NEWS, PROJECTS, GRAVE DEMAND, ROCK, & WRITING
So far 2015 has been a year of - - - sheer strange. Unexpected growth, and disappointments (of a personal nature, so they will not be discussed here), as with all things.
First up, my ROSETTA BONES column in THE INTESTINAL FORTITUDE emag has been doing well, focused mainly on music/movie/book reviews, editorial rants, etc. I am ALWAYS looking for new bands and books to review, promote, & eventually interview the creators of. Check the ROSETTA BONES column out @ https://theintestinalfortitude.wordpress.com/category/reviews-editorials/rosetta-bones/
Next up, on June 1st 2015, the live radiocast "2 IN THE SAME BOAT with MOJOE & VINCENT" launches. It will be a paranormal, artist, strange news & rock-n-roll based show, quite unlike anything you've heard before I can assure you - - - skeptics welcome, too! So far we have a variety of guests scheduled, including punk legend Bloody F. Mess, The Unarians, and many more. Anyone (writers, musicians, artists) interested in appearing on the show contact Mojoe (Joseph William Macguire) or myself on fb, or @ my email vdaemon13@gmail.com. We have two FB pages as well: https://www.facebook.com/twointhesameboat?fref=ts and a more interactive one: https://www.facebook.com/groups/1587018194901564/?ref=br_tf
I've been appearing regularly on, and even writing material for, THE ANDROID VIRUS & SEAN show. It is the radiocast companion to THE INTESTINAL FORTITUDE, and they've been kind enough to bequest Mojoe & myself a show of our own. The show covers a WIDE array of topics and is one of the most un-P.C. things out there. It's also incredibly funny. They can be heard LIVE on most Friday nights, 9pm-11pm est. They can be found & listened to here: https://www.facebook.com/AndroidvirusSeanShow?fref=ts
I am also reviewing horror/weird/art films for GOREHOUND MIKES WEIRD CINEMA once again, returning after a year or so hiatus, my column being called "VINCENT'S VILE VIDEO VAULT." I try to keep most film critiques to this column, which can be found here: http://gorehoundmike.blogspot.com/
October will hopefully see the return of Grave Demand Magazine, in a free online format, retitled GRAVE DEMAND: OPEN CASKET. My associates in the project are the FREEZINE's Shaun Lawton, writer/filmmaker Rick Baldwin, and Nick Perrone. GD: OC is essentially the horror/extreme weird sister to the FREEZINE of Fantasy & Science Fiction. There will be more info on this project as it developes.
And speaking of the FREEZINE, several of my stories, as well as my 2010 apocalyptic horror punk novella "Waiting For The End," can still be found there for free. Check it out @ http://freezineoffantasyandsciencefiction.blogspot.com/
My story "GLUEBABY (Her Harlequin Nightmare)" will be appearing in the January issue of INFERNAL INK Magazine. I'm also still waiting for "CORPSeX: A Method of Love" to appear in [Nameless] Magazine. The contract was signed some time ago, but I know Mr. Brock is an extremely busy gent at the moment, and usually is. I'll get in touch with him about that soon enough, and let you know from there.
There are also new stories and verse being written all the time now, since that dreadful year-long writer's block passed. I just need to get off my ass and start submitting again.
Also, I'm still putting together and polishing up my anthology of previously-published works (many of which are now out of print/circulation, and are now near impossible to find), as well as some new ones thrown into the mix. Unfortunately, the original version fried in my hard drive, so I've just started putting it together from the ground up once again. The tentative title is still BURY ME IN A NAMELESS GRAVE.
And finally, I have collected 20+ years of my various darkpunk/deathrock bands releases and lost material on a Reverbnation page, Vincent Daemon's Age Of Desire: http://www.reverbnation.com/vincentdaemonsageofdesire3
It's currently warehousing most everything recorded from 1991 to the present (over 100 songs, still adding). I have many new songs written, and may begin some new recordings within the coming months. Check it out - - - burn your ears.
There's also some secret projects in the works, to which I am bound under honor of death were I to reveal at this time.
Fangs for reading, as always. Please join and follow. Writers, musicians, artists, filmmakers, paranormal magnets, contact me at vdaemon13@gmail.com if interested in being reviewed/interviewed/appearing on the radio show.
Vincent Daemon
93
Wednesday, April 29, 2015
Saturday, January 3, 2015
READING, 'RIGHTING, ROCK n ROLL
READING, 'RIGHTING, ROCKnROLL
And The Importance and Similarities Thereof
Fukk that Happy New Year shit. Jan. 1st is an arbitrary day as any other for "new beginnings." Realistically, what if the "new beginning" really began some time ago?
