Nine Inch Nails is Trent Reznor. For over a decade NIN’s music has explored majestic soundscapes born of Reznor’s imaginative genius. In addition to his studio wizardry Reznor also delivers a killer live show. A NIN concert is a journey of sight and sound, a revelatory experience from which there is no turning back.
"Welcome home, honey." I said. "I made you Chinese food."
"Burnt rice topped with soy sauce?" Justin said. "This is neither Chinese nor food."
"Well why do I always have to cook? You never take me out to dinner anymore."
An adderall and a good cd were a recipe for awesome. I listened to music and wrote in the afternoon and worked at night. The second half of my day was as grueling as the first half was euphoric. My life was an oil painting rendered in exquisite shades of pleasure and pain.
My dreams differed from those of the common bourgeois. Most of them involved becoming a celebrity. I wanted to be a rock star. Or maybe a serial killer. Fame or infamy, it didn’t really matter which. I just wanted to become well known for something.
"The mushrooms on this pizza taste funny." Brannen said. "Where did you get them?"
"I found them in a little plastic bag under my druggie roommate’s mattress." I said. "Why?"
There was urban sprawl as far as the eye could see. As we drove through the city my friend pointed out how every strip club was conveniently located next to a motel. I could hear the rhythmic thumping of car subwoofers, the heartbeat of the strip. The neon signs were beacons in the urban nightscape.
"I can’t believe Squaresoft switched from Nintendo to Sony." I said.
"Don’t think of it as the end of an era." Justin said. "Think of it as the epoch of a new one."
"Why are you still wearing your Viking helmet? Leif Erickson day is over."
"Leif Erickson day is never over as long as we have a song in our hearts and a plentiful supply of mead."
The radio was playing Another Brick In The Wall pt. 2. I couldn’t get into Pink Floyd’s music. To me it just seemed like sonic masturbation for stoners. Not that I had a problem with stoners. After all, if it wasn’t for them my Mcdonalds wouldn’t get any late night traffic.
"Are you going to work at Mcdonalds for the rest of your life?" my dad’s girlfriend said. "Don’t you have any plans for the future?"
"Of course I do." I said. "I want to open a restaurant called Hell’s Kitchen that specializes in satanic cuisine made from ritualistically slaughtered animals."
Fuck dating. The only woman I needed in my life was Mary Jane. I bought my bowl at a seedy Canadian convenience store in downtown Manchester. The glass, once clear, had since turned black with resin. "I can’t wait until I can smoke pot again." Justin’s sister’s friend said. "My probation ends on 4/20. Is that crazy or what?"
I was looking through my high school yearbook. My teenage years were a time of personal development and discovery, but that’s a bildungsroman for another time. As a teenager my favorite game was Final Fantasy VII. I liked games that rewarded skill but didn’t require it.
"How can you like text based RPGs better than Final Fantasy VII?" I said. "They don’t even have any graphics."
"Text based RPGs use the best graphics engine of all." Justin said. "Your imagination."
I watched tv. I’ve never hated a tv show as much as I hate the current episodes of The Simpsons. Don’t get me wrong, there are much worse shows out there, but every time I watch the new Simpsons it totally rapes my memories of when the show was actually good, making it twice as painful to watch.
"Wow, just what I always wanted for Christmas." Brannen said. "An unstoppable undead army ready to do my bidding."
"I thought you’d like it." I said.
Do you have any idea how fast Brannen and I’s band jumped on the opportunity to tour with Nine Inch Nails? We’re having a great time as we travel across the country leaving war, famine, pestilence, and death in our wake. Oh yeah, our band is called Silent Cemetarium. We look like Type O Negative and we sound like Ministry and we’re coming to your town.
Our band is playing a packed arena. Josh plays the drums with the frantic speed of Lucifer’s demonic steed chasing a dark oblivion. It’s time for Brannen’s guitar solo. The audience raises their lighters as Brannen’s guitar sheds electric tears of sorrow.
When goths fall in love planets align and ringwraiths murmur in forbidden whispers. My world is crumbling but my love riseth from the ashes like a phoenix reborn. Girl I Like, say you’ll be my unholy bride and give birth to my horrible demon spawn.
Did Louis C.K. jerk off in front of two female comics? And why are these ladies squandering an opportunity to learn from a comedy legend?
Elliot said my breakup must have been due to the sweater curse, an unexplained phenomenon where anyone who gives their significant other a hand-knit sweater gets dumped. The only way to break the curse, Elliot said, was to destroy the sweater.
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