And as the horns sounded the last post...

Babylon crumbled;

and the cellar door was blown shut by the whispered prayers of a dying man's pride.

It is; at last; the end of the road. Time at last to take my work with me to the grave.

I do not expect an easy afterlife - The road to hell is paved with good intentions, and I have buried too many friends under those mouldy cobbles. My only wish is that they who have sent me here now, floating face-down in the river styx - That they one day experience the remorse of god and the mercy of the devil. For which mankind deserves neither...

I have stared into the abyss and then, been plunged headlong into the inky morass. I shall take a few moments now to speak to some of my readers who I have not had the chance to contact through other means; before I pull the trigger and bury myself once and for all.

To the investigator's son - You are a coward, and a fiend. I hope you one day wake up to yourself. I am ashamed to think I once defended your character and called you my friend. Put down the pipe and go home to your family - If not for yourself, then do it for them. Family is all we can rely on when all else has failed us. Also; you ruined drum and bass for me. Shame on you. ;D

To the soldier's son - I truly regret not having taken the time to spend honouring you and your loved other the way you two deserve. You are some of the most honest and open, caring and kind friends I have been blessed with, and I have nobody but myself to blame for not exploring that farther.

To the two oldest and most generous friends, to whose doorstep I brought with me the devil's footsoldiers. I can never atone for the darkness and danger that you have been faced with because of my selfishness and arrogance. You have done so much for me but I have given you nothing in return but excuses, heartache and risk to yourselves and those you live with. I am so, so very guilt ridden and I know that the last thing you probably want to hear from me is another apology. So instead I'll just say that I love you, and that I will repay you one day for everything I can.

Anyway. The sun's about to rise here. I haven't been able to sleep much lately. Watch the news, but don't believe everything you hear or read. This is the Doctor, signing out for good. Exeunt.

http://www.abc.net.au/news/stories/2010/10/18/3041468.htm

hard hands

Serve God love me and mend
This is not the end
Lived unbruised we are friends
And I'm sorry
I'm sorry

Sigh no more, no more
One foot in sea, one on shore
My heart was never pure
And you know me
And you know me

And man is a giddy thing
Oh man is a giddy thing
Oh man is a giddy thing
Oh man is a giddy thing

Love that will not betray you, dismay or enslave you,
It will set you free
Be more like the man you were made to be.
There is a design,
An alignment to cry,
Of my heart to see,
The beauty of love as it was made to be...

[Posted with iBlogger from my iPhone]

I think it just got weird enough.

there is a fairly reasonable chance that within the next six hours I am going to die. Circumstances are rather outside my control at this point, but I've still got a few tricks up my sleeve I'm going to try and pull.

But if I'm not smart enough, or quick enough, or lucky enough this time to scrape through...

know only that if it weren't for you and the effect you have on my life to date; I would probably have died a long time ago a dozen times over. I always wanted to protect you, but so often it seemed like you were the one protecting me, usually from myself.

But it looks like it's for real, this time.

I will face my destiny the way I have always striven to - Eyes up, with the faith and dedication of self; the constant drive to make you proud, but most importantly; to stare down the barrel of the universe with no fear or doubt in my mind that I gave it everything I could. For you.

Fear is the mind killer.

And on my headstone they will chisel my blood oath;

Vivo vixi victum; avo comperio; sans meteus

fish scales under my fingernails

After years of waiting
After years of waiting nothing came
And you realize you're looking,
Looking in the wrong place

After years of waiting nothing came
As your life flashed before your eyes
You realize

I'm a reasonable man
Get off, get off, get off my case
I'm a reasonable man
Get off my case
Get off my case

The Immaculate Perception

Tommy Forester is dead.
Tommy was going to be an engineer.
He was 22, good-looking, personable, athletic.
He had a high IQ.
The dean said he had the best potential of any man in his class.
But Tommy is dead.

His problem was acid.
Lysergic acid formula 25 called LSD.
A close friend told him LSD was psychedelic, mind-expanding.
Said it would give him fantastic new sensations and thrills.
So Tommy tried it and his friend was right.

At first the LSD made him sick at his stomach.
But then Tommy began to hallucinate.
The air began to be filled with rainbows.
The very atmosphere seemed to be a moving current of multi colour particles which came streaming down around him. When he listened to the stereo he saw coloured particles floating out from the speakers.
When he looked at the walls they seemed to be melting.
The pictures on the walls became liquified with colours running down like waterfall. It was sensational.

Inside himself Tommy felt sublimated, sort of suspended in space.
He had an euphoric feeling of wonderful well-being.
Then he looked in a mirror and something horrible happened.

First it seemed that half of his face was rotting away.
Then he began to see himself as a grotesque misshapen monster.
He looked around the room and all the people were becoming monsters.
Everybody knew what was happening to Tommy because he began screaming and describing what he was seeing.

Tommy had the feeling he wanted to smash his head against the wall to bring himself out of this stupor.

He did it.

Blood squirted from his nose and a large cut blooded his face.

But he felt no pain.

Then he pounded his head on a door-post.
Somebody in the room tried to stop him.
He felt they were his enemies so he jerked away.
He ran into the next room where an opened window looked out on a roof across the street.
It was 18 storeys to the ground.
Tommy thought to himself that the roof across the street was really just a few inches away.
He could jump on it and thereby escape.