That statement make a lick of sense? Mmmm, not really, but stick with me. Also understand I may neverreach an end-point here. Considering there really isn't a starting one, necessarily.
I was 5 when I saw Alice Cooper on the Muppet Show. That left a particular indellible mark on me that will stick with me forever. It wasn't until I was 7 and my cousin gave me a copy of "Alice Cooper's Greatest Hits" that the fever really hit: the sound, the atrocity of what struck me even at that age as absurd and funny -- I got it, and I loved it. This was also around the time I discovered the Gill Man, my favorite (and most personally identifiable) of the classic monsters, began watching classic strange films that would run on PBS, or the local (Philly Area) "Ceature Double Feature" on ch 48 on Saturday afternoons. Movies like Astro Zombies, Horror Of Party Beach, The Giant Claw, Tarantula, Invasion Of The Saucermen,
the Welcome To My Nightmare Alice Cooper concert film, watching the Twilight Zone and Outer Limits reruns with my parents -- I was hooked. 7 and already a horror nerd.
Let's jump ahead a coupla years. Say, 7. After all, "Seven and Seven is . . . " -- a 14 yr old shy loner finding complete solace in the music, visual, and now literary "strange" --not just horror. just the outright weird and different, in all ways, always naturally appealed to me. Music had progressed from Alice Cooper to Venom, Iron Maiden, Motorhead, King Diamond, Dead Kennedy's --- and eventually the Misfits, at that point (1987) known only by (classic) Metallica fans (due to their covers of "Last Caress" and "Green Hell") and old-schooler skater kids. They were the ultimate "horror kid's" (of which I was) band, and back then shadowed by the beauty of mystery and memory, (They also were no longer a band -- that is another story, considering to me they still ARE NOT a band, just some guys calling themselves the Misfits, an offensive parody of the band that essentially saved my life). From there, naturally, Danzig, Samhain, of course. The Undead. Any post-Misfits related band. But the Misfits are what really drove me further into the seedier, stranger realms of punk rock, and it's varied forms and original aesthetic of certain elements (which for all intents have all but faded away, except for throwbacks such as myself and a few others scattered about -- we tend to hide like roaches, smoking them as well). I discovered the Cramps, 45 Grave, Dwarves, Bauhaus, GG Allin, TSOL --- all these GREAT bands and sounds, I found a dear love in early SoCAl punk, eventually landing me right into the luxurious lap of Christian Death.
Punk rock and horror literature saved my life then - - - and would many more times to come.
While discovering these bands, and being an early and avid reader already (mostly of Greek Mythology, Robert E, Howard Conan books, some of my Dad's strange 70's scifi he'd leave around the house), at 12 I read all the Barker and King I was forbidden to, went to the comics and book shops and ordered incredible, mindblowing splatterpunk novels from Skipp & Specter, Shaun Hutson (yeah, I read "Slugs"), Rex Miller. I'd sit for hours alone, lost deep in the sounds of Bauhaus and words of Barker's "Books Of Blood III" (still associate "Passion of Lovers with "Rawhead Rex" -- go figure). I had always been an avid reader, but after finding HPL at 12 it became almost an addiction, like music I had discovered, and like writing I just couldn't stop. Wrote my first story at 8, something goofy, and a couple others but from that first story I KNEW what I "wanted to be when I grew up." A fukking writer. Those authors and books as well progressed in both intensity and sheer strange. Read "Naked Lunch" at 16, eventally got into Byron, Keats, etc. All of this of course seemed to mix naturally with the progression of the music. Being synesthetic was a big help as weil, though it was not so much a tossed around idea then, or necessarily noticed as such by myself at that point (i figured everyone saw/thought/etc., that way -- have come to find, not so much), but I wrote incessantly, my odd, lonely, and violently strange horror tales becoming moribund poetry of many different forms, experimental, until finally turning into lyrics for my first real band, Age Of Desire. Even the band's name was copped from Clive Barker's killer final story in "The Inhuman Condition (aka: Books Of Blood 5)." The Rock and Horror connection, so firmly rooted in my mind, finally becoming one, in a 4 year band that was supposed to be a 2 "shock rock" gaffe.
At 17 (1991) I began the project, which lasted until 1994 when, invariabley, everything collapsed. We were known for trashing the places we played and people who came to us (who absolutely loved it), both house parties and legit clubs, with gallons of Karo syrup blood (home-made, of course), pounds of ground meat babies ripped apart and thrown raw at our adoring cWe had fans (deaht-metal people, most oddly, as we were a "gothic punk" band -- punks seems to hate us, which I loved). We did a small botched tour, had numerous line-up changes, an onstage, outdoor crucifixtion, started what turned into a brief but serious riot, put 3 albums out, with numerous unreleased recordings --- yet ended in creative disputes, a drug-addled drummer, and a stolen van full of our equipment.
