bracket phrases lost in a strobe-light conversation - i distinctly remember laying there on the couch, wired out on bromo-dragonfly and watching tank girl while the words started to click
like a typewriter eating tinfoil; in my ears (in my head) they jangled and stood out - sharp idioms or moments of well put-together malcontent that really, in all due justification, deserved an entire page devoted to what led up to - and how the reader was supposed to recover from such pithy insight
and pithy it was, because they stuck in my teeth (& in my craw) but i could never hold them long enough to [i]write the bastards down[/i]
only i know i had them god damn it, you blasphemous pigs
what was i thinking
what am i thinking
what have i become? the same nail in wave after wave of board
different paint same rotten woodplanks
glistening, blistering white woodplanks
which danced like fireflies in the dark, and slowly they came
the young, the needy, the bored
a cultured pageantry of self-obsession and rounded off sentences
that; moments after being handed their engineer's cap and set in charge of their very own steam engine
chose to plow headlong into the nearest embankment and tried, vainly, to see who amongst them could shout for help the loudest and be uniquely burnt out the fastest
this is not who you want to be. i am not who you want to be. put away the powders and the pills - i'm going to stop playing doctor, and you're all going to get better.
... right?
Saturday, December 26, 2009
Friday, December 25, 2009
Thursday, December 24, 2009
graves and christmas cognac
You would not believe your eyes
If ten million fireflies
Light up the world as i fell asleep
Cause they fill the open air
And leave teardrops everywhere
You'd think me rude
But i wouuld just stand and stare
I'd like to make myself believe that planet earth turns slowly
It's hard to say that i'd rather stay awake when i'm asleep
Cause everything is never as it seems
Cause i'd get a thousand hugs
From ten thousand lightning bugs
As they tried to teach me how to dance
A foxtrot above my head
A sockhop beneath my bed
A disco ball is just hanging by a thread
I'd like to make myself believe that planet earth turns slowly
It's hard to say that i'd rather stay awake when i'm asleep
Cause everything is never as it seems
When i fall asleep
Leave my door open just a crack
Please take me away from here
Cause i feel like such an insomniac
Please take me away from here
Why do i tire of counting sheep
Please take me away from here
When i'm far too tired to fall asleep
To ten million fireflies
I'm weird cause i hate goodbyes
I got misty eyes as they said farewell
But i'll know where several are
If my dreams get real bizzare
Cause i saved a few and i keep them in a jar
I'd like to make myself believe that planet earth turns slowly
It's hard to say that i'd rather stay awake when i'm asleep
Cause everything is never as it seems
When i fall asleep
I'd like to make myself believe that planet earth turns slowly
It's hard to say that i'd rather stay awake when i'm asleep
Cause everything is never as it seems
When i fall asleep
I'd like to make myself believe that planet earth turns slowly
It's hard to say i'd rather stay awake when i'm asleep
Because my dreams are bursting at the seams
Wednesday, December 23, 2009
who am i?
somebody asked me that today; and i found myself at a total loss for a coherent answer that really gave you the whole picture - so i'm going to try now. feel free to give me feedback and suggestions for additions or removals.
i'm a freelance journalist and musician with a taste for sadomasochism, firearms and exotic narcotics. i smoke too much, speak too loudly and fuck too little. the only thing i hate more then myself is almost everybody around me; but I cannot turn down a good party. music is a massive part of my life - aside from producing and mixing psychedelic trance i draw massive personal influence and direction from the gigsbytes of pirated tunes clusterfucking my hard drive.
I have the standards of a drunk new yorker in thailand, and the morals of the bar staff serving him. I am a developing amphetamine addict, former member of the armed forces and I touch up nuns to even the score with the catholic church.
I'll babysit your kids for the price of a bottle of gin and a handful of seconal.
be my friend?
be my friend?
i'm a freelance journalist and musician with a taste for sadomasochism, firearms and exotic narcotics. i smoke too much, speak too loudly and fuck too little. the only thing i hate more then myself is almost everybody around me; but I cannot turn down a good party. music is a massive part of my life - aside from producing and mixing psychedelic trance i draw massive personal influence and direction from the gigsbytes of pirated tunes clusterfucking my hard drive.
