover themselves grooving to the "Real Thing" as their ears bend around the throwaway track/tracks. One, or all, of which are to be released as singles.

Most importantly though, the song is not really THAT bad. Amongst all the experiments and rocking fare it might actually fit like a delicious piece of the puzzle pizza pie. From looking at the comments on the song, as well as the other new tunes so far only making their rare concert appearances, a lot of people seem to be upset that the band is being so damn experimental these days.

Come on now!

Really?!

Faith No More experimental?!

Get with it, people. This was a band born of experimentation.

They evolved into something more radio friendly for about five minutes and then stepped right back into some funky weird shit until their demise. In fact, you know what? Fuck you. That is probably why the band broke up in the first place. Because assholes like these peoples parents wanted them to just regurgitate "Epic" after "Epic" and when they didn't the crickets came chirping.

Okay, I don't really believe this scenario for a second. My guess is that Patton just wasn't feeling it. In fact, when I saw them on the "Album of the Year" tour, though the band was great, I could not help but think that Patton wasn't feeling it. So ease up a little. They're gonna do what they're gonna do and right now they're gonna release the first new music they've recorded in seventeen years. The album makes eighteen and then a tour and then.... well, who knows?

I know Patton juggles his projects around like he's a circus act. Only time will tell the truth here.

This band said they would never reunite and they did.

They said they would never record new material and they have.

Lots of other bands have stayed dead because it just seems like the right thing to do. Led Zeppelin, The Smiths, Mr. Bungle. Face it, nothing those bands could do would possibly live up to the names themselves. Hell, if you want full on proof that some bands are just meant to stay dead and blow legacy on the winds of musical abstinence look at that Black Sabbath reunion album. Better yet, don't and just go listen to "Never say Die" and tell yourself the Sab machine was destined to become a junk pile after that.

Times have changed. People have changed. Music has changed. Bands reunite or don't for whatever reason. Some pull it off nicely, give music lovers who crave substance a thrill, and then fade into the night. Others just flat out embarrass themselves and their fans by not holding a little thing such as legacy with as much might as they probably should have. In the end, it's all a matter of opinion. Experiments that work for some are deemed failures by others. When a band matters to one as much as Faith No More matters to me, one simply can not help but take every step as if they were a literal step of their own. I am not Mike Patton, so I can not walk in his shoes, sing in his voice, or know whether or not this bands moves are drawn from the hearts of five guys who are ready to take on the new world and conquer it or whether they're just bored and need some beer money.

Bands that are "The Real Thing" tend to be nothing more than a product of their times. I once felt that witnessing the rise of a band like Jane's Addiction was every bit as exciting as watching a modern day Zeppelin in flight. Then they broke up, came back and now.... who knows?

Better yet, who cares outside of those who frequent cut out bins?

Reunions are like talk. They're cheap. Some have managed to pull it off and so far, Faith No More have done everything right. Though my expectations are hardly to see history repeat itself I have been known to eat crow from time to time. Hell, I have trouble choosing which concert was more awesome, the "Angel Dust" tour in their prime or that last reunion experience I witnessed a few years back.

The band says their new material is reminiscent of "the Cramps" and "Siouxsie and the Banshees."

Many people will probably groan at those comparisons.

Still others are hoping the band will release "The Real-er Thing" or something else equally as "Epic."

I'll just wait and see what happens and if I dig it well, then I dig it. I have to admit, that at this point, I am curious to the point of peeing a little from excitement. Hell, they are even releasing their new material on their own label, affectionately named Reclamation Records.

How cool is that?!

Faith No More is a band that has always been about experimentation. All their albums are great and stand on their own creative legs for the most simple reason. They all sound different. If that is not experimentation, then I don't know what is.

When it drops in 2015, we'll know whether this is an experiment that has continued to work or whether they should have headed for the dung heap to keep Black Sabbath company. Until then, I, Bungle Grind will be one anxiously waiting Mother Fucker.