Kasra V – The Window EP

kasra v

The positives of working from home. Once I got over the initial connecting to my institution’s systems, I started cranking out some tunes. Much better to listen to music on semi-decent speakers whilst you work than headphones; they cramp my ears after a while. Also, No worries about nearby colleagues telling me to turn that racket down.

This is an electronic racket, albeit not hard work for the uninitiated. Reminds me of certain 90s dance peeps I sometimes still listen to – not exactly unadjacent to Banco de Gaia, for example, though contemporary stuff like Octo Octa also springs to mind.

It’s only an EP, so my one criticism is that it ain’t long enough. I could quite easily have an album of this.

 

Dead Sea Apes – Night Lands

deadseaapes

Dead Sea Apes and The Myrrors? (Well, Nik Rayne from The Myrrors). Get listening!

You’ll be horrified to know that I’m going to riff on the notion of subjectivity in the forthcoming words, both future and what is to come.

The reason for that is because subjectivity is brilliant, innit? After all, I thought of an answer to why it is that it isn’t just me that thinks time is speeding up. Everyone I speak to anywhere ever always agrees with me, isn’t time just whizzing by these days? I mean, the other day, I woke up, brushed my teeth, had a cup of coffee, played my guitar for a bit, had another cup of coffee, read a bit of the superb Latro in the Mist by the incomparable Gene Wolfe, had another cup of coffee, nipped to the shops to get lunch stuff for me and the kids, did lunch, washed up, did some drawing/doodling in preparation of my next album Influx Arena, did dinner, drunk tea, washed up, played guitar, programmed some drums, got my daughter to bed, played Civ for a bit, and before I knew it, it was time for bed! Just like that! Why, I mean, I barely even had time to blink!

Anyway, here’s the reason why everyone else agrees with me on this – you are all figments of my imagination. Therefore, if I think time is speeding up, then you’ll all think the same because why wouldn’t you?

Of course, you could all, and with just as much legitimacy, make the same claim towards me. And the annoying thing is, we’d all be equally right.

FiRES WERE SHOT – Fallen

fireswereshot

Shouty caps lock is, unfortunately, intentional.

I’ve listened to a lot of drone over the years, some would say especially when I’m talking (boom! boom!); I would say especially when most males talk, we do love to hear the sound of our own opinions even though they are almost all bollocks, yes, even yours. Especially yours.

Joking aside, actually I wasn’t joking. I’m famous for not having a sense of humour. Well, not famous as such, I mean, I’m clearly not a famous person, but one of my personality traits that is remarked upon often is my utter lack of a sense of humour. I often ask my son what one is because he has one, apparently. Like most communications between the generations, however, this often results in misunderstanding as I’m never entirely sure what he’s trying to tell me.

I had intended to talk, well, write, well, type about drone music but I got distracted because that’s what happens when you let flow happen. The same thing happens when I pick up a pen.

But if you think about it, drone is all about flow.

Opossum Sun Trail – Death Raga Run​-​on Sentence

oppossum

I don’t remember how I came across this one but it was on one of my tabs this morning when I turned the PC on so I listened to it. And now I’m posting it.

I always have my browsers open on the tabs they were closed on exactly so I can leave stuff open that I intend to come back to. This does have the downside of meaning that some things that can be on there weeks before I get round to it. On this PC, most of the tabs are actually Youtube videos that the kids last watched, or Roblox games that the kids last played. Tuesday morning before my later than normal start is pretty much the only time I get to catch up, barring the occasional Sunday afternoon.

 

 

Fontän – Fontän

fontan

The surgeon burst, just as he was getting to the good bit. Damn, he thought, damn, what a waste of a good bit. So he set about finding the bits and sewing them back together, but this was a time ensuing process, so once he was re-established, he found that he was no longer a surgeon as he knew it, and the task facing him now was almost entirely structural, something alien to a worker of shambola which he now knew he was to be. Give me a needle and dread, he asked, give me the needle, but the needle was possessed, it was moving, whirring, spinwatting and slabbing. Nowhere was this more apparent than on the structure, something made for itself, conceived for itself, executed for political reasons. And people say I’m a bit odd. Well, wouldn’t you be? But the surgeon, why do we always forget the surgeon? I can remove that lump, he said, or at least, I could, back when I knew what it was. No need, these things are brought on by anger, don’t you know, anger and frustration, and the removal of these ills often effects a cure, but you need to journey and to see, it’s a very strange experience, you often are not sure whether or not you had it, though the memory is vivid enough. I can dig that, replied the surgeon, I must admit this is all a bit weird for me, have you ever pieced yourself back together using only a memory of a subjective prior being? Yes. Yes. Yes. Every fucking day. Wakefulness is what gives me purpose, but, by god, it comes at a price, and I’m not sure what’s left in the bank. I have to save some for the son, though I, the father, have a somewhat privilege, and I get to use it, more than I did, especially now I’m beginning to know where to find more of it. The thing is sustainability. Yes, I know it’s a trendy buzzword, and for that I apologise, I dislike having to use words too, but have you ever tried communicating concepts without their context? Context is, and I think I may have said this before, everything. Everything is context. So, do I get better, asked the surgeon. Yes. But only if you want to. Find your purpose and you will automatically. Ignore your purpose and it becomes harder.

