Headbanger’s Ball

     Hey! Our first music video is finalized and up for viewing. Our band, Vincent Price is Right recorded an Ep, a little while ago and we’ve been eager to make something for it. The Ep is entitled Hessian, and is available on iTunes, Amazon and other outlets as well. Rip it and share it.

I have always loved the myth of Faust, though I have yet to read Geothe. Which is regarded as the quintessence of all versions.  The idea of selling your soul to the devil for wealth, power, knowledge or the hand of a woman is awesomely tempting. The silent film which we ripped off is brilliant as well if you get the chance, youtube or Netflix it.

We filmed it in December with Yvedy and Ricardo Sosa.  We were the first band of any genre to work with these talented dudes who have done a ton of work with upcoming Hip Hop artists. It was brick outside in the junkyards across from Shea Stadium. Fuck Citifield, it will always be Shea. We are all Queens natives and Mets fans, so it seemed cool since it is a run down, grimy place. Bums were watching us with furrowed brows. One guy sang Guns N’ Roses to us, “Welcome to the Jungle” and I’m fairly certain that it was the only english he spoke. It was a great time despite the frost. Also, on a side note, the city won their pending case for imminent domain, so in the future where we filmed will be hotels and restaurants not a haven for criminal activity. If you’ve ever had your car stolen in NYC, there is a good chance it got chopped up here.

Enjoy on behalf of myself and VPIR! If you like it please share and any and all social media outlets. Help us get the word out! Thank you! talk soon!  – Seano

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Senior Cut Day

We kiss like first loves,

Our tongues seal an alliance.

We graduated, the sacrilege

at the cozy end of a long bar.

The patrons point and stare,

They hate public displays,

But not us, we can’t keep our hands to ourselves.

We’re begging for bite marks and bruises.

 

Unending halls are metaphors,

Hold my hand forever,

Conjoined mouths

Are intelligent machines,

Well oiled with beer and whisky.

Her eyes scream, “More, more, more…”

Our knees mingle as our legs entangle,

Dangling off stools as tall as the tower of babel.

We are hung up on power lines.

I want to know you better than anyone.

We can eat whole days, and never get our fill.

Everything you said

Is exactly what I wanted to hear.

But before you speak

I just need you to be sure.

Cremation Urns and Mookie Wilson

59th street bridge     Let’s recap. It snowed, which typically happens in other regions of the world without much disruption. Not in New York City, absolute panic behind the steering wheel resulting in huge fucking parking lots all over the place.  I ditched my car in Sunnyside and hopped on the 7 train. Pretty uneventful, really. Although I did read that there were an absurd amount of accidents. I get it.  The roads were icy. Di Blasio is already coming off bad.

In other useless info about me that you don’t really need.  I read This Is Where I leave You by Jonathan Tropper. I absolutely loved it. It was recommended and I kind of just grabbed it without really paying much attention to the synopsis. So when I started, one paragraph in it is apparent the book is situated around a fucked up family dealing with the loss of a parent, honestly I wasn’t sure if I really wanted to continue. Nonetheless, I read on. Completely different fucked up families. I really enjoyed the sarcasm and how bad shit begets more bad shit. I have low expectations about the film version. Now I’m reading Damned by Chuck Palahnuik, whose books I love but this one so far, not so much.  We’ll see.

I also listened to a lot of Goatwhore and Skeletonwitch. And some WU.

I also bought an urn to place my mother’s ashes.  It seems unreal to browse amazon for a receptacle to place human remains as you would for towels or a cookie jar.  It felt weird to ask others for opinions, “Does this urn seem comfy enough to you?” or “Do you think this decorative heart-shaped box comes in black?” I am actually dreading filling it. I know its only ashes, but it is my mother and i’m not sure if it has really set in yet. Anyone know a good grief councilor? I do think that having a piece of her will be morbidly comforting. I went with black and bronze with a carved floral pattern. I hope she likes it.

Just a few hours ago a woman who lives where I work gave me a present. A mets hat, old with mesh and a snapback signed by Mookie Wilson. I thought that was pretty nice of her. #LGM Alright I’ll check in later on.   – Seano

Hermagoras of Whitestone

Answers are out of reach from the recesses

of a sunken bunk, and yet I ask myself 

Who lives in that dark, ominous house

around the corner? and what was Rene Magritte

thinking about when he painted those shrouded lovers?

Was it the suicide of his conflicted mother?

