Rest In Peace Ronnie James Dio

[Jagermeister]

aw fuck... I sent him an e-mail and I'll let you know what he says.

Cool. Thanks.

[jhale667]

Killer live version of "I" off Dehumanizer...\m/

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[thome]

Let's put three things together or let's not, either way I am going to say something and then destroy my own words, to further prove that I am without the ability to comprehend any concepts whatsoever.

I find it disturbing that the CVH world has no verbage to go along with the passing of Dio. MA wrote some nice stuff, but -no any other- quotes; they could be out there, but The MA quotes were from a radio clip not exactly any group concensus, or even somewhat impersonaly not thought out, compiled for examples.

But to be honest to post a 1976 ..? Version by CVH of -Silver Mountain Soundboard- is perhaps enough said, it relates to the early understanding that this cover tune (by CVH) was what they (CVH) cut thier teeth on, what they wanted to emulate, what they wanted to be a part of, who the respected .
It is a -LOUD- yet respectfully soft tomed salutation to the life of one of thier obvious mentors and desired brothers in songstyle muse.

This is where I destroy my wonderment at the above post: The Rumors that MA wasn't at ED's mothers funeral and that is in someway a bad thing...posted with much disdain around these parts. How individuals deal with family issues.

I will never deny anyone food even if it is my last crumb and I will never attempt to begin to even try to explain to myself, themselves, others, brothers, sisters, demons or angels,, or any other human how "a proper grieving or honoring of a fallen sister or brother -SHOULD- be conducted."

Vrbage or running away is all acceptable and equally a expression of how a person percieves loss.

I even find the spam acceptable it was all over the AIC Honor threads at both THE RF and THE RA ..AIC loss threads.

It is how people deal, some could be labled as disrepectfull, but grieving and food should never be denied to anyone and thier personal style of relaying it to others is how they choose to understand what is not trully understandable by me of, who you are.

Here is how it works, Silence is just as important as verbage, equally honorable grieving.

Making a personal ass out of yourself to remove honor from that passed on person is unforgivable but completely understandable when you realize some people are asshole in every situation but not outwardly expressing grief is not dissrespecting it is a personal way of dealing .

To put lables on someone for not commenting is as wrong as spam asshole verbage.
If I don't go to a funeral I will be seen as disrepectfull perhaps I am on my knees across town at the local church praying for my own innability to attempt to understand why I cannot bring myself to the brotherhood of man and grieve in front of the brothers who I call important to me.

Dio and others lives are how we understand our own.......... grieving is my life and how I conduct myself rite or wrong in others eyes is my business. I never understood bagging on someone for not commenting or showing up graveside such as The MA critisizm that I have read in other threads.

Westborow Church assholedness is the wrong way but it is thier way and still wrong.

Any other way is acceptable to me I accept a individuals rite to say nothing and be anywhere, nowhere somewhere else. REST IN PEACE is the banner of the day, if you find in others silence a tool of your anger you are dissrespecting the dead you are attempting to honor.

[Anonymous]

I'm not sure about the scale taking a giant shit can be quite enjoyable especially with a decent book of short stories or useless factoids.

Exactly. It's wiping the arse afterwards that can be a drag.

Cheers! :bottle:

[atomicpunk5151]

Just an FYI, but if anyone wants to download any Dio "Unofficial LIVE" dvds to watch or Live AUD taped audio to listen to, they are torrenting a TON of them at dimeadozen and jamtothis. Kind of a tribute thing. Solo, Rainbow, Sabbath. A few are even new or never released.

http://www.dimeadozen.org/torrents-browse.php?search=%2B+Dio&cat=0&submit=Search

[jhale667]

There's a public memorial service being held for Ronnie Sunday...think I'm going to go and pay my last respects.

[Jagermeister]

I think Glover is a class act.


DEEP PURPLE bassist Roger Glover has released the following statement regarding the passing of legendary heavy metal singer Ronnie James Dio (DIO, HEAVEN & HELL, BLACK SABBATH, RAINBOW, ELF):

"A huge part of my life just disappeared. Words are not enough, emotions are too much.

