The music that made life a little easier to comprehend through 2012. I told ya I was gonna put it together. Got my "nyaahhhhhh" face going. But seriously, this is what brought me through. Instead of going by statistic logging I decided to go with the actual tracks I flagged through the year. Sometimes the song you listen to the most is not a real indicator of what hit you the hardest. I really do believe this is an accurate reflection of what punched my heart in the nuts through last year.
Dec RJD2 - Moonlit Skies Go
Nov Skrillex - Scary Monsters and Nice Sprites Go
Oct Lo-Fidelity Allstars - Valentine Boast Go
Sept El-P - Stay Down Go
Aug War - Baby Brother Go
Jul Bjork - Pluto Go
Jun Aphex Twin - Waxen Pith Go
May Tosca - Oscar Go
Apr School of Seven Bells - Loveplay Go
Mar Starkey - Eris Go
Feb Kinny and Horn - Sacred Life Go
Jan Paul Murphy - Soul Call Go
This is the official tax return for 2012. The books have been, after a fashion, balanced. Five months late, but better late than never. I feel pretty good about it. Making next year's list, I can already bet on it, will be Death Grips. I know I'm behind the curve of music, but I don't care all that much. I'm just happy I have time to digest everything that comes across my plate as thoroughly as I care to, and that's what's up.
///Death Grips - "Guillotine" ace high, chuck
Clean with alcohol only. Do not attempt to replace blown fuses. Do not remove access panels. Return to certified mechanic for regular maintenance. Made in the USA.
Showing posts with label lofidelity allstars. Show all posts
Showing posts with label lofidelity allstars. Show all posts
5/27/13
5/7/13
Wrecks, Dreamland, and Reconstruction
I went back to the scene of my car accident tonight. Dreamland has been corrupted. I keep having a recurring dream about it. Cruising through dreamland last night I built a house of a little more than normal proportions. My friend Matt and his buddy Ernie called me up after I finished eating lunch (sardines and fried centipedes... it actually wasn't that bad... all the legs and fish ribs were super crunchy inside the perogies). Tom was there too. Finished up eating, and the phone rang so I got up from the indoor beach with the five foot wide tv perched over the far water and went to go let them in. Put on my fleece robe and tossed Tom the remote. Walked down to the freight elevator and closed the gate and punched the ground floor. The elevator went all the way down past the mech garage. I had my bright red candy shell finished R 29 with extra plate and F990 shoulder mount long barrel with aftermarket cooling fins parked right beside it and it was awesome watching the light glint off of it. Sometimes I spend days on the scaffold hand polishing it's entire body when I'm not joy riding it through the clear southwest desert night sky.
The elevator went all the way through to the floor and then ten feet below to the car garage and hillside entrance. It's a short walk to the door and I let Matt and Ernie in. Ernie asked me if I remembered going to his place the night before and showing up at three in the afternoon. I said no. I didn't. I wasn't lying. He asked me if someone hacked me, but I told him I wasn't online at all yesterday, but it's possible I might've caught something because I was online the day before pretty much the entire day looking for some rarer copies of an Ultraman graphic novel I used to have when I was a kid, but can't find in my library anymore. He laughed. That was probably what might've done it. Matt offered to hit me up with a few patches to make sure whatever it was that wiped my memory didn't get passed around while they were over. We took the lift back up and they asked Tom if I was a little off yesterday and he said "definitely."
I don't know why he didn't mention anything to me, but I guess that's what good friends do sometimes, and he's probably used to my oddness and figured it was the usual fare. Or at least, the Tom I constructed and built into the dream did. I told them we were out of sardines. Because we were and if we were going to hit up the bars later it would probably be good not to over do it. I don't know where the extra beach chairs came from but by the time we got back up to tv room they were already there. We all started talking about whether or not we would blaze on our way up to the Silver Tusk. I have a pretty sweet mech garage so there're plenty enough for each of us to blast out to the exosphere and dock at the Silver Tusk space station in geocentric orbit above our heads.
And then a giant tan sedan crashed through the wall behind the flat screen. It blew it apart and was going so fast it skipped across the water and bit into the beach. As soon as it touched down it started flipping and parts began whipping off of its underside like a pipe bomb built and stuffed with three foot long aluminum fence posts instead of nails. I was standing behind them and it rolled right over them and chewed them up into meat before my eyes before a door came zinging off while it spun and I woke up with that door heading straight for my neck.
