Exhausted. The sleeplessness; the suffocating proximity to what is really desired.
It cannot be taken from you.
So it is taken from me.
This will not last. Damned to repeat the past.
Thank God for all things under Heaven.
This malignant narcissism. The cancerous material that persuades the heart and haunts the thoughts. The blind rapport as deafening as the shots. To land silently, slipped over your face, and putting you to sleep. So that your life is stolen so I may walk my dream.
A year has passed and nothing has passed my lips. Nothing drawn inside to numb or quell. Nothing to tease the flicking flames of Hell.
Another year of lies have passed between these lips. Cutting down the center of those lascivious rose hips. It dwells in the fruit and not in the flower, the beauty and deadly properties of history, thorns of the perennial and Verdigris powder of Marcus Aurelius.
Respite sought in isolation. Hot saliva stinks this wound. Bitter is the taste of this stained flesh. Shiva loves all that the palette detests.
Anhedonia is insufferable and leaves me feeling cheap and awkward. Fuck everything
This morning I feel. I feel I. The centralism is angry. A disturbed nest. Busy through the night with no rest. Coffee with this manifesto.
and the second...
The all so familiar point. Arriving at the most sought after commodity: the subject. Whatever. Exclusive or not. Emphasize a regular rhythm and conduct will be just as predictable. The malignant arrangement of dancing is the abhorrent disguise of order.
Noise is so tasteless. Ignorant and ignoble. Clearly it has no mature refinement. If the palette must search for recognition than the product is clearly not being received by the correct audience. Swine will eat anything. Even their own shit.
Patterns that oscillate bypass the true circuit. Allow the element of chaos to barrel through the door like eager dogs driven mad with excitement and anticipation. Invitation to serendipity. Focus on the practice. The ritual. The ceremonial act of the rites. Then attempt to invoke and capture. In one take. One series of moments. All is sacred and all records strive to validate this truth. No artificiality in the face of divinity. This is merely vanity. The sacrifice is in the process. the vanity is the act itself.
Learn the new language. It is mathematics. It is alpha-numeric. It is improvised. It has structure. Fundamentally, it is rudimentary. The foundation is dormant in technique. Awaken the linguistics of the open dialog between you and your instrument by practice.
Evade and escape clever eruptions that are as clandestine ...as guerrilla ... as tactical. A single distraction is enough to find the dramatic and hasty withdrawal. the empty promises of the tangential. Do not abscond from what is still in it's infancy.
Not so far away is the memory...
Not so distant is the thought...
"what is this?"
"is this art?"
"what the fuck is this?"
"are you serious?"
Let us have a paternity test. Let us have a litmus test. Clearly, there must be a line. Some point of embarkation leads to elitism and the other leads to elitism.
The swine does eat it's own shit. It does not discriminate. All is consumer top quality. Wretched is the glutton that doesn't attempt to create anything as beautiful as what it consumes. Godly is the animal who is comfortable in it's own shit and care nothing about vanity.
Let the vanity be the artists shit. Let the act of producing and excreting be the embodiment of humility. Do not admire your nature. Allows others to. Convince them to wear your eliminations as talismans. Proclamations. Advertisements. Symbols. Expressions. Valuable meanings. Let the modesty lead you to the gratification of appetite. Communion at last.
As with everything transient and material, so is appreciation. Watch it decay and assist. Nothing is as disgusting as the self deprecating person. Quickly destroy it's value and allow the half life to begin. Ruin it.
Allowing the audience to assimilate and absorb something is important. After it is inside, make it look and feel ordinary. It is desirable to let things pass through the system without attracting the attention of control devices. A myriad of sentinels wander the halls of each and every person. Regulating all that threatens immunity. Allow the art to become Mary Mallon. Famous only after the fact: typhoid mary.
Bad art is all but. Art can be either benign or malignant. Like cancer, art is neither good nor bad. It is a phenomena. The organism either consciously recognizes its utility and accepts, or keeps browsing. To stop and question whether it is or isn't ....is to be eye fucking the hooker. You have already contracted it via solicitation. The desperate appalling cry for attention captivated you. Art can use you. You are dispensable. You are indispensable.
