on the cover: Andy Moles www.asphalt-resistance.deviantart.com

Jerome Dillon is a Columbus Ohio native and former drummer of both Nine Inch Nails and Howlin' Maggie. His newest project, nearLY just released its first album, reminder, on Kufala Records, and is available through Amazon, iTunes, Kufala.com, and neaLY.net. The album represents a two year foray into capturing a series of recurring dreams in a sonic format and, like a soundtrack to subconscious encounters, is both lush and chillingly hollow. Its recurring themes, rising tensions, and sustained anxiousness are best suited to hearing it the way it was conceived; in the dark, alone, and loud. But enough about all of that...

If you had to place a bet on a Bolton vs Tesh deathmatch, who would you put your money, how much would you put down, and how does your recent work relate to that decision?

My money is on Bolton. Anyone that would keep a mullet going for twenty years regardless of their follicular inadequacies must have more rage than most could ever comprehend. I’d be willing to bet the ranch that Tesh would go down...hard.

Obviously, your role in NIN opened up some new opportunities for you, but have you also found that it has typecast you in any way and gotten in the way of you branching out into some other directions?

Maybe...however, I was the one that decided to cultivate the Edward Scissorhands look for much of my tenure with NIN, so I need to take some accountability for that. The positive side of it is that many people know me from my work with Trent - also, I know exactly what direction I want to take my career from this point on. You have to take one step at a time. I’m just glad that I’m not playing music that i don't care about anymore.

Do you think there are certain groups out today that unnecessarily pander to the insecurities of teenage fans or would that be every group?

It seems that there is an overabundance of clones in each genre of music at the moment. There is a shit-load of bands all wearing the same clothes, getting the same tattoos and writing the same song over and over again. Then you have five million R&B producers all trying to sound like Kanye West. Now the latest trend seems to be all of these bands trying to sound like Interpol and the strokes. It’s laughable.....but as long as all of these disingenuous assholes are getting support from radio and major music publications, the major labels are going to keep shitting it out.

During those few days in the hospital when you weren’t sure the condition of your health, what did your self-reflections show you as being most happy with or proud of in your life thus far?

For those that don't know, I spent some time in the hospital in the middle of the third leg of the NIN 'with teeth' tour. It looked like something serious was wrong with my heart at first- but it ended up being something that was not a big deal and easily treatable. The first night that we stopped the show and I went for an ambulance ride, i was freaking out. I’d never had anything like that happen and i was in the best physical shape of my life...it didn't make sense. But still, there i was with multiple tubes and wires coming out of my arms and glued to my chest and i thought it was all over. I wasn't really thinking about what I had accomplished at that point, i was focusing on everything that I had left to accomplish. When I tried to make my way back to the band after getting better, I was met with complete apathy and no empathy for what I had just been through. I couldn't believe it. I also couldn't believe that six years in the band didn't account for anything, especially after i had been so supportive of Trent's recuperation from alcohol abuse. So I immediately switched gears and focused all of my energies into getting my record out and not looking back.

What was the best interview question you’ve been asked, and please answer that question for us?

The Bolton vs. Tesh deathmatch is pretty good...

“Ology” refers to “the study of”. What is your Ology?

At present, it's the study of oneself. I’m trying to push myself out of my comfort zone as a musician and otherwise. We'll see what happens...........

To learn more about Jerome Dillon please visit www.nearly.net.

A children's book for adults, God's Acre's "stories within stories" follow two children in a graveyard full of secrets. It is also an ongoing example of collaborative publishing whereby multiple artists and writers are able to flex their muscles within a single compelling narrative.

Here's a quick preview...

     “Unnh. I suppose it’s no use. Just keep it down, ok? Granny Eudora doesn’t like us makin’ a ruckus up here.”

     Isabel, resilient as ever without even her pride scuffed, hops off the bed with a new excitement now that her brother is actually out of bed. 