I have the standards of a drunk new yorker in thailand, and the morals of the bar staff serving him. I am a developing amphetamine addict, former member of the armed forces and I touch up nuns to even the score with the catholic church.
I'll babysit your kids for the price of a bottle of gin and a handful of seconal.
be my friend?
be my friend?
red rover; blue falcon
they say love is blind, but i think it just keeps overlooking me deliberately.
do i exist? please prove to me i'm real
surely you know what i mean - you spend enough time walking away from someone or watching them walk away from you that you start to question that this isn't just the mad fantasy of an emotional sadist with a typewriter and a head full of bad acid?
a sick parody, a weird pageant of heartbreak and disappointment.
you start to ask yourself; no way could this be chance - but you know you don't deserve it, so there's no logical reason for all the heartwrench and gutclench.
you look real - lonely, but real.
i just wanted to try and connect with a pixel ghost - someone i know nothing about except a picture, and see what came out of the datastream.
one way or another this will answer my questions.
do i exist? please prove to me i'm real
surely you know what i mean - you spend enough time walking away from someone or watching them walk away from you that you start to question that this isn't just the mad fantasy of an emotional sadist with a typewriter and a head full of bad acid?
a sick parody, a weird pageant of heartbreak and disappointment.
you start to ask yourself; no way could this be chance - but you know you don't deserve it, so there's no logical reason for all the heartwrench and gutclench.
you look real - lonely, but real.
i just wanted to try and connect with a pixel ghost - someone i know nothing about except a picture, and see what came out of the datastream.
one way or another this will answer my questions.
What DAW is right for you?
FL is for n00bs.
GarageBand is for n00bs with Macs.
Logic is for the wealthy elite. And nobody likes the wealthy elite.
Sonar is for people who want Cubase, but can't find a torrent for it.
Cubase is for people who want Sonar, but also want people to know they paid for it.
ProTools is for studio snobs.
ReNoise is for people afraid to abandon old technology.
Live is for DJ's who think they can produce.
Acid is for people too lazy to learn anything else.
Reaper is for poor people. (after 30 days it's for poor people who like stealing software)
Reason is for people who refuse to think outside the box.
Energy XT is for people who aren't hung up on making "good music".
Microsoft Sound Recorder is for...um...well...it's pretty awesome actually.
in other news, you ALL need to go check out THE MOLLUSK and buy his latest record... off the chains organic semisynthetic CHUNK AND FUNK fresh out of melbourne. sticky and sloppy bass with wireline synths and biorhythmic syncopation. DIG YA HEELS IN AND BOOGIE
GarageBand is for n00bs with Macs.
Logic is for the wealthy elite. And nobody likes the wealthy elite.
Sonar is for people who want Cubase, but can't find a torrent for it.
Cubase is for people who want Sonar, but also want people to know they paid for it.
ProTools is for studio snobs.
ReNoise is for people afraid to abandon old technology.
Live is for DJ's who think they can produce.
Acid is for people too lazy to learn anything else.
Reaper is for poor people. (after 30 days it's for poor people who like stealing software)
Reason is for people who refuse to think outside the box.
Energy XT is for people who aren't hung up on making "good music".
Microsoft Sound Recorder is for...um...well...it's pretty awesome actually.
in other news, you ALL need to go check out THE MOLLUSK and buy his latest record... off the chains organic semisynthetic CHUNK AND FUNK fresh out of melbourne. sticky and sloppy bass with wireline synths and biorhythmic syncopation. DIG YA HEELS IN AND BOOGIE
Tuesday, December 22, 2009
GET AWAY FROM THAT STREETCORNER BOBBY, THERE BE DOPE FIENDS!
Are you hungry?
Are you sick?
Are you begging for a break?
Step into the parlour, children - Line right up, eyeball the weird and wonderful dope fiends for only a fistful of dollars and the risk of your sanity. They're caged with bars, skinny white rails that bind like holy salt on a monastery floor.
You want to play the game - because it's a game to you people. Funtime friday, hit the couch and babble. Drop a tab or five, pass out before sun up and burn out before eighteen.
