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Dear Trent,

I thought I'd take this opportunity, on the eve of my communion with the holy and the divine as bodied forth by your staggering beauty and genius, to answer a few of the questions you asked on [WITH_TEETH]. I'm sorry if this gets a little randy, Trent. I'm in a wierd mood:

  • Why do you get all the love in the world?
Honey buns, I don't really think I do! I think you do, though, and that's because you have earned it with years of blood-letting for your art. We're not worthy, Trent. I think you know that.
  • Don't you fucking know what you are?
Um... your faithful slave girl? Hopelessly devoted to you? Ready to sacrifice myself in the knashing jaws of a mosh pit to be near you? Prepared to wait in line all day wearing pretty pink lipstick in the hopes that you will see me and fall madly in love? Absolutely burning to consume every inch of your nail? Stop me if I'm getting warm, ok?
  • Just how deep do you believe?
Well, I know you can go pretty deep, and I believe I can take it. How's that?
  • Can you get up off your knees?
I CAN, but I can think of at least one situation in which I wouldn't really want to... nudge, nudge, wink, wink.
  • Will you bite the hand that feeds?
If you're asking if I would bite George W. Bush's hand, the answer is NO FUCKING WAY, because that's just gross. He probably uses his hand to hold his wang when he goes pee, and no doubt picks his nose with it, or sticks his fingers up Laura's bush when they make crazy monkey love. G.W. Bush is a fuckwit and I doubt he has good hygiene, so the answer, if he were the one feeding me, is: No, I would not. Having said that, if you want to feed me, I'd bite you. I bet you're fucking delicious.
  • Is there somebody on top of me?
Honey, if you have to ask, I'd say probably not, or that you should get someone to climb up on there that wouldn't leave any doubt in your mind. I'm willing to take that bullet.
  • Just how far down can I go?
Well, I'm not very tall, and you only have to go about halfway down, so... not too far. Unless you have a thing for feet. Let me know, because if you do, I'd like to go ahead and get a pedicure before we see each other.
  • What if everything you think you know is an elaborate dream?
That would be wonderful! Maybe when I wake up next to your naked, sleeping body a few minutes from now, I'll discover that all this time I've been dreaming about being a girl who can only dream about you, just before I snuggle into your neck and breathe in the warm, sexy smell of your sweaty skin, while drifting back in my memory to our ass-slapping freak-fest passion of the night before. Then, I'll get up and make you a nice hot cup of coffee.

Yeah, that would be awesome.


Posted by Gabriel in dear_trent | Permalink | Comments (5) | TrackBack


[Words_of_Misery: 5_26_05]

It's been such a crazy last few days. After my last post critiquing TR's recent song selections, some of our brothers and sisters in arms over at Echoing The Sound took offense and linked over here with feelings and emotions ranging from outrage, to fury, to anger, to scorn.

I tried to keep quiet through most of it, but it really made me realize how much we all share with one another, for even in the angry tirades there were words of love. Thank you for your understanding, Busanda, and especially to you, Beavette. This poem is for you both.

the darkest side of heaven

trying to reach my insides
to show you how i feel
(reach out)
until i cannot feel your gaze
only the heat of your twisted
fury and your furious
twisting heat
(what happened to all for one?)

this must be the shadow
that christ himself once spoke of
upon the battlements of faith
the shadow to which I give myself
and writhe and writhe and writhe
this must be the purgatory
the whippings and the beatings
when my only crime...

was this beating heart of broken feeling

glimmer on from blackness
glistening machine until perfection calls you home
(rumble and roar rumble and roar)
glimmer on from darkness
though neverwas
is nevermore

and the perfect face of water
is broken by the reaching hand of hope
of faith
of love
and we all stand together
in faith
in love
no matter what the enemy may try to
cast our way

there is no other way
so rumble on and rumble roar
this beating heart
this REACHING heart
this freezing heart

this beating heart of broken feeling

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Dear Trent,

It's been DAYS since I've written, I know; but rest assured that I was thinking of you and feeling your presence on the earth for every minute from my last letter to now, as if an invisible string tied you to my heart. Every morning when I wake up I check for all the latest news of you, and then your tour schedule, so that I can picture where you might be, whether you're travelling, or staying over in a city. Every night before I drift off into my own dreams, I picture you sleeping and dreaming, your eyes gently closed, lips barely parted, and I say a little prayer to no one in particular that you are safe and well, breathing softly somewhere in your night.

