Work continuing on lyric book. Thoughts in motion towards an EP to accompany ‘Heimdall’ album. Artwork for ‘Heimdall’ album being finalized. Sir Matthew continues to sweat it out for the ‘Agent’ program with sporadic help from my own person. CYP2D6 to be released by Quixodelic/New Radish soon? Possibilities of portraits or exploration of the freezer? Travel has left us disoriented. We need our cartography tools to draw a reasonable short term plan.
EP hopes foundering. Instead, preparing to depart for Alaska. Packing my trusty 4-track, of course. Still waiting for CYP2D6. Finished scratching out another illustration for the decorated lyric book. Working on typing up lyrics for ‘Heimdall’ album, and thoughts in motion towards new prose. (That is to say, our film…)
The Atom Band and I have made great progress towards our inventory of the Storage Hold and Sound Laboratory today. Enormous eggs.
Brendon to take a pleasure cruise on dinghy, returning at some point in the mid-to-distant future. Def Mute ambling. Multicolored flak and ribbons. Birds poodling on deck, in hatches, flocking in large muddling plucks and bird-barking about the place. We are delighted. (Birds, of course, were the foray of our own father, his many-dimensional head forking and folding space through an identification-circuit.) Emerson is on board, though he’s usually quiet.
A short, largely confounded try at a jazz recording by myself, Brendon, and Spark, resulting in profound and widespread confusion for all parties. This recording, hereto unnamed, is nonetheless created. It breathes bright sea air and has a pinch-lid oceanic stare. Handclapping proliferates throughout.
That leaves Scarytoes, quite injured, but lacking an unoccupied sick-bay hammock. We’ve sewn him up (though the word sown is perhaps better used for this situation) and he’s looking quite pale and greenish. His 1950’s undershirt and cigarette pack are drooping under metaphysical stress. His lack-of-eyes are dim and disoriented. His mask hurts.
Bob’s your uncle.
We depart from Pepperland far shy of the stockpile of berries I had anticipated. All’s well, the tomatoes were relatively weak from over-salinity, anyway. Contemplation of undersea volcanos has spurred us to begin writing a declamatory essay on vulcanism from submarines. It may become incorporated in further projects after being passed through our paper-to-music translator, which, as I remember, requires a significant quantity of beta-testing yet. It may yield some interesting results, especially when my handwriting is considered.
Did manage to salvage some various items from the plastic flotsam during our rest. They should be cataloged, but it may be some time before I can air the stench from their minute hydrocarbon pores. Of particular interest are a quantity of plastic-based mirrors salvaged from children’s toys. In addition to my previous collection of mirrors, these will be quite an asset. This all ties into another lofty project: Emerson and Def Mute are looking to the construction of my anti-volume cabin addition, Cabin 5.1. We will see what occurs.
Oh, I should also mention that after Mr. Koradji’s unfortunate death, his two bodyguards were left largely unemployed. As Emerson had struck up a mass-based kinship with them, he’s invited them to stay a while longer to help with the renovations. Certainly hope that nobody minds their presence in the Dormitory. I will note that while they are not proficient musicians, even in the least, their skill at karaoke is practically mind-boggling to my own person. This phenomena may be worthy of further investigation.
splenetic –> of or relating to the spleen; bristly, very irritable.
irritable –> excessive sensitivity of an organ or body part; excitability.
elocution –> an expert manner of speaking involving control of voice or gesture.
indignation –> a feeling of righteous anger. (from dignity, see below.)
dignity –> being worthy of esteem or respect. formality in bearing or appearance.
esteem –> admiration; a feeling of delighted approval or liking.
admiration –> wonder; a feeling aroused by something strange and surprising.
humility –> marked by meekness or modesty; with cause to be unpretentious.
pretentious –> making claim to or creating the appearance of importance or distinction, intended to attract notice and impress others.
modesty –> having a limited and not overly high opinion of oneself and one’s abilities; freedom from vanity and conceit.
vanity –> the quality of being valueless or futile; feelings of excessive pride.
conceit –> the trait of being unduly vain; false pride.
Narcissus –> a beautiful young man who fell in love with his own reflection.
I am happy that no thing can be defined of itself. This very fact remains a delight and intrigue to my own person. And so I offer a small cluster of words to you – as a group, do they offer more resolution than an individual word? We move our eyes and ears.
- THISTLE WALKING
What can anger bring that sadness cannot bring?
What can pridefullness bring that humility cannot sing?
Though I’m scared as everyone else is;
I choose awareness.
What will the future bring?
Fluorescence is a daily grasping. They cast their eyes widening
and their lights everlasting, the energies of which do not dissipate entirely.
They are incapable of tapering out, and they will feed generously into the
surfaces of objects they collide with – each of these objects absorbing
a photon’s wild energy and drinking a slow kiss of it’s motion into heat
before losing touch with such a particle.
If they make sound, I cannot hear it, but my eyes twitch with diffusions –
rude, ruthless, and basking. These quavering fields can become insipid,
wrenching fountains of force. To the senses, they are repetitive and generally
precise architectures of light. Over a duration of time, this precision can
aggravate the mind just as much as a constant, heavy heat.