"My sincere condolences to Ronnie's family and friends."

Glover and DEEP PURPLE drummer Ian Paice produced ELF's first album, and ELF toured all over the world as the support act for DEEP PURPLE.

Ronnie James Dio was the featured singer on the tracks "Love Is All", "Homeward" and "Sitting In A Dream" on Glover's 1975 album, "The Butterfly Ball".

[Mr Walker]

I think Glover is a ass hat.

That's not cool bro

[Full Bug]

For Dio: The Only Appropriate Tribute

Blood. My mouth tasted like blood and steering wheel… probably because my mouth was full of blood and steering wheel. My vision came back in pieces, the peripherals first. I saw the empty passenger seat covered in shimmering glass. Half the driver’s side armrest was ripped from the door, one of the mounting screws embedded in my leg. I heard the pattering drip of rain, but couldn’t feel the moisture; I dimly came to realize it was just the sound of various engine fluids leaking, falling to the ground.

“OnStar, this is Tammy. Our sensors are reading an impact, is everyone OK?” a voice chimed from the guidance system.

“Tammy,” I coughed, tasting the telltale grit of shattered enamel. I spat blood into my lap, laced with the white powder that used to be teeth.

“Yes, sir?”

“Tammy… what… ” It was impossible to assemble my thoughts. My mind seized on any random fleeting notion – I had a rabbit as a child, didn’t I? What was its name? Something stupid, childish: Mr. Hopper, maybe.

“Tammy…”

“Sir? Are you all right? What is it?” Her first response had been automatic, perfunctory. It was a duty to be carried out. She sounded concerned now.

“Tammy… what… are you wearing?”

“Sir?”

“I bet it’s hot. You sound…” a wretched cough came again, covering the inside of the windshield in a fine red mist, like bloody morning dew, “you sound kind of slutty, Tammy. Is it crotchless? I’ll take pretty much anything crotchless.”

“Is this a prank? My sensors show a serious impact. If you need help, tell me.”

“Panties, gym shorts, hell, even crotchless overalls would do me solid,” I pawed at my seat belt, couldn’t work the latch. Realized it wasn’t even on– something was wrong with the nerves in my hand. Having trouble registering shapes. “Oh man, especially crotchless overalls. You are just filthy, aren’t you, Tammy?”

“Sir, I’m hanging up now,” her voice had a mechanical flatness to it, the speaker fuzzed, cut in and out. What do you do if you crash so hard you wreck the OnStar?

“No! Please… wait, I’m hurt. There’s been an accident.”

“Sir, is everybody else OK? Is anybody else hurt?”

“No, I’m alone.”

“Are you sure? What caused the accident?”

“I did.”

There was a moment of silence. I swore I could see her face. I pictured her with pigtails; something about girl’s names that end with ‘Y’ makes me envision little pigtails all tied up with bows.

“On purpose?” she asked, my mind filling in the quizzical head tilt.

“Yes. I crashed this car.”

“But why, sir?” she asked sincerely. Those little bows; they were blue.

“I crashed this car…” I held up my hand, though I knew there was nobody there to see it, with the pointer and pinky fingers extended, “…I crashed this fucking car for Dio.”

***

Blood. My mouth tasted like blood and the police officer’s arm… probably because my mouth was full of blood and the police officer’s arm.

“HEEEELP! HE’S DOWN TO THE BONE! HE’S DOWN TO THE FUCKING BONE!” Pure panic had taken the man over; his jaw trembled and wagged loose as though unhinged.

I braced my arms and legs against the doorway and held myself immobile. The officer stood on the opposite side, his whole body pivoted and leaning away as if to flee. He was held fast only by the teeth I’d sunk deep into his arm-fat. We’d been like this for far too long, he and I. With every gnash of my teeth, he panicked and struck me with his nightstick; with every strike, I gnashed my teeth. Two hours we had stood locked in the doorway of the Krispy Kreme, the angle of our bodies the only thing preventing the officers from physically separating us. Well, that and the fear of rabies. Somehow they’d gotten the impression that I was rabid. Possibly because I’d stripped to the waist and written the letters ‘R-A-B-I-D’ on my bare chest in custard.