Sometimes I try to imagine what your days are like. Do you read the paper, with a cup of coffee in the morning, or do you get all your news from the internet? Do you take millions of phone calls and e-mails, and deal with business all day long, or do you sit in thoughtful silence, with melodies running through your mind? Do you have a journal? Do you write music or words everyday? Do you sleep on a bus sometimes? Do you hang out with the guys in your band, or spend your time alone? Is everything about your tour run like a well-oiled machine, or are there little fires to put out all the time that drive you crazy?

Sometimes I think that if I were given a choice between being your lover, and being invisible -- like the angels in Wings of Desire -- so I could just watch you do everything you do, I would choose to be invisible. I'd watch you and see you as you are, completely unto yourself: your moods, your expressions, your routines, how you sleep, the way you look at yourself in the mirror, how you touch yourself -- everything you are and do when you're alone and undisturbed. If I could, I would make you the subject of my constant study, but I know you would always be a beautiful mystery to me.

Dear, dear Trent! You and I shall be together in San Diego in only 5 days, and your electric presence will course through my very bones. I can't wait. The very thought of seeing you again, in all of your raven-haired, newly-musclebound glory, makes me tingle -- and I won't specify where.

I burn for you, baby. Really I do.


Posted by Gabriel in dear_trent | Permalink | Comments (14) | TrackBack



I had to rescue this dream from languishing in the comments, because the more I think about it, the more I think the whole world needs to see what I see. Wearing These Chains reader tormented_soul_3 says he's had the same dream himself, which proves that this is, in fact, a vision of Trent Reznor's very soul.

I dreamt that Trent was sleeping inside an enormous, gleaming black cocoon. He was naked and as white and waxy as the petals of a gardenia flower, his skin almost larval -- dewey and soft as a baby's, mapped with blue veins and patches of soft black hair. He was at peace, and his beauty was staggering. As he slept, his hair grew long and fast, twining around him like bluish-black snakes, and his fingernails turned to glass. When he finally emerged from the chrysalis, he spread his newly formed glorious black wings, so black that when the light hit them, they were scattered with many colors and hues. He looked down at me, and I fell to my knees under the weight of his eyes. Then, he flew straight up, through darkening clouds, and right up to heaven. His eyes were blazing with an inner fire, and he demanded an audience with God himself.

Then I woke up. I was panting and sweating, and I ached to my very core.


PS. Trent, I'm sorry Gabriel's such a hater.

Posted by Gabriel in dreaming_of_you | Permalink | Comments (23) | TrackBack


[What’s_Up_With_Your_Crappy_ Song_Selection,_Old_Man?]

I’m going to go out on a limb here, people, and say something that I think everybody’s been feeling, deep down inside, but nobody wants to admit.

Trent Reznor’s a middle-aged man playing it safe.

Yeah, I know, I can hear you seeth already – so come on, bring on the hate mail. Address it to Gabriel or post it in the comments section below.

Now if you don't have a lot of things to compare NewTrent™ to, my ideas may reek of madness as you probably think Trent is "still super hard, bro!". Maybe some of you are relatively new to the Nine Inch Nails scene, or perhaps you've only been fans long enough to see the band live when the fragility tour came through your part of the world. If you’re just discovering NIN, welcome. If you were a casualty of fragility 1.0, 2.0, or fragility fucking pi, I’m sorry.

