Stone Age HAA The Holy MAA

Stone Age HAA The Holy MAA

Writing - Noise - Magic

Sunday, October 18, 2015


Here are lyrics to one of the songs we (Dead Peasant Insurance) will be playing Tuesday night at Now That's Class! opening for The Membranes. Heart and Lungs will also be playing. Here is a link to the event:

Leaning into Kerosene

The lawn is gone grown now
Where the wild things are
We didn’t want it anyway
Movement in the tall grass
Throw your food in it

Leaning into Kerosene
Leaning into Kerosene
Leaning into Kerosene
Leaning into Kerosene

Craning out the window
To see
Extended disembodied
Just a moody eye
But the predawn seemed real

Leaning into Kerosene
Leaning into Kerosene
Leaning into Kerosene
Leaning into Kerosene

The birds were there
The black trees whisper
And the fresh microbial air
Thick with spores
But the roof

The roof is wet
The roof is wet with fire
And my family is in there

my limbs climbing out
the window, catch the
ripping flame clinging
clinging like a dress
to legs planted on
the deck of a boat

was that an animal
running into the side
of the house in the dark or
was that a small gas explosion or

waking in the real heat
and you walk downstairs yes
yes from the kitchen window
there is a figure there

a stranger on the lawn

Leaning into Kerosene
Leaning into Kerosene

a stranger on the lawna stranger on the lawna stranger on the lawna stranger on the lawn

Monday, October 12, 2015


Hello, friends! I've asked several friends to share three releases they've been listening to lately. Not all-time favorites, just what feels interesting right now. A few weeks ago I posted picks from Wyatt Howland, and now here are picks from my husband Mitch Ribis of Fascist Insect. Stay tuned for more recommendations over the coming weeks.

Drogheda "Worlwide Massacure": Long-running Ohio grindcore maniacs Drogheda triumphantly return with a new 2015 full-length entitled "Worldwide Massacure", which shits on most fast bands out there nowadays. Long-gone '90's heroes like Assuck and Monster X come to mind but the Anthraxian guitar syncopation in the title track and a seemingly endless constellation of drumbeats ensure this Akron trio still have plenty of life to breathe into the genre.

Suicidal Tendencies "Lights...Camera...Revolution!": Venice Beach's Suicidal Tendencies are one of the West Coast's most beloved and long-lived HC bands ever, birthing several hybrids and variations of the genre in addition to holding their own against Thrash giants like Megadeth and Slayer. This 1991 album is a rare confluence of songwriting, musicianship and arrangement that transcend and exceed not only most "Crossover" releases before it, but possibly most releases of several genres, including but not limited to HC, Thrash, heavy metal and more. Undeniably one of the '90's greatest (and I'm using the word literally) Metal albums. -

O.L.D. "Lo Flux Tube": The weirdest New Jerseyans this side of Aqua Teen Hunger Force, O.L.D. not only break out of the mold of their debut "Old Lady Drivers", they smash it completely. It's passé to maintain a band invented a genre but this 1991 release is rare and unparalleled in it's raw creativity, expansiveness and tonality. It could lazily be described as "Industrial Metal" but in reality combines the vocals of Black Metal with unheard-of-before guitar motifs and songwriting that is a total nod to classic Metal while plunging deep into uncharted Space. It is like Epic Black Industrial Space for lack of a better description, serving as a perverted missing link between Voivod and Daughters. It has never been surpassed or even equalled, and never will be. No words can describe it.

Friday, October 9, 2015





now available for six bucks or trade.

We will have CDs at our upcoming show with The Membranes and Heart and Lung at Now That's Class! on October 20th.

If interested, email, message me or Wyatt Howland or Ryan Kuehn or Dead Peasant Insurance on Facebook.

Monday, October 5, 2015


March 2010
I’m stuck all over with this dirty winter. Mona Cost startled awake in her nest in the woods by the beach. She pealed dried grass from the side of her cheek. Panic – she sat up too fast, felt herself for bugs and bruises. Her cat. Mourning and panic – there was a blank spot, but she remembered the cat was gone.  This was a morning that part of Mona would wake in forever.  A morning that ran though her mind like an old song. Someone’s saliva dried on her face, her neck, her mouth tasting like the stranger and drunk sickness.
It wasn’t the first golden hour of the night she’d blacked out on. 
Loathing and breathing in the thin woods on the side of the hill between Edgewater beach and the grassy park above. Lake Erie was her Mother – grey and breathing beyond the trees. Her trunk, her bag, her crate of gear. It was all there. But for the cat. She looked at her phone. She’d missed a call from her mother. She hadn’t heard her mother’s voice since Christmas.
It was a year with a sickly warm winter. A warm breeze should carry lilacs, not stale winter exhaust.
Always in Cleveland, the people were brutalized with honest weather.
She sat up and knocked some dirt off her forearm, dug out her gallon jug of water. Her stomach rolled.
She brushed her teeth with water from her gallon jug. She saw the lake through the trees. The gulls sounded good. She sat for while with her chin on her knee. There were places in Cleveland she wanted to go now that she was free, old haunts, old loves. She wanted to see what gigs were happening. Maybe she’d get a spot in her old neighborhood on Lorain – but then she’d have to do something for money. She’d been shoplifting mixed nuts from the CVS, and using their toilet, too. She lifted fruit from Giant Eagle.
             Her mouth was wet – she was hungry. She grabbed her change of clothes – a gold sarong and black underwear, her towel and bar of biodegradable rose soap and made her way down the path to the beach. Her joints were creaking from the moist hard ground. It was early – no one was around. She scrubbed her underwear and then slipped into the water and washed from the waist down, shaving a little bit from the knees down perfunctory, with an old pink razor. Then she dried her bottom half and slipped on her other pair of underwear, wrapped the clean sarong around her waist. Keeping her blue sarong as a guard against cops who might be up in the trees watching for nudity, she washed under her arms and around her breasts. Then she dried off and pulled the gold sarong up over her chest and proceeded to scrub the blue sarong in the water.

            The sun was still lower toward the south in the sky, rising over downtown Cleveland to the east. But the equinox was coming.