I started to write fiction again, this time much more coherent and life experience, escpecialy after having worked at the world's most monstrous nursing home (not kidding) and having dealt quite closely with death for quite some time. Still wrote music, performed in bands, and worked a myriad of jobs I increasingly loathed. But I did keep writing. And silence never quite cut it but for the odd and rare occasion. I made many a well thought compilation to accompany these days-and-nights-long forays into the stranger realms of my imagination, interspersed with a break to write a song or two amongst the pounds of stories piling up in my in my drawer, on my dresser. By now I'm in my mid-20's.
By summer of 2000, I was actively in 4 different musical projects, still wrote stories I had no idea what to do with. Unfortunately a good portion of that written material, all those stories and years of work destroyed in an instant during an unexpected flood. I wrote and performed music at this time with Eddie "Skinhead Gourmet" Petro (find his show, THE SKINHEAD GOURMET, on youtube), in our deathpunk band the Necrotics until 2003, when he moved. After having stoppedwriting fiction again for several years (since some 100+ stories disintegrated before my eyes in the flood), I began to take it up again a little bit.
But no go. 2004-2008 was a bad couple of years. Virtually no writing, had given up on most everything, disappeared from the grid, and worked for a small home remodeling company while living alone in various nefarious places. I went essentially fully off the grid. There was no creativity (that I would allow out any longer), and a sickly "Travis Bickle" like mentality was beginning to sink in, the same sortof despair, lonliness. Weirdness. But during that 4 year period I read, non-stop, anything I could get my hands on, in fact oft-times ignoring
In the blistering summer of 2008, while working a miserable forklift job for Northtec Industries (aka: the shady-assed and wicked-corrupt Estee Lauder Corporation) and living with an even more miserable woman, I out of the blue (perhaps self-peservatory flight AND fight reactions simultaneously, heh) began to write a lot. Flash fiction, some bizarre poetry, and some disturbingly vicious full length horror stories, my first in years. And stuff that was actually good, different. Writing had become rock-n-roll for me, experience, wisdom, age, something new and nameless I was learning about the art of writing -- a feeling of having to have had lived through hells to write the proper cautionary tales about hells. And when I say hells I speak not in some Xtianiazed sense of the world you perceive and the ill's that have forever plagued the deepest reptilian region of mankinds mind for so long as being controlled by some silly, angry JudeaoXtian man in the sky, nor a GAOTU (Great Architect Of The Universe), nor any silly horse-shit like that. I'm speaking of no money, no food, nowhere to live, losses of jobs, and the heavy static of gravity pushing down so hard over such aperiod of time that - - - snap.
13 hours a day on a forklift, moving literally tons of material from A to B, causes strange things to happen.
So on January 1st 2009 I submitted a poem somewhere, under my real name, and it was accepted, even lauded by the editor. Then, a full piece of fiction, to the FREEZINE of Fantasy and Science Fiction, whose founder/editor Shaun Lawton really liked. Then I just kept doing it, writing constantly, "honing my craft," so to speak, act of 'habitual personality' (ie: addictive personality) tendencies creeping in - - - like so many haunted memories yet in the most non-haunting of ways. Cathartic release of soul pains, instead.
Were those experiences, those hells, worth the havoc they could (and would) ultimately wreak in order to finally force it out of me like some placebo-exorcism? Anxieties and depressions, agoraphobias and other true things that go bump at any hour they want, night or day, involuntary and of their own volition -- those horrid defacto ghosts of the mind -- the ghosts of memory and time, worth every grind of sound as that synesthesia transforms those notes to the shape of letters, each one a gutteral sound in itself; a numerical letter not fed from outside and into your mind by outsourced data, but instead blown forth from inside out of your mind, soul and heart, ejaculated onto the page from the pen you possess, that may in fact perhaps posess you.
Was it really worth it, letting Djinnout of bottles and opening Padora's Box to see just what it is that hides inside? Is it worth opening the closet door at 3 a.m. and facing that which holds you back?
You're goddamned right it is - - - and was. For some, in fact, it is necessary.
PUNK'S UNDEAD - - - and this began a long, long time ago.
If you actually made it this far, thanks for reading, please subscrube to blog if not already.