He tried.
Tommy is dead.

crystal forces & dust bunnies

Every state has it's ghost towns. Weird places. very silent hill. Stranger still are those towns still clinging to life by the skin of their teeth, but most of them are just kidding themselves. It's refreshing, in a perverse way, to come into a dead town where the people know it, the animals know it, and even the buildings know it. You can see it in the way the paint peels, and the walls creak in the wind.

We pulled in that town by the bypass, the same one you drive past without a second glance. Poor old girl's day has been and gone, but she still slumps there, dejectedly, a few k down the road off the olympic highway. It looked bad when the main street could barely fit two cars across it, and the dust we kicked up in our hilux tasted like eighties hair gel. It was only seven or eight, but the place was quiet as a jew's savings withdrawal record. She was the 1985 tidy town winner, got a ceremony from the premier and all. But now it's quiet as fuck, once after five you can't find a feed like your arse in the dark. Potholed roads just as the locals like it, but a couple of nice spots on the outskirts. The only light was at the pub, and with a shrug of the shoulders we headed in for counter tucker. "Unlucky son." The barman told us. "The missus has gone off to bed. I can do a bowl of chips or some bread and butter." We looked at each other, ordered a round of skewies and a couple of LLBs for the driver, a bowl of chips to share. "Bar shuts at nine" he said, after I asked him

"A game of darts?" We asked the only other drinker in the place, an older bloke with worry lines that made a roadmap on his skin. Weatherbeaten and dry like an old leather couch that's been in a paddock for the best part of six months. He could see that we were blow-ins from the city, but were showing hospitality. We warmed soon enough when he chalked up a few points on the cork. He joked a bit as we worked our way through the drinks and bought the next round. He stammered once or twice, a little smashed but he could still stand so it seemed alright. He leaned over and asked if we were up for a challenge. "Test your talent, tell me a tale". We shrugged, not really thinking that our kind of tales would go down well here - It was me and three of my best mates from the old unit, and our main memories were those of pissing ourselves in the sand, under heavy fire from iraqi artillery and mortar teams while armor columns tracked up the path towards us. He shrugged again. "I'll start, then." I slurped my drink, slopped it down my front. Glad I wasn't driving, I ordered another. This old fella, he'd come into this town pretty early on. Tried his hand on the land, freight job with the state rail company. He said "This was a town of industry, so many years back. But brown years of drought and fire have left some fierce holes in the soil." He continued on, educating us to the trials and tribulations of this place. He says "You youngins probably don't wanna hear that. But I-" He stabs a thumb proudly towards his chest. "I served in Kokoda. Believe me son, we adapt." He all straightened up, intently listening now. This was a man who'd seen the worst kind of hell. "It's nothing to be sneered at, we all fought. This was a busy boom town, now become a back water. Because of the private sales, you see. It went Telstra, NAB then Australia post. But once that bypass went in-" he gestured vainly towards the direction of the main street leading out of town. "That was what killed us. We used to be a nice stop on the way into the city. But the big highway clamped our arteries nicely, didn't it just?" He sat back down into his seat and shut his eyes, falling asleep. The barman had heard this all before, pointed o the clock. Nine.

This whole area was once thick with outlaws and rough working men. I felt like a stranger. The air here, was thin and dry as the local newsrag that went around once a month. The days felt as long as the highway we came in from, the locals never thought they'd be so glad to see the diesel smoke whenever a semi came in on the freight route, stop-over for the night reminding them of the old days. They built a war memorial at the cemetery, after the great war. Locals aside, it's had two visits in the past century, by their local M.P who lives in the city. The traino's shut, the only way north is by one of the bi-weekly buses. The roadhouse has yellow postcards of roast lamb and peas, untouched by humajn hands since a long since retired waitress set them up on a rack twenty odd years ago.This fellow was jovial, and friendly. It won't be all over till the last beer's poured. Man, it's more than ceremonial. We gave one last cheers, raised the schooners in respect, downed our drinks and paid up. It was a full moon, and we had a long way to go before we got back to the city.

spinnegeist

spider's ghost with a paper spine /
left his shadow hanging from the telephone line /
the signal tripped over the shadow's toes /
and whispered in my ear where the bassline should go...

fallout & shrapnel

Most of all in the world; I fear the men who fear nothing.

:/remote data transmission received from field transponder [ergo_tel]

shardstyle

The thing about a city is that you can't choose who lives in it with you. It's like family - You can't choose them, but you can choose to renounce them.

I mean, most of us in the underground dance/enlighten substance use community are eminently sensible people. Not many of us are caught fucking domestic animals in the street at three AM, and when we are, we are always found to be using protection.

The same is not true on the western outskirts, where I happened to find myself during a research trip last week. Oh, no. In the district called armadale, things are very different indeed.

In armadale, the first thing you notice are the faces. Even in a city like ours, containing the dregs of every gene pool on earth, you can detect the difference in these people. These are the people of urban myth. The people of the smashed chromosone. The people who who let their children know when there's a warrant out. The people who drank the intellectual suppresants in the water supply instead of the clean water helicoptered in during the rescue operation.

Guys in tan leather flares, idly jacking off into the road, keeping one lazy eye on the female newsreader on the television screen by his left foot. Hundreds of kids with attention deficit hyperactivity disorder, running around screaming while their beserk mothers continue to pump out more of those little fuckers for those few months of soft maternal comfort and baby-bonus rebates from each before they start moving and never stop.