Also the biting. That likely cemented the assumption.

The hostage negotiators tried to reason with me at first, but I wouldn’t fall for their tricks. Making demands required a mouth to speak them, and I would not release.

“Please,” the officer’s eyes welled up and spilled over with tears, “I got kids. Probably. I probably got kids. I banged a lot in college.”

I narrowed my eyes at him skeptically, and bit down harder. Did you know that cops taste different than normal people? I mean, at least the arm-flesh does. Tangier. Must be something in the uniform.

“AWOW OH GOD! OK!” He held up his other hand to placate me. “I didn’t. I didn’t bang at all, all right? Jesus, I’m so lonely. I haven’t even yet lived! Please!”

I shook my head, starting into a death-roll like a crocodile. Like a half-naked, custard-covered, Krispy Kreme Krokodile.

“No! Why!? Good lord, why are you doing this?”

“For Dio!” I howled, realizing, too late, that I had loosed my grip. The momentum of release sent the officer sprawling into the parking lot, and he rolled with it. There was no pause in his movement; he’d hit the ground and transitioned straight into a dead sprint. Even as he leapt the barricade, barreled through the crowd that had gathered, and disappeared down the street and across the distant horizon, he showed no signs that he would ever slow.

“FOR DIIIOOO!” the impossibly loud moan broke loose from me in wracking sobs. When it died out, there was only a dim ringing. A still, reverberating sort of silence, as the eardrum re-calibrated itself to hear softer sounds again. I watched the world on mute.

Until I heard the staccato patter of the beanbag guns firing.

***

Blood. My mouth tasted like blood and kerosene, probably because– well, you get the drill by now, right?

My chest ballooned with the deep inhalation, the stale air around me thick with the stink of animals and sweat. I continued filling myself with the seemingly infinite stream of air – as much as my nostrils would allow. A thousand pairs of eyes were trained solely on me, awaiting my next movement with equal parts dread and anticipation. Still I inhaled, the pressure building on the interior of my skull, the strain on the inside of my chest becoming unbearable. When the dim exploding circles of oxygen deprivation bristled at the edges of my vision, I held the torch out in front of me, and I screamed fire into the crowds.


Fearful cries welled up from animal and man alike. The lions threw themselves at the bars of their cage as the flames raced up the central beam to the canvas above us. It was all I could do not to laugh when the clowns ran.

It was an effort I lost when I saw that one of them was a midget.

The strongman shook his head, trying to clear it of the blow I’d knocked him down with. I don’t mean to imply that I’m a prize-fighter here; he had absolutely pummeled me before I landed that shot. Every inch of exposed flesh swelled with the dull ache of rising bruises, and I was pretty sure I’d lost my front left canine in his knuckle. But eventually he stopped. Eventually he left me for dead, figuring that the puddle of oozing meat beneath his boot-heel couldn’t possibly hold any semblance of life. And so I seized my opportunity.

But here he was now, coming around, and I was again trying to take in enough oxygen to ignite the kerosene in my mouth before he could reach me. He strode forward in purposeful, furious bounds, and just before his arcing roundhouse connected, I tossed the lighter up into the air between us.

His blow connected, and the contents of my mouth exploded outwards. The abrupt trauma caused my perception of time to slow temporarily: I saw the first shining droplet contact the flickering lighter’s flame; the tiny, almost imperceptible explosion soon mirrored a dozen times over; a hundred; a thousand. As the fireball engulfed the two of us, I embraced the baffled strongman and put my lips to his ear.

“For Dio,” I whispered.

***

Coffee. My mouth tasted like coffee and a little bit like cheese Danish, probably because it was full of coffee and a little bit of cheese Danish.

