reign. in. blooooooooooood!

i'm so glad that metal is alive and well and coursing through my veins and the protruding veins under the forearm tattoos of a few dozen longhaired metal fiends in this city and in cities and hick towns throughout the world. it tucks me in to bed at night. saturday night, war ensemble-- a slayer tribute band, played at the attic. i generally hate the attic, and prove it by getting fucked up pretty much every time i go there. i hate the people who randomly go there. i hate the too-skinny barmaids (but love their tattoos). the only time i enjoy the attic is when there's a serious rawk or metal show there with a huge built-in crowd. metal crowds tend to be the friendliest i've walked among. the indie crowd is generally just plain annoying and pretentious. i feel if i look too metal or don't have sufficiently crooked hair or enough stripes or my pants rolled according to the current method or whatnot that they mentally spit on me. i'm not sure i care, but it's nice to not feel as if i'm on the judge judy show with the jerk indie fuck playing judy, screaming, "how stupid can you BE coming out to the show dressed like that, you WANK!?" many of the indie scene kids are lovely and kind, but the shit ones ruin it for all of us. the metal crowd's just so polite and kind. there's a serious unspoken kinship between us. i don't even consider myself part of the metal scene in halifax, but i feel the love.
war ensemble itself was as awesome as they were last year after the slayer show. i went alone, randomly last year. from what i remember, i had a wicked time drinking my face off with an old friend (read: flame). i want the lead dude to eat breakfast with me so i'd feel even more metal as i drink my greens and soymilk. i'd cook him veggie bacon and scrambled tofu to go with his beer and we'd listen to south of heaven at 7 a.m. he's so metal i could cum on my hand.
rose wanted some pizza so we had to go down into the dirty bowels of the dome-- which was terrible and odd. the music was predicatably wretched, but not only that, nobody was dancing. i mean, pacifico consistently plays terrible music, but at least people do what you'd expect should be done at a dance club: fucking dance already. i kind of felt like showing those lameasses how it was done, but i was too busy trying to distract myself from them. everybody was just kind of looking around. guys in awful awful shirts just keep looming and staring at girls. not such a good tactic. everybody was tanked and could hardly hold themselves up as they swayed around. i'm not used to this crowd-- it was bizarre yet uninteresting. if these people can't pick up at these bars, they should seriously check their method. i'm sure all you have to do is kiss or grab someone in your attractiveness range at them and you're in. what the fuck is so hard about that? i suppose some people can't figure out which attractiveness range they're in, but alcohol blurs this line to far that it doesn't really matter until morning.
back at the attic, some attic-regular hootchies discussed picking up while doing their makeup in the bathroom. "uh, like, i guess we could have any of these guys we want, since we're like, uh, the only gitls here. we could have any of these guys from his motorhead crowd. i just have to find my metal friend ryan and we can have our pick of any of these guys in the motorhead crowd." sad thing is, they probably could've, but it's pathetic that they didn't name the crowd by its real influence-- SLAYER! fucking sluts.
when war ensemble's sets were tout fini, i totally wanted more, which is strange for three a.m at the attic. i didn't get more, but i came home and played seasons in the abyss-- putting the metal to my veins for another night of endless dhark.