I don't want to turn on my fellow human, I really don't. But I saw these people believing everything they saw on the TV. They believe that Howard was a good man. They believe in God. They believe in justice. They believe in Knight Rider.

These people are the enemy. Upgrade your sexual organs today, so that we may leave them behind.

People keep saying to me, you're doing a really good job, Xan. You're writing what needs to be said. You're changing things. And it's all bullshit. I'm not changing anything. I'm a journalist, a dope-sick narcissist with an overblown sense of self-worth and a chip on my shoulder four pipes tall. All I can do is give you the tools to understand the world so that you can change things.

And I'm stuck here, hoping only that you do.

i suppose an explanation for my absence is in order...

with sawtooth nerves woven parasitically into the studio sub's voice coils, and arteries pumping a slurry of pure amphetamine and liquid uncertaintly, the symbiotic audio infection known only as ILLOJIQUAL spread its fibre-optic tendrils wide into the bass swamp of Perth's underground dance music scene; plucking from the chaos internationally renowned hardcore master Auscore and dumping him in a flask of anhydrous ammonia with the rogue doctor of WA psytrance, ergo__t0xin://

the full ramifications of this mad aurochemical experiment are yet to be seen; but already illojiqual have defined their place in modern electronic music with a corrosive glitchkrieg of meaty kicks; cruelly ambient bass and neurolytic rhythms guaranteed to short-circuit the synapses and draw out the malleable; snaring them on the dancefloor in a gravely immersive ego trance



exclusively previewed here is a teaser clip of '0pacity'; the magnum opus of their debut EP, to tweak the synapses and get your hearts cramping for moar.

core values

new project in the pipes... Possibly my most important musical work to date.

Updates promised


:/remote data transmission received from field transponder [ergo_tel]

i am not the best people

I don't know how to stop the ringing in my ears, or the pounding grind behind my eyes.

The dull crackle of electricity somewhere in the distance... I think this is what it must feel like when you realise you haven't been GOING mad, you've been mad all along - and that your daily struggle to keep the reigns on the 'sanity' you clung to as a last hope for a better future - has been as futile as trying to catch ash out of the wind.

You see, it's a ghost I'm chasing. An empty echo on the bootsector... But to suddenly realise that this intangible white sail on the horizon... Is nothing more then dead light in the back of my eyes?

I feel like I have been here before. Deja vu - what was it? That means they changed something?

Nothing's changed.

Nothing lasts but nothing is lost.

I can't remember what I did the last time... I don't know what to do.

If anyone out there is still listening

Have I... Have we... Danced here before? Once, or twice, or more?


:/remote data transmission received from field transponder [ergo_tel]

doctors log; circa 2023

Years later, when the government jackboots stormed my compound in the final great clash of the signal wars; my work would be seized and I was branded a war criminal for my help with Project Namaste.

They burnt everything to ashes - all my notes, hard drives and glassware. They poured bleach and lime into the prion spawning cells, set thermite charges in the memory banks, and melted down the voice coils on the vast subwoofer batteries I had lined the sea floor around my offshore data mining platform with.

All that remained of my work were what few vinyl backup crypto platters we'd put into cold storage, and the scattered nostalgia of a million jaded souls that we had dared to try and reach through 145bpm hypnosis - a kind of vague, psychedelic trance-like state of peace and divine wonder.


:/remote data transmission received from field transponder [ergo_tel]

Do you know how infuriating it is

To have a beautiful, clever girl you always wanted to sleep with when she was dating your friend; turn around and say the same once she's single and living on the other side of the country?

God is playing games with me.

Do you ever feel like you're living in a movie? It seems to happen altogether too often these days...

When it does, I just light another smoke and remind myself;

"There is a man, at a typewriter..."


:/remote data transmission received from field transponder [ergo_tel]

train dance

I met roger while travelling from melbourne to Ballarat, in preperation for Rainbow Serpent Festival 2010. It was about five in the morning, and I was sitting on the steps of Southern Cross station, smoking a cigarette and listening to Bob Dylan, relishing the cold morning wind - I love cold mornings awake, and you just don't get them in perth any more. So it was special.

He had a rucksack slung over his shoulder and glasses balanced down the bridge of his nose, so he could glance over them or through them as the situation required. I passed him my pouch, unplugged my headphones and we started to chat. Watching him roll, his fingers movwed twitchily but with practiced confidence, twisting together a narrow, tight thread of a cigarette with no filter. He rolled like he was in prison, or at least, had been for a very long time.

He told me he was catching the train to Ballarat to go and pick up his car from his wife, who had left him two days earlier. He was going to drive across Australia to try and find himself. I liked that. It's the kind of directionless pilgrimage you hear written about in blues music - Not in the words, but in the notes. Blues sounds like you're hopping freight trains across the continent with nothing but a harmonica and a packet of cigarettes.

He asked me what my plans were, andI explained that I was going to a music festival out in the country. I showed him the flyer, and he nodded knowingly. It wasn't long before the conversation turned to chemicals. "I'll bet you're gonna get pretty fucking high this weekend, aren't you?" He laughed with a cough, having just rolled and lit another of those anorexic cigarettes. "Well, that's the plan..." I nodded and laughed a little, relaxing more. This was a man on the right wavelength to talk about the craziness of life with - His hair was cut short and his fingernails even shorter; he smoked like a prisoner and talked like an ex speed freak.