Stay Sick,
Vincent Daemon
And The Importance and Similarities Thereof
Fukk that Happy New Year shit. Jan. 1st is an arbitrary day as any other for "new beginnings." Realistically, what if the "new beginning" really began some time ago?
That statement make a lick of sense? Mmmm, not really, but stick with me. Also understand I may neverreach an end-point here. Considering there really isn't a starting one, necessarily.
I was 5 when I saw Alice Cooper on the Muppet Show. That left a particular indellible mark on me that will stick with me forever. It wasn't until I was 7 and my cousin gave me a copy of "Alice Cooper's Greatest Hits" that the fever really hit: the sound, the atrocity of what struck me even at that age as absurd and funny -- I got it, and I loved it. This was also around the time I discovered the Gill Man, my favorite (and most personally identifiable) of the classic monsters, began watching classic strange films that would run on PBS, or the local (Philly Area) "Ceature Double Feature" on ch 48 on Saturday afternoons. Movies like Astro Zombies, Horror Of Party Beach, The Giant Claw, Tarantula, Invasion Of The Saucermen,
the Welcome To My Nightmare Alice Cooper concert film, watching the Twilight Zone and Outer Limits reruns with my parents -- I was hooked. 7 and already a horror nerd.
Let's jump ahead a coupla years. Say, 7. After all, "Seven and Seven is . . . " -- a 14 yr old shy loner finding complete solace in the music, visual, and now literary "strange" --not just horror. just the outright weird and different, in all ways, always naturally appealed to me. Music had progressed from Alice Cooper to Venom, Iron Maiden, Motorhead, King Diamond, Dead Kennedy's --- and eventually the Misfits, at that point (1987) known only by (classic) Metallica fans (due to their covers of "Last Caress" and "Green Hell") and old-schooler skater kids. They were the ultimate "horror kid's" (of which I was) band, and back then shadowed by the beauty of mystery and memory, (They also were no longer a band -- that is another story, considering to me they still ARE NOT a band, just some guys calling themselves the Misfits, an offensive parody of the band that essentially saved my life). From there, naturally, Danzig, Samhain, of course. The Undead. Any post-Misfits related band. But the Misfits are what really drove me further into the seedier, stranger realms of punk rock, and it's varied forms and original aesthetic of certain elements (which for all intents have all but faded away, except for throwbacks such as myself and a few others scattered about -- we tend to hide like roaches, smoking them as well). I discovered the Cramps, 45 Grave, Dwarves, Bauhaus, GG Allin, TSOL --- all these GREAT bands and sounds, I found a dear love in early SoCAl punk, eventually landing me right into the luxurious lap of Christian Death.
Punk rock and horror literature saved my life then - - - and would many more times to come.
While discovering these bands, and being an early and avid reader already (mostly of Greek Mythology, Robert E, Howard Conan books, some of my Dad's strange 70's scifi he'd leave around the house), at 12 I read all the Barker and King I was forbidden to, went to the comics and book shops and ordered incredible, mindblowing splatterpunk novels from Skipp & Specter, Shaun Hutson (yeah, I read "Slugs"), Rex Miller. I'd sit for hours alone, lost deep in the sounds of Bauhaus and words of Barker's "Books Of Blood III" (still associate "Passion of Lovers with "Rawhead Rex" -- go figure). I had always been an avid reader, but after finding HPL at 12 it became almost an addiction, like music I had discovered, and like writing I just couldn't stop. Wrote my first story at 8, something goofy, and a couple others but from that first story I KNEW what I "wanted to be when I grew up." A fukking writer. Those authors and books as well progressed in both intensity and sheer strange. Read "Naked Lunch" at 16, eventally got into Byron, Keats, etc. All of this of course seemed to mix naturally with the progression of the music. Being synesthetic was a big help as weil, though it was not so much a tossed around idea then, or necessarily noticed as such by myself at that point (i figured everyone saw/thought/etc., that way -- have come to find, not so much), but I wrote incessantly, my odd, lonely, and violently strange horror tales becoming moribund poetry of many different forms, experimental, until finally turning into lyrics for my first real band, Age Of Desire. Even the band's name was copped from Clive Barker's killer final story in "The Inhuman Condition (aka: Books Of Blood 5)." The Rock and Horror connection, so firmly rooted in my mind, finally becoming one, in a 4 year band that was supposed to be a 2 "shock rock" gaffe.
