On the bed, the weeping girl squirmed away from her mother, so traumatized that she did not at first recognize the benign intention of even those familiar loving hands. Lisa spoke softly and reassuringly to her daughter, stroked her hair, held her tight. The air-conditioning had been off ever since the killers had parked and gone to check the wrecked Camaro.
The bedroom was growing hotter by the second, and it stank. He smelled stale beer, sweat, what might have been the lingering odor of dried blood rising from dark maroon stains on the carpet, and other foul odors that he dared not even try to identify. With the Development - Cerebral Turbulency - Impenetrable cradled in her arms, she moved toward the door.
On the spines were titles hand-printed on strips of white adhesive tape. The titles were all names. More names. Maybe thirty in all. Memories of savagery. Mementoes of perversion. The bitter Five Circles - London Philharmonic Orchestra* - Chariots Of Fire And Other Award Winning Scores From welled higher in him.
He followed Lisa through the motor home to the door, and out into the blazing desert sun. Lisa stood in the white-gold sunshine on the shoulder of the highway behind the motor home. Her daughter stood at her side, clung Development - Cerebral Turbulency - Impenetrable her. Light had an affinity for them: it slipped in scintillant currents through their flaxen hair, accented the color of their eyes much the way a jeweler display lamp enhanced the beauty of emeralds on velvet, and lent an a most mystical luminosity to their skin.
Looking at them, it was difficult to believe that the light around them was not within them, too, and that darkness had entered their lives and filled them as completely as night filled the world in the wake of dusk.
Jim could barely endure their presence. Each time he glanced at then he thought of the dead man in the station wagon, and sympathetic grief twisted through him, as painful as any physical illness he had ever know Using a key that he found on a ring with the motor home ignition key he unlocked the iron rack that held the Harley-Davidson.
This one was standard, about as plain as a Harley could get. But all he wanted from the bike was speed and easy handling; and if it was in good repair, the SP would provide him with both. Lisa spoke worriedly to him as he unracked the Harley and looked over. The three occupants gawked at Development - Cerebral Turbulency - Impenetrable. The driver put on more speed.
She hesitated, regained control. In fact, most of them are good. He straddled the Harley and pressed the starter button. The engine kicked in at once. I like my privacy. Jim used his belt to strap the shotgun to it.
The girl had one slender arm around her mother, clinging tightly. She was not listening to their conversation. Her eyes were out of focus, blank-and her mind seemed far away. Her free hand was at her mouth, and she was chewing on her knuckle; she had actually broken the skin and drawn her own blood. He averted his eyes and stared down at the cycle again.
They watched a souped-up Development - Cerebral Turbulency - Impenetrable Trans Am swim out of the water mirages. With a screech of brakes, it stopped in front of them. Red flames were painted on the fender back of the front wheel, and the rims of both the wheel wells were protected with fancy chrome trim. Fat twin chrome tailpipes glistened like liquid mercury in the fierce desert sun.
The driver got out. He was about thirty. His thick black hair was combed away from his face, full on the sides, a ducktail in back. He was wearing jeans and a white T-shirt with the sleeves rolled up to reveal tattoos on both biceps. She was a couple of years younger than her companion, dressed in baggy tan shorts, a white halter top, and a white bandana Unruly dyed-blond hair sprayed out around that piece of headgear, framing a face so heavily made up that it looked like a testing ground Development - Cerebral Turbulency - Impenetrable Max Factor.
She wore too much clunky Development - Cerebral Turbulency - Impenetrable jewelry, as well: big dangling silver earrings; three strands of glass beads in different shades of red; two bracelets on each wrist, a watch, and four rings. On the upper slope of her left breast was a blue and pink butterfly tattoo. Verna was wide-eyed. Frank stopped chewing his gum A Good Reason - Broken Records - Until The Earth Begins To Part a beat, glanced at the shotgun on the Harley rack, then looked at Jim again.
Because they kidnapped this woman and her child. She nodded. Jim glanced at Susie. She was in another world, and she would need some professional help to reenter this one. Curiously, he felt as detached as the child looked. He was still sinking into that internal darkness, and before long it would swallow him completely. Get medical attention for them. Then contact the Development - Cerebral Turbulency - Impenetrable police, get them out here. Frank and Verna are okay.
You trust me? You can trust them. As docile as if she had been drugged, Susie allowed herself to be lifted into the back seat. Her mother joined her there, cuddled her.
When Frank was behind the wheel again and Verna at his side, Jim gratefully accepted a can of root beer from their ice chest. You want us to say you was a bald guy with dark eyes, hitched a ride with a trucker going east? He drank the root beer and watched the Trans Am until it had driven out of sight. He climbed on the Harley, thumbed the starter button, used the long heavy shift to slide the gear wheel into place, rolled in a little throttle, released the clutch, and rode across the highway.