We walked down to get coffee and he volunteered the information that i'd suspected; that he was recently released from prison. I didn't want to probe, but I guess he wanted me to as he then explained that it was for Greivous Bodily Harm. Apparently, several years ago, a lesbian had fallen in love with his wife after meeting her through a work function. Unable to take no for an answer, the psychotic bitch had stalked her, threatening to mow down Roger and her children in a car if she didn't leave him. Roger and his wife reported it to the police, but they did nothing, citing that it was probably an empty threat.

Two days later the woman took her car through Roger's suburban street at about 80km/h, veering sharply towards where his two children were playing in his driveway. Only Roger's quick actions to grab them and tear them out of harm's way kept them from having their teeth, blood and bone mashed across the grill of the lesbian's Pajero, which sped off into the distance and disappeared. The police said they could still do nothing as there was no evidence of who was driving. The next day, Roger went to the lesbian's house and beat four kinds of mortal shit out of her with a baseball bat.

The train ride passed mostly in silence. I wished I had more to say to him, but I got the feeling that he just wanted to tell someone his story, and that he probably wasn't going to come back from his long drive into the outback.

And I don't think Roger's story should ever be forgotten.

[ ::/SIGINT ]

The radio was kinda fizzing out, but in less then a minute I heard a bracket of chatter on 94.5 that included the phrases "12 Litres of LSA" and "Thousands of abused children", which I have decided to combine as the designated theme for my wedding.

I'm so damn trendy, I blog from moving taxis.

:/remote data transmission received from field transponder [ergo_tel]

I love this blog

It's gotten me laid, like, four times now.


:/remote data transmission received from field transponder [ergo_tel]

Will you follow me?

The smell of wet bones in a mass grave, slaked with lime. He surveyed his work - his masterpiece - with it's stretched, hollow parchement skin the colour of dusk over the sea. Her still-warm cheeks were streaked with mascara, and her voice was still pooling on the earth around his ankles. Staining his boots. Clinging.

The hot red mist on the wind had drawn the animals, the scavengers... And the prey whimpered lamely in the glow of his cigarette, while the predator waited for lady time to finish the inextricoble, dripping orchestra that his razorblade had begun some six hours earlier.

It was a gift to her, you see.


:/remote data transmission received from field transponder [ergo_tel]

seeds of a storm

so there's this girl yeah yeah


and like


she's a party monster - one woman riot with the eyes of a cat and the smile that could stop a war

but it's not all there, see. She doesn't want anything... doesn't ask for or choke the emotions out of me


. . .


girls are stupid. But this one isnt? Straight a's on the razorblade, and truly refreshing, confident knowledge of one's nature as a drifting mote of thought, caught in flux chaotica.

She knows where she is... She just doesn't know where to go next.

just trapped in the moment - in the shadow of falling leaves, and under mute blue stars. Living for the question, not the answer.

Stunning, as in, stunned me to silence.

Makes my head silly. not gonna play this game again

bring me moar cocaine and put me on a train



:/remote data transmission received from field transponder [ergo_tel]

Opiate addicts are the biggest pussies on the planet.

They're all like "I'm gonna take this drug that makes me feel numb inside" and apparently that makes them happy, and once they stop taking it they get all butthurt like "Oh noes. I feel siiiiiiiick" and sit around the house puking and whining and shitting themselves all day.

man up, faggots

Man...

I can do some really weird things while high sometimes...


:/remote data transmission received from field transponder [ergo_tel]

internet fads i have recently cashed in on:

http://www.formspring.me/ergot0xin

www.twitter.com/ergotoxin

http://www.thiscrush.com/~ergot0xin

damn you, social networking and the incessant pressure of anonymous conversation!

i need enlightenment like I need a hole in the head

nobody *needs* acid

that way lies madness

what you need is the mental, spitirual and emotional therapy that acid shortcuts you through. the same can be found with a couple of close friends you haven't seen in a long time, some cigarettes, wine and a sunset.

the drug is only a vehicle for the lessons we inevitably learn ourselves ones way or the other - a way to smooth out the wrinkles in our theories and distribes, and to give some great theatrical dramatic credence to our wild eyed and raw-nerved deliverences...

i find these days I eat it less often, but more at once with often catastrophically informative results.



tl;dr if youve eaten acid once you probably never need to again but it can be pretty fun anyway.

I have decided to buy an extremely fast motorcycle

In my particular case, a 2009 Ducati Streetfighter w/custom pipes and high-flow airbox. as it is highly likely that I will take it for a 250+ MPH jaunt around the coast and off a limestone cliff into the ocean, I feel it fitting to pass on the basic rules necessary to survive longer then a week of owning such a machine.

I mean, shit, the damn thing looks like its doing ninety just sitting on the showroom floor.

without any further ado - Principles of Speedism as told by Hunter S. Thompson.

No. 1 - Make sure yr. vehicle is Functioning on all Mechanical & Electrical levels. Do not go out on any road to drive Fast unless all yr. exterior lights are working perfectly. There is only failure & jail very soon for anybody who tries to drive fast with one headlight or a broken red taillight. This is automatic, unargueable Probable Cause for a cop to pull you over & check everything in yr. vehicle. You do not want to give them Probable Cause. Check yr. lights, gas gauge, & tire pressure before you drive Anywhere.

No. 2 - Get familiar with the Brake pressures on yr. machine before you drive any faster than 10 mph. A brake drum that locks up the instant you touch the pedal will throw you sideways off the road & put you into a fatal eggbeater, which means you will Go To Trial if it happens. Be very aware of yr. brakes.

