A slightly modified version of Thalassa sings in my ears via my filthy Tuxedo speakers that are devoid of bass response. Or practically devoid of bass response. I'm following, perhaps, and perhaps not, Christian's need to "test" mixes on as many reproduction devices as "necessary". Of course, this is just his excuse to remain in a state of sloth. One's life of extreme _lujos_ can't be bothered to move from the bed or sofa to engage in unity with high fidelity headphones when one can simply play music throug...
The moon had been hollowed out for as long as anyone could remember by the time I'd arrived. What the mechanized diggers found during the process is still a mystery. We call it the _pulsing mind_ of the moon. It throbs in regular time that has, as far as anyone knows, been consistent in interval to the microsecond. There are lengthy pauses, however, that spawn myriad conjectures. My theory is that the moon exists in a graduated, localized bubble perpendicular to the outside fourth dimension. The pauses are ...
A good deal of people I know or have known have Anxiety Hangovers. Or Anxiety Anticipations. Or even Anxiety Flashbacks. Or the horrifying Anxiety Nostalgia. Or combinations of them. The hangovers I can understand. They are a lesser form of Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. And in that case, the flashbacks are related, and are also understandable. The worrisome part is the degree to which these flashbacks occur and how debilitating they are. None of the humans I'm referring to have been in a war or associated...
Never mind that I must mostly remain inside the structure that is affixed to the planet's so-called bedrock. It's preferable to suiting up and tethering oneself during an occasional outdoor repair. The building straddles a long ravine that, in my estimation, descends at least 12 kilometres. The organic forms (that I assume are more plant than animal or fungi) respire helices that are entirely shades of grey. They rush upwards, almost violently, dancing in the false atmosphere like brutish ballerinas before ...
I once wrote: > A bone-red heart beats beneath a slope. Weeds grow to voice displeasure at stiff winds that wither it. It beats once an epoch. It beats once a time I sit on this bench and will it to life. Weeds clutter the slope. They spell the echoes of past beats, reverberating in the witchy breeze. My iterations in Pagan Park map the manner that my psyche has grown throughout the last 19 years. I believe I first walked its pitched sidewalk during the xmas season of 2005, a few months after my parents m...
Tuesday morning and I'm sitting half-lotus in my bed in Seminole. Yesterday was my first real day of absolute productivity and the productivity was all in the form of music. _Naiad_ threatens to be a great piece upon completion, even if I toss aside some of my bolder noise experiments because I simply do not know how to get them to function in the mix correctly. Perhaps I should _take a page_ (as the Druids said back in the day) out of Thalassa with its sudden drop in volume to create contrast. I'll go with...
I've been on Naiad for approximately forty days and forty nights now, enough to see Thalassa looming through the sky twice, and I must admit that more than anything else, I miss my cat. My "office" is adjacent to the greenhouse and atmospherically controlled at a temperature much more to my liking than when I'm strolling among the flora. Humidity has never been my bag, having grown up in a parched wasteland. There are some scabs of youth one can never quite pick away. We designed the greenhouse here to cap...
The idea has been lurking in the recesses of my mind for multitudinous epochs now, but it's just at this moment that I shall come out and state it. I have no interest in human history _in general_. Walking around the _Valle dei Templi_ yesterday sealed the idea in stone. Fossilized it, even, and given the multitudinous fossils embedded in the once sunken remains of rock near Agrigento, it's an apt analogy. What most would term _history_ in the "educational sense" has little to offer me. Mostly my disintere...
In times of youth, I relished moving my living corpse about the world from city to city, discovering alehouses, ruined castles, cappuccinos and random still lives constructed spontaneously from arbitrary passer-bys' droppings. In times of youth, times that are now long in my past, I enjoyed entering a train or even an airplane and finding my living corpse in a state of movement in space. The unknown called me, even though much later I realized that the unknown was actually variations on a gelatinous mass I'...
I had another dream concerning Jeníček last night. It was one of the final dreams before rising from the bed and into my daily routine (I laughingly call it a daily routine). Much of the dream has faded, but several scenes remain vivid. We went to a shop, ostensibly in Praha, to buy a window covering for Jeníček's house. House, I say? He has a house. Well, why not? Why wouldn't Jeníček have a house? He was rising on a crescendo into the realm of the _well-off_ last time I interacted with him (not counting t...
I recall a conversation I had with Jeremy in 2013 that can be vaguely associated with the so-called _music of the spheres_. Jeremy was searching for music with no emotional content. His reasons were slightly different than my own, but the search itself is similar. And in addition to the search itself, I aim to CREATE music without emotional content, or, rather, with an emotional content so vague or abstract that it won't be something _enforced_ onto the listener. I think Jeremy's search originated in the di...
