Friday, November 28, 2008

item #8492

Dear all,

The heads of living creatures shine like crystal, one towards another; bobbing with individuation. I remain unmoved, despite this. I sound only tumult; I am an army; and I will let you down.

In appearance, I am something upward. Because of this, I see the gleaming, and I despise it; preferring my enclosures.

Christopher, West Mids

item #3892

I'm at the railway station looking for interaction. The road outside is all pulled back, into a speed camera. With that in mind, I'll have to wait and see what I decide. I do know that I will oppose any infringements, any unnoticed technicalities. Along the road, I see the opposition. It's always like this. Nothing now is voluntary; and I must be attentive, despite myself. I know I will be questioned - probably about my industriousness, if that is detected; but almost certainly about the disputes it causes. They will say, I know, "she had an involved view". Sounds worse than it is, though. I hate things written down; especially in this context. The contrasts are obvious. So, for the next few days, I'll exchange the continuity I prefer for episodes handed to me. There is no plan. It's not like that at all. Just because I don't vocalise my opposition doesn't mean I agree. You can't blame me. The problems here stem from approaches I am not interested in; and the whole issue is about contentions I never voted for. In such a climate, ideology is, I think, cut short, interrupted. I was always the one who emphasised synchronisation - remember? Now, though, I want to disconnect. Luckily, I am able to. As such, and as you know, we are completely incompatible.


Wednesday, November 26, 2008

item #0721

It's hilarious out there! I thought the crisis would deepen your arguments and it has. Because of that, I'm about to sacrifice my party to deception and generality. They will never know. An election looms. We need nothing, I know. They will drop their social values quickly in order to simulate another economy. I'm generating significance as I type; using the options we discussed last time. Let's provide communities, but no infrastructure; let's improve certain outcomes, whilst decreasing their importance. Nothing must be accorded to politics. Blue skies! Lol... Grey skies! It's a simple matter of process. Away you go!

Friday, November 21, 2008

I found this review

On Saturday 15th November I was lucky enough to attend a showing of 'Drifting and Tilting: The Songs of Scott Walker', at Barbican, London. Without doubt, this was the most profound experience I've ever had as a member of any audience. I'd waited so very long to see something of Walker's work live. I intend to write something about this in due course; when I can find the right words. Others were there also, of course; some have tried to say how they felt. I've not found much, though, I have to say; and I've been looking. There are a few short bits of crude pirate film on youtube; one or two pretty piecemeal reviews. I've even offered my criticism of one particularly bad one. Here's an example of one which tries to do more than either describe what took place or go into all that Scott Walker recluse rubbish:

Drifting and Tilting - The Songs of Scott Walker

London Barbican Theatre, 13 November 2008

There were rumours, whispers - with Scott there always are. Ghosts and apparitions, of a man who sadly failed to materialise. However, the spectre of the man loomed large, haunting the Barbican like a celestial entity, the collective consciousness of the assembled masses attempting to will him into existence, yet failing to do so. Scott the recluse, Scott the enigma, Scott the myth and Scott the legend. There are so many Scott’s in this world and yet none of them tangible, none of them solidified, all of them dissipating like ectoplasm or liquifying, before turning into ethereal steam. That’s what listening to Scott these days is like, all idiosyncratic emotions, vibrating, and dissonant shards of industrial gothic noise. Emanating from the visionary mind, more than equal to William Blake’s visionary poetry and nightmarish painted visions of heaven and hell. However instead of art and poetry, Scott the audiophonic explorer paints a canvass of heavy industrialised and dissonant shards of sound concrete, sheets of twitchy glitch, and pig carcass percussion.

The recorded voice now neutral, non-histrionic, non-emotive, located and yet dislocated, temporal, captured in one take, no second chances, a once in a lifetime performance, lost amongst the loud and heavy texture of an uneasy sound in perpetual metamorphosis. As Scott says, he turns it up and turn up loud, as he never has any intention of ever listening to his performance again. So tonight is a rare thing indeed, the palpable sense of anticipation hangs heavy in the air, both oppressive and yet strangely intoxicating.