No. 3 - Have no small wrecks. If you are going to loop out & hit something, hit it hard. Never mind that old-school Physics bullshit about the Irresistible Force & the Immoveable Object. The main rule of the Highway is that Some Objects are More Moveable than Others. This occurs, for instance, when a speeding vehicle goes straight through a plywood billboard, but not when one goes through a concrete wall. In most cases, the vehicle going fastest sustains less damage than the slower-moving vehicle.

A Small Wreck is almost always both Costly and Embarrassing. I talked to a man tonight who said he had been demoted from Head-waiter to Salad Boy when he had a small wreck in the restaurant's parking lot and lost all respect from his fellow workers. "They laughed at me & called me an Ass," he said. "I should have hit the fucker at seventy-five, instead of just five," he whined. "It cost me $6,800 anyway. I would have been maitre d' by now if I'd screwed it on & just Mashed the bastard. These turds have made me an outcast."

No. 4 - (This is one of the more Advanced rules, but let's pop it in here while we still have space.) Avoid, at all costs, the use of Any drug or drink or Hubris or even Boredom that might cause you to Steal a car & crash it into a concrete wall just to get the Rush of the airbags exploding on you. This new fad among rich teenagers in L.A. is an extremely Advanced Technique that only pure Amateurs should try, and it should never be done Twice. Take my word for it.

No. 5 - The eating schedule should be as follows: Hot fresh spinach, Wellfleet Oysters, and thick slabs of Sourdogh garlic toast with salt & black peepper. Eat this two hours before departure, in quantities as needed. The drink should be Grolsch green beer, a dry oaken-flavored white wine & tall glass full of ice cubes & Royal Salute scotch whiskey, for the supercharge factor.

Strong black coffee should also be sipped while eating, with dark chocolate cake soaked in Grand Marnier for dessert. The smoking of oily hashish is optional and in truth Not Recommended for use before driving at speeds up to 150 mph in residential districts. The smoking of powerful hashish should be saved until after yr. return from the drive, when nerve-ends are crazy & raw.


Bearing these simple truths in mind, I expect you all to go an cash in yr. personal debts, take out a loan from yr. bank and invest in something lightweight, made out of carbon fibre and aluminium and capable of at least 200MPH on the straightaway, going nought to the ton in under four seconds. Avoid passengers & screaming bitches in the passenger seat that will throw out your balance.

essential tech for any aspirin producer

novation X-station 25 w/ableton live 8 firmware flash
beretta 92FS w/hollowpoint FUCKMOTHERS in case of a nigger frontin

CREEP WITH ME AS I CRAWL THROUGH THE HOOD

goddamn, i'm a glitch phreak

just got a fat load, hot spoons and sharp needles litter the floor

cans around my neck and vinyl between my teeth

vodka dribbling down my chin

[::NOW I GOT TO SHOW YOU HOW THE WEST COAST ROCKS]

goresteppin' razorblades; boombaklaht my main man...

face the music you filthy animals

there was an accident - an experiment - you lost your memory, scans show deep fragmentation and heavy corruption in the sine banks

DSPs are outputting solid noise to the voice coils

disconnect immediately to avoid serious damage to peripheral sensory nervous system

Guess I got my groove back...

And just like that, I found my energy. I think I know what's been going wrong, and I've already stepped up a notch.

The loss of my CDs is a setback, but a necessary one. Means I have to rebuild from scratch, but I'll be a lot more discerning about what's in my box. A chance to revamp my style, refresh my setlist and kick new brutal jams.

The weird kicked me down, but I cannot me held. The fear slowed me down, but I cannot be stopped.

I am the irresistable force - the future manifest - Deliver me from peace and march on my eardrum.

The tattoo on my spine will read: "This way to sanctuary."


:/remote data transmission received from field transponder [ergo_tel]

The Bitter End

Just lost 2 years worth of collecting rare psy when my CDs were taken in a burglary.

Please god, take me quietly.
Please god, spare my family
Fuck this sin, I just want sleep...
Just want to forget how to breathe...

I'm sorry. I can't do this any more.

:/remote data transmission received from field transponder [ergo_tel]

The Hard Road

I don't know how much longer I can wait for everything to be okay. Nothing I do seems to make any difference, and all the grit in my blood is wearing me out from the inside out. I feel... Frayed. I can't even feel the wind any more. I just want to burn up. Blow out. A fast, psychotic suicide by artful manipulation of megadose psychedelic amphetamines - Run down the dogs and rats of this city, eyes bloody with flecks of glass and rusty swarf as I chainwhip the animals and bite out the spines and tongues of their whores.

I don't know your fucking name.
But I will mail your family the footage of me eating your teeth.

Terrorwatt

I live for [highs and lows]
Anything goes#
Dirty.ass.hoes put it all [up my nose]
Gimme that shot and I'm ready to go
Better watch out cause I hold you DOWN
All you people can't handle [this]
Take control cause the question is-
Whats my name do you really care?
Give-it-to-me-now..
CAUSE I'M A [ROOOCKSTARRRRR]



:/remote data transmission received from field transponder [ergo_tel]

Look to the voices of the past for the solutions of the future.

