A COUPLE OF DAYS LATE WITH THIS ONE BUT YOU GET IT YOU GET IT
DYSTOPIC FUTURE, XENOPHOBIC HUMAN/ALIEN POST/PRE/PRESENT-APOLCALYPTIC WARFARE. BLACK-AND-WHITE INKS. ULTRA-VIOLENT, 10/10.
I don’t know much (anything) about Sam Hiti but if you were/are a fan of these Alien comics then you’ll probably like this:
I remember those Alien comics being terrifyingly fast and claustrophobic in the covered-in-aliens-and-dead-comrades-and-always-”making-last-stands”-and-perpetually-running-out-of-ammo. Death-Day reminds me of those comics. The pace is frenetic, the combat is ultra-violent and the writing is excellent. I love being thrown into a universe where things are kept from you until later, or where the plot relies on inference. I think this is why I preferred the non-chronological TV screening of The Melancholy Of Haruhi Suzumiya than the chronological DVD release. Oh, that and the massive climax (and the sexual tension).
As of writing there is a prologue followed by four episodes of Death-Day and you can order the book in a couple of formats from his store.
HERE IS SOME (+)VE STUFF I’M SUPER AMPED ON AT THE MOMENT
Alright, I feel like I spend most of my days and nights ripping on bands and music for not being good enough which makes me feel like a NEGATIVE CREEP (some kind of ’90s reference in there to stay current. Still with me? Alright:) so here is some stuff that isn’t by Dove that I’m bumping hard in my trunk (read: on my phone / at my computer / off my phone while I cook BNR).
Rackets are the fucking shit. Download this ↑ and then pay some money for this. Pay more than a dollar, though. Paypal and Bandcamp both take a cut. Then go here and watch the video!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Then this:
In the past I’ve ripped on $noregazZzm for being a bit stupid and not following my “NZ for NZers” rule or whatever, but that’s not quite correct because a lot of the time I can’t tell which voice is Lisandru and which is Joe. Anyway, their album is actually mean as. “Serval” and “Sex Overload” are my picks. Sometimes they’re a bit stupid (“And when I wake up I’m stuck to the floor, just want to go back to sleep so we can fuck some more” x 1,000 and that song about chads) but they are so pop and the production is the shit. And Lisandru has some kind of Outkast/Andre 3000 flow going on (esp. in “Sex Overload”) and I’M DOWN WITH THAT SHIT.
Production Notes To Steal
Rackets:
So, I’m going to steal the BVs from “Catherine Zita Jones” and I’m going to try to emulate the balls-out rock-tone of the guitars.
$noregazZm:
I guess just everything pop-as-fuck-for-life.
OPEN COMMISSION FOR CHIPMUSICIANS: BUILD ME A RINGTONE AND I’LL BUILD YOU A MEMORIAL IN YOUR CHOICE OF .GIF, .JPG OR .PNG (.PNG PREFERRED).
To any and all chipmusicians who read this post: I would like you to design me a ringtone, an alarm tone or any series of beeps that would be good for some kind of cellphone reminder thing.
Payment will be a piece of art I design on a computer with the content of your choice (cf. KC Green’s early commissions). If you need proof of my artistic merit, I invite you to cast your eyes over the sublime cover for “Fuck Freddy’s Drop”.
Things That Are Important For Ringtones
- I believe in loop-based ringtones that seem to sound continuously, but don’t feel you have to fulfil this.
- If your fucking tone doesn’t resolve I may be angry with it (payment will be delivered, nonetheless).
- The “beep” sound is really cool.
Things That Are Not Important For Ringtones
- You know how the modern ringtones are all .mp3s and shit and you can have actual songs for ringtones? Well, that’s bullshit. I don’t want a song for a ringtone. Songs for ringtones are stupid because you never get to listen to the whole song before voicemail kicks in. On my current phone it takes ages to change a ringtone because the phone insists on compiling a list of every sound-file on my phone before showing me the list with “Polaris” and “Email01″ on it. I have a 16gb memory card packed full of music (well, GBA roms and music) and I get mad when I have to change ringtones.
