[We're huge fans of The Haunted's Peter Dolving's MySpace rants; the dude is intelligent, funny, and generally spot on (if you need confirmation of this just look at comments below anything about him on Blabbermouth, and just assume the usual Blabbermouth maxim: that whatever people are saying, the opposite is true). His band happens to be fucking awesome too. So we figured, hey, why not see if he's up for porting his rants to MetalSucks? Through a little bit of luck and some good connections (you know who you are -- thanks, dude!) we are thrilled to present to you the one and only Peter Dolving himself. God bless. We hope to make this a regular feature. -Ed.]
Fuck. My Lawnmower Of Death broke down.
I feel devastated. It’s an english lawnmower, ’cause the english are without question masters of grass. Now why the devastation one might ask. Awright, here’s the deal – I’ve been on tour the last five summers and this year since the Björler twins are doing their little At The Gates outing – it’s me, and my garden.
Nothing comes between us.
I have a really small house, but a huge garden folks. When me and the family, with my now ex-wife (yeah I had to get that in there…) moved in three years ago, the yard was a mess. Littered, no, covered by car tires, scrap metal, twigs, tons of twigs, branches, garbage and old construction debris. I spent weeks, months inbetween tourdates clearing the place up, dragging and burning shit night after night. It drove my exwife crazy, her being a citygirl and all. She’d tell me I was running away. I tried to explain what I saw was there, but you know… “You just don’t spend your time outside all day long, digging around in muck and come in smelling all smoke and soot, we’re your family come insiiiiiide…”).
Well, now I’m divorced, the place looks beautiful and my kids fucking love it. They love it because they’ve been and are a part of making it, creating it as it unfolds. Poetry in fucking motion. Not everyone gets that part of life. But dude, don’t fucking expect beauty to come dropping in your lap. That, little buddy – will not happen.
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