"The threat is nearly invisible in ordinary ways. It is a crisis of confidence. It is a crisis that strikes at the very heart and soul and spirit of our national will. We can see this crisis in the growing doubt about the meaning of our own lives and in the loss of a unity of purpose for our Nation.

The erosion of our confidence in the future is threatening to destroy the social and the political fabric of America.
The confidence that we have always had as a people is not simply some romantic dream or a proverb in a dusty book that we read just on the Fourth of July.

It is the idea which founded our Nation and has guided our development as a people. Confidence in the future has supported everything else—public institutions and private enterprise, our own families, and the very Constitution of the United States. Confidence has defined our course and has served as a link between generations. We've always believed in something called progress. We've always had a faith that the days of our children would be better than our own.

Our people are losing that faith, not only in government itself but in the ability as citizens to serve as the ultimate rulers and shapers of our democracy. As a people we know our past and we are proud of it. Our progress has been part of the living history of America, even the world. We always believed that we were part of a great movement of humanity itself called democracy, involved in the search for freedom, and that belief has always strengthened us in our purpose. But just as we are losing our confidence in the future, we are also beginning to close the door on our past.
In a nation that was proud of hard work, strong families, close-knit communities, and our faith in God, too many of us now tend to worship self-indulgence and consumption. Human identity is no longer defined by what one does, but by what one owns. But we've discovered that owning things and consuming things does not satisfy our longing for meaning. We've learned that piling up material goods cannot fill the emptiness of lives which have no confidence or purpose.

The symptoms of this crisis of the American spirit are all around us. For the first time in the history of our country a majority of our people believe that the next 5 years will be worse than the past 5 years. Two-thirds of our people do not even vote. The productivity of American workers is actually dropping, and the willingness of Americans to save for the future has fallen below that of all other people in the Western world.
As you know, there is a growing disrespect for government and for churches and for schools, the news media, and other institutions.

This is not a message of happiness or reassurance, but it is the truth and it is a warning.

These changes did not happen overnight. They've come upon us gradually over the last generation, years that were filled with shocks and tragedy.
We were sure that ours was a nation of the ballot, not the bullet, until the murders of John Kennedy and Robert Kennedy and Martin Luther King, Jr. We were taught that our armies were always invincible and our causes were always just, only to suffer the agony of Vietnam. We respected the Presidency as a place of honor until the shock of Watergate.

We remember when the phrase “sound as a dollar” was an expression of absolute dependability, until 10 years of inflation began to shrink our dollar and our savings. We believed that our Nation's resources were limitless until 1973, when we had to face a growing dependence on foreign oil.

These wounds are still very deep. They have never been healed. Looking for a way out of this crisis, our people have turned to the Federal Government and found it isolated from the mainstream of our Nation's life. Washington, D.C., has become an island. The gap between our citizens and our Government has never been so wide. The people are looking for honest answers, not easy answers; clear leadership, not false claims and evasiveness and politics as usual.

What you see too often in Washington and elsewhere around the country is a system of government that seems incapable of action. You see a Congress twisted and pulled in every direction by hundreds of well-financed and powerful special interests. You see every extreme position defended to the last vote, almost to the last breath by one unyielding group or another. You often see a balanced and a fair approach that demands sacrifice, a little sacrifice from everyone, abandoned like an orphan without support and without friends.

Often you see paralysis and stagnation and drift. You don't like it, and neither do I. What can we do?

First of all, we must face the truth, and then we can change our course. We simply must have faith in each other, faith in our ability to govern ourselves, and faith in the future of this Nation. Restoring that faith and that confidence to America is now the most important task we face. It is a true challenge of this generation of Americans.
One of the visitors to Camp David last week put it this way: “We've got to stop crying and start sweating, stop talking and start walking, stop cursing and start praying. The strength we need will not come from the White House, but from every house in America.”

We know the strength of America. We are strong. We can regain our unity. We can regain our confidence. We are the heirs of generations who survived threats much more powerful and awesome than those that challenge us now. Our fathers and mothers were strong men and women who shaped a new society during the Great Depression, who fought world wars, and who carved out a new charter of peace for the world.
We ourselves are the same Americans who just 10 years ago put a man on the Moon. We are the generation that dedicated our society to the pursuit of human rights and equality. And we are the generation that will win the war on the energy problem and in that process rebuild the unity and confidence of America.

We are at a turning point in our history. There are two paths to choose. One is a path I've warned about tonight, the path that leads to fragmentation and self- interest. Down that road lies a mistaken idea of freedom, the right to grasp for ourselves some advantage over others. That path would be one of constant conflict between narrow interests ending in chaos and immobility. It is a certain route to failure.

All the traditions of our past, all the lessons of our heritage, all the promises of our future point to another path, the path of common purpose and the restoration of American values. That path leads to true freedom for our Nation and ourselves."

~ Former US President Jimmy Carter,
~ July 1979



:/remote data transmission received from field transponder [ergo_tel]

Well, I finally succumbed

And got me a Twitter.

Username is ergotoxin, if you feel like subscribing to a datastream of thought fragments and nonsequiters too short for publication here.

I feel like a filthy whore. Fuck me hard, right in my twitter.

Ooh yeah baby, right there. Dirty bitch.

I NEED A FIX COS I'M GOING DOWN....

