Monday, January 31, 2011
Thursday, January 27, 2011
"My Funny Valentine" February 12th
An Evening of Original Sketch Comedy and More...
Featuring Music from:
Hit & Miss Engines
Better Than Seger
Wes Layton
Ace's Lounge
316 Chestnut
Cambria City
Wednesday, January 26, 2011
, Ain't I?
Like a phantom limb
An unsung hymn
A prophet whose disciples
Have cut out his tongue
Selling off true desires
To those who conspire
And waiting for a messiah
Who is fat with their cries for help
Like a heap of gold
Under a house forced to be sold
It is the poorest man who
Knows not what he possesses
Below Hell there is something worse
A circle not written of in Dante’s verse,
A daily damnation on this earth
Pestilence of the penniless
Execution by destitution
Tortured by visions in high-definition
Of every single blood-soaked gear
A man bereft of hope
Can soon find death so close
When an empty wallet matters most
And what really makes him human goes unnoticed
Goes unnoticed
It all goes unnoticed
Every one goes out unnoticed
Unless your death sparks a realization
One worthy of monetary donation
Worthless life. Stolen death
Like a phantom limb
An unsung hymn
A prophet whose disciples
Have cut out his tongue
Selling off true desires
To those who conspire
And waiting for a messiah
Who is fat with their cries for help
Like a heap of gold
Under a house forced to be sold
It is the poorest man who
Knows not what he possesses
Below Hell there is something worse
A circle not written of in Dante’s verse,
A daily damnation on this earth
Pestilence of the penniless
Execution by destitution
Tortured by visions in high-definition
Of every single blood-soaked gear
A man bereft of hope
Can soon find death so close
When an empty wallet matters most
And what really makes him human goes unnoticed
Goes unnoticed
It all goes unnoticed
Every one goes out unnoticed
Unless your death sparks a realization
One worthy of monetary donation
Worthless life. Stolen death
Like a phantom limb
Tuesday, January 25, 2011
Thursday, January 20, 2011
MIoF in Pittsburgh
Live at The 31st Street Pub, 01.14.2011
* Please excuse the sound quality - first time recording rock music with ma new camera...
* Please excuse the sound quality - first time recording rock music with ma new camera...
Wednesday, January 19, 2011
Chris Deniel
cant belive its only 9 38
December 29, 2010 at 10:38pm · LikeUnlike ·
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◦ Chris Deniel now its 10
December 29, 2010 at 11:03pm · LikeUnlike
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◦ Chris Deniel now its 11
December 30, 2010 at 12:06am · LikeUnlike
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◦ Chris Deniel time flys by fast
December 30, 2010 at 2:42pm · Like
cant belive its only 9 38
December 29, 2010 at 10:38pm · LikeUnlike ·
Comment · View Feedback (3)Hide Feedback (3)
•
•
◦
◦ Chris Deniel now its 10
December 29, 2010 at 11:03pm · LikeUnlike
◦
◦ Chris Deniel now its 11
December 30, 2010 at 12:06am · LikeUnlike
◦
◦ Chris Deniel time flys by fast
December 30, 2010 at 2:42pm · Like
Dreaming Singularities
Always after dawn
A sympathy card with one long and rambling paragraph
Front to back
A fifty-dollar bill that look less than authentic
And scribbled signatures from the past
That year where I was the only one who knew myself
Cut to:
You and I
In the old house
Mine not yours
Parents exit together, which is a stretch
I want to touch you
But know I shouldn't
Especially considering the last time
No words spoken
A fast look across the stairwell
And then my exit
Returning to my childhood bedroom
I find it in shambles
The three-piece punk band of unrecognizables
Sleeping like rats in a new arrangement
On the floor and my bed
I get to the bottom of things rather quickly
Anger fluttering through the receiver
As I stand aloof in the small driveway
The next flash is a couple of misfits
Walking away from an explosion
Like in the movies
This one troubles me more than all the others
It speaks volumes of the way things are now
As if to say
They're not so aware that people are watching them
Chewing their kernels
And pacing themselves with soda pop
I come to and hate the view
A sympathy card with one long and rambling paragraph
Front to back
A fifty-dollar bill that look less than authentic
And scribbled signatures from the past
That year where I was the only one who knew myself
Cut to:
You and I
In the old house
Mine not yours
Parents exit together, which is a stretch
I want to touch you
But know I shouldn't
Especially considering the last time
No words spoken
A fast look across the stairwell
And then my exit
Returning to my childhood bedroom
I find it in shambles
The three-piece punk band of unrecognizables
Sleeping like rats in a new arrangement
On the floor and my bed
I get to the bottom of things rather quickly
Anger fluttering through the receiver
As I stand aloof in the small driveway
The next flash is a couple of misfits
Walking away from an explosion
Like in the movies
This one troubles me more than all the others
It speaks volumes of the way things are now
As if to say
They're not so aware that people are watching them
Chewing their kernels
And pacing themselves with soda pop
I come to and hate the view
Monday, January 17, 2011
Friday, January 14, 2011
Regret by Narrow Berth
Another drunken SOC song I just found. Maybe ripping off some E & M on the later chorus?