See, cause when I was 13 my brother took me to the self-destruct tour. This was something new. Perhaps you’ve seen it on closure. In it, Trent Reznor is a man possessed. Out of control, out of his mind, and let me tell you --- it was riveting and downright fucking holy to witness. And in that show he played almost every song off his new record – even the stupid ones, like “the downward spiral”. Who would've ever thought some wheezy background loop and out of tune guitar could sound good live? But it was riveting I tell you, and when the second half of that song hit, what with the manic screaming, and the “he couldn’t believe how easy it was”-ing... you were in the throes of ecstasy.

Well now it’s 2005. We have an astounding new record. And Trent’s touring again. He’s calling it live: with_teeth_2005. “Well, Gabriel!”, you must be saying, “I bet you really enjoyed Coachella, and cannot wait to hear so many great tracks from [With_Teeth] at the two shows in San Diego you’re going to! With all the new songs, those club shows will be even more powerful!”

Well sure! If the little fucking midget would play any of the new tracks! Oh, of course we get “love is not enough” and “you know what you are?”, because they’re big and loud and dumb, and we get the obvious hit single “the hand that feeds” (which is cool because of the Orlando Bloom connection), but what about the songs that make your new record great, Trent? What about “only”? What about “all the love in the world”? What about the fucking BEST SONG YOU’VE EVER WRITTEN, “right where it belongs”?

See, I guess I was under the mistaken impression that you were still a rock star. That you didn’t give a shit about what The Man thought, and that you were the guiding light of your own destiny. Well, Trent, either there was a misprint in the marketing materials and somebody forgot to mention that live: with_dentures was a Greatest Hits tour, or you’re just being a pussy.

Lemme tell you something –- we don’t need to hear “piggy” anymore! We’ve heard it already! “march of the pigs”? BORING. And your good friend “starfuckers, inc.” that you keep feeling the need to dust off almost every other night? Well I hate to be the one to break the news, but it BLOWS. It always has, and it always will. Notice how it’s one of the few songs that you co-wrote with somebody instead of masterminding all by yourself? That’s your first tip to its suckage, right there. Have some balls! Take a chance! Play the new material!!!

And what’s with this new look? There’s no vinyl, no fishnet, no rubber… none of your fucked up dirty creepiness is left. Instead it’s this buffed up, crows feeted, buff guy shit. I mean what the fuck, Trent; you look like the guy that would have beat you up in high school, not that guy that wants to get fucked by the devil in the back of his car.

I’m not saying you have to do the old routine again (though it’d be a lot cooler if you did). But if you’re going to be this new, healthy, and happy Trent (rumor is that you can even see yourself getting married and having kids these days? What the fuck, dude!) then at least sell it by playing the new songs. That’s what we want to hear anyway. Because all the old songs are coming off like Kool-Aid without the sugar added, 'cause we’ve already seen that shit done way better than you’re doing it now.

Sorry to be so critical, but I just want you to be the best you can be. Come on, man. Stop being such a bitch.


Posted by Gabriel in gabriel's_ponderings | Permalink | Comments (42) | TrackBack


Well, we started with one from way back when, and I was going to go that way a second time and sort of wax lyrical over the shine on Trent's rubber fisting gloves or some shit, but I decided that instead, I needed to go this way:

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Now, Gabriel says Trent looks like his dad in this shot, but I've met Gabriel's dad, and I just want to say, for the record, that he's nowhere NEAR this hot, and the simple reason for that is that he is not Trent Reznor. Having said that, our man Trent is no longer kitted up as a kinky little fetish baby, like he was back in the day. Also, in this shot, he's been in court all day, and he's got a Blackberry, some birthday presents, a suit, and he's smiling. This picture touches my fucking heart, people -- just like EVERY picture of Trent -- only this one gets me for a new reason: he looks just like an ordinary guy, except hotter, because, in fact, he's Trent Reznor.

