http://tornadoriderband.com/blog.cfm Wed, 23 Feb 2011 03:43:24 GMT http://bandzoogle.com http://tornadoriderband.com/blog.cfm?feature=1678633&postid=784956 I have a motto of late its called "Vicious yet Friendly" It explains many things For one, life on Earth With its golden summers and biting winters With its Gandhis and its Hitlers With its creature comforts and its environmental despair With its delicious icecreams and its barfy sewage stench waters With its fluffy bunnies and its flesh-ripping carnivores With its soft sweet kisses and its bloody bullet wounds With its best good friends and its brutal inquisitional tortures With its yay its a boy and its oh no Ralph died With its blissful marriage ceremony and its piles of divorce papers With its creamy sensuous embraces and its brutal sawing tortures Its more specific than "good and evil" Its the underlying tendency of the world, and in each successful hero or villain you need both qualities. That's why its my motto. It describes both the sound and concept of tornado rider. The sound is aggressive and biting yet soft and joyous Heavy loud fast riffs adorn epic powerful tales of silly mythical utopians from sneth And to ride a tornado? Riding is a fun friendly activity, everyone wants to fly, it is a youthful dream of a benevolent world. Whereas a tornado is one of nature's most devastatingly vicious forces, ripping apart lives and homes within seconds. Different forms of energy. If one is a skilled conversionist, they can take the energy of the one, filter it through the other, and magic is born. Or you could see it like this: If Tornado Rider was only vicious, we'd be more like Slayer If we were only friendly, we'd be more like Raffi. So the combination is where the explosive good times happen That's why I like salt and cayenne in chocolate Its why lovers scratch and bite Its why we pump our fist violently in a sudden moment of victory... Its why we have girlfriends boyfriends husbands or wives. The world is a vicious yet friendly place. I don't know why, or what it means. But I know I want to use viciousness to spice up my friendliness so that it might have a chance to survive in this dualistic world of endless challenge. Some will use friendliness to sell you viciousness... whatever. I'm not a politician, I'm just an observant nomad, who aims to plant beautifully hardy orchards of salty joy across this deadly gorgeous land. Rushadicus 2/17/11 "Vicious yet Friendly"
It explains many things
For one, life on Earth
With its golden summers and biting winters
With its Gandhis and its Hitlers
With its creature comforts and its environmental despair
With its delicious icecreams and its barfy sewage stench waters
With its fluffy bunnies and its flesh-ripping carnivores
With its soft sweet kisses and its bloody bullet wounds
With its best good friends and its brutal inquisitional tortures
With its yay its a boy and its oh no Ralph died
With its blissful marriage ceremony and its piles of divorce papers
With its creamy sensuous embraces and its brutal sawing tortures

Its more specific than "good and evil"
Its the underlying tendency of the world, and in each successful hero or villain you need both qualities.

That's why its my motto.
It describes both the sound and concept of tornado rider.
The sound is aggressive and biting yet soft and joyous
Heavy loud fast riffs adorn epic powerful tales of silly mythical utopians from sneth

And to ride a tornado?
Riding is a fun friendly activity, everyone wants to fly, it is a youthful dream of a benevolent world.
Whereas a tornado is one of nature's most devastatingly vicious forces, ripping apart lives and homes within seconds.
Different forms of energy. If one is a skilled conversionist, they can take the energy of the one, filter it through the other, and magic is born.

Or you could see it like this:
If Tornado Rider was only vicious, we'd be more like Slayer
If we were only friendly, we'd be more like Raffi.
So the combination is where the explosive good times happen
That's why I like salt and cayenne in chocolate
Its why lovers scratch and bite
Its why we pump our fist violently in a sudden moment of victory...
Its why we have girlfriends boyfriends husbands or wives.

The world is a vicious yet friendly place.
I don't know why, or what it means.
But I know I want to use viciousness to spice up my friendliness so that it might have a chance to survive in this dualistic world of endless challenge.
Some will use friendliness to sell you viciousness... whatever.
I'm not a politician, I'm just an observant nomad, who aims to plant beautifully hardy orchards of salty joy across this deadly gorgeous land.

Rushadicus
2/17/11
]]> Wed, 23 Feb 2011 03:43:24 GMT 627927AE8261153F14B783EAF6C90A12 http://tornadoriderband.com/blog.cfm?feature=1678633&postid=771104 Angels fow, thunder cow Slippin on down to the miggerick linky Astro back, lightning crack Flyin back home to the base of god's pinky Reglued seams of broken dreams Try to make do with the glue you ejected Where's it from, Blunderscrum He lives out in the stars of rejected Foxform prototypes, rabbit casts Sending the vibes on the secret airwaves You tune in, signal's thin Whoops its planet of a million bear-slaves Singin so hard, always on guard Tryin to protect the galactic interest You tune out, full of doubt Back on Earth no cash for the christmas Slaughtered beasts, war in the east, Deep in dept and about to have a crisis 10 broken hearts, 20 false starts Can't see the sunshine paintin the horizon That's the word, 's'got your eyes blurred This horizontal thought is the doldrums Now is the time, ropes to climb Vertical mindset leaps to the quantum World of sneth, town of blark Free from the fixed form fence of the real world Jumping around, no such ground Power of sneth is enough to make steel curl. You're confused, mired in blues Maybe its time you thought about a party Wild jark dance, flight of the pants That's what you'd do if you really got smart, see? -Rushadicus Feb 16, 2011 Slippin on down to the miggerick linky
Astro back, lightning crack
Flyin back home to the base of god's pinky

Reglued seams of broken dreams
Try to make do with the glue you ejected
Where's it from, Blunderscrum
He lives out in the stars of rejected

Foxform prototypes, rabbit casts
Sending the vibes on the secret airwaves
You tune in, signal's thin
Whoops its planet of a million bear-slaves

Singin so hard, always on guard
Tryin to protect the galactic interest
You tune out, full of doubt
Back on Earth no cash for the christmas

Slaughtered beasts, war in the east,
Deep in dept and about to have a crisis
10 broken hearts, 20 false starts
Can't see the sunshine paintin the horizon

That's the word, 's'got your eyes blurred
This horizontal thought is the doldrums
Now is the time, ropes to climb
Vertical mindset leaps to the quantum

World of sneth, town of blark
Free from the fixed form fence of the real world
Jumping around, no such ground
Power of sneth is enough to make steel curl.