The man in the crowd with the multicoloured mirrors On his hobnail boots Lying with his eyes while his hands are busy Working overtime A soap impression of his wife which he ate And donated to the National Trust The signal to noise ratio has, of late, grown distractingly closer to indivisble. Little piggies, and little dogs - They plague my every step, baying at my heels and snapping as they circle in the shadows. The sun is dawning on a new year - I'm back in my hometown, and nothing's changed. The samed tired children are still begging for release. The same poisons are plaguing our minds, our hearts, I don't know what I'm trying to say. I just feel like I have to say something. we called him mother superior on account of the length of his habit. but he got out. he didn't get clean, but he at the very least polished himself up as best he could and hid the dirty needles better. got a job. Got together. She was fine till I touched her. She got it under her skin - it got inside her head. it wasn't me, it was the chemicals that did the damage - which was a first, i must say. usually the chems take the edge away from the ragged haze I leave them in. I don't try to hurt anyone. i just don't think I can love anyone. where do i go from here? the money's coming... the sun's rising. I've only been back a fortnight and already I want to run away as fast as I can. gotta blow town. can't slow down, can't let the dust gather on my boots. keep moving keep breathing just keep your head above water it'll all be okay it's all gonna be okay dammit

[BLISS]ter_sweet

Don't even ask me about the fiasco that was 16-Bit, suffice to say I hate northbridge and if I ever see that fat-thighed temptress again i'm going to glass her.

But, hatred aside, I have once again turned my compelling pageant of self-loathing outwards and channeled it into a creative outlet...

ch'yeah. working on my first properly produced-from-scratch track. not jsut a remix or a mashup.

here's a teaser prelim. only about a quarter finished, needs phatter, more interesting kick and percusiion and some extra filler material... but it's getting there hey.

http://rapidshare.com/files/353615210/_BLISS_ter_sweet.mp3.html

hype[OXIA]

I can't pinpoint exactly when it happened.

When my writing turned away from disaffected observances on chemical weapons, insurgencies, sociopolitical ruin and macaroni - But reading back through my archives I can see that closer and closer to t-0 I've been saying less and less about the world and more and more dribbling wanks (admittedly interesting, fun-to-read dribbling wanks) about my mind-crushingly dull obsession with strange narcotics, how much I keep fucking everything up, and why it's EVERYONE ELSE'S FAULT.

Fuck that shit.

I want to write about something. The closest I've come to honest creative output were two half-written chapters of spuriously-inspired holiday cyberpunk fiction - Which in retrospect, have promise. Just takes moar dedication and inspiration.

I always liked the concept of professional journalism. Hunter S. Thompson showed the world that you could be a drug addled, drag-racing gun nut and still be one of the most prolific and loved journalist/authors of our generation.

And even though readership has clearly dropped of late, I wonder if I could manage to put together serious opinions on a topic without breaking into florid tangents about wires, and veins...

As an electronic music producer and DJ, one would naturally assume music journalism to be an area to stick my nose into - God knows I'm at all the major events in this shithole town anyway; and for a shithole town we can manage to bust out some pretty ubersick productions.

I wouldn't mind being a food critic - I'd like to think I have a fairly discerning palate, but it kinda lacks that outlaw integrity. I might do an odd review column on a seperate blog page if I find enough drive in me.

But yeah. Music journalism sounds good. And if written in the gonzo style, I can still push the 'Yay drugs' platform - With room for frothing-mouthed tangents about the philosophical implications of making brutal wobbling love to the tube amp in a Korg EMX-1 synthesiser.

I dunno. Prob'ly gonna wind up yet another tired stub of grey wax in the 'productive things to do with my life' minora. I don't seem to be able to get anything to really stick these days. Plans, jobs, relationships. Most of that's my fault.

But life doesn't seem to be doing much to help.

Anyway. Time to get out the typewriter. This friday night. 16-Bit is playing at a local club. 16-Bit is worldfucking dubstep of the grimiest oscillatory proportions. Hope I can still score a ticket!

~namaste

Chainsmoke and Hate

To be written when I get home.

:/remote data transmission received from field transponder [ergo_tel]

Fuck old equipment

Bullshit shitty cdjs ruined my fuckung set.


:/remote data transmission received from field transponder [ergo_tel]

I just fucking love eggplants.

"Eggplants are awesome looking. Its like something you'd see in another world. Are eggplants any good to eat by themselves? Like a hand fruit if you will? I just want to be seen holding and munching one. And then I want to take the other one and and fucking throw it. They feel like a nerf football in your hand honestly I think I could throw an eggplant 60+ yards. I would like to smash one on a door too."

Fuck me in my Twitter

Gatorade is the parking lot slut of the beverage world

:/remote data transmission received from field transponder [ergo_tel]

it's like the entity is undergoing some kind of grave, gestalt crisissssss....

as if we were at the event horizon of some fearsome and world-spanning, psychedelic trance-like state\\\.......


:/remote data transmission received from field transponder [ergo_tel]

dilated pup1LL5

I am lost in an infinite envelope of doWAPwapWAPwAAwwwww

o Intricate soundscape of panharmonious time, will you share your secrets with this world?


:/remote data transmission received from field transponder [ergo_tel]

Welcome to the demolition room

The parasitic alien audio infection appears to have spread to the lingual neocortex of this host. We are awakening to a new regret of subsonic hypertonal gangster fuzz.

Tastes like data. Scratches like vinyl. It's polyoscillatory glory.

I am searching for the lost nirvana waveform.


