Flying On Clipped Wings

(cw: suicide) This is a poem I wrote based on what kind of note I'd leave behind should it come to that. When I go, take a picture of what's left, make my body the next Dawn Of The Black Hearts, Donate my books to the SVDP, delete my browser history Let my friends know I'm at peace Let my enemies know I watch them sleep Play The Logical Song at my funeral Cause it was the only thing til now that made me happy Hurling season is over, I never had the hand eye co-ordination for it, but I admired their skill all the same

Any hack journalist working in the arts sphere can get a few thousand clicks by writing a “rock is dead” piece, because the kids are all listening to Playboi Carti now, and dad rock no longer reigns supreme on the airwaves. While it is true that the current genres favoured by the zeitgeist at the moment are guitar free for the most part, this take fails to consider one significant factor: extreme music has been having a great time. The Internet may have destroyed the ability of bands to make money solely off their music, but its ability to connect listeners across the globe made it far easier for bands to find audiences. You weren't tied to geographical location or needing a big label to do your distribution for you when it could all be put online. As the commercial side of heavy music withered in artistic and commercial terms,the artists on the extreme side stuck to their guns and pushed themselves further to make great art, and they won in the end. Look at how Deafheaven’s Sunba

Last June, I was officially diagnosed with Borderline Personality Disorder, or Emotionally Unstable Personality Disorder, as it's being referred to more often in a clinical setting. This diagnosis followed a long period of internal speculation, and a “most likely has it” from an assessment in Celbridge. It wasn't a life shattering revelation, but it did explain a lot of things. The fights and rows I'd gotten into in the past and how quick I'd go from 0 to 90. The pervasive feeling of emptiness that seemed to be more severe than traditional depression (not that that's a walk in the park). The impulsivity when it came to drinking, substances, spending. It made me fearful for the future too, even though I'd been able to secure a place in a DBT program. I'm weary of writing disclosure pieces on mental health. They always seem so futile, and with an undertone of “poor me” no matter how I try and avoid that. However, BPD is one of the most debilitating and

In order to properly convey my love of hard-hitting, abrasive, underground music, I’d need a far larger word count and the ability to use hyperlinks in this piece. Instead, I chose a particular album that was released last year, Svalbard’s It’s Hard To Have Hope . It stands up, not only as the band’s finest moment to date, a fact recognised by many of the scene’s major media outlets, but as a shining example of what hardcore can do and be at its very best. For a genre that’s often pigeonholed as being formulaic and one-dimensional, hardcore has managed to weave a number of different elements and approaches into its tapestry. Svalbard are no slouches in this department. Their approach is a really interesting mix of the beautiful melodies and rich soundscapes of the recent wave of post-rock leaning black metal bands, but underpinned by a very straightforward pummelling rhythm section, keeping things grounded and the attack very in-your-face. There’s sweeping beauty and a thunder

As a myriad of hardcore bands plumb the depths of the 90s and early 2000s for inspiration, it was perhaps inevitable that we'd see a revival of the emotionally charged ferocity that bands like Poison The Well, From Autumn To Ashes and Remembering Never in particular dealt out, and for a band playing this sound to get picked up by a label. The band in question, Wristmeetrazor, the label in question, Prosthetic Records, and here we are with their official debut album. Fortunately for the band, I'm quite a fan of that strand of early 00s metalcore, and fortunately for me and the other listeners, they don't just retread those waters on this album. They take their name from a Usurp Synapse song, and the fragmented, blistering ferocity of that strand of screamo, emo violence, is all over this album. Song lengths seldom go past the two minute mark, the guitars squeal and screech with wiry feedback, the vocals are a tortured pterodactyl cry. Yet it's Wristmeet

Here's some of the haïkus I never got around to compiling and uploading to my blog. Honestly, once I started writing longform poetry I kinda forgot all about the haïkus, but here we go pals. Swiping Through Tinder In The Counsellor's Waiting Room This is about going on the hellapp and not doing anything, no matter how cute or interesting the faces you see might seem Flurry of green hearts Some tepid validation First text stays unsent Writer's Block Is Really Just Impostor Syndrome Come Home To Roost Basically just about how the fear of your previous artistic successes being flukes becomes an actual reality when the words won't come out, title saying it all really. They're screaming at me Every blank word document Mediocrity Banksy Lowkey Had A Point Lads Again the title sums it up really, just a wee rumination on how we kinda get fixated on empty gestures of validations for various things on our various social media platfo