You're confused, mired in blues
Maybe its time you thought about a party
Wild jark dance, flight of the pants
That's what you'd do if you really got smart, see?

-Rushadicus
Feb 16, 2011
]]> Thu, 17 Feb 2011 02:36:48 GMT D1B00B3B1A7C47D547E10D12A50E05BD http://tornadoriderband.com/blog.cfm?feature=1678633&postid=744541 i got karthuanon i am icktuego i speak of i cuz i know it best, worst, and most medium medium semi flavored lukewarm self-waters of halfeawakeity worst things i've ever seen happened in my head alone headmovies inspired perhaps by true events events from the news, highway, novelpages or the transfer of some dark mind onto film or other dimensions, where? lot of fear aaaa this and aaaa that aaa apocalypse aaa blades chopping up bodies aaa not good enough aaa relationships aaa commitment aaa history aaa the future aaa money aaa what? who cares its party time party time ha h'ha ha h'ha ha, hicking ha of a ha ha ha ha ha ha farm time to yell scream dance kick barf out everything wrong with the world cruel hard world of popsicle possibility jaws of death that kiss of strawberry its time to jump time to get excited time to POUNCE!!! dont care if you pounce on your taxes or go to jail dont care if you get a horrible divorce and pee out rocks all day dont care if you get unfinished to the finish line of achievement only care that the spark of jark grows flamey in the cold night only care that the falcon flies on the exhale infinity of symphonic toads is gathered on the inhale dammit trying to get mystical in the lone creeper night air and then here comes things like amazon.nubblers reminding me its time to buy time to buy my butt want my butt? want to buy it? go home, dinosaur time to barf out infinite computery napkins into the old woodsmoke fire by the lawn and then remember that its time for the good ol dino-barfy extravaganza yes sometimes you happen to be a dinosaur barfing up computery napkins and that is an ancient martial art form of dance combat against the tyranny of gravity and time dance, gentle butt-child, dance and make a smoothie and eat the hell out of it with millions of shiny teeth vicious carnivore you are dont care just scream dream and scheme to lick lick plates full of flavory residue get it all, the restaurant's closing taste the flavor, homobro god gave you a tongue because he would later cause humans to invent ravioli so lick it up man and cry tears of soggy happiness and infinite gloom infinite gloom only needs thoughts of pink fatman posing as easter bunny jumping around singing of jark speaking to yourself like an excited fetch-dog of waggy tail mm what a good feeling to in-...hale/gest/spire/tercourse life is simple its about avoiding pain. not as if i'd know. i'm just a silly man on the horizon looking for invisible islands goodbye Rushadicus feb 3, 2011 i am icktuego
i speak of i cuz i know it best, worst, and most medium
medium semi flavored lukewarm self-waters of halfeawakeity
worst things i've ever seen happened in my head alone
headmovies inspired perhaps by true events
events from the news, highway, novelpages or the transfer of some dark mind onto film
or other dimensions, where?
lot of fear
aaaa this and aaaa that
aaa apocalypse
aaa blades chopping up bodies
aaa not good enough
aaa relationships
aaa commitment
aaa history
aaa the future
aaa money
aaa what?
who cares
its party time
party time
ha h'ha ha h'ha ha, hicking ha of a ha ha ha ha ha ha farm
time to yell scream dance kick barf out everything wrong with the world
cruel hard world of popsicle possibility
jaws of death that kiss of strawberry
its time to jump
time to get excited
time to POUNCE!!!
dont care if you pounce on your taxes or go to jail
dont care if you get a horrible divorce and pee out rocks all day
dont care if you get unfinished to the finish line of achievement
only care that the spark of jark grows flamey in the cold night
only care that the falcon flies on the exhale
infinity of symphonic toads is gathered on the inhale
dammit
trying to get mystical in the lone creeper night air
and then here comes things like amazon.nubblers reminding me its time to buy
time to buy my butt
want my butt?
want to buy it?
go home, dinosaur
time to barf out infinite computery napkins into the old woodsmoke fire by the lawn
and then remember that its time for the good ol dino-barfy extravaganza
yes sometimes you happen to be a dinosaur barfing up computery napkins
and that is an ancient martial art form of dance combat against the tyranny of gravity and time
dance, gentle butt-child, dance
and make a smoothie and eat the hell out of it with millions of shiny teeth
vicious carnivore you are
dont care
just scream dream and scheme to lick
lick plates full of flavory residue
get it all, the restaurant's closing
taste the flavor, homobro
god gave you a tongue because he would later cause humans to invent ravioli
so lick it up man and cry tears of soggy happiness and infinite gloom
infinite gloom only needs thoughts of pink fatman posing as easter bunny
jumping around
singing of jark
speaking to yourself like an excited fetch-dog of waggy tail
mm what a good feeling to in-...hale/gest/spire/tercourse
life is simple its about avoiding pain.
not
as if i'd know.
i'm just a silly man on the horizon looking for invisible islands
goodbye