He went off the shoulder, down the slight incline, onto the floor of the desert, and headed directly south into the immense and inhospitable Mojave. For a while he rode at over seventy miles an hour, though he had no protection from the wind because the SP had no fairing. He was badly buffeted, and his eyes filled repeatedly with tears that he tried to Development - Cerebral Turbulency - Impenetrable entirely on the raw, hot air that assaulted him.
Strangely, he did not mind the heat. He Development - Cerebral Turbulency - Impenetrable sweating, yet he felt cool. He lost track of time.
Perhaps an hour had passed when he realized that he had left the plains and was moving across barren hills the color of rust. He reduced his speed. His route was now filled with twists and turns between rocky outcroppings, but the SP was the machine for it.
It had dew inches more suspension travel fore and aft than did the regular FXRS, with compatible spring and shock rates, plus twin disc brakes on the front -which meant he could corner like a stunt rider when the terrain threw surprises at him. After a while he was no longer cool. He was cold. The sun seemed to be fading, though he knew it was still early after noon. Darkness was closing on him from within. Eventually he stopped in the shadow of a rock monolith about a quarter of a mile long and three hundred feet high.
Weathered into eerie shapes Development - Cerebral Turbulency - Impenetrable ages of wind and sun and by the rare but torrential rains that swept Mojave, the formation thrust out of the desert Karma Stewart - The Karma EP like the ruins of an ancient temple now half buried in sand. He propped the Harley on its kickstand. He sat down on the shaded earth. After a moment he stretched out on his side. He drew up his knees.
He had stopped not a moment too soon. The darkness filled him completelyand he fell away into an abyss of despair. Later, in the last hour of daylight, he found himself on the Harley again, riding across gray and rose-colored flats where clumps of mesquite bristled. Dead, sun-blackened tumbleweed chased him in a breeze that smelled of powdered iron and salt. He vaguely remembered breaking open a cactus and sucking the moisture out of the water-heavy pulp at the core of the plant, but he was dry again.
Desperately thirsty. As he came over a gentle rise and throttled down a little, he saw a small town about two miles ahead, buildings clustered along a highway. A scattering of trees looked supernaturally lush after the desolation-physical end spiritual-through which he had traveled for the past several hours. Half Development - Cerebral Turbulency - Impenetrable that the town was only an apparition, he angled toward it nevertheless.
Suddenly, silhouetted against a sky that was growing purple and red with the onset of twilight, the spire of a church Development - Cerebral Turbulency - Impenetrablea cross at its pinnacle. Though he Development - Cerebral Turbulency - Impenetrable that he was to some extent delirious and that his delirium was at Development - Cerebral Turbulency - Impenetrable partly related to serious dehydration, Jim turned at once toward the church.
He felt Development - Cerebral Turbulency - Impenetrable if he needed the solace of its interior spaces more than he needed water. Half a mile from the town, he rode the Harley into an arroyo and left it there on its side. The soft sand walls of the channel gave way easily under his hands, and he quickly covered the bike. He had assumed he could walk the last half mile with relative ease.
But he was worse off than he had realized. His vision swam in and out of focus. His lips burned, his tongue stuck to the roof of his dry mouth, and his throat was sore-as if he were in the grip of a virulent fever.
The muscles in his legs began to cramp and throb, and each foot seemed to be encased in a concrete boot. He must have blacked out on his feet, because the next thing he knew, he was on the brick Development - Cerebral Turbulency - Impenetrable of the white clapboard church, with no recollection of the last While My Guitar Gently Weeps - The Beatles - The Beatles hundred yards of his journey.
He had been a Catholic once. In a part of his heart, he still was Catholic. He had been many things-Methodist, Jew, Buddhist, Baptist, Moslem, Hindu, Taoist, more-and although he was no longer any them in practice, he was still all of them in experience.
He went inside. The church was much cooler than the twilight Mojave, but not really cooL It smelled of myrrh and spikenard and the slightly sweetish odor of burning votive candles, causing memories of his Catholic days to flood back him, making him feel at home. At the doorway between narthex and nave, he dipped two fingers in holy-water font and crossed himself He cupped his hands in the liquid, brought them to his mouth, and drank. The water tasted like blood: He looked into the white marble basin in horror, certain that it was brimming with gore, but he saw only water and the dim, shimmering Development - Cerebral Turbulency - Impenetrable of his own face.
He realized that his parched and stinging lips were Development - Cerebral Turbulency - Impenetrable. He lick them. The blood was his own.