Thursday, January 13, 2011
Wednesday, January 12, 2011
Tuesday, January 11, 2011
They Say It's The End
They Say it’s The End1/11/11
They say it’s the end
Of fashions and trends
Of couples and cowards
Seeking revenge
They say it’s the end
Of games and clichés
Of policies forgotten
And Saturday parades
Of senators dead-set
On shouting without rest
Spitting up opinions
While trying to digest
Everyone’s intentions
Simon’s last expense
Willful suspensions
Just beyond the fence
They say it’s the end
For lovers at a loss
Intruders breaking bread
Unaware of the cost
Speaking without meaning
Shaking from the frost
Forsaking all those healing
On account of the exhaust
Parasites and insects
Protestors singing songs
Assessing every derelict
Nod-ding-ding along
They say it’s the end
Considering the man
Pacing and back and forth
Humoring the damned
His wife keeps on repeating
Their best laid plans
How time is fleeting
But he doesn’t understand
Each and every second
Paradise expands
But nobody expected
Needles in the sand
They say it’s the end
Of secondary frequencies
Good and proper manners
And common decency
Expressionless faces
Who until only recently
Believed in something standard
A constant flow
Seamlessly
Ready to explode
Like machinery
Everybody knows
About the change in scenery
Reaping what they sow
More than frequently
They say it’s the end
Panic in the streets
Seven deadly sins
Saviors meet and greet
Regretful men and women
Nervous on their knees
Curious as to who’ll send them
Underground like seeds
Ready for cultivation
Lawyers sign the deed
Unaware of how inflation
Somehow tends to breed
They say it’s the end
Of diamond-ring engagements
And saving your ticket stub
From the Sunday evening cage match
Of artistic expression
And surprise exchanges
Between lesser known characters
Left sighing on the pages
Of dialogue remembered
From forgotten ages
Replaced by the numbers
In competitive wages
They say it’s the end
For pseudo-intellectuals
Running for their lives
On account of all the fools
Ripping out their hair
Claiming that their souls
Aren’t necessarily immortal
But rather full of holes
They say it’s the end
Eleven Eleven
And never again
Mistakes from the heavens
No more explanations
Everyone’s defendin’
Lapses in their judgement
The parts that need most mended
But I remain the same
Immune to these endeavors
Refraining from the blame
Conventional are my methods
They say it’s the end
Of fashions and trends
Of couples and cowards
Seeking revenge
They say it’s the end
Of games and clichés
Of policies forgotten
And Saturday parades
Of senators dead-set
On shouting without rest
Spitting up opinions
While trying to digest
Everyone’s intentions
Simon’s last expense
Willful suspensions
Just beyond the fence
They say it’s the end
For lovers at a loss
Intruders breaking bread
Unaware of the cost
Speaking without meaning
Shaking from the frost
Forsaking all those healing
On account of the exhaust
Parasites and insects
Protestors singing songs
Assessing every derelict
Nod-ding-ding along
They say it’s the end
Considering the man
Pacing and back and forth
Humoring the damned
His wife keeps on repeating
Their best laid plans
How time is fleeting
But he doesn’t understand
Each and every second
Paradise expands
But nobody expected
Needles in the sand
They say it’s the end
Of secondary frequencies
Good and proper manners
And common decency
Expressionless faces
Who until only recently
Believed in something standard
A constant flow
Seamlessly
Ready to explode
Like machinery
Everybody knows
About the change in scenery
Reaping what they sow
More than frequently
They say it’s the end
Panic in the streets
Seven deadly sins
Saviors meet and greet
Regretful men and women
Nervous on their knees
Curious as to who’ll send them
Underground like seeds
Ready for cultivation
Lawyers sign the deed
Unaware of how inflation
Somehow tends to breed
They say it’s the end
Of diamond-ring engagements
And saving your ticket stub
From the Sunday evening cage match
Of artistic expression
And surprise exchanges
Between lesser known characters
Left sighing on the pages
Of dialogue remembered
From forgotten ages
Replaced by the numbers
In competitive wages
They say it’s the end
For pseudo-intellectuals
Running for their lives
On account of all the fools
Ripping out their hair
Claiming that their souls
Aren’t necessarily immortal
But rather full of holes
They say it’s the end
Eleven Eleven
And never again
Mistakes from the heavens
No more explanations
Everyone’s defendin’
Lapses in their judgement
The parts that need most mended
But I remain the same
Immune to these endeavors
Refraining from the blame
Conventional are my methods
Friday, January 7, 2011
Wednesday, January 5, 2011
XMAS MMX MIX
I tried to tell Matt that this mix is almost like an installation piece because it creates a mood that, like, you and your friends can chill to and wax shit or whatever, that the songs are such that they, like, conjure good conversation, but still grab you here and there with a guitar solo or a crossfader whirl-out or, like, just a quick moment of rockin' sweetness, that when I made it, which was before the holidays, a fortnight at least, then an amendment to the ending a little over a week ago, (some still rock the first draft, incidentally), but when I made it I was really feeling that pre-holiday angst, and it comes out in the song selections in a cool way, I think, it's, like, a peak at the compiler, or the artist or whatever, that the songs, and not just the songs, but the movement, the, like, journey of the mood and shit, like the way that I'm, like, basically hypnotizing you to make you feel a certain way, that the length - dude - the length is perfect, it's just an hour and I really take you there and all over and back again in only an hour, and I tried explaining all this to Matt while we were jamming the mix on the way out to deliver it in its, like, hardcopy self, but he was, like, turnin' it down and shit, and, because we were jammin' it on my new little nano I-Man, he was complaining that he couldn't work it, suddenly becoming some kind of neanderthal man with technology and eventually I just ripped it out of his fumbling sausage fingers and said: dude, this fucking mix is like an installation piece. Put it on, hang out with your friends and let the songs carry you.
Here's some artwork I cut out of a Discover magazine my dad gave me and then happened to be able to find on the internet:
Here's some artwork I cut out of a Discover magazine my dad gave me and then happened to be able to find on the internet:
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