Rushadicus
feb 3, 2011

]]> Sat, 05 Feb 2011 00:13:32 GMT BA4D883C130E4675807574200F121E10 http://tornadoriderband.com/blog.cfm?feature=1678633&postid=693938 well now, i've had a bunch of girlfriends. my first girlfriend was named Classical Music, she was very beautiful and full of passion, but as one could logically infer from those first 2 qualities, she was also extremely high-maintenance. she demanded all my time and attention, and was so jealous, that i wasnt allowed to hang out with or even speak to any other girls. i was always walking on eggshells around her, it was like she was just waiting for me to screw up. she was very hard to please, in addition to being extremely conservative and confining. i had to break it off eventually because i realized i was never going to be the man she wanted me to be. there was someone else perfect for the job, i assured myself. then i started seeing this girl named Heavy Metal. she was dark, powerful and intense; being around her made me in turn feel powerful. we had some good times but i realized she was kindof an angry person, and being with her required me to cultivate and maintain a constant feeling of anger. i would want to go frolic in meadows whereas she would want to just sit in her room all day and read about castles, dragons, war and dungeons. she not only didnt understand but made fun of my love for things like sunsets, flowers and rainbows. finally i realized she was a total goth chick and i was over it. then i met my first wife: a southern belle named Bluegrass who came off at first like a lovable beautiful free spirit forest nymph. we dated for a long time, and she taught me alot about myself. she really did know how to party, and if she was having fun, everyone around would be as well. her lovely slow accent and timeless american charm had totally wrapped me up, and we got married. but things changed when she became my wife. as time went on, i found out that she was not quite such a free spirit as i'd imagined. she was very conservative and had a narrow world view. she had hardly ever been out of the south. i tried taking her to new places, some of which she liked, but she kept criticizing me for my fashion choices and for not being on time. her deep southern drawl started sounding foreign instead of endearing, and our relationship started to unravel. after i filed for divorce, i began seeing a fancy sleek tall beauty named Jazz. she loved to stay up late at night and take walks. she was incredibly intellectual, in fact most of the time way over my head. her verbose ramblings obscured her natural beauty, and i started feeling quite emotionally disconnected from her. also, i was a man of the woods, and she was a total city chick. she, like heavy metal, couldnt relate to my love for the natural world. frustrated, i went to europe. i hooked up with a chick named Romanian Music, she was really hot but really really weird. i liked this girl named Swedish Music, but all she ever did was talk about the king. i flirted with The Blues, too slow. i made out with Techno, too intense. then as i was walking through amsterdam's red light district, just planning to go home, i saw a stunning prostitute through a window, who motioned to me. i stopped and stared, as if in a trance, but shook my head and walked on. about a mile later, i still couldnt get her out of my head. infected, i ran to an atm and ran all the way back. she welcomed me in and said her name was Pop Music. what happened that night was pure glittery magic. but, she was a hooker. i didnt care. i was determined to win her over. now there comes a time in most men's lives where they get wrapped up in some materialistic woman and lose sight of who they really are. this was my time. she would yell at me for wearing the wrong type of socks, for not spiking my hair just so, for being ignorant of current trends. giving her a gift was the most terrifying experience because she would get extremely upset and publically lambast me if i'd chosen the wrong present. she went to great lengths to fit in with her huge circle of "friends". i found out the easiest way to win her favor was to spend lots of money on her. but, i had limited resources, and when i found myself alienated from all my friends and penniless on a foreign sidewalk, i was forced to re-evaluate. i flew back to america, and after a long and difficult legal battle, my divorce from Bluegrass was finalized, and i felt tremendously liberated. i spent days jumping for joy. sure sometimes i missed that southern sweetness, but does coating cell bars in honey make prison much sweeter a prospect? anyhow, i was walking down the street one day and this really interesting-looking girl was walking beside me. "you look cool", she said, "lets go down to the river". so we rolled up our jeans and sat with our feet in the river and talked for hours. she was really cool, and incredibly open-minded. we started dating and things only got better. i could be 3 minutes late or 3 hours late, she forgave me. i could have bought her a turd and she would've been grateful. "its the thought that counts," she'd say. i felt free to be totally and completely myself, to wear whatever weird clothes/jewelry/hairstyles i wanted, to say whatever was on my mind, and dance like an idiot if i wanted to. she and i would race down the street together singing at the top of our lungs, lavishly sniffing flowers, not caring what anybody might be thinking. i was beside myself with joy, and finally i placed a twine ring on her finger. she cried tears of joy. that was good enough for her, she didnt need gold. and then, we got married, and have been happy to this day. her name is Rock n Roll. recently we had a daughter, who we named Sneth. she is very cute, talented and friendly, and is going to be unlike any other girl, ever. i hope she finds a worthy man. -Rushadicus, 1/11/11
my first girlfriend was named Classical Music, she was very beautiful and full of passion, but as one could logically infer from those first 2 qualities, she was also extremely high-maintenance. she demanded all my time and attention, and was so jealous, that i wasnt allowed to hang out with or even speak to any other girls. i was always walking on eggshells around her, it was like she was just waiting for me to screw up. she was very hard to please, in addition to being extremely conservative and confining. i had to break it off eventually because i realized i was never going to be the man she wanted me to be. there was someone else perfect for the job, i assured myself.

then i started seeing this girl named Heavy Metal. she was dark, powerful and intense; being around her made me in turn feel powerful. we had some good times but i realized she was kindof an angry person, and being with her required me to cultivate and maintain a constant feeling of anger. i would want to go frolic in meadows whereas she would want to just sit in her room all day and read about castles, dragons, war and dungeons. she not only didnt understand but made fun of my love for things like sunsets, flowers and rainbows. finally i realized she was a total goth chick and i was over it.

then i met my first wife: a southern belle named Bluegrass who came off at first like a lovable beautiful free spirit forest nymph. we dated for a long time, and she taught me alot about myself. she really did know how to party, and if she was having fun, everyone around would be as well. her lovely slow accent and timeless american charm had totally wrapped me up, and we got married. but things changed when she became my wife. as time went on, i found out that she was not quite such a free spirit as i'd imagined. she was very conservative and had a narrow world view. she had hardly ever been out of the south. i tried taking her to new places, some of which she liked, but she kept criticizing me for my fashion choices and for not being on time. her deep southern drawl started sounding foreign instead of endearing, and our relationship started to unravel.

after i filed for divorce, i began seeing a fancy sleek tall beauty named Jazz. she loved to stay up late at night and take walks. she was incredibly intellectual, in fact most of the time way over my head. her verbose ramblings obscured her natural beauty, and i started feeling quite emotionally disconnected from her. also, i was a man of the woods, and she was a total city chick. she, like heavy metal, couldnt relate to my love for the natural world.

frustrated, i went to europe. i hooked up with a chick named Romanian Music, she was really hot but really really weird. i liked this girl named Swedish Music, but all she ever did was talk about the king. i flirted with The Blues, too slow. i made out with Techno, too intense.

then as i was walking through amsterdam's red light district, just planning to go home, i saw a stunning prostitute through a window, who motioned to me. i stopped and stared, as if in a trance, but shook my head and walked on. about a mile later, i still couldnt get her out of my head. infected, i ran to an atm and ran all the way back. she welcomed me in and said her name was Pop Music. what happened that night was pure glittery magic. but, she was a hooker. i didnt care. i was determined to win her over. now there comes a time in most men's lives where they get wrapped up in some materialistic woman and lose sight of who they really are. this was my time. she would yell at me for wearing the wrong type of socks, for not spiking my hair just so, for being ignorant of current trends. giving her a gift was the most terrifying experience because she would get extremely upset and publically lambast me if i'd chosen the wrong present. she went to great lengths to fit in with her huge circle of "friends". i found out the easiest way to win her favor was to spend lots of money on her. but, i had limited resources, and when i found myself alienated from all my friends and penniless on a foreign sidewalk, i was forced to re-evaluate.