- “Covers” and “remixes” of songs that I already know. Fuck that. When I see someone’s chip cover of “Wicked Game” by Chris Isaak I just go: “Why?”
- That stupid LSDJ glitch sound, you know the one. It happens when you legato down too far or something.
If you email them to zach@sleep500.com, I’ll upload them on the site somewhere so everyone can benefit from your blood, sweat and tears. Despite what I said up there ↑, I’m totally fine with a nicely tagged .mp3 file of your song.
If I get enough submissions (this is highly unlikely) I’ll do a compilation of them with some more mind-numbingly right artwork.
A HEART-WARMING STORY ABOUT ONE MOUSE ON THE WAY UP AND DOWN, JUST LIKE ALL OF THOSE GANGSTER MOVIES.
Written by the writer of A Lesson Is Learned But The Damage Is Irreversible
This is how I will deal with this mouse.
A mouse is crawling between the wires beneath my computer. He hides behind the radiator for warmth. Why don’t you come out mouse? He can’t possibly hear what I’m typing. This will be my trick for him. The next time he comes out here I will offer him a recording contract he can’t refuse. Mouse women, mouse drugs, a tiny mouse limited edition sports car (how its small engine will throb!), drinks mixed in a nutshell, dark sun glasses made of movie film cellophane. Soon he will request to be clothed only in original scenes from classic movies. A dark suit jacket cut from The Sun Also Rises, a heavy overcoat from Double Indemnity, shoes from Gentleman Prefer Blondes, and a tie which will be a colorful ribbon from Diamonds are Forever. These extravagant tastes will soon outstrip his enormously tiny mouse fortunes, every mouse dollar, the sliver of a fingernail clipping, will be spent until his slim mouse model wife leaves him and throws paint over his precious possessions. Why? Because a reservoir of vengeful feelings jostles inside her as she moves toward the door, for all the things he did to her that she can no longer name. From those things, she has saved the anger.
He will come home from a hard day at the recording studio. He’ll push his roaring coupe up his meandering driveway to his art deco house lying atop a tubby hill. As he opens the glass door he finds the paint running from fine clothes made from fine films he’s never seen, and the note, and he knows she’s gone for good. His record collection floats in the swimming pool.
In the great room, beside a minimalist armoire lies an immense wooden panel. On top, a complication of wires is screwed in. There are strange red designs tracing lines around its edge. On its very tip a large soft block of something yellow lies. Its aroma has filled the room and reaches the mouse’s nose. He strips off his expensive clothing. His underwear, sliced from a delicate moment in The Great Gatsby, is the last portion of his outfit. The liberation he feels is enormous. He is finally an animal again. His bleary eyes come to focus on that block. His senses turn toward it. He knows where he must go and what lies at the center. He wants to be fulfilled again. He wants to be a creature that uses his legs and can fit into small places. He has a demand to be real, and insists on it. He creeps beside the device, scraping his claws along its edge. He pokes the thick block with his nose and a portion of its aroma is smeared there to overwhelm him. His white whiskers bend against it. What about caution? What about everything. He can’t feel himself. He can’t trace the thoughts in his head. He knows where he wants to be, and tilts there, like a skier on a hill. His small frame slides up the side and embraces the block. It seems brighter than ever. It seems like a new sun in the sky, filled with orange expediency, with a sense of place, and potential, and raw orange power. He knows it is what he wants and it is waiting there for him to be happy.
Just then, with a large THWACK, the metal wire is released smacking his body hard and heavily. His tiny rockstar bones break, his delicate flesh rends. He screams in tiny pain. His teeth ache with the scream. He can not settle himself. He can not get comfortable. He is numb but feels pains. He is excited and sleepy at the same time. He squeaks and squeaks. The pink space in his mouth is revealed. It spreads wide. Slowly, his dim vision grows dimmer. It blurs as if coming to a conclusion. He hears a distant sound. Where is the sound of what he wants to hear? There his thoughts smear with his vision. The dust in his brain begins to settle and the beam of sunlight that breaks through his curtain dims with a passing cloud. He dies, emitting no sound but the scratching of claws softly on the grain of that wood that is a percussion instrument played once, his final note sounding loudly.
This is how I will deal with this mouse.
dale