Although tonight’s performance is populated by an all-star, interstellar line-up, Scott is undeniably the satellite they orbit - his intangible presence seemingly sucking them in, like dark matter at the centre of a black hole. This is Scott as curator, his mind an arts-lab, drawing his inspiration from art-house cinema and legendary existentialist directors such as Ingmar Bergman and surrealist visionaries such as Alejandro Jodorowsky. Scott has assembled some of the finest minds from the backgrounds of stage and theatre design, which have enabled him to create a three-dimensional hallucinatory mind-fuck of avant-garde theatrical concrete. Attempting to put the experience into words, they can’t help but fail to do justice to the sheer spectacle of the performance. This was simply a stunning and unprecedented ‘event’, more art installation than pop concert. Although Scott has previously stated that he was looking to create a music that he had never been heard before, by drawing heavily upon material from ‘The Drift’ and ‘Tilt’ albums, tonight he has achieved just that, and so much more. The only signifier of what was to come would be ‘The Electrician’ from ‘Night Flites’, but even then it was only an inkling of what he was to later unleash from the brave new world of his ever-fertile imagination, in fact he has now gone so far out and further and further still, that one wonders if there is now anywhere left for him to go?

It starts with the futuristic stage screens opening to reveal the now bearded figure of Jarvis Cocker casually reading a newspaper as he simultaneously performs ‘Cossacks Are’, and it ends with Damon Albarn at the pulpit, performing ‘Farmer in the City’ as a hellfire sermon. In between these two former brit-pop giants, there are however cameos and guests appearances aplenty, amongst them former Virgin Prune frontman Gavin Friday, extraordinary Irish baritone Owen Gilhooly, Dot Allison, Nigel Richards and Michael Henry, who between them perform stunning versions of ‘Jesse’, ‘Cue’,’ Buzzers’ and many more. However it is Henry who gets closest to the voice of Scott himself, with his rich dynamic baritone now reduced to a neutral blur. This then, is also the most avant-garde of theatrical performances, effortlessly creating a palpable sense of tension, that at times, is just too uncomfortable, far too frightening.

The audience are perpetually shocked, or stunned into silence by the enormity of events, unable to move, and unable to breathe, suffocated by a form of psychic claustrophobia. In turns both fascinated and repelled by what they are witnessing, unsure of whether to clap, therefore acknowledging what they have seen, and frequently it has to be said, as in the case of a boxer punching the carcass of a dead pig, not too sure of what it was that they really did see anyway? Every intake of breath is a ‘what the hell?’ or rather more frequently a ‘what the fuck?’

And yet the simultaneous absence and presence of Scott himself is felt throughout, this after all is his show, and it has to be said what kind of show it actually is, is rather difficult to explain, so one can only begin to wonder how on Earth it was conceived in his imagination. Therefore, it is also important to mention the wonderful, and it has to be said very frightening set designs of Sam Collins, which coupled with Alleta Collins disturbing choreography and Ann-Christin Rommem’s superb stage design have created this incredible event. But ultimately there is only one Scott, ably assisted in the execution of his bizarre ideas by long-term producer Peter Walsh, Scott’s own sonic manipulation of this terrifying avant-industrial form of orchestral-concrete sound production which was both highly disturbing and totally thrilling. This then finally leaves us with the temporal Scott, a postmodern apparition of a past, present and future still yet to be explored.

Posted on 15 November 2008 by Keith Haworth

item #0888

It's already Thursday. Not too glorious, I know, but my week begins there - with a signal from you that, for at least two days, I have to be nowhere and do nothing. I can just spend time on my opinions. At the moment, I still have most of the morning. So, that's good, I believe. I'm sitting back and watching the minutes going. When l spoke to you last night, it was merely an exercise; but you knew that; though you didn't say. Maybe I mentioned it; I can't remember. Now I'm eating, despite my better judgement. I feel disappointed with myself, but I'm not offering this for comment. Why am I so introspective these days? I hate this weather, too.