i flew back to america, and after a long and difficult legal battle, my divorce from Bluegrass was finalized, and i felt tremendously liberated. i spent days jumping for joy. sure sometimes i missed that southern sweetness, but does coating cell bars in honey make prison much sweeter a prospect?

anyhow, i was walking down the street one day and this really interesting-looking girl was walking beside me. "you look cool", she said, "lets go down to the river". so we rolled up our jeans and sat with our feet in the river and talked for hours. she was really cool, and incredibly open-minded. we started dating and things only got better. i could be 3 minutes late or 3 hours late, she forgave me. i could have bought her a turd and she would've been grateful. "its the thought that counts," she'd say. i felt free to be totally and completely myself, to wear whatever weird clothes/jewelry/hairstyles i wanted, to say whatever was on my mind, and dance like an idiot if i wanted to. she and i would race down the street together singing at the top of our lungs, lavishly sniffing flowers, not caring what anybody might be thinking. i was beside myself with joy, and finally i placed a twine ring on her finger. she cried tears of joy. that was good enough for her, she didnt need gold. and then, we got married, and have been happy to this day. her name is Rock n Roll.

recently we had a daughter, who we named Sneth. she is very cute, talented and friendly, and is going to be unlike any other girl, ever. i hope she finds a worthy man.



-Rushadicus, 1/11/11
]]> Wed, 12 Jan 2011 01:53:38 GMT 18A48C55493AF6C9BAFF4336DE8799D3 http://tornadoriderband.com/blog.cfm?feature=1678633&postid=608496 Whoa, intense feelings spread the red jelly of realness onto the flimsy toast of my nervous system. the result? Aaa... danger! Always on alert. Base instinct of always taking the worst possible interpretation of any situation, just in case. Our minds are so deeply soaked in survival instincts, we can't help it. If we want to get anywhere, if we want to make any forays into Happiness, we have to make a serious swimming-upstream effort, until the harsh discipline becomes second nature and we think we're actually dancing. -Rushadicus, 9/19/09 spread the red jelly of realness
onto the flimsy toast of my nervous system.

the result? Aaa... danger!
Always on alert.
Base instinct of always taking the worst possible
interpretation of any situation, just in case.

Our minds are so deeply soaked in
survival instincts, we can't help it.
If we want to get anywhere,
if we want to make any forays into Happiness,
we have to make a serious swimming-upstream effort,
until the harsh discipline becomes second
nature and we think we're actually dancing.

-Rushadicus, 9/19/09
]]> Tue, 30 Nov 2010 21:04:27 GMT 1B34CAD607A236AF0810B58D886AAD18 http://tornadoriderband.com/blog.cfm?feature=1678633&postid=595186 I am Rushad. This is my writing. I'm 31. I believe in supernatural powers. I'm half Indian. Who cares what I am. This is the time and the place to bust out fully and completely. Yeah, logic, yeah, sanity. Not destroying my body for future use etc. I'm still trying to make sense of everything. But, the hunt for truth and meaning always leads to infinite chaos. Too many possibilities of what could and might be, and too many contrasting perspectives on what its all about. Who am I to disagree with phd astronomers, scientists and philosophers on the size shape meaning history and details of the universe? I believe that philosophy is fundamentally self-serving. It isn't an attempt at truth. Its a story. Like history. There's not enough information to know exactly what happened in old times, so we make stuff up. For me, I look at the world and there's just WAY too many possibilities out there to figure out what is actually the truth about what's going on. Not enough time, it would take lifetimes upon lifetimes to research all the perspectives and versions of perspectives. So, when truth is not available, we make up a story. And that will be my history, philosophy, religion. I don't know what I'm saying or doing, really. Cyclical back and forth war of chaotic infinity. I'm on a path. A crazy, twisted path leading... Where? I'm in a band. A powerful wild awesome band that blows people away. But I don't wanna just be some guy, who's in a band slummin it across the country. Nor though do I want to be lost in a fantasy world about what's really going on. I like to believe that I am a special sneth mongoose/jark-monster who's on a mission from unnamed supernatural forces to spread joy/fun/sneth/silliness in the world. Its not so easy to categorize though. I'm not a social worker, or a therapist. I'm a rock cellist. I'm a musician, playing music for the people the way I know how, the way I invented. It doesn't have to make sense. People have said its an escape from sense, normalcy, mundanity, sanity. A chance to dive into wild Jark-Monsterry Sneth-Metal of the 4th dimension. Suspend reason. Now that's a cause I can believe in. Non-logical wildness. Eternal parade of bununu. To escape the narrow confines of sanity. But not by confusing people. Its not, like, so easy to escape the tight prison of sanity. Its a science. We don't just get up there and be completely random, all the time. We have enough of a story, a land, to follow and ideas to relate to. Why would you be relating to them though? Why are there guys dressed like weird animal hybrids singing about cactus, bison, victory, etc.? Its kindof religious, kindof dark parade, kindof wild mooing mating-season wildebeest. It makes sense, yet it makes no sense. Its beyond words, hence the made-up words. I may not enlighten the world. I don't have a clear message I'm trying to get across like "I vote for democrats" or "save the earth". But, I do think I will give them a gift. A nice gift they will like. I hope to inspire people. I hope to adrenalize people. I hope to intrigue people. I hope to surprise people. I hope to delight people. I hope to entertain people. I hope to make people forget about everything except for the present moment. I want to rock them away on an awesome cloud of melody, and sail through the valley of fun. Thankyou, Binstrika, thankyou. I am a jester to the world. This is my writing.
I'm 31.
I believe in supernatural powers.
I'm half Indian.
Who cares what I am.
This is the time and the place to bust out fully and completely.
Yeah, logic, yeah, sanity.
Not destroying my body for future use etc.

I'm still trying to make sense of everything.
But, the hunt for truth and meaning always leads to infinite chaos. Too many possibilities of what could and might be, and too many contrasting perspectives on what its all about.
Who am I to disagree with phd astronomers, scientists and philosophers on the size shape meaning history and details of the universe?

I believe that philosophy is fundamentally self-serving. It isn't an attempt at truth. Its a story. Like history. There's not enough information to know exactly what happened in old times, so we make stuff up.