I think Trent's new Incredible Hulk-style proportions upset Gabriel a little, mostly because now Trent looks like you'd have a pretty tough time holding him down if you were looking to fuck him in the back of his car. In fact, he looks like he could take Gabriel to me. I definitely think that in that scenario, Trent would be the devil. It's probably one of those situations where you might want to be careful what you wish for, if you pick up what I'm tryin' to lay down, Gabriel (Yeah you, Pig). Also, I think lipstick might not suit him like it used to, and Gabriel really likes lipstick. He stole my Calypso red Chanel lipstick last week and still hasn't returned it. You thought I forgot about that, didn't you Nancy?

Taking the piss out of Gabriel is definitely my favorite pastime (besides looking at pictures of Trent, and dreaming about riding him like the fine stallion he is), but I think he's starting to actually get pissed at me, so I better stop. I'll just say this: Trent is 40 years old. He could probably be my dad, but if he were, I'd be feeling like a big pervert right about now.

Posted by Gabriel in pictures_of_you | Permalink | Comments (10) | TrackBack



the hand that feeds

We live in scary times these days. Our political system is running crazy, kids are shooting each other in high schools, and you can't even bring your fucking lighter with you on an airplane anymore. What gives? What am I supposed to do when I take a clove break when I have a layover when flying to New Orleans, you know?

Given the harsh realities of these times, and the horrible significance some world events take these days, it's understandable that we need a rallying cry against our acting leader, and people have jumped on the first single from [With_Teeth] to serve that purpose.

While I agree that the song can be interpreted to be about political stuff if you look for it -- Trent himself has been so amused that everybody thought it was a political diatribe that at the last couple shows he's dedicated the song to "George W. Fuckin' Bush"! And people say Trent doesn't pay attention to his fans!! -- I think the truth about the hand that feeds is something much different (and even more powerful!):

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Yep, that's right. The single is very obviously about Trent's passion and dedication to the work of actor Orlando Bloom -- I'd even go so far as to say that Trent feels like he is Orlando sometimes.

I admit cracking the "hand" code wasn't easy at first -- I'd heard so many people talking about "politics, politics, politics" that I wasn't able to get this rather obvious interpretation out of my brain. But we all know that Trent is much deeper than that, and finally in the second verse I realized what he was talking about: "What if this whole crusade's a charade / And behind it all there's a price to be paid."

"The Crusade" he's referring to is obviously Orlando's new movie Kingdom of Heaven, which is about the Holy Crusades themselves! (You might remember that Trent references this movie earlier in the album, on all the love in the world). The "price to be paid" would therefore be the price for the movie ticket that Trent will have to pay to go see the movie when it comes out -- I'm sure living in L.A., and being a super-famous rock star, he could get to go to all kinds of free screenings, but since he's on tour he probably has to pay like everybody else.

So now that we know what the song's about, the rest starts making a lot more sense -- the first verse is all about Orlando's performance as the elf Legolas in the Lord of the Rings movies. "You're keeping in step in the line / Got your chin held high and you feel just fine" describes the journey that he took with Aragorn and Gimli as they crossed Middle-Earth; Legolas always walked with his shoulders squared and straight, and his chin held high looking out at the horizon. "Because you do what you're told" is for all the times that he let Aragorn lead them -- because Aragorn was obviously the King that was going to return in the third movie. And the bit about his heart feeling black and cold inside is the conundrum of all the elves -- they're remote and detached, without emotion -- but during the LOTR movies Orlando's amazing performance made us feel that Legolas learned to be friends and open up inside so his hard would be warm and white instead! Or grey, at the very least.

So what was the other movie that came out with Orlando Bloom recently? Troy, which was a kinda shitty adaptation of some really old book that I was supposed to read in high school but never did. Anyway, Brad Pitt is all buff and cool in this movie, but the best part is Orlando who, as Paris, has to fight the husband of the man who's wife he stole (because Orlando was way hawter than the fat guy that was married to Helen in the first place). Well Orlando's brother offers to get him out of the fight, but Orlando won't do it -- he needs to be a man! He'd rather give up everything he has than be a coward; this is how he "bites the hand that feeds!"