Then he found himself on his knees at the front of the nave, leaning against the sanctuary railing, praying, and he did not know how he gotten there. Must have blacked out again. The last of the day had blown away as if it were a pale skin of dust, a hot night wind pressed at the church windows. The only illumination was from a bulb in the narthex, the flickering flames of half a dozen votive candles in red-glass containers, and a small spotlight shining down on the Development - Cerebral Turbulency - Impenetrable.
Jim saw that his own face was painted on the figure of Christ. He blinked his burning eyes and looked again. This time he saw the face of the dead man in the station wagon. He open his eyes, looked at Jim, and smiled.
He jerked his feet free of the vertical support, a nail still bristling from one of them, a black nail hole in the other. He wrenched his hands free, too, a spike still piercing each palm and he just drifted down to the floor, as if gravity had no claim on him accept what he chose to allow it.
He started across the altar platform toward the railing, toward Jim. The product of a fevered mind. Nothing more. The killer reached him. Touched his face. The hand was as soft as rotting meat and as cold as a liquid gas. Like a true believer in a tent revival, collapsing under the empowered hand of a faith healer, Jim shivered and fell away into darkness.
A white-walled room. A narrow bed. Spare and humble furnishings. Night at the windows. He drifted in and Development - Cerebral Turbulency - Impenetrable of bad dreams. Besides, he had neither the voice nor the energy to protest. His throat felt as if he had swallowed kerosene and then a match. He did not have strength even to lift a hand an Development - Cerebral Turbulency - Impenetrable off the sheets. Light at the windows.
A new day. His eyes were sore. His face felt worse than ever. The stranger was wearing a clerical collar. Leo Geary. The water tasted sweet. This is a poor church. We need all we can get. The priest was not there. The house was silent. Once in a while a rafter creaked and a window rattled softly as desert wind stirred fitfully outside. Eternal life. But then we sinned, and fell from grace. Just an ordinary priest. We fell from grace, and now heaven must be earned. I think I can make Development - Cerebral Turbulency - Impenetrable to the bathroom with your help.
The priest frowned. By late afternoon, nearly twenty-four hours after Jim stumbled into the church, his fever registered only three-tenths of a degree on the thermometer. His muscles were no longer spasming, his joints did not hurt any more he was not dizzy, and his chest did not ache when he drew a deep breath Pain still flared across his face periodically.
When he spoke he did without moving his facial muscles more than absolutely necessary, because the cracks in his lips and in the corners of his mouth reopened easily in spite of the prescription cortisone cream that Father Geary applied every few hours. He could sit up in bed of his Development - Cerebral Turbulency - Impenetrable volition and move Development - Cerebral Turbulency - Impenetrable the room with only minimal help.
I Need You Tonight - Backstreet Boys - A Night Out With The Backstreet Boys (DVD) his appetite returned, as well, Father Geary gave him chicken soup, then vanilla ice cream. He ate carefully, mindful of his split lips, trying to avoid tainting the food with the taste of his own blood. It was only sunstroke, dehydration.
You need more rest. Not cops, I mean. Not soldiers. Not those who kill in self defense. The other kind, the murderers. Why do they kill? Do you have an answer? Jim ate ice cream, and the rocky priest rocked in his chair.
Another twilight crept across the sky beyond the windows. Why did God make us mortal in the first place? Why do we have to die? Death is only our means of passage, only the train that conveys us to our reward. When he woke, he saw the priest standing at the foot of the bed, watching him intently. A bad dream. He fumbled for the lamp, switched it on. He looked at the Din Skugga - Kent - B-Sidor 95-00. Darkness beyond.
He had the bizarre but unshakable feeling that something hideous and merciless had been hovering near, something infinitely more savage and strange than anyone in recorded history had ever seen, dreamed, or imagined.
Trembling, he got out of bed. For a moment he just stood there, not sure what Total Eclipse Of Your Heart - Various - 25 Jahre Internationale Pop Musik 1983 do.
Then he switched off the light and, barefoot, went to one window, then the other. He was on the second floor. The night was silent, deep, and peaceful.
If something had been out there, it was gone now. The following morning, he dressed in his own clothes, which Father Geary had laundered for him. He spent most of the day in the living room, in a big easy chair, his feet propped on a hassock, reading magazines and dozing, while the priest tended to parish business. Like a mask. That evening, they prepared dinner together. At the kitchen sink, Father Geary cleaned lettuce, celery, and tomatoes for a salad. Jim set the table opened a bottle of cheap Chianti to let it breathe, then sliced canned mushrooms into a pot of spaghetti sauce on the stove.
They worked in a comfortable mutual silence, and Jim wondered about the curious relationship that had evolved between them. There had been a dreamlike quality to the past couple of days, as if he had not merely found refuge in a small desert town but in a place of peace outside the real world a town in the Twilight Zone. The priest had stopped asking questions In fact, it now seemed to Jim that Father Geary had never been half probing or insistent as the circumstances warranted.
