Monday, November 3, 2014

l337 tw33t

It may be contaminated, jargonized, disrupted language, but it is not a new language, not (yet) evidence for the invasion of an empire of machinic colonizers whose demands of trade and interaction require the creation of a pidgin by economically and linguistically disempowered human users.

(n7mn7d j9nzd lng4g ! nu lng4g ! evdnc 4 nvsn mpire mchinic colnzrs w dmnds 4 tr8d&intr4ctn rqir cr8n 4 p!j1n 4 ecnmcly lngstcly dsmpwrd hmn


Wednesday, October 22, 2014

aux ghost

An aux ghost
In the boards.

An aux ghost
Lost the fx.

An aux ghost

Saturday, July 19, 2014

The beauty of human engineering

The beauty of clever use

Unreliable material

Poorly modelled soundscape, low

Fidelity, colorstream

Progenitors, inheritors

Of a process

Human engineering in domains

Digital, aural, physical

Lowrider club, bit guild, hiphop

The humanist adrift

Not quite a mathematician

a bit of a fragment

...i be dropping rhymes that shut down the party
like the square in cairo that encircled the army...

Friday, May 17, 2013

it's about my persona/ain't nothin' like a man/who can do what he wanna

a magician's lie,
a musician's persona.
ain't no now,
or how could now
not, no nada,
change is upon ya,
like a charismatic persona.

over a hundred years
not nothin new, nada,
a dozen every day,
change is mundane.
ain't no now
or how could now ever change?
ain't no now
or now never changes,
show me something ordinary
and i'll zero on the strange shit.

when was now,
not now when,
was not now when.
put a weapon in my hand,
and i'd do it all again.

a cold nine that folds fine,
carbon fiber, cost a nigga's eye.
put a mic in my hand,
and i'll amplify.
gimme a pen,
and i'll be a future spy.
radar ears, satellite eye,
wifi network cry.

i rock it, i'm the top shit.
regular - like water from a faucet.

can't really detect it -
i won't get suspected.
the reason for it's evident/my weaponry is relevant
assassinate the president
my plan is simple and not elegant:
rush like wild elephants,
every man trained and planed,
straight planks for my house; zero slouch.

a lyric from my mouth
aimed to murder reagan
asleep and drooling
on the couch.
the terminator time-travels,
the admirals orders chinese carryout.

put an organ in my hand:
eye, penis, microphone or kill-a-man
and i'll j-dilla.
in the big truck, with the chinchilla,
a boxer's quick-swingin' fist,
every verse i spit's a chin-chillah.

robot souls, go, and swim.
my eyes on the prize, i rise up;
up from the depths like a g-o-dzilla,
flamin' breath like the pope,
you think it's just a joke
till those japanese niggas hit ya
with the tokyo grope,
wu-tang brought back hope

and i'm just tracing snowy footsteps
down the slope
so i don't break the ice and croak.

the mic's a nice device,
be sure to use it twice,
open up your thighs, daughter
i lick your pussy with my eye.

ate it, love it or hate it,
both ways i can make,
cold beat it up, or straight pussy-worship,
nothin' but good dick.
lay enough
to scratch a seven-year itch;
even a paraplegic does a back-flip.

full stop.
spit a wack lyric?
i'd rather sodomize my pops,
than let a soul listen.

shit, like a baby, i'll smear that shit.
like a faggot,
i'll queer that shit.
like houdini,
i'll disappear that shit;
popular sounds are radio-active
don't go near that shit,
let me rearrange your brain
so you won't hear that shit -
we clear on that slick?

in my center is a fact you can't erase:
thought is the weapon
essential in any space.

property which distinguishes living from non-living matter

I am not going to
change myself today,
change myself tomorrow.
It's in the mundane
anxiety and stress
where I change.
I change in the now,
before the now is
where now lives.
Now is something
which never was alive.
You can't change change.
Change is infinite decimal places.

Living dead

Wednesday, August 22, 2012

Quote of the Day #2

Lester Bangs - I'm getting the sense DFW draws a lot from him (and that I'm behind the eight-ball). Maria Bustillos is the author of this article and she seems like a good one.

"...Bangs could draw the marrow forth even from the metaphysicians. In the essay, “James Taylor Marked for Death,” he wrote:
Number one, everybody should realize that all this “art” and “bop” and “rock-’n’-roll” and whatever is all just a joke and a mistake, just a hunka foolishness so stop treating it with any seriousness or respect at all and just recognize the fact that it’s nothing but a Wham-O toy to bash around as you please in the nursery, it’s nothing but a goddam Bonusburger so just gobble the stupid thing and burp and go for the next one tomorrow; and don’t worry about the fact that it’s a joke and a mistake and a bunch of foolishness as if that’s gonna cause people to disregard it and do it in or let it dry up and die, because it’s the strongest, most resilient, most invincible Superjoke in history, nothing could possibly destroy it ever, and the reason for that is precisely that it is a joke, mistake, foolishness. The first mistake of Art is to assume that it’s serious. I could even be an asshole here and say that “Nothing is true; everything is permitted,” which is true as a matter of fact, but people might get the wrong idea. What’s truest is that you cannot enslave a fool.