At 17 (1991) I began the project, which lasted until 1994 when, invariabley, everything collapsed. We were known for trashing the places we played and people who came to us (who absolutely loved it), both house parties and legit clubs, with gallons of Karo syrup blood (home-made, of course), pounds of ground meat babies ripped apart and thrown raw at our adoring cWe had fans (deaht-metal people, most oddly, as we were a "gothic punk" band -- punks seems to hate us, which I loved). We did a small botched tour, had numerous line-up changes, an onstage, outdoor crucifixtion, started what turned into a brief but serious riot, put 3 albums out, with numerous unreleased recordings --- yet ended in creative disputes, a drug-addled drummer, and a stolen van full of our equipment.
I started to write fiction again, this time much more coherent and life experience, escpecialy after having worked at the world's most monstrous nursing home (not kidding) and having dealt quite closely with death for quite some time. Still wrote music, performed in bands, and worked a myriad of jobs I increasingly loathed. But I did keep writing. And silence never quite cut it but for the odd and rare occasion. I made many a well thought compilation to accompany these days-and-nights-long forays into the stranger realms of my imagination, interspersed with a break to write a song or two amongst the pounds of stories piling up in my in my drawer, on my dresser. By now I'm in my mid-20's.
By summer of 2000, I was actively in 4 different musical projects, still wrote stories I had no idea what to do with. Unfortunately a good portion of that written material, all those stories and years of work destroyed in an instant during an unexpected flood. I wrote and performed music at this time with Eddie "Skinhead Gourmet" Petro (find his show, THE SKINHEAD GOURMET, on youtube), in our deathpunk band the Necrotics until 2003, when he moved. After having stoppedwriting fiction again for several years (since some 100+ stories disintegrated before my eyes in the flood), I began to take it up again a little bit.
But no go. 2004-2008 was a bad couple of years. Virtually no writing, had given up on most everything, disappeared from the grid, and worked for a small home remodeling company while living alone in various nefarious places. I went essentially fully off the grid. There was no creativity (that I would allow out any longer), and a sickly "Travis Bickle" like mentality was beginning to sink in, the same sortof despair, lonliness. Weirdness. But during that 4 year period I read, non-stop, anything I could get my hands on, in fact oft-times ignoring
In the blistering summer of 2008, while working a miserable forklift job for Northtec Industries (aka: the shady-assed and wicked-corrupt Estee Lauder Corporation) and living with an even more miserable woman, I out of the blue (perhaps self-peservatory flight AND fight reactions simultaneously, heh) began to write a lot. Flash fiction, some bizarre poetry, and some disturbingly vicious full length horror stories, my first in years. And stuff that was actually good, different. Writing had become rock-n-roll for me, experience, wisdom, age, something new and nameless I was learning about the art of writing -- a feeling of having to have had lived through hells to write the proper cautionary tales about hells. And when I say hells I speak not in some Xtianiazed sense of the world you perceive and the ill's that have forever plagued the deepest reptilian region of mankinds mind for so long as being controlled by some silly, angry JudeaoXtian man in the sky, nor a GAOTU (Great Architect Of The Universe), nor any silly horse-shit like that. I'm speaking of no money, no food, nowhere to live, losses of jobs, and the heavy static of gravity pushing down so hard over such aperiod of time that - - - snap.
13 hours a day on a forklift, moving literally tons of material from A to B, causes strange things to happen.
So on January 1st 2009 I submitted a poem somewhere, under my real name, and it was accepted, even lauded by the editor. Then, a full piece of fiction, to the FREEZINE of Fantasy and Science Fiction, whose founder/editor Shaun Lawton really liked. Then I just kept doing it, writing constantly, "honing my craft," so to speak, act of 'habitual personality' (ie: addictive personality) tendencies creeping in - - - like so many haunted memories yet in the most non-haunting of ways. Cathartic release of soul pains, instead.
Were those experiences, those hells, worth the havoc they could (and would) ultimately wreak in order to finally force it out of me like some placebo-exorcism? Anxieties and depressions, agoraphobias and other true things that go bump at any hour they want, night or day, involuntary and of their own volition -- those horrid defacto ghosts of the mind -- the ghosts of memory and time, worth every grind of sound as that synesthesia transforms those notes to the shape of letters, each one a gutteral sound in itself; a numerical letter not fed from outside and into your mind by outsourced data, but instead blown forth from inside out of your mind, soul and heart, ejaculated onto the page from the pen you possess, that may in fact perhaps posess you.
Was it really worth it, letting Djinnout of bottles and opening Padora's Box to see just what it is that hides inside? Is it worth opening the closet door at 3 a.m. and facing that which holds you back?
You're goddamned right it is - - - and was. For some, in fact, it is necessary.
PUNK'S UNDEAD - - - and this began a long, long time ago.
If you actually made it this far, thanks for reading, please subscrube to blog if not already.
Stay Sick,
Vincent Daemon
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