Well the fight doesn't go well -- he does bleed, and end up on his knees, and he's sorta brave enough to see... and right at the end he's about to get killed and decides that he wants to change it. Well you can see the movie and find out the rest from there, but I think it was totally clever of Trent to talk about the movie in the chorus like this. Most people won't even know what you're talking about when you bring it up, so it's sort of like a secret code or handshake: If you know what "biting the hand that feeds" really means, you're in the club!

"Well what about Pirates of the Caribbean, Gabriel?" you may be asking. "That movie was super cool, with the sword fighting and everything, and Orlando was super hawt in that one too! Doesn't Trent like pirate movies?" Of course he does; you just have to listen!

"So naive to keep holding on to what I want to believe / And I can see but I keep holding on and on and on and on." Now, if you remember, in Pirates Orlando's character was the son of a famous super-badass pirate, but Orlando didn't know this until halfway through the movie. When he found out, he was upset and rejected the idea, because he wanted to be an honorable man who fought on the right side of the law (even if the right side was a bunch of wusses). This is what the bridge is about -- Orlando's naive to think that being a pirate is so bad, when he's obviously so good at it, and gets to hang out with Johnny Depp (I mean come on, Johnny introduced NIN at the 1999 MTV VMAs when they played "the fragile"). How can being a pirate be bad when you've got that stuff going for you!

Fortunately, we all know that Orlando decided being a pirate was the right way to go in the end -- and I think that's what Trent is trying to tell us too. Orlando knows what he's doing!

Explore The_Understanding_Teeth_Collection!

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At last! Something that whiney bitches and vampires can listen to together! Gabriel may disagree, because he and his band, L'orangerie Stank, are pretty frickin' serious about this shit, but I think this is about the funniest website ever. Anyway, I'm all about cheesing Gabriel off.

Doesn't Trent look pretty on our website wallpaper? Man, he is a hottie.

Posted by Gabriel in inside_dierdre | Permalink | Comments (2) | TrackBack



I have to apologize for the lack of posting the last couple days -- I just got back to San Diego last night from a seminal experience of the most singular culture significance (you know; sorta like how it will be the first time Trent Reznor finally plays "Only" live). Yes, that's right; I'm talking about Star Wars Episode III: Revenge of the Sith.

I went up to Los Angeles to meet up with some friends from the clubbing days at Sin-A-Matic and saw the movie at the Mann Village theatre in Westwood (what, you thought I was going to go hang with those freaks that have been hanging outside Mann's Chinese, only to discover a month in that they had to move down the street to a different theatre? Jedi, please).

Regardless, it was an day/afternoon/evening of drinking/fun/freakery, which bore witness to the falling of one man's soul... and the birth of The Ultimate Darkess In the Universe. I've posted some photos below -- we've got some biker scouts, some Jedi dudes, a Greedo and Greedette (also known as members of the Rodian race, for you non-Star Wars folks).

Now you might be asking -- What The Cock, Gabriel? Star Wars has nothing to do with Nine Inch Nails whatsoever, save for a general prediliction towards whining and pouting (is "Hey God, you owe me a great big apology" really all that far from "I want to go to Toschi Station to pick up some power converters"? I think not.)

Well to those of you who fail to understand the link, all I can say is: WRONG. Strong it is, the connection here. In fact, I'd say it's pretty fucking obvious: If you don't listen to Nine Inch Nails, you will kill everyone you love and plunge the Universe into 30 years of darkness.

Now I know what you're thinking -- "Man, why didn't Lucas have the creatures in Jabba's Palace singing and dancing 'Sin'. That would've been badass!" -- and I agree. But that's beside the point. In the new movie Revenge of the Sith, we've got this Anakin Skywalker guy. He's talented, he really likes this girl, but he's insecure and doubts himself. Sound familiar? Well other than sounding like Trent Reznor himself, that describes just about everybody that reads this board, listens to Nine Inch Nails, or puts metal through their nipples. Well, except for maybe the "is talented" part. But I digress.