Free the computer within!

Idiomatic. My style is idiomatic. That does NOT mean I’m automatically an idiot. Probably.

Rusty Souls – Tripnotic

tripnotic

Clarkson sold his soul
and was rewarded with a fast car
gave him such a thrill
that he thought that’s all there was
part of the deal he made
was in treating men with wither
if they happened to point out
that he’d been taken for a ride
but eventually he arrived at the end
of his sordid little pleasuredome
he had to put in concepts
all the scorn he’d sold in words
and he found that they were empty
he found that they were empty
albeit with invective
but it isn’t quite the same
where has your reward gone?
it’s stuck behind in this realm
and you could have taken riches
if you knew just what they were
life is not a lesson
it’s a song
and if you get the meaning wrong
you cannot hear the music
its underneath the engines
but above the darker ground
it could be in the air
try listening to the air
ears are more than just the holes in the side of your head
you need to know your song
its your passport to moving on

 

Thomas Dinger – Für mich

fur mich

I’d set my alarm for Now, and it had gone, as described, so I upped, as necessary. Pausing only to sip on a PowerJuice® I embarked and began, the flow led me towards Mash, in Logovila. A big swine was going down, seeping. My job, such as it was, was to ease its stupor, and for this, I required a tardis. Having entered the reverential code of confidence, the entry slipped and I was forth, spread across the problem like a one-being solution. I smiled, which isn’t easy when you’re being spread across a problem, although it was actually quite an amenable problem, we had met before, these encounters had by way of a ritual about them. Ritual writ large, and with social consequences.

Who am I to care about consequences? Here’s a pillar, suffering, righteous, full and tottering, and if I don’t attend to it, I won’t attend to it and the vibrations will cause an event, much like creation, but not as good or as longlasting. Time, I suggested, for some monotony. Interesting times, indeed.

The judge sat me down, where I was resting, and began his instruction, regarding me as he regaled me, interpreting me as he introduced me to the subject I was to occupy that day. Metapillars were needed to counteract some very obvious dangers, many of which were manifesting internally in all sorts of interesting ways… remember, we’re aiming for tedium! At least you know what will happen with it. So I was to be the foreman on the Metapillar Construction Ethos, a new team of engineers with skills so obvious we should brook no bargaining. Don’t let the ice in…

The Redundant Architects™ have been moaning again, it seems… they knew the nanobuilders were coming, and they could have got on board, but no, they insisted their outmoded ‘Innovative Technique’ was the right way for building buildings, even though most of us had cottoned on to the fact that universal harmony was better adhered to, so designing builders that could be naturally attuned to such harmony seemed the most reasonable way of achieving these effects. Why they still insist on training these new architects who will never design a real building.. I overheard some of these talking the other day. They tell of a fantastical island in the middle of the ocean where human beings design a building before its built! Yes! And these are the rationalists…

“You’re on,” I said to your honour, just as he was leaving.
“You’re just swapping one kind of hassle for another, and calling it progress,” he replied, in the shape of a wandering interlocutor, dressed as an agitator, acting like a riot.
“So you say. I’m off hunting for buried pleasure.” I love a good ritual parting, and began my treatment. Today, we dowse with the electronic tonic, that which renders us not as we would otherwise be, but isn’t everything? By which logical proximity we can but surmise: all is as it should be, except for that which isn’t, and maybe not even that. I am not to say, for I don’t know, as knowledge is only transiently useful. I ordered the cringe, hardback edition, publishers discretion, subject to criticism – no work of art is complete without the stain of criticism. Fuck the purists, they have such sweet orgasms, god I want to fuck a purist.