Are you sweet?
Are you fresh?
Are you strung up by the wrists?
We want the young blood!
I can smell fresh dollars in your bones, boy. I know why you're here. Morbid curiousity, and a fatalistic desire to stand out in a sullen parade of septum piercings and dynamite bangs. We are your Hell's Angel, wiry and tired with bitter, electric tongues. We sit and we smoke in a strange nuptial hymn of the hivemind, constantly prowling for another square scalp to add to our collection - They line our beds and we cling to them for warmth, every scrap of memory of those times we faced down with high society and came away, smelling of ganja, sweat and triumph.
You long to trace every jackboot scar on my spine with your lips, and revel in every night I spend sobbing myself to sleep, flashed and trapped in the memories of mind-riots past.
God, those were the days. You'd wake up in the morning, pick at the scabs your clawed raw the night before and infect yourself with something good and contagious then go out and spit on cops and bus drivers till the seconal kicked in.
Shit, was that me just saying that? None of that shit is me. Don't listen to this raving madman, he's an alien here - The big bad pusher man, in your scene, RUINING your party by 'commercialising'... some months after, mind you, we all started paying twenty bucks at the door apiece to dance on public, ungated property.
Are you fracturing?
Are you torn at the seams?
Would you do anything?
Fleabitten, motheaten?
You don't want a part of this. The rivets are splitting and spokes fraying - Somewhere I can smell insulation cooking off, a pungent brown smell. I'm sure one of the pistons rings is cracked and the boiler leaks steam. Anyday now the MOSFETs will start popping like cherry bombs and this whole transmetal riot machine will come crashing to a hard, knifing over an abutment and gearing great tracts of tarmac up like a gathered rug on the floorboards as your secret lover beats a hasty retreat out the back.
The numbers are piling up - and someday soon it's gonna blow. we're on a doomed helltrain and my fingers are burning.
We suck young blood
We suck young blood
with all the maternal spirit and warmth of a woodchipper we eagerly welcome the newcomers - line up, pay the man and roll in the dirt pretending to be enlightened. sucking that inky media dollar, fondling that glass tit.
Won’t let them creep in on me
Won’t let the nervous bury me
Our veins are thin
Our rivers poisoned
that's the only answer you ever find at the bottom of a trip, at the end of your wits.
there are no answers
all you have are more questions
like when the hell will this soldier have the peace of mind to sleep at night
without a mouthful of reds and gin?
Are you sick?
Are you begging for a break?
Step into the parlour, children - Line right up, eyeball the weird and wonderful dope fiends for only a fistful of dollars and the risk of your sanity. They're caged with bars, skinny white rails that bind like holy salt on a monastery floor.
You want to play the game - because it's a game to you people. Funtime friday, hit the couch and babble. Drop a tab or five, pass out before sun up and burn out before eighteen.
Are you sweet?
Are you fresh?
Are you strung up by the wrists?
We want the young blood!
I can smell fresh dollars in your bones, boy. I know why you're here. Morbid curiousity, and a fatalistic desire to stand out in a sullen parade of septum piercings and dynamite bangs. We are your Hell's Angel, wiry and tired with bitter, electric tongues. We sit and we smoke in a strange nuptial hymn of the hivemind, constantly prowling for another square scalp to add to our collection - They line our beds and we cling to them for warmth, every scrap of memory of those times we faced down with high society and came away, smelling of ganja, sweat and triumph.
You long to trace every jackboot scar on my spine with your lips, and revel in every night I spend sobbing myself to sleep, flashed and trapped in the memories of mind-riots past.
God, those were the days. You'd wake up in the morning, pick at the scabs your clawed raw the night before and infect yourself with something good and contagious then go out and spit on cops and bus drivers till the seconal kicked in.
Shit, was that me just saying that? None of that shit is me. Don't listen to this raving madman, he's an alien here - The big bad pusher man, in your scene, RUINING your party by 'commercialising'... some months after, mind you, we all started paying twenty bucks at the door apiece to dance on public, ungated property.
Are you fracturing?
Are you torn at the seams?
Would you do anything?
Fleabitten, motheaten?