Thursday, November 20, 2008

item #0069

Hi. Thanks for your reply. Well, love is something you either like and do or dislike and pay someone else to do with you. When I was a child, my mother used to labour this point endlessly; pushing me about the place, and digging over the past. So I suppose I formed opinions - about this and other views. I see such things as recreational instruments. In the future, I might begin to admire your kind for other reasons, but I'll need convincing. Yesterday, a man in his late 40's confronted me by citing percentages I could not understand. He applied them to 'The Great Depression'; and told me kids must be made to work in order to avoid world war. He knew my family, he said. I'm really not sure. I personally live economically. I do try to bend money, buying bulky, and freezing terms in my direction. I could point to examples. It all helps. But, honestly, I do get a sense of discomfort from waiting too long to enjoy something I think I need and deserve. The fact is that I sometimes kind of expire with something. Do you know what I mean? I throw stuff away. Nothing official. Just clutter. Speak soon. x

Wednesday, November 19, 2008

item #8932

dear alison

last night i thought you would entertain me more. as ever you seemed achemical, between work, but nonetheless modern, political. so i was really hoping. in our brief dialogue i offered you a curious scene, played out in a world which doesn't like americans. remember? bet you don't. before bed i never really listen. so i am supposing you might be the same. so i'll remind you. we're not close friends. you know that. last night though i increased you in my options. i rather like decreasing them. but it's appropriate to change. you feel random. and i like your view of variety. you're performing. just like me. i prefer other approaches strictly speaking, but i'm being made to listen to your brand of entirety. i might generate difference in you, with my subtle way. i am after all paying attention. not for your gratification though. i'm not trying to change you. i'm trying to change myself.

just now i had some contact from someone who regards me for their pleasure. i found it amusing. was it really you? their approach and reasoning made me wonder.

sue x

Monday, November 17, 2008

item #8931

Monday, I remained home, as you suggested. I didn't want another episode, was one reason; but, mostly, I wanted to hand you an easy victory, since your enemies were getting the better of you. (I know you don't think so.) As you said, though, little is ever truly eventful; so I suppose even that fell short. Clearly, you are never satisfied. I've handed you my friends. What more can I do? No, I'm not tired - before you ask. It was good to establish all those historical truths, followed by the potentially-believable stuff you spouted. You're so watchable. Of course, the detail eats into me. But I'm prepared for more scenes, and your secrets. I love such corruptions. Betrayal and trust are, in the end, the same thing. You have no standards and I have no real understanding. So there can be no internecine. It was interesting watching you live. I have read your accounts and I am high on your self-esteem.

Best wishes,

Friday, November 14, 2008

item #1227

This is going nowhere. Will you allow me a preventative measure? I'll assume the answer is yes; but I don't care. Yesterday I parted company with the last of your reduction strategies. I know... cause for celebration. Yet, the event itself felt anti-climactic; since the build-up had been enormous. Anyway... I was hitherto spreading across, uncontrolled; and, in the evening, I was woken by your arrangements as usual. Despite indications, I wanted the weekend to function as something official. I'll leave that to your imagination. Ideally, I would have preferred to head straight for home, getting there by about 6pm latest. I had organised myself with that in mind, but I knew you'd have mixed feelings. I need to unwind, I know. Perhaps we can discuss that tomorrow morning?


Thursday, November 13, 2008

item #4931

Perhaps you are right. Perhaps I am just another participant in your enterprise without end. I do know that your schemes are making a definite resurgence. Last night, for instance, she went to bed early wondering at problems you have given to her. I admit I was stressed. But I could do nothing. I fell down a little. I sensed it. Yesterday, she was further disgruntled; saying I am wearing her out. What can I do, though? You don't give us any other choice but to weather the storm. For myself, I am about to document my experiences, store them somewhere, for those in the future to investigate. Maybe then someone can make a decision on the facts; maybe they will gather the momentum which appears beyond me. I am unable to properly question you; and that is my whole situation. Why bother with such signs when you yourself do not understand what they mean? Yet, you inflict your turmoil upon those you say you love most. I am tired of being compared to you, and to the thousands of people you associate with. I began as a delusional, yes; and you helped me through; and I was grateful. But now I feel I provide all your excuses, your additions, your reductions.

