Metal Bee

It's only one post to date, so I suppose it's time to reconnect. I imagine at this point in my life most thoughts that will be noted here on the what I love to metaphorically weave into somewhat of a cohesive, recollection of events. And, the fact that my old zine was called The Buzz. This blog stands in its place and honor.

Starting with my favorite satirical blog posts I've written -to-date.
(disclaimer:) I enjoy metal music, even though my days usually consist of lighter things like sunshine, vegetarian patties, and books on zen.

But this was too great not to resurge.

How to Be Converted To MetalHead
The metal congregation meets every Saturday night for the Ceremonious Mayhem. During the night’s eve, there is a stench that spreads like a viral plague and is transmitted by the obscene consummation of PBR bottles and the sacred communion of smelly Metal dive bars. It is in the pit stains of Anthrax t-shirts, and in the pits of Hell. It has found its way towards mainstream life even though it has always been a sanctimonious experience for the metal-doers. It is called the Metal stench, and there is nothing anyone can do to stop the madness.
Missionaries stand on the sidewalks in all-black cloaks, holding signs that read, “The Stench is Coming.” They carry salvation in a goody bag, including a CD with infamous Sacred Sermons and a pocket sized vile of “Holy Stench Water.” And as this fatal stench starts to catch on in the suburbs and urban cities, the upsweep causes almost every living being in the US to be converted to a Metalhead. The South becomes an area known as the Metal Belt, identifying all inhabitants that follow the beliefs of Metal and all its metal-doers. Several dominations of Metal are created such as Metalians, Metalics, Metaliscopanians, Apocalypse of the Metal Day Sinners, Southern Metalist, etc.
The congregations write their doctrines and publish their bibles all legitimizing their actions by the one holy sermon of Dimebag Darrell. He is king of a kingdom in some dark place that is the most metal imaginable, and not always discussed by Metalheads. They hail Darrell as the metal messiah and hang a picture of his half naked spectacle in doorways and kitchens, dangling Darrell rosaries from their necks.
The metal commandments were written to be burned and the rules to be broken. Nonetheless, an excuse for mass torture and disapproval for the non-followers.
Metalhead Commandments
1. Thou shalt speaketh only of metal and metal related
happenings while dwelling in this domain of metal.
2. Thou shalt honor thine metal on Saturday.
3.Thou shalt not invite non-metal beings to this domain
of metal.
4. Thou shalt honor the Black Sabbath and keep it unholy.
5. Thou shalt not murder unless it is done in the name of metal.
6. Thou must recognize Ride The Lightning as the Metal Bible.
7. Thou must maketh a weekly sacrifice to the gods of metal.
Virgins are good, family pets will do when thou can findeth not a
virgin.
8. Thou shalt not spread false metal. "nu-metal" and "yo-metal"
are NOT metal and will not be tolerated within this metal domain.
9. Thou shalt share metal information freely with your metal
brothers and sisters. Thou shalt provide metal company to any
metal brother or sister who needeth someone to attendeth to
a metal show with.
10. Thou shalt spread the gospel of metal far and wide whenever
possible. Thus sayeth Dimebag Darrell of metal. Amen.

In order to become a true follower of the Metalhead tradition, you must witness a mosh pit unfold before your eyes. A whirling dervish of long hair, black wristbands, and handkerchiefs will be thrown into the air with a sharp stink rising above. With its steady pulse of teenage angst and rage beating you into a short lived, but desired, adolescent Hell. And then you will see the common practices: a typical Sacred Sermon, that is consistently the same every Saturday. The frontman will lean over the crowd, waving his black leather arm sleeves and metal chains reigning above their heads. His hair is down to his knees and hasn’t been brushed or washed in about 6 years. He whips it around in esoteric circles, requiring both the lead guitarist and the bass player to play on the opposite end corners of the stage to prevent from massive tangling. He speaks into the mic in a low, deep tone.
To prevent massive brain hemorrhage upon your first visit, it’s important to understand the nature of the sermons, how to find unity with the holiest Metal on earth without the Metalians severing your limbs or teeth. Consequently, this is how that may occur:
About three-fourths through the set, the entire crowd will be drenched with the Metal Stench, long hair rung with sweat, long loud chants for the Messiah of Metal, and one single Weezer- lookalike dude will end up shouting to the stage, “Play Freebird!.” Unaware of the magnitude of blasphemy this holds against the Stenchness of Metal, he carries on bringing forth dark stares and groans. Whatever the original intent for his outburst, the action is quickly regretted as the frontman spots him in the crowd, and then auspiciously whips out numb chucks with spinning daggers on the end. He dismembers Buddy Holly’s fingertips, inhibiting the poor poser-kid to never hold up his patronizing metal horns again. Metal resumes its ritual with the smallest regard for the violent mishap.
It’s every man for themselves in the pit, and a blow to the head (or to the fingers for that matter) should never be looked at as a sadistic action but rather as a cathartic release that you happened to become the target of (In this case, the frontman can now declare his numb chucks are consequently of the upmost brutality of Metal.16:02 minutes and the band shreds on. The most brutal Metalheads squat down to swing their hair with a rhythmic intensity as the singer clutches the microphone and curls around the stand guttering grotesque lyrics, to a point beyond understanding. You realize the song is just about to hit maximum brutality as the keyboardist makes his way to platform above you with his portable keytar, and the floor punchers begin using your head as their punch padding. You pull back from the skunky array, positioning yourself directly behind the tallest, grisliest, Satan-hailing Norwegian of all time and you actually find yourself praying the band’s 18 minute cover of War Pigs will end in half the time. This is all in the process and induction to the Metalheads community.
The song finally ends, the lights go up, and everyone’s mysteriousness is exposed by the house lights. The more defeated you feel leaving the congregation at the end of the night, the more you will be inclined to return and reconcile your metal curiosity. You have found yourself part of the metal crowd, raising horns to the metal gods, paying homage to the metal sepulcher. The congregation on the floor halted the madness. They threw up their metal horns and sang in metal praise for more metal! And you will be back next week to prove to yourself, that you can survive and are yet to be just another Metalhead.
-Erica Belfiore