For me, I look at the world and there's just WAY too many possibilities out there to figure out what is actually the truth about what's going on. Not enough time, it would take lifetimes upon lifetimes to research all the perspectives and versions of perspectives.

So, when truth is not available, we make up a story. And that will be my history, philosophy, religion. I don't know what I'm saying or doing, really. Cyclical back and forth war of chaotic infinity.

I'm on a path. A crazy, twisted path leading... Where?
I'm in a band. A powerful wild awesome band that blows people away.

But I don't wanna just be some guy, who's in a band slummin it across the country. Nor though do I want to be lost in a fantasy world about what's really going on.

I like to believe that I am a special sneth mongoose/jark-monster who's on a mission from unnamed supernatural forces to spread joy/fun/sneth/silliness in the world. Its not so easy to categorize though. I'm not a social worker, or a therapist. I'm a rock cellist. I'm a musician, playing music for the people the way I know how, the way I invented.
It doesn't have to make sense.

People have said its an escape from sense, normalcy, mundanity, sanity. A chance to dive into wild Jark-Monsterry Sneth-Metal of the 4th dimension. Suspend reason. Now that's a cause I can believe in. Non-logical wildness.
Eternal parade of bununu.
To escape the narrow confines of sanity.
But not by confusing people.

Its not, like, so easy to escape the tight prison of sanity.
Its a science.
We don't just get up there and be completely random, all the time.
We have enough of a story, a land, to follow and ideas to relate to.
Why would you be relating to them though? Why are there guys dressed like weird animal hybrids singing about cactus, bison, victory, etc.? Its kindof religious, kindof dark parade, kindof wild mooing mating-season wildebeest. It makes sense, yet it makes no sense. Its beyond words, hence the made-up words.

I may not enlighten the world. I don't have a clear message I'm trying to get across like "I vote for democrats" or "save the earth".
But, I do think I will give them a gift. A nice gift they will like.

I hope to inspire people.
I hope to adrenalize people.
I hope to intrigue people.
I hope to surprise people.
I hope to delight people.
I hope to entertain people.
I hope to make people forget about everything except for the present moment.
I want to rock them away on an awesome cloud of melody, and sail through the valley of fun.

Thankyou, Binstrika, thankyou. I am a jester to the world.
]]> Tue, 23 Nov 2010 21:06:27 GMT 1EA957A3E56576EFD108839142FF3619 http://tornadoriderband.com/blog.cfm?feature=1678633&postid=592662 Speaking of sanity and insanity, what's that all about? Sanity is the cone the ice cream sits in. The ice cream is crazy. Sanity is the leash that prevents the dog from getting into trouble or getting lost. Sanity is the rules of the game that insanity alone can master. Sanity is the tirelessly paved roadway that allows for countless automobile adventures. Sanity is the language and the letters and the paper and the pen that the insane poets use to go beyond it all. Sanity is the hardworking husband whose income allows the crazy wife to play all day. Sanity is ultimate order, reliability, consistency, form, dependability. And believe me I depend on it. Like a child depends on its parents. The world is my parents. History has been set up perfectly for me to dance around like a silly little jester. I didn't build the stage which catches my every manic hop, nor the wires and knobs which make my craziness larger than life. I didn't invent or build or maintain the lovely van which carries us from city to city. I didn't invent the internet which provides a home for these fragmented words. I didn't invent the hormones or love or desire which fuel me. I didn't invent the cello which is my remote voice. I'm just a lucky guy who walked into a scene which was perfectly built over the past 20,000 yrs by sanity's devoted minions. God bless them all. I sit here and my whole thing involves taking advantage of so much groundwork that's been laid. My job is easy. I get to sit around and play all day because some amazing person invented balls. I don't know how all this got here, but its insane that it did. The idea that sanity can even exist is insane. Insanity LOVES sanity, for without it it would never survive. On the other hand, does sanity NEED INsanity? I won't be so pretentious to say it does, but it sure seems to appreciate it. Cones would be so bland and empty without ice cream. Rushadicus
Sanity is the cone the ice cream sits in. The ice cream is crazy.

Sanity is the leash that prevents the dog from getting into trouble or getting lost.

Sanity is the rules of the game that insanity alone can master.

Sanity is the tirelessly paved roadway that allows for countless automobile adventures.

Sanity is the language and the letters and the paper and the pen that the insane poets use to go beyond it all.

Sanity is the hardworking husband whose income allows the crazy wife to play all day.

Sanity is ultimate order, reliability, consistency, form, dependability.
And believe me I depend on it. Like a child depends on its parents.

The world is my parents. History has been set up perfectly for me to dance around like a silly little jester.

I didn't build the stage which catches my every manic hop, nor the wires and knobs which make my craziness larger than life.

I didn't invent or build or maintain the lovely van which carries us from city to city.

I didn't invent the internet which provides a home for these fragmented words.

I didn't invent the hormones or love or desire which fuel me.

I didn't invent the cello which is my remote voice.

I'm just a lucky guy who walked into a scene which was perfectly built over the past 20,000 yrs by sanity's devoted minions. God bless them all. I sit here and my whole thing involves taking advantage of so much groundwork that's been laid.
My job is easy. I get to sit around and play all day because some amazing person invented balls.

I don't know how all this got here, but its insane that it did. The idea that sanity can even exist is insane.

Insanity LOVES sanity, for without it it would never survive.

On the other hand, does sanity NEED INsanity? I won't be so pretentious to say it does, but it sure seems to appreciate it.

Cones would be so bland and empty without ice cream.