Every other dream since it happened has been like that. No matter how I construct it or if I let it play and go along for the ride, they keep ending with cars careening through and killing everyone in one way or another. So I went back to the place tonight. It was weird walking up the off ramp. I tried to think about what that kid could have been thinking that morning walking between the off ramp walls. There's no where to go on either side. If you leap off the far side of the corner it's a good ten foot drop. Off of the inside corner there's some grass, but cars come much closer to the inside of the turn so your chances are much slimmer of even having time to react or think about jumping. I like to drive in wide and then turn in tight and let the car bleed off speed while it grips in. He was lucky for that. If I came inside he would have been through my windshield.
The mark on the far wall when I swerved to avoid him was nothing tremendous. It was mostly a tire scuff maybe a foot long at most. It didn't speak at all to the damage done to the car. There was no traffic tonight. I walked out to the middle to pick up a piece of my bumper that was still there. Just a shard. I don't wonder why he ran away. I would have too. Was he daydreaming? Did he want to die? Was he just high? Crouched there I started to remember when I was younger and I walked into traffic trying to get hit on Forbes avenue. I wasn't particularly upset or anything, but I was ready to let my life go. No one would hit me. I did it again a few nights later with my eyes closed and I distinctly remember a bus blowing by me so close it spun me around when it brushed my black hoodie. I wasn't upset, but I was impossibly trapped at the time and finished trying to figure out how to pick that particular lock.
I'm still putting my body back together. From the car accident and the fall down the two flights of stairs and the bike accident (which was my own fault, just pushed my bicycle too hard after having it laid up for most of winter and a too cold spring). Two hours a day of rehab work getting my back right. A lot of my power comes from my torso and I messed up my hip and tailbone pretty ugly. Nothing broken, but the deep bruising and muscle strains took their toll, but I'm getting back to a point where I can consider running again and hitting the weight room hard. The reconstruction, the process of it has become consuming. I was at a point where I could mess with whomever I wanted. Sure, I didn't win every scuff, but I had confidence in my bones and tissues that spoke to having a decent shot as long as I wasn't piss drunk. Not so now. There's hesitation now. There's memory tape now of the waking up in pain and not being able to sit up straight even in a well made chair. Not being able to breath because my sternum hurt so bad.
My body is gathering force though. Regaining moxy and it's difficult for me to have my limitations still in view. I keep having internal arguments with myself shouting "don't do that, you're not ready yet." And myself shouting back "or what?" But I know what. Humiliation, failure, more time lost in recovery. What the reconstruction has also done though, is forced a new view upon me. A new way of going about conflict. Handling passions I can't always contain effectively. War bringing peace, in a way.
More than anything, I want so badly to speak to that kid face to face now that I don't want to skin him alive anymore. I want to know, and I want to tell him I forgive him.
///Lo-Fidelity Allstars - "Smash and Grab World" looking to the stars on a fucked up night. Year end playlist is still in the works. Just five months late. No worries.
The elevator went all the way through to the floor and then ten feet below to the car garage and hillside entrance. It's a short walk to the door and I let Matt and Ernie in. Ernie asked me if I remembered going to his place the night before and showing up at three in the afternoon. I said no. I didn't. I wasn't lying. He asked me if someone hacked me, but I told him I wasn't online at all yesterday, but it's possible I might've caught something because I was online the day before pretty much the entire day looking for some rarer copies of an Ultraman graphic novel I used to have when I was a kid, but can't find in my library anymore. He laughed. That was probably what might've done it. Matt offered to hit me up with a few patches to make sure whatever it was that wiped my memory didn't get passed around while they were over. We took the lift back up and they asked Tom if I was a little off yesterday and he said "definitely."
I don't know why he didn't mention anything to me, but I guess that's what good friends do sometimes, and he's probably used to my oddness and figured it was the usual fare. Or at least, the Tom I constructed and built into the dream did. I told them we were out of sardines. Because we were and if we were going to hit up the bars later it would probably be good not to over do it. I don't know where the extra beach chairs came from but by the time we got back up to tv room they were already there. We all started talking about whether or not we would blaze on our way up to the Silver Tusk. I have a pretty sweet mech garage so there're plenty enough for each of us to blast out to the exosphere and dock at the Silver Tusk space station in geocentric orbit above our heads.
And then a giant tan sedan crashed through the wall behind the flat screen. It blew it apart and was going so fast it skipped across the water and bit into the beach. As soon as it touched down it started flipping and parts began whipping off of its underside like a pipe bomb built and stuffed with three foot long aluminum fence posts instead of nails. I was standing behind them and it rolled right over them and chewed them up into meat before my eyes before a door came zinging off while it spun and I woke up with that door heading straight for my neck.