When will I believe in myself? Why do I

Feel compelled to create anything at all

And how will I ever grow?

How do others make decisions,

And what exactly is normal?

What was Sibelius thinking

When he wrote his violin concertos?

Why do I hear footsteps when no one is home but me?

What’s truly frightening is the only thing 

I know anything about is being lonely.

Aesop’s Prenup

Where were we the exact moment

when we imbued hatred and contempt?

No longer looking lovingly into each other’s eyes,

Set upon a rocky path in the forest of life,

Thoughtless spiteful children with no compass.

I can not recall specific events or places, though

I’m certain our selves were shipwrecked.

No one is ever innocent.

And all those tales told with fingers crossed

behind dirty backs can not be fully believed,

Aesop says no one but the liar is ever relieved.

But I’m not so sure fables are always spot on.

So let’s talk awhile about who we are now,

And reminisce about all those ugly nights.

You were the wolf, and I, the fox.

How good did we mistreat each other?

There was time long ago we were married in red,

Erratic, lonely shepherds of dishonesty.

Skipping through the woods while time marched,

Bringing out the most incredulous impostor.

But certainly there was an inkling -undress,

Disguises are no longer a necessity.

Some liars are sentenced to a stunted growth,

Abandoned inside their own mouthy delusions,

To bask in their self righteous judgements,

So be it, unmasked, naked, I attempt to trust and to rest.

I feel like SHIT!

I often find myself writing about my feelings or incidents and I tend not to share. In all fairness, Who really cares? That sounds as I read it back to myself out loud as something said by a snotty adolescent than that of a 32 year old man. I believe for the most part we are all inundated by our own lives. There are a million things we need to get to in our day to day lives, maybe a blog or a poem I wrote is not a priority. It isn’t even one for myself at times, but I will attempt to really maintain a blog for 2014. Naturally I begin twenty days late.

It is possible that because of recent events I have been feeling all sorts of overwhelming emotions – good and bad, hence the Wordsworth quote above, although I’ll probably change that a million times so here, “For all good poetry is the spontaneous overflow of powerful feelings.”  It applies to more than just poetry, which I love but it can also apply to life.  Everything we do in life, is at its most basic crude root, is about feelings, and about how things make us feel. I am going to share how I feel about a whole laundry list of things over time.

I felt good about 2013.  In the sense that I felt I was for once truly productive. I had some unforgettable times with my friends. I completed a manuscript for my first novel.  I felt my poetry had matured and that I’d written some quality. Vincent Price Is Right, my band had recorded an Ep and we had played some momentous shows. I met some great people and amongst the chaos of all that and all the everyday life requirements a woman found me when I was feeling lost and indifferent. Now it’s wine glasses and switch blades. A great woman and the resurgence of pure love has a way to make everything irrelevant. And so we scavenge on.

Two weeks ago my mother passed away. I was at work when my little sister called to inform me. I hadn’t seen my mother in quite some time. I heard the words clearly, and yet when I told my Girlfriend, I was certain that what I said must have been untrue.  That maybe I had misheard my sister. Despite the fact that she had been unwell for years and we all kind of tensed at the thought of her with fear that death was approaching, it still seemed inaccurate.  I didn’t do what I was supposed to do like in the movies, I didn’t storm into the room while she was on the brink and tell her that I love her and everything was alright.  No. It didn’t happen like that at all. I was at work. We were all living our lives while she was alone in her apartment, sitting in her bed, clutching her broken heart. Myocardial Infarction. A massive heart attack. How befitting for all the metaphorical implications.

The guilt, grief and heartache comes in crushing waves only to dissipate with momentary bouts of relief at the thought she is no longer suffering or lonely. I gave her eulogy. I don’t know how I even got through it. I wanted her to know how I felt. How much I loved her. How much we all did. I don’t know if she heard me.  I don’t believe in heaven. I thought about the death of my Mother since my teens. I always thought I’d be the one to find her. There is no closure. I don’t believe in that either. The amount of love I have for the woman who created me is realized in the amount of pain I feel in my heart over her loss and how she lived her life. It is in itself, an overflow of powerful feelings. Powerful feelings that I have no control over. Everyone is comforting and has their own advice on how to cope, and I’m trying to deal with it the best I can. People tell me that wherever she is she is proud of me, but honestly I’m not so sure. Now I will stop and try to catch some elusive sleep and hope I see her in my dreams to apologize again and tell her I love her.

– seano