I'm planning things, though. People are not building materials, ok?

terry wrist

item #1616

I'll be back this morning; Friday that is, I suppose. I'm here to say farewell ... not that I like simplicity, but I suppose I am paying for some crime I am unaware of. Anyway, I'm on my way home, and I can't really collect my thoughts. So this will have to do. I haven't figured out how to transmit without causing problems yet. I suppose I have no real power over such surfaces, so I don't bother trying. I have been asked to revert to first principles by someone I cannot ignore. I'm not concerned with generating interest, though; so I will listen, feel better, and do otherwise.

Mark (Bucks)

Tuesday, November 11, 2008

item #9490

Some time ago I attempted to disappear from the screen. Instead, earlier today, I left a package at a Post Office. It certifies my intentions.

For reasons I have forgotten, I got back to the hotel around 5.45pm and called home. You arrived soon after. Sorry I kept you waiting; but, as I explained, I was actually listening to you. Eventually, we watched movies, but I wasn't happy. Tuesday came and went; and you left; midnight, was it? Now it's Friday and you're coming back. If we can enjoy the weekend, it will require some persisting.

I am slowly disappearing. You have your little trophies. But I want nothing similar.


Saturday, November 08, 2008

item #8742


Forget what I said last time. Last Tuesday things developed.

My collection allows her to watch. For my own part, I am currently viewing my bed, where nothing remains undecided. She is to the left, in front of the heater. Such instructions are to my liking. In my bedroom, I query her about why she responds only to my editorials. Was she perhaps unarmed, lacking defiance? Finally, I cut to the chase, saying that when I want something I persist in asking for it. She said she understood. Nevertheless, I questioned her further, until I had had enough. It was only then that I realised that her lack of defiance was only gestural. Her small whispers were mocking me; showing me that l knew what she was thinking towards me. But this got me nowhere. Despite myself, I retained control over the situation. She looked at me further. Emotionally I was out of control. So I was more than satisfied to leave it there.

We talked later, and she informed me that I had made her picture the night's activities at one-remove. That felt great. Finally, I felt we had gotten somewhere.


Thursday, November 06, 2008

classwar karaoke 0003 survey published 5th November 2008


Wednesday, November 05, 2008


Wednesday, November 05, 2008

Current mood: vibrant
Category: Dreams and the Supernatural

In vector calc

curl as rotor

ins. vector operandi

direct axis rotate

density properti

function regardless

field of zero

curl everywhere
id irrotates

alt terminology rotor

..operatorname{rot}(..mathbf{F}) Euro


1:19 AM - 0 Comments - 0 Kudos - Add Comment - Edit - Remove

Current mood: ashamed
Category: superlative, ergo anon. Dreams and the Supernatural

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1:43 AM - 0 Comments - 0 Kudos - Add Comment - Edit - Remove

Current mood: productive
Category: humane, thankful Friends>..table>>..table>

item #6004

Hi. I'm a Pharmacist. A man from yesterday. I am a virus of submission. It helps me sleep at night. l hate most things. That's constancy, of course. Drip drip drip. I just took some tablets. Won't be long. I've got into bed; but I'm not sleepy. I will wait until 6am. Then I will have dinner, at a restaurant, before getting back in bed, this time to sleep. I have 1327 tracks on each hand. I deserve more. When it was only 1996, I had more. My life is not my career. I spoke with Karen on the phone. She went missing after a week. I was in the bath. I had visions of her talking on the phone. I made no arrangements. Just the visions. Last night it poured rain into today, as grey skies. Some crazy weather. I just sent two emails.

Monday, November 03, 2008

item #7747

wednesday. lethargic night, so maybe my time is ending. in the middle of the night i went back to bed but slept till 5am, when it was time to head back. i can't stop. morning broke. now a journey. i can only resume the journey in light. no choice. the dirt. the dirt. you're not interested. i'm twitchy on it. i'm electrical. this is supposed to keep a cloud over my head. and it does. awful morning. i'm not happening. people doing stupid things. other people. it just isn't funny within a working environment. meaning i lost some value. worthless more or less. over the next few days i will spare no one. i won't photograph my face any more clearly. disappointed? a friend photographed me. and i love her. so no deal. i emailed her. in the picture i am beaming. a winner.


floating in space

All I want in life's a little love to take the pain away