Rushadicus
]]> Mon, 22 Nov 2010 21:18:14 GMT A1AD373102017A9EFB2A388DCEE38ABB http://tornadoriderband.com/blog.cfm?feature=1678633&postid=592661 What is all this insanity? Haha, I wouldn't trade it for anything, life is fun. I would like to thank sanity for sponsoring and enabling my insanity. We live on the other side of the world. Nocturnal wild animals. Wednesday in texas no sleep all night and next day 27hr drive to LA to play the one last wild show of the tour. And by wild I mean showtime boys whatever jetlagged stiffnesses of 5weeks of straight jark-charging all night heavy rock insanity feelin all cold and soggy must disappear, replaced by a mischievous grin to lead another crowd in a vivacious rompish break from sanity. Why do we drive so many miles day after day, lift heavy gear over and over again, jumping around in silly clothes, barking meowing screaming yelling about giant tree men and goat gods and falcons? Why not? It is meaningless and therefore golden. Bastardized clumps of loud wild music, to give some people a good time. Its the battle we fight, we are the soldiers, we don't question why, we are following orders from destiny. And, ARE we trying to give people just a "good time?"... I think not. This is no mere good time. If we wanted to give them a regular ol' good time, we'd just play covers they know and show football games and talk about current events. But that's the sane good time, within everyone's reach. We want them to expand, to have an adventure, to go out on a limb and dust off their imagination. To get stoked and hyped and amazed and confused but happy. Wild fresh mystical rare joy. We are aiming for a one of a kind experience. You don't get it from american idol or snickers or the world series or MTV. it isn't analagous to anything because its singular. Is it for us or for them or for sex or for god? It just is, bro. Like a mountain. Rushadicus
Why do we drive so many miles day after day, lift heavy gear over and over again, jumping around in silly clothes, barking meowing screaming yelling about giant tree men and goat gods and falcons? Why not? It is meaningless and therefore golden. Bastardized clumps of loud wild music, to give some people a good time. Its the battle we fight, we are the soldiers, we don't question why, we are following orders from destiny.

And, ARE we trying to give people just a "good time?"... I think not. This is no mere good time. If we wanted to give them a regular ol' good time, we'd just play covers they know and show football games and talk about current events. But that's the sane good time, within everyone's reach. We want them to expand, to have an adventure, to go out on a limb and dust off their imagination. To get stoked and hyped and amazed and confused but happy. Wild fresh mystical rare joy. We are aiming for a one of a kind experience. You don't get it from american idol or snickers or the world series or MTV. it isn't analagous to anything because its singular.

Is it for us or for them or for sex or for god? It just is, bro. Like a mountain.

Rushadicus
]]> Mon, 22 Nov 2010 21:16:50 GMT 9965A9B3475506FDA09B471B61897846 http://tornadoriderband.com/blog.cfm?feature=1678633&postid=436117  What the Lyrics are About - by Rushad December 12, 2009 lotta folks wonder what the lyrics are...or are all about well. i know a thing or 2 about that. theyre about goin to a dusty place of friendliness with huge hairy beasts running by theyre about how can there be no wars when there's lions running around? well i'll tell you there cant but you could ride a friendly cat in another dimension yes you could another dimension of melodies another dimension of songs another dimension of less gravity and more power and where you dont get hurt and since you dont get hurt you can do things youve always wanted to do but didnt cuz you were afraid you might get hurt. like ride a tornado like chill w coyotes and panthers like genetically engineer a lightning cactus thunderfish like, fly. oh my god, like fly!:) our songs are about girls too... about wildly illogical fantasies based on multipying a she times your mind its fun to get your heart broken in a world where its not painful! theyre aboutdriftin through the pines and leavin it all behind, about happily ever after, about love from the 1820's using lassoos and interplanetary ancient coastal octopus-haired queens. tornado rider is actually a wild flying attempt at paradise perfect friendly warm happy paradise, thats also fluffy and the only reason they fail a bit is cuz of gravity... heavin is way frickin high up there and stuff  What the Lyrics are About - by Rushad December 12, 2009

lotta folks wonder what the lyrics are...or are all about

well. i know a thing or 2 about that.

theyre about goin to a dusty place of friendliness with huge hairy beasts running by
theyre about how can there be no wars when there's lions running around? well i'll tell you there cant
but you could ride a friendly cat in another dimension yes you could
another dimension of melodies
another dimension of songs
another dimension of less gravity and more power and where you dont get hurt

and since you dont get hurt you can do things youve always wanted to do but didnt cuz you were afraid you might get hurt.

like ride a tornado
like chill w coyotes and panthers
like genetically engineer a lightning cactus thunderfish
like, fly. oh my god, like fly!:)

our songs are about girls too... about wildly illogical fantasies based on multipying a she times your mind
its fun to get your heart broken in a world where its not painful!

theyre aboutdriftin through the pines and leavin it all behind, about happily ever after, about love from the 1820's using lassoos and interplanetary ancient coastal octopus-haired queens.

tornado rider is actually a wild flying attempt at paradise
perfect friendly warm happy paradise, thats also fluffy

and the only reason they fail a bit is cuz of gravity... heavin is way frickin high up there and stuff
]]> Thu, 09 Sep 2010 11:57:07 GMT A5ABB275825C9C3440E77CED29B65A08 http://tornadoriderband.com/blog.cfm?feature=1678633&postid=436116  PUSHING ROCK AND ROLL UP A HILL - by Rushadicus, Jan. 8, 2010 I dont know all that much about the myth of Sisyphus except that there was a man named Sisyphus who was somehow sentenced to eternally pushing a rock up a hill. Well, i feel like i can really relate to this idea on a couple levels. One is that he's pushing a rock and i'm pushing a Rock Music. The other is that being in a band trying to make a living and get recognized and make it into the higher levels of bandhood feels alot like i would imagine eternally pushing a rock up a hill feels like. Because, its eternal- this work never stops. More people to call, more emails to send, more promo packages and materials and flyers to pass out and put up and more shows to book farther into the future, more legalities to handle, more meetings, more false white horses that dont carry you away like the pegasus you thought they were, more broken dreams.... Then there's the equipment, heavier than many rocks, that needs to be lifted and carried and set up and torn down and carried and put back, whether it was a 3 hour show or a 30 min show. Eternal. Also similar to the rock pushing is the toll it takes on your body. To be screaming and jumping and dancing and shredding and dragging up entertainment value every show from the depths of your soul is exhausting. Its awesome but it is tiring and, owwwwwwwwww! Its like we're pushing Rock and Roll up a hill. But the trick is, its show business. Which means it needs to be seen as pure magic. Nobody should know that we're ACTUALLY pushing a rock up a hill! They need to see mythical golden nymph lords of east arabian music heaven up there casting starlight and infinite purple glory down upon their thirsty senses. But i've found the best way to convince others of something is to first convince yourself of it. Which is where the ROLL comes in. When i think of roll, i think of something going fast, downhill. Which means that the whole point is to make myself and thus everyone else fully believe that instead of pushing a big heavy rock up a steep hill, i'm actually just a dude hanging out with a nice friendly rock which is effortlessly rolling DOWN a hill. If you watch a good ballerina, you see somebody light and graceful, easily gliding and bouncing around. You don't see how hard it is, the strain, the years of discipline and effort, and the concentration and personal battles going on inside. You see Magic! Which is what rock and roll is supposed to be too, in my opinion. Rock and Roll performance is a tasty cake that is made of hours of practice and lifting and calling and trying and fighting and driving and researching and hoping and comparing and sulking and praying and mixing them in a bowl of determination, pouring it into a pan of faith, and baking it in an oven of ACTION, and it comes out tasting just like MAGIC. Its a victory over gravity. The rock effortlessly rolls itself up a hill. Because its Rock, and... ROLL! Its the fundamental primary rebellion which fuels rock and roll. Not merely the specific little rebellions against your parents, your school, your government, your society, it goes much much deeper and gets much more primal than that. Its the rebellion against the forces of nature and against that which IS. A rebellion against Gravity, against time, against reality, against the forces that have trapped us in this difficult dimension where rocks go downhill and can crush our soft little bodies. Rock and Roll has been around since the beginning of time, it is a river that has been swam in for centuries, because it is the fundamental rebellion against the fact that life is HARD. If you get to the core of specific rebellions, they all lead back to this primary one anyhow. If your government is bothering you and you need to be a rebellious person who sings about hating the government, well, is it really the government your hating? The only reason you could hate them is if they could cause you pain, and they didnt invent this world where pain exists. We must rebel against pain. Against existence. Rock and Roll to me is standing up and making the most heartfelt and complete noise you can to scream at gravity and pain and death which trap us all and make us scared and make things baaaad. It is the ultimate victory of mind over matter. Of fantasy over reality. Its pushing a giant rock up a hill for all eternity; yet headbanging and screaming and ripping a badass solo and dancing the primordial mating dance and feeling the adrenaline surge of the whole universe all the while.  PUSHING ROCK AND ROLL UP A HILL - by Rushadicus, Jan. 8, 2010