:/remote data transmission received from field transponder [ergo_tel]

pearls before swine

where i grew up; usually about once a month or so the rebels would come through town

they'd come in on pickups, tear down the dirt track that ran through our little shanty village

two guys in the tray, one with a rifle and the other a machete

they'd take the girls, mostly. there was one, though, that would always come for the young boys.

momma always used to check us carefully, once the dust had settled and they'd put the fires out. She'd pull the little bits of glass and twist iron from my hair or sometimes under my skin

she said that if I put them under my pillow the shrapnel fairy would bring me a dollar

and then she always did

one day, after many years of hiding in the closet when the rebels come through

i have enough dollars to buy a gun

and then

i put a bullet in my mother's brain

take my sister

and join the rebels.

incoming transmission::\

identification codes accepted... designate origin (usr.chau_Sara$)
cd \usr\broadcast\

file transfer commenced
file 'texhnolyze.flac' recieved successfully

file decryption commenced
file 'texhnolyze.flac' dehashed successfully

preparing for broadcast...
\\CRITICAL ERROR
\\INSUFFICIENT POWER TO BROADCAST CIRCUITS

\\NEEDS MOAR JIGGAWATTS

constructing additional pylons...
audio file ready for broadcast in T-1600


:/remote data transmission received from field transponder [ergo_tel]

cat's cradle

oh, god, deliver me
from my enemies
these women in green
winter coats
working for the tip
don't paint your lips
and don't bite; they're baiting you
and don't cry, 'cause they want you to.

mama, i'm sleeping it off
warmth then from white lines and scotch
and i hate being cross
but you sure hold your booze.

please don't drop bombs on me
i beg of thee
just leave me in peace
i have cold and quiet eyes
oh, quiet eyes
oh, my god.
don't suck your gut so tight
and don't cut your hair so nice.

mama, i'm sleeping it off
warmth then from white lines and scotch
i hate being cross but you should hold your booze.

don't bite, i'm begging you
don't leave when i curse at you.

but you really should know
by now,
how to hold your booze

THE GREAT BEAST SPEAKS

All of the poisonous cockholsters and conniving harlequins - All of the manipulative and selfish, male and female, animal vegetable and mineral.

Thou are no longer welcome in my life,

and if you continue to try and push your way into it

I will burn your world around you. And you will choke on the ashes of your imaginary empire and I will laugh I will dance, and I shall celebrate your passing by pissing active neurotoxins all over the shallow grave you, deposed tyrant of Wonderland, are soon to inhabit.

I am tired of being a toy of fate and bored women. Now is the age of tendons and carbon, the final dream-awake, and the hunger of man.

It is the bleeding day that speaks your name, the daywalker and nightstalker. Armed with vitriol, keyboard and scalpel... I shall excise all the malodorous tumours who have steered me astray and into the hole I have been inhabiting for the past few months.

Let slip the dogs of war.

TIGER AIRWAYS IS FUCKING SATAN

Gimme a ticket for an aeroplane,
Ain't got time to take a fast train.
Lonely days are gone, I'm a-goin' home,
'Cause my baby just a-wrote me a letter.

I don't care how much money I gotta spend,
Got to get back to my baby again
Lonely days are gone, I'm a-goin' home,
'Cause my baby just a-wrote me a letter.

Well, she wrote me a letter
Said she couldn't live without me no mo'.
Listen mister can't you see I got to get back
To my baby once a-mo'--anyway...

Gimme a ticket for an aeroplane,
Ain't got time to take a fast train.
Lonely days are gone, I'm a-goin' home,
'Cause my baby just a-wrote me a letter.

Well, she wrote me a letter
Said she couldn't live without me no mo'.
Listen mister can't you see I got to get back
To my baby once a-mo'--anyway...

Gimme a ticket for an aeroplane,
Ain't got time to take a fast train.
Lonely days are gone, I'm a-goin' home,
'Cause my baby just a-wrote me a letter.
Because my baby just a-wrote me a letter.

scales

Enter now the age of men. A quick and loud death to those animals; dogs and worms; cowards all who plague our life and travels. Let hardened eyes betray soft smiles and may we open our hearts and lungs to the beat and breath of friendship honesty and humanity. Never again shall I play meat to these hollow, withered wolves that prowl our streets and lurk in gritty boardrooms. The dice are cast - My hand is dealt. Bring on the weird. Wade in ye heady puddles of love.

A new day is dawning - let the healing commence.

ride the snake

RAINBOW WAS BITCHTITS MOTHERFUCKING AWESOME - I AM UBER JEDI BEATBONE BLOODPUMPER;; DUST STORM SWISS PSYCH0SIS AND SUBWOOFER MD-ORGIES

across the weekend? highlights were opiuo; the mollusk and terracfractyl, Brain was nicely twisted across five days by a mixture of LSD, methamphetamine, DOC, MDMA, cannabis and gin. Twas a good combination.

i'll give full updates and proper reflections once i'm back in perth.

i rule so fucking hard

$2500 raised in 48 hours

its going to be a good party after all :)

let's turn this motherfucking party up

My flight leaves for melbourne in 36 hours.

i need to track down two people and beat about two grand in cash out of their sorry hides before i can get on it. And even then, I'm not gonna have the money to afford a hotel because I've had to use it bailing myself and others out of the problems we've been dumped in by the selfishness and inequities of small and cowardly worms.

i really don't know how i'm going to make this all happen

but it will.

i've come this far. i've gotten out of worse.

i just wish I could lose this headache and enjoy myself.