But, what is light, you may ask? Well, one could try to whisper into your
head your brain your mind your weavings one could try to whisper about a little
piece of matter and then you could absorb what they were talking about and
manipulate it in your head your brain inside of your skull your weavings
as a process that you could organize or reiterate. But that small spoken fragment
is lost; look – you wouldn’t have understood just from a motion or from how I looked
across the table at you. You would have had to hear or maybe I could have
moved my hands across a sheet of paper (with an appropriate utensil) or in an agile sweep across a serial matrix of buttons, each depicting a different glyph. I believe that
the idea of light is a woeful shortfall.
Instead, I feel that light is an immersive thing. You may use your senses, then,
to understand it best. Open your eyes and look, as you are tunneling through it.
It amends itself upon the surfaces of things, and it is easy to overlook light as an actual
media (not unlike a submersion in water, or an object obscured by fog.) We strive
and trouble to understand light as a sensation separate from the object that it interacts with, and why should we, when the object, itself, is so intimately described by the light
we ingest? IN FACT, we are much more aware and in-tune with light than we
are with the physical qualities of any object. We know the color red, we know bumpiness,we know shininess or transparency. We can understand luminescence, and what’s more
the position of matter in space in relation to a source of luminescence. But we do
not understand what the object is. We cannot understand it’s density through
our understandings of light, or it’s temperature, though these things could be
speculated upon through other senses. (*Note: Mainly the sens of touch.)
Perhaps it is better to consider light as a dissolving force. It dissolves us.
We know objects in part by their interactions with light.
(This is where I get disorganized aboard the ship. That is to say, where I make my daily preparations, drink hot coffee, grow molds, play loud music in headphones until I blurrycry, grind things into powders and place in jars. Of interest may be my small collection of rock-and-roll artifacts. pictured: a can of Old Style consumed and hand-crumpled by Andy Miller, Halloween 2006.
This picture also contains: Ficus leaf, Chilidog!, The Hypnotist Clock, sink punchless, a phish pumpkin photograph, a book on the study of flags, some actual flags, ‘I like myself’ ribbon, inverted pencil garden, assorted cassettes, infinite supply of vitamins, both of those little googly-eye turtles I forget their names, a lei from the release party, the very best of whitepaperwafer, and a paper-mâchéd jar containing heart-scarring secret message.)
5%H44 BHWOL10WLG RMGRON350 ANR %EMNTO485NEITN3SNGT ATNART8823PI
7&TREN33WOMLLK7 5%%ANTOE4 AMORN2340ALMFRO3NARI PO2M3N23OILATNT
– – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – –
NEAR FIELD REPORT:
SIMON PILER AND BRENDON HERTZ TO PERFORM
LIVE AT INFINITEA TEAHOUSE.
[ SEE ATTACHED FLYER. ]
– – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – –
UL34$WM QUIO%23TMEONWLNO30N*EM HLOAM32NOAMTI4 ANOTEM95$ANOWM
WINTO EM72NA ATMO%MEIOK TLEMO3&ZMTO WNTIT%%AMTONEIW MTO
letter i wrote
4 miles long
song i sung
flown as a flag.
on the beltline race;
lag or droop.
from my journal, 111910
i am so flighty
i feel like a lump of sap
i am full of erotic dust
or a tattooed universe
cobbling ideas together
“And I am struck once again by the unutterable beauty, terror, and strangeness of everything we think we know.”
– Edward Abbey
chrysalis, i am debt free
whitish light unfurling past the trunks of long-forgotten trees
eclipsing lichen yellow, dewy solder gray,
low crackling electric moss.
born into a space triumphed by the
long-winding ancient of rivers, buffalo feet
frozen save for the silent channel in the middle
where the chocolate mink will drink
and the history of everything that has ever happened
will not be forgotten nor lost
instead, will emerge from a period of pupation
unfettered within the mind of a ghost
from my journal, 080310
the waves of proceeding generations
and the waves of your own death
ripple back to your heartbeat life
quite in the present
as a scent can carry on the air,
cast across spaces
three rose hips ripen
on a bush
over a valley
and they spill
their bountiful surplus
into a temple of flattened stones.
from my journal, 010711
where are your visions of beauty
now that the summer of contents has passed and gone?
mine are still here
time flows through them as a river bed.
from my journal, 102010
i can understand a golden circlet
or a crown of thorns
but who set lock and key
to loki without remorse?
with his tricks
he set the bales to burn
turned ashen the faces
of those followers;
and for that he will blink
from both blinded eyes
and curse as long as able
a twisted tonguing
of dismal survival, confusion,
so when the giants gnash
their teeth and pour
a frozen gruel upon
their wooden plate,
and when the willow tie
themselves in knots
which describe the rarer
truths of certainty;
the wind will purge it’s
memory and frot against
but he will still remember.
and in the golden smokes
which billow in the aftermath
he will find the Observer,
bid Him farewell,
tap the blade of a dagger
‘tween two ribs
and emit one final breath
your fibers surround you
but do they know of protection?
our sovereign is cold
the hawk’s grip is true
but her actions fleeting
faster than sun wax expires
lowly swing of earth
and energy of stars
now release and howl
as coiled within me