You don't want a part of this. The rivets are splitting and spokes fraying - Somewhere I can smell insulation cooking off, a pungent brown smell. I'm sure one of the pistons rings is cracked and the boiler leaks steam. Anyday now the MOSFETs will start popping like cherry bombs and this whole transmetal riot machine will come crashing to a hard, knifing over an abutment and gearing great tracts of tarmac up like a gathered rug on the floorboards as your secret lover beats a hasty retreat out the back.
The numbers are piling up - and someday soon it's gonna blow. we're on a doomed helltrain and my fingers are burning.
We suck young blood
We suck young blood
with all the maternal spirit and warmth of a woodchipper we eagerly welcome the newcomers - line up, pay the man and roll in the dirt pretending to be enlightened. sucking that inky media dollar, fondling that glass tit.
Won’t let them creep in on me
Won’t let the nervous bury me
Our veins are thin
Our rivers poisoned
that's the only answer you ever find at the bottom of a trip, at the end of your wits.
there are no answers
all you have are more questions
like when the hell will this soldier have the peace of mind to sleep at night
without a mouthful of reds and gin?
Tuesday, December 8, 2009
writing by the firelight of a charred, embrous monk
| again; again - i find myself aswept in a field of dreams and darkness straight, wet pathways in a clouded room I think I found my eyes on the floor | ||
madness of the fourth orb
Next day, the dawn was a brilliant, fiery red and I wandered through the weird and lurid landscape of another planet, for the vegetation that gives Mars its red appearance had taken root on earth. As man had succumbed to the Martians, so our land now succumbed to the red weed.
Wherever there was a stream the red weed clung and grew with frightening voraciousness, its claw-like fronds choking the movement of the water. And then it began to creep like a slimy red animal across the land covering field and ditch and tree and hedgerow with living scarlet feelers, crawling, crawling...
Wherever there was a stream the red weed clung and grew with frightening voraciousness, its claw-like fronds choking the movement of the water. And then it began to creep like a slimy red animal across the land covering field and ditch and tree and hedgerow with living scarlet feelers, crawling, crawling...
plague carrier
"Drug misuse is not a disease, it is a decision, like the decision to step out in front of a moving car. You would call that not a disease but an error in judgement. When a bunch of people begin to do it, it is a social error, a life-style. In this particular life-style the motto is "Be happy now because tomorrow you are dying," but the dying begins almost at once, and the happiness is a memory.
We need to choose that life, not for want of a better option, not to numb the pain, and not to cultivate an image. We need to choose that life because it is better then the alternative."
live - love - learn
these are the principles of light
We need to choose that life, not for want of a better option, not to numb the pain, and not to cultivate an image. We need to choose that life because it is better then the alternative."
live - love - learn
these are the principles of light
on the precipice of noetic wisdom
Of war and peace the truth just twists
Its curfew gull just glides
Upon four-legged forest clouds
The cowboy angel rides
With his candle lit into the sun
Though its glow is waxed in black
All except when 'neath the trees of Eden...
so I've recently been invited to attend an ayahuasca ceremony in early january. i'll be honest. i am scared out of my mind at the prospect of seeing my mind stripped bare for the universe to poke and prod - the last time I felt this was at board games, when everything was just starting to go haywire.
there's no way i'm going to let this chance go by, though. i think i'm ready - but then again, that probably means i'm not.
Its curfew gull just glides
Upon four-legged forest clouds
The cowboy angel rides
With his candle lit into the sun
Though its glow is waxed in black
All except when 'neath the trees of Eden...
so I've recently been invited to attend an ayahuasca ceremony in early january. i'll be honest. i am scared out of my mind at the prospect of seeing my mind stripped bare for the universe to poke and prod - the last time I felt this was at board games, when everything was just starting to go haywire.
there's no way i'm going to let this chance go by, though. i think i'm ready - but then again, that probably means i'm not.
not only that...
Paranormal Activity is a steaming plate of bullshit and chips. Honestly, one of the worst films I've ever seen, and i've seen 'Hologram man'
Monday, December 7, 2009
When the going get wierd...