I dont know all that much about the myth of Sisyphus except that there was a man named Sisyphus who was somehow sentenced to eternally pushing a rock up a hill.

Well, i feel like i can really relate to this idea on a couple levels. One is that he's pushing a rock and i'm pushing a Rock Music. The other is that being in a band trying to make a living and get recognized and make it into the higher levels of bandhood feels alot like i would imagine eternally pushing a rock up a hill feels like.

Because, its eternal- this work never stops. More people to call, more emails to send, more promo packages and materials and flyers to pass out and put up and more shows to book farther into the future, more legalities to handle, more meetings, more false white horses that dont carry you away like the pegasus you thought they were, more broken dreams....

Then there's the equipment, heavier than many rocks, that needs to be lifted and carried and set up and torn down and carried and put back, whether it was a 3 hour show or a 30 min show. Eternal.

Also similar to the rock pushing is the toll it takes on your body. To be screaming and jumping and dancing and shredding and dragging up entertainment value every show from the depths of your soul is exhausting. Its awesome but it is tiring and, owwwwwwwwww!

Its like we're pushing Rock and Roll up a hill. But the trick is, its show business. Which means it needs to be seen as pure magic. Nobody should know that we're ACTUALLY pushing a rock up a hill! They need to see mythical golden nymph lords of east arabian music heaven up there casting starlight and infinite purple glory down upon their thirsty senses.

But i've found the best way to convince others of something is to first convince yourself of it. Which is where the ROLL comes in. When i think of roll, i think of something going fast, downhill. Which means that the whole point is to make myself and thus everyone else fully believe that instead of pushing a big heavy rock up a steep hill, i'm actually just a dude hanging out with a nice friendly rock which is effortlessly rolling DOWN a hill.

If you watch a good ballerina, you see somebody light and graceful, easily gliding and bouncing around. You don't see how hard it is, the strain, the years of discipline and effort, and the concentration and personal battles going on inside. You see Magic!

Which is what rock and roll is supposed to be too, in my opinion. Rock and Roll performance is a tasty cake that is made of hours of practice and lifting and calling and trying and fighting and driving and researching and hoping and comparing and sulking and praying and mixing them in a bowl of determination, pouring it into a pan of faith, and baking it in an oven of ACTION, and it comes out tasting just like MAGIC.

Its a victory over gravity. The rock effortlessly rolls itself up a hill. Because its Rock, and... ROLL! Its the fundamental primary rebellion which fuels rock and roll. Not merely the specific little rebellions against your parents, your school, your government, your society, it goes much much deeper and gets much more primal than that. Its the rebellion against the forces of nature and against that which IS. A rebellion against Gravity, against time, against reality, against the forces that have trapped us in this difficult dimension where rocks go downhill and can crush our soft little bodies. Rock and Roll has been around since the beginning of time, it is a river that has been swam in for centuries, because it is the fundamental rebellion against the fact that life is HARD. If you get to the core of specific rebellions, they all lead back to this primary one anyhow.

If your government is bothering you and you need to be a rebellious person who sings about hating the government, well, is it really the government your hating? The only reason you could hate them is if they could cause you pain, and they didnt invent this world where pain exists. We must rebel against pain. Against existence. Rock and Roll to me is standing up and making the most heartfelt and complete noise you can to scream at gravity and pain and death which trap us all and make us scared and make things baaaad. It is the ultimate victory of mind over matter. Of fantasy over reality.