Two monks were returning to the monastery in the evening. It had rained and there were puddles of water on the road sides. At one place a beautiful young woman was standing unable to walk accross because of a puddle of water. The elder of the two monks went up to a her lifted her in his alms and left her on the other side of the road, and continued his way to the monastery. In the evening the younger monk came to the elder monk and said, "Sir, as monks, we cannot touch a woman ?" The elder monk answered "yes, brother". Then the younger monk asks again, " but then Sir, how is that you lifted that woman on the roadside ?" The elder monk smiled at him and told him " I left her on the other side of the road, but you are still carrying her "
An older track experimenting with auditory story telling and suggestion. An invitation to study architecture with musical relevance. Granular synthesis, field recordings, and Kurzweil K2000 synthesizer.
The synthesizer was played "live". Meaning, it took a single take. The programming for that thing was fairly difficult. It was one my first experiences using a software synth sound I created, patched into a hardware instrument (the K2000), and edited accordingly. It was quite an enjoyable experience, though I do not consider this track to be anything more than a b-side if you will.
The ending has an interesting turn with the glitch industrial rhythm. I was very pleased with it. I think I will use it's general structure to create something more elaborate in the future. We shall see.
The field recordings are something I would like to focus a bit more on. Actually capturing the ambiance of different common places. Things to conjure visuals into the minds of the audience. Make it like following a story via clues. Waiting for new things to present themselves and reveal where you are and where you are going. I have a project coming up that is nothing short of literally auditory story-telling. Very excited indeed.
Granular synthesis produces such awesome results. Unexpected powerful expressions that can wash away monotony or shatter rhythms. I love them. I need to find some hardware capable of doing such things...So far I have only messed around with software.
...Stand by while I google....
uhm. nevermind. Apparently, I do not know what I am looking for yet.
Received compensation rating decision. I was looking at it online. "The computer doesn't have a wireless connection at this house"-Never-mind that-What is the rating?
Thirty percent. Finally, a decision.
It is a week day. Let me go and see if they will cut me a check. Outside on the street near the "building", a woman wearing a sport coat. Only a sport coat. Completely nude otherwise.
Hairy genital region. I heard the commotion of friends greeting her style.
I have to get this check.
Another nude executive coming from the office. END
I got up and logged on. There is no gadget for dreams. At least not one desirable for this page. I will design one. It will be a means to catalog for later reference and enhancement of dream recall.
I came a cross a site called MOG today. Excellent radio. For five marvelous dollars, you can listen to your favorite artist albums and related playlists. Cheap and Awesome. They do not have a gadget. I am going to become a gadget designer.
Ménage à trois Kurzweil K2000 and Akai Mpc 2000.
I spoke with my good friend whom I have been collaborating with musically for the past couple of years. We were enjoying a conversation regarding samples in music, and finding their often obscure sources.
Some of the samples in the beginning are from the Anime/Hentai Urotsukidōji,Legend of the Overfiend.
My friend was watching Legend of the Overfiend for the first time, and he heard and recognized it immediately. There is something about recognizing these obscure source of sound bytes that is really pleasurable.
Especially, when it isn't expected. Some of my examples:
This is a scene from George Lucas' film THX 1138. While watching this scene I immediately recognized a sound-byte thrown into a song
nine inch nails, the downward spiral, Mr. Self Destruct
The first track off this album has a sample from the movie, "the thief, the cook, his wife, and her lover". Mastodon's "Crusher Destroyer" opens with a sample from Jurassic Park. Examples of samples collected serendipitously.
Essentially, most people would claim it was serendipitous in nature. The truth is that this phenomena or synchronicity (a term adorned to such scenarios by Jung) has a remarkable scientific following. It is in the study of memes ( a term created for the exact same phenomena only separated by scientific inquiry. Whatever Richard Dawkins). Most would be quick to conclude that certain cultural dispositions are not remarkable but just the way things are. "I like what I like, and they like what they like."Most think that their individuality does indeed exist despite the fact they do have a cultural orbit. If this notion of cultural disposition is warranted, like a beacon at the end of a tunnel, like cattle corralled into a chute, is it not impossible to presume that we are part of a super-organism?
As for the first person claim: "I like what I like, and they like what they like."
Super-organism versus super-organism. Beliefs are validated by a very intimate conviction, yet, without the pressure of sociologically imposed introspection, would such a belief be necessary or even within the scope of mental wanderings? Are your opinions serving you? Or a group? A collective? Whatever.
So as I sat in front of these films recognizing these samples, I found myself astonished that my favorite artists had many of my similar interests. Birds of a feather. Memes.