Anakin's got all the stuff going for him, but he misses his dead mom. He's got no dad. His home is far, far away, on some crappy sand planet. And he's hanging out with all these uptight dudes that have got either wierd beards or green skin or funky heads or really obvious breast implants going on, waving around glowing, colored phallic replacements. Yes, the lightsaber is a big penis. And the kid's conflicted! Who wouldn't be? I remember in high school, when I was around people with strange beards and wierd skin and bad implants, and the people I knew were really into holding onto penises -- I didn't know what to do! I didn't feel like anybody understood me.

That's when I first heard the music of Trent Reznor. And it made me the person I am today.

But Anakin can't hear the music of Trent, because he lives "a long time ago in a galaxy far far away." And though they've got robots that can do all kinds of wicked shit and fight and jump around, they can't go forward in time to discover the only good music ever made, which is the music of the 1990's in America.

So guess what happens? Yep -- a creepy, pasty old man who likes to touch Anakin and pat him and generate lots of physical contact eventually starts making him think "bad" or "dirty" thoughts... Anakin's hair gets all long and greasy (which is cool), but he combs it in this really tarded un-gothemo mullet (which is lame). He gets some stupid scar, doesn't wear any makeup even though it would make his sunken eyes look hawt, and every time he talks about his emotions, it's with some bullshit 3rd Grade poetry romanticism shit that makes you want to laugh out loud and then cry.

Of course, then Anakin kills all his comrades -- even little kids -- and burns down the Universe. And that's just fucked up.

This is why Trent's music is important. Because if you don't get to hear it, you'll become some vaguely sexually twisted twenty-something dressed in black with a penchant for bad poetry and affected hairstyles. And people like that are fucking LAME.


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The Mann Village in Westwood, in all its dusky glory. No, we weren't there to see XXX: State of the Union.

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This guy was singing across the street from the line. He didn't know "All the Love in the World" cause he sucked.

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This was there. Where the hell was the TeethMobile????

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I hate it when my TIE Fighter breaks down too. Makes the morning commute a BITCH.

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You know it's bad when even the guy dressed up in full biker scout armor is embarassed.

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Who slapped a ho first, Greedo or Solo?

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These kids were pretty cool. Though I hear The Briggs suck.

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Darth Maul there was breaking a branch of a tree to fashion a lightsaber so he "could get on TV." Yeah.

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The first piece of the marquee is unloaded from the truck.

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Sith is a cool looking word.

Posted by Gabriel in gabriel's_ponderings | Permalink | Comments (4) | TrackBack


Dear Trent,

I hope you had a good birthday, even if you did have to be in court staring at that betraying, back-stabbing bastard, John Malm. I can't even express in words of the English language how much I would be happy to kick that guy right in the nuts for what he did to you. I would wear steel-toed boots, and I'd throw in a couple of sharp jabs to the shins and then stomp on his toes, too, just for good measure. Having said that, dear Trent, even if you didn't have any money, you'd still be the only man for me. I would love you if you lived in a boxcar and your US tour was of trainyards, playing air-guitar for hobos on an old broom. If that was the case, then I would put on my hobo costume and follow, and we could make crazy, monkey love on a pile of straw to the rocking and rolling of the endless railway.

Still, I hope you clean the floor with that dickhead.

I saw pictures of you coming out of the courthouse in Manhattan, and even though Gabriel says you look like his dad -- which, seriously, is just RUDE -- I thought you looked real handsome in your suit. If I had been in New York, I would have brought you a birthday present, and I know that when I was giving it to you, you would have looked into my eyes and seen your destiny.


Posted by Gabriel in dear_trent | Permalink | Comments (37) | TrackBack