Every other dream since it happened has been like that. No matter how I construct it or if I let it play and go along for the ride, they keep ending with cars careening through and killing everyone in one way or another. So I went back to the place tonight. It was weird walking up the off ramp. I tried to think about what that kid could have been thinking that morning walking between the off ramp walls. There's no where to go on either side. If you leap off the far side of the corner it's a good ten foot drop. Off of the inside corner there's some grass, but cars come much closer to the inside of the turn so your chances are much slimmer of even having time to react or think about jumping. I like to drive in wide and then turn in tight and let the car bleed off speed while it grips in. He was lucky for that. If I came inside he would have been through my windshield.
The mark on the far wall when I swerved to avoid him was nothing tremendous. It was mostly a tire scuff maybe a foot long at most. It didn't speak at all to the damage done to the car. There was no traffic tonight. I walked out to the middle to pick up a piece of my bumper that was still there. Just a shard. I don't wonder why he ran away. I would have too. Was he daydreaming? Did he want to die? Was he just high? Crouched there I started to remember when I was younger and I walked into traffic trying to get hit on Forbes avenue. I wasn't particularly upset or anything, but I was ready to let my life go. No one would hit me. I did it again a few nights later with my eyes closed and I distinctly remember a bus blowing by me so close it spun me around when it brushed my black hoodie. I wasn't upset, but I was impossibly trapped at the time and finished trying to figure out how to pick that particular lock.
I'm still putting my body back together. From the car accident and the fall down the two flights of stairs and the bike accident (which was my own fault, just pushed my bicycle too hard after having it laid up for most of winter and a too cold spring). Two hours a day of rehab work getting my back right. A lot of my power comes from my torso and I messed up my hip and tailbone pretty ugly. Nothing broken, but the deep bruising and muscle strains took their toll, but I'm getting back to a point where I can consider running again and hitting the weight room hard. The reconstruction, the process of it has become consuming. I was at a point where I could mess with whomever I wanted. Sure, I didn't win every scuff, but I had confidence in my bones and tissues that spoke to having a decent shot as long as I wasn't piss drunk. Not so now. There's hesitation now. There's memory tape now of the waking up in pain and not being able to sit up straight even in a well made chair. Not being able to breath because my sternum hurt so bad.
My body is gathering force though. Regaining moxy and it's difficult for me to have my limitations still in view. I keep having internal arguments with myself shouting "don't do that, you're not ready yet." And myself shouting back "or what?" But I know what. Humiliation, failure, more time lost in recovery. What the reconstruction has also done though, is forced a new view upon me. A new way of going about conflict. Handling passions I can't always contain effectively. War bringing peace, in a way.
More than anything, I want so badly to speak to that kid face to face now that I don't want to skin him alive anymore. I want to know, and I want to tell him I forgive him.
///Lo-Fidelity Allstars - "Smash and Grab World" looking to the stars on a fucked up night. Year end playlist is still in the works. Just five months late. No worries.
10/15/12
Born Yesterday
You look terrible. What, have you been up all night drinking? No, you self righteous, snide, whisker faced, monkey pawed, salad dicked, piece of shit. I'm going to tie your legs to opposite rungs of a ladder with surgical tubing, slice open your taint, and plunger fuck you 'til your guts blow out and all you can see are after images of fantasia from when your uncle came to visit, got you drunk, and touched you, you absolute @#$##!%@%#$%%$*%^*%%@#%$#@%!%*(*((^&$^%$$!@# dumpster fire fucker. I can't sleep. I'm not a wreck, I just can't sleep. It's a problem. I feel like I'm awake all the time. Is that a problem? Yes, that's a problem. Calm down, baby. It's always a little scarier at night. I stopped going out with my knife, that's a step in the right direction, right? Yes. Okay, bad start. Let's do this again.
I'm losing my shit. I don't understand everything. In fact, I don't understand a lot of things. In fact, I understand very few things and some of what I do is pure emulation. Some of it is learned. The things that I do when I'm not alone. When I'm trying to communicate and rub elbows and socialize and allow myself to be socialized. From a pure experiential stand point, I am always still catching up. Especially when it comes to purely adult things like paying bills and writing checks and progressively more complex responsibilities that come with age. Learning on the fly. Is part of why I am perpetually referring to near and distant past interactions and outcomes to judge and play into and inform and explicate the more recent and definite present ones. I need snow. I need cold weather. I need Winter. I need