The constant, clattering rattle of my fellow office workers typing was somehow amplified and made hollow, bouncing off the walls of my cubicle. One half of my hand was asleep, split down the middle vertically: The ring and pinky fingers gone numb. Something about the height at which I held my mouse did that, I presumed. I fumbled it over and closed Firefox. I swallowed my coffee; it was the hardest thing I have ever had to do in my life.

“Shit,” I mumbled in shock.

“What’s up, man? Everything OK?” Stanley, my friend in the cubicle opposite me, poked his head over the wall like the neighbor from Home Improvement. I hated when he did that. Trying to hold a conversation with somebody peeking down at you over a wall while you remain sitting at your desk is so fundamentally awkward. Your seated posture, which seemed so natural a second ago, suddenly feels stupid and inappropriate.

“Dio just died,” I recited to him, like I had only memorized the words phonetically and had no idea as to their meaning.

“What? Who?”

I stood up abruptly, the back of my knees straightening so quickly that they sent my wheeled office chair spinning out into the corridor between cubicle rows.

“Whoa, what’s going on, dude?” Stanley asked, coming around the barrier to stare into my face. “Oh shit. I know that look. That’s the ‘I’m going out to get supernaturally tanked and engage in a series of increasingly wacky shenanigans that accidentally end in tragedy’ look. Am I right?”

“No, Stanley,” I informed him, adjusting the length of my shirt-cuffs on my wrists and straightening my tie, “What happens next is very deliberate. In a moment, I am going to take the elevator to the ground floor, where I will exit this building. I will proceed two blocks east to Promenade Plaza, where I will strip naked and lay siege to the doughnut shop. If police arrive, I will maul them with my teeth. I will escape on foot, and make my way to the fairgrounds out by the paper mill. Once there, I will burn down the circus. Then I am going to steal the largest, fastest car I can find, and I am going to crash that car at a terrible speed into the oldest and most sacred looking tree I can find. I will then mouth-fuck the OnStar operator from the wreckage.”

All measure of reason drained from Stanley’s face.

“But why?” He asked plainly.

“Because Dio taught me, in part, what it is to be a man. Oh, he did not teach the rational lessons: He did not teach me morality, or responsibility, or restraint. No, Stanley, he taught me that being a man means sometimes ruining things in the most extravagant fashion possible. Because you can, and because it’s awesome. And Dio died today, so now I am going to ruin things. I am going to ruin everything, Stanley. For Dio.”

I took another bite of Danish; I would need the calories.

“But first, Stanley, first I am going to orally pleasure the receptionist – your fiancé – on top of the copier. I will set the machine for 666 copies, and if she has not climaxed by the time it’s finished making them, I will throw her out the window. I’ll be sure to mail one to you, buddy.”

“W… wh…”

“What’s that? Why? You want to know why, again? Because you didn’t know his name, Stanley. You didn’t know his god damn name. But you will now. It was Ronnie James, incidentally. Ronnie James Motherfucking Dio. But that’s okay: I promise this time, you won’t soon forget it.”

I polished off the rest of my coffee, and gently pushed him aside.

“Welp, I gotta be off now to pleasure your woman and commit some Tribute Crimes. Oh, and Stanley?” I turned, clapping him reassuringly on the shoulder, “Ride the tiger, buddy. Ride the tiger.”

[Hellraiser!!]

A brazilian TV channel did the most fucked up thing ever...

They've announced Dio's death showing images of Ozzy during the report...and you can see this shit with your own eyes!! It's really fucked up!!

[tojoro]

Farewell and adieu, Mr. Padavona...thank you so much for all of the wonderful music and for sharing your talent with us. You will be sorely missed

[Hardrock69]

Man, that Brazilian TV channel sure fucked that up!

[Doctor Dude]

I'd trade 3 Ozzy's for 1 Dio.

I'm just saying.

[Seshmeister]

You do all your trades purely by weight then?

[jhale667]

Probably one of THE last pictures taken of him in the hospital from that news report...