Its pushing a giant rock up a hill for all eternity; yet headbanging and screaming and ripping a badass solo and dancing the primordial mating dance and feeling the adrenaline surge of the whole universe all the while.]]> Thu, 09 Sep 2010 11:55:13 GMT 90FE38C1985530F686EF06FC70020A7A http://tornadoriderband.com/blog.cfm?feature=1678633&postid=413391  Folklore Blog by Rushad Eggleston Feb. 27th 2010 Hi, my name is Rushad Robert Eggleston and I make up a lot of words. I tell people that I'm a Harbunguous Bahoni-man, or a Zarf-weasel, for example. I also tell them I've come from the Land of Sneth, sent by Her Majesty Anne Thurrowogoufnees. My brain makes up so many words every day that its become too much work to continue writing them down. Its not a conscious process, it just happens, and its been happening ever since I was a little boy. Often, I've wondered why this happens to me so frequently. I believe its partly inherited, partly learned. One reason might be that my India-raised mother, Nazneen, speaks a very strange sounding language called Gujarati which she refused to teach us because she felt it was useless. Yet she spoke this language every day on the phone with her mother, and every time my Indian relatives were gathered, strange yet familiar sounds inundated my ears. I learned a few words like "nunga" (naked), "chumchi" (little spoon), "chumcho" (big spoon), "v'gariooch" (play), and I managed to put enough sentences together to give my jolly relatives a couple laughs, but that was about it. So I feel sometimes that all these made up words in my brain are just my advanced extended nonsensical version of the language I never learned. This can be supported by the observation that many of my words bear similar suffixes and prefixes to "Gujarati" words (ex: snorkakelorketch to "bo gummetch", b'nickthees to "b'nouvetch", etc). On my Father's side of the family, the influence is more obvious and direct. When we lived at my Great-Grandmother Vivian's house, she told my Grandmother: "Speak nonsense to Rushad, he loves complicated words!". So, there was this Vivian from 1896 in my life speaking nonsense to me from the time I was 3, I wish I could remember what she was saying! My Father himself has always had a knack for spontaneous outbursts of nonsense. The earliest example I can remember was when I was 5 or so, he was giving me a hard time for crying, and called me a "whine-a-bee", repeatedly (I did not like that). Also, if he hurt himself suddenly, he would say things like "Ouchen flouchen!" or "Arfen flarfen!"... Later, he suggested I use an alter ego, "like... Romblebee Slumberdark!". Understanding his style, it makes sense that I would have words like Snorblebee, Bouglebee, and Fumblebee. His "Schlackenfoof" and "Blankenfoof" are also favorites of mine. Born Robert Eggleston, he now goes by "Raboon". Add to all this that his brother Herb, who I spent many hours learning music and life from, is a chronic word manipulator. A peace-loving sensitive man, he changes words like "demonstrate" to "angelstrate", and instead of saying "in the meantime" he chooses "in the kindwhile". His son, my cousin Forrest, has inherited some of this tendency, calling meat "bodybatch", his friend Cody "Codledron", and his bubbler "Bubblodge-a-Grojulog". I have found that everyone who makes up words has their own distinct style which seems to represent some mythical core aspect of their personality. My brother Zarosh had an imaginary star baseball player named "Marka Kalarka". Even my apparently more straight laced brother Zubin has recently called me a "Blarfinguinated sneep-sneep", something I totally related to. I think the beauty of all these words lies in the fact that usually they don't have any particular meanings. That puts them in a class by themselves, on a whole different level than "English", "French", and "Italian". Their lack of meaning frees them up to be doorways to the imagination and fast roads to infinity. The last time I attempted to gather in one volume all the documented words I'd made up, it was well over 1000. That was 5 years ago, and there have been countless more. So perhaps at some point, I'll publish a "Vast Registry of Nonsensical Words", so all my relatives will see what they've done to me, and the world can contemplate what it means to be a Griffer-Hoolni Thiswiark. Thank you.  Folklore Blog by Rushad Eggleston Feb. 27th 2010

Hi, my name is Rushad Robert Eggleston and I make up a lot of words. I tell people that I'm a Harbunguous Bahoni-man, or a Zarf-weasel, for example. I also tell them I've come from the Land of Sneth, sent by Her Majesty Anne Thurrowogoufnees. My brain makes up so many words every day that its become too much work to continue writing them down.

Its not a conscious process, it just happens, and its been happening ever since I was a little boy. Often, I've wondered why this happens to me so frequently. I believe its partly inherited, partly learned.

One reason might be that my India-raised mother, Nazneen, speaks a very strange sounding language called Gujarati which she refused to teach us because she felt it was useless. Yet she spoke this language every day on the phone with her mother, and every time my Indian relatives were gathered, strange yet familiar sounds
inundated my ears. I learned a few words like "nunga" (naked), "chumchi" (little spoon), "chumcho" (big spoon), "v'gariooch" (play), and I managed to put enough sentences together to give my jolly relatives a couple laughs, but that was about it. So I feel sometimes that all these made up words in my brain are just my advanced extended nonsensical version of the language I never learned. This can be supported by the observation that many of my words bear similar suffixes and prefixes to "Gujarati" words (ex: snorkakelorketch to "bo gummetch", b'nickthees to "b'nouvetch", etc).

On my Father's side of the family, the influence is more obvious and direct. When we lived at my Great-Grandmother Vivian's house, she told my Grandmother: "Speak nonsense to Rushad, he loves complicated words!". So, there was this Vivian from 1896 in my life speaking nonsense to me from the time I was 3, I wish I could remember what she was saying!

My Father himself has always had a knack for spontaneous outbursts of nonsense. The earliest example I can remember was when I was 5 or so, he was giving me a hard time for crying, and called me a "whine-a-bee", repeatedly (I did not like that). Also, if he hurt himself suddenly, he would say things like "Ouchen flouchen!" or "Arfen flarfen!"... Later, he suggested I use an alter ego, "like... Romblebee Slumberdark!".
Understanding his style, it makes sense that I would have words like Snorblebee, Bouglebee, and Fumblebee. His "Schlackenfoof" and "Blankenfoof" are also favorites of mine. Born Robert Eggleston, he now goes by "Raboon".

Add to all this that his brother Herb, who I spent many hours learning music and life from, is a chronic word manipulator. A peace-loving sensitive man, he changes words like "demonstrate" to "angelstrate", and instead of saying "in the meantime" he chooses "in the kindwhile". His son, my cousin Forrest, has inherited some of this tendency, calling meat "bodybatch", his friend Cody "Codledron", and his bubbler "Bubblodge-a-Grojulog".

I have found that everyone who makes up words has their own distinct style which seems to represent some mythical core aspect of their personality. My brother Zarosh had an imaginary star baseball player named "Marka Kalarka". Even my apparently more straight laced brother Zubin has recently called me a "Blarfinguinated sneep-sneep", something I totally related to.

I think the beauty of all these words lies in the fact that usually they don't have any particular meanings. That puts them in a class by themselves, on a whole different level than "English", "French", and "Italian". Their lack of meaning frees them up to be doorways to the imagination and fast roads to infinity.

The last time I attempted to gather in one volume all the documented words I'd made up, it was well over 1000. That was 5 years ago, and there have been countless more. So perhaps at some point, I'll publish a "Vast Registry of Nonsensical Words", so all my relatives will see what they've done to me, and the world can contemplate what it means to be a Griffer-Hoolni Thiswiark.
Thank you.
]]> Thu, 26 Aug 2010 05:10:00 GMT B841EA47119ADCF61E749DBEC7889DF4