Well, my ticket for Rainbow Serpent 2010 has been purchased and is currently winging it's way throguh the mail system, express platinum delivery. So it should be here by tomorrow or the day after. To celebrate, I went out and bought a new CD hardcase (clamshell black like my old one, but about twice the capacity) and some blank CDs, so I've spent the past 24 hours reorganising my colelction into DARK - FULLON - PROG - MISC sections and downloading or burning as much brutal new tunes as I can find.
Over in melbourne there's a gig waiting for me, drugs of the highest calibre and a position at an audio school for a course in Ableton production and performance.
All I need now is to stay out of jail, and make sure I've got the money to get me there.
This is where it all gets real.
Over in melbourne there's a gig waiting for me, drugs of the highest calibre and a position at an audio school for a course in Ableton production and performance.
All I need now is to stay out of jail, and make sure I've got the money to get me there.
This is where it all gets real.
Sunday, December 6, 2009
Saturday, December 5, 2009
heart shaped scar
Truly i marvel at the power of these chemicals we so casually toy with. A pile of powder that could fit on my thumbnail, would be enough to send a hundred men mad for life. A little stamped tablet, half the size of a cigarette filter - Inspires laughter, love and imagination in a world of despair and regret.
but more then i marvel at the drugs, i marvel at the boundless incredibilities of the people I surround myself with. each and every person's different reactions, their own unique psychopharmacological profile and complex warm spectrum of emotion and vocal presence...
brilliant, blissful moments of truth and genuine wonder.
i love my friends.
i love ecstasy.
i love life.
but more then i marvel at the drugs, i marvel at the boundless incredibilities of the people I surround myself with. each and every person's different reactions, their own unique psychopharmacological profile and complex warm spectrum of emotion and vocal presence...
brilliant, blissful moments of truth and genuine wonder.
i love my friends.
i love ecstasy.
i love life.
Thursday, December 3, 2009
SYNAPSE ANTIFA
"... No one will believe you!"
"I hoped you would..."
How many of us lie prisoner to our own minds - Jackbooted uncertainty and social paranoia stamping dreams flat, crippling us, condemning our entire existence to the mundane and certain - the 'safe' choice. Fuck your conventions. Never again will I let fear run my life.
My life is driven by the pursuit of one-ness and contentment - Zen hedonism through euphoria and misery, a dichotomy and contrast equilibrium of come up, come down and dance around.
I identify three primary conduits of positive energy in my life - And no, I'm not going batshit chi crystal crazy on you - I just mean a net force of change and directed focus in my chosen pursuits.
MUSIC
CHEMISTRY
RELATIONSHIPS
the unity and mastery of these three factors is my goal - to be able to totally and utterly know where I stand with someone, to be wired to a subwoofer and pump wave after wave of pure stomp doof out of my eyes, and to be able to derive the intricate chemical mechanisms which can aid be in these tasks - enactogens, empathogens, traditional psychedelics...
humanity is in the details. and through this multifacet scanner, I shall see clearer then any man has ever dreamt of.
"None of this is real... What is real is you have a drug problem! You overdosed on heroin!"
"I hoped you would..."
How many of us lie prisoner to our own minds - Jackbooted uncertainty and social paranoia stamping dreams flat, crippling us, condemning our entire existence to the mundane and certain - the 'safe' choice. Fuck your conventions. Never again will I let fear run my life.
My life is driven by the pursuit of one-ness and contentment - Zen hedonism through euphoria and misery, a dichotomy and contrast equilibrium of come up, come down and dance around.
I identify three primary conduits of positive energy in my life - And no, I'm not going batshit chi crystal crazy on you - I just mean a net force of change and directed focus in my chosen pursuits.
MUSIC
CHEMISTRY
RELATIONSHIPS
the unity and mastery of these three factors is my goal - to be able to totally and utterly know where I stand with someone, to be wired to a subwoofer and pump wave after wave of pure stomp doof out of my eyes, and to be able to derive the intricate chemical mechanisms which can aid be in these tasks - enactogens, empathogens, traditional psychedelics...
humanity is in the details. and through this multifacet scanner, I shall see clearer then any man has ever dreamt of.
"None of this is real... What is real is you have a drug problem! You overdosed on heroin!"
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