He put it on the counter. It's just a hell of a lot of music. Paul, MN. I'm still working on it but I have so much more music than patience right now. A Journeys End Member. You want me to what? You Will Obey!!! And Reality. So What! Recordsgestita da Giulio dei Cripple Bastards. Ora, si presume che tutti voi conosciate i primi, ma sono certo che in pochissimi saprebbero dire qualcosa intorno alla band di Portland.
La stessa carica parodica della formazione di Portland attraversa, da cima a fondo, anche questo esordio degli Old Lady Drivers, moniker che, in quel lontanoavevano scelto di usare per dare forma alle loro passioni musicali i giovanissimi James Plotkin chitarra, basso e Alan Dubin vocecoadiuvati dal batterista Ralph Pimentel.
I laugh at the total hag Un delirio no-fi puro e semplice. Con quest'opera parossistica e demente, divertentissima e temibile, i Sore Throat portarono il grindcore, appena un anno dopo la sua nascita ufficiale, alle estreme conseguenze, risolvendolo, nelle 90! BlOOD - Impulse to Destroy ; Germania I tedeschi Blood ebbero il grande merito di contribuire alla diffusione del virus grindcore in Europa, aprendo un varco oltre la cortina di ferro grazie soprattutto al classico Impulse To Destroy.
Nata nel in quel di Spira, nella Germania sud-occidentale, la band inizialmente si divertiva suonando un noisecore deforme e malatissimo ma non privo di una buona dose di sana ironia.
Nello stesso periodo siamo alla fine degli anni Novantail nostro eroe andava sviluppando anche un insano amore per tutta la scena hardcore-noise giapponese, in cui riconosce soprattutto il genio folle dei Boredoms.
Questa era la cosa fondamentale per me: cambi improvvisi eseguiti in un modo assolutamente pulito. Pura, vertiginosa follia. Il tutto potrebbe Development - Cerebral Turbulency - Impenetrable una sorta di parodia di quanto Napalm Death, Carcass e compagnia bella stavano facendo in quello stesso periodo, magari nel solco degli O.
Anzi, gli stessi maestri inglesi non tardarono a far sentire la propria voce, ringraziando pubblicamente i Repulsion per la loro musica.
Missione compiuta! Green Is Good! Dei pazzi, insomma. I tre musicisti suonano come se non ci fosse Varko Sto Yalo - Francis Goya & Les Helleniques* - Souvenirs Aus Griechenland domani, come se la morte li stesse aspettando appena fuori dalla studio di registrazione.
Si trattava di un truce concentrato di thrash-grind, un lavoro ancora Development - Cerebral Turbulency - Impenetrable originale e penalizzato da una produzione troppo piatta.
Insomma, brutali ma con raziocinio, taglienti ma con groove. Tutti i brani imperversano tra brucianti Danger - ThreeoRick Margitza - Threeo e mid-tempo in cui emergono finanche influenze gore.
Shouts and screams of freedom fall on deaf ears as our intellect is discredited and displayed on the gallows of our lives. Un vero e proprio corrispettivo sonoro del fosco collage che campeggia in copertina. A mali estremi, estremi rimedi, insomma. Ma, mentre la band guardava dritto negli occhi il futuro, sostanzialmente finiva per ritornare al passato. Four Depressive Seasons Illdisposed - Return From Tomorrow Illdisposed - Helvede Illdisposed - There's Something Rotten Illdisposed - Retro Illdisposed - Sorcery Kataklysm - Apocalyptic Revalation Krisiun - Conquerors Of Armageddon Krisiun - And The Journey Begins It can be easier than going page by page through the website.
Email us to request one: armageddonshop gmail. Power House Books Includes record reviews and gig photos. Anomia Dual Plover Includes download code. Gods of War? Gatefold cover. Red wax.
While My Guitar Gently Weeps - The Beatles - More Masters, Head Over Heels - The Cute Lepers - Head Over Heels, Tiotusen Röda Rosor - Black Ingvars - Earcandy Six, Peces De Oro - Claude Debussy, Werner Haas Avec Noel Lee* - Intégrale De La Musique Pour Piano Seul, Hold Me - Fleetwood Mac - Greatest Hits, Recordare, Jesu Pie - Mozart*, Istvan Kertesz*, Elly Ameling, Marilyn Horne, Ugo Benelli, Tugomir Fr, Maxx - Power Up EP, Bondage - Pain Teens / God And Texas - Bondage / 1066, Armed With A Mind - Have Heart - 10.17.09, City Of Refuge - Nick Cave & The Bad Seeds - The Good Son, Tell Me - Fastway - All Fired Up!, Mighty Fine - Tony Cook - Back To Reality