Skipping around the room, enclosing Norman’s groggy self in a sonorous circle, Isabel continues singing her rhyme “…they gathered up all the bright and shiny things they could find…la la la lala…”

     “I wanna go to the cemetamy again!” she demands, quickly interrupting herself.  Norman barely hears her though as he leans over slightly to rub his stomach where she’d jumped on him. Definitely looking a bit annoyed, he glances over to Izzy.

     “What? No way. It’s not safe for little girls like you.
And it’s cemetery,  not cemetamy.”

     Norman’s older brother-ness naturally triggers Isabel’s
persistence and the two kids face off in the middle of their old,  wooden room.

     “But I wanna’ go! Nothing happened the last time.
I wanna see my friends.”

     “Izzy, it’s not a good idea. Besides, Granny will have breakfast ready soon and she’ll be upset if we’re not there on time.”

To learn more about God's Acre please visit www.omnibucket.com/godsacre.

Eleventy Billion...

Here's a quick preview...

Be a good little worker
Be a good little man
Be a good little maniac
And do it all over again
Be a good little robot
Drink your oil from a can
Keep your faith in Omnibot
Cyborg woman
Cyborg man

Be a good little number
Count in line where you stand
Wish you were a wide eyed wonder
Wandering the land
Be a good little psychopathic
Schizophrenic dream
Hum along with the only song
The Human Meatwheel tumbles on

Valium Sunday’s on its way
Drowning clowns with expressionless faces
Valium, velvet, silk and lace
Feather clouds in distant places
And it all washes away in the rain

To learn more about Eleventy Billion Miles Away please visit www.omnibucket.com/eleventybillion.

 

What oh what is sammy davis jr eyeballin'?

 1)  The sun sinking low over the Smoky Mountains.
2)  Marilyn Monroe's brashly revealing bathing suit.
3)  His own taptastic feets a flyin'.
4)  Frank Sinatra's philandering gaze.
5)  The "whites only" sign in front of his hotel.
6)  Death's icy grip.
7)  The interior of his eye socket.
8)  The depths of the souls of men.
9)  Dean Martin’s collection of used merkins.

Diary of a Sane Man,  by Alex Huffman

Everyday, a small army of The Miserable takes turns entering the gas station that I call "work." Cigarettes, malt liquor and dollar scratch-off lotto tickets are their guns, ammo and rations. Some spend close to ten dollars a day on liquid death and silver colored dust temporarily attached to card board. Others spend ten dollars a day on generic smokes that once lit smell of decomposing sea life. Some wander alone...special ops on a black budget suicide mission. Others travel in herds. Two, three even five deep they march. The combined I.Q. for those front-liners is usually half the sum of the brigade's collective trouser size. Four grunts measuring about 40 inches in girth a piece yields a quotient of 80.  Seeing a group of these MENSA warriors struggling to add piles of coins to reach the total cost of three 40 oz. beers and a pack of generic smokes is awe inspiring. The alpha street urchin will usually show his boisterous and violent addition skills to the weakest of the pack. Metallic faces flying off the countertop as a result of the "commander's" impatient hand-slammery no doubt caused by the omega-transient's arithmetic ineptitude. The commander, the brains of the operation, will always add more change to the coinage carnage and slide the pile towards me with a "this should take care of things" attitude in his body language. I then sift through vast arrays of diseased metal discs while trying not to inhale too often. The platoon is usually short at least thirty cents. I say nothing and allow the transaction to finalize. Once my heroes have made their leave I pull a few coins from my pocket and toss them into the cash register. I make sure never to count them, for one day I hope to rise through the ranks of the elite - my can-recycling, same-pants-wearing, running-scared, dirtied, soiled, and broken brethren.

Please fill out the form below and we'll give you something for free.
No, it's not pneumonia...it's something better.

Why are there so many damn songs about rainbows?
We don't know, but what we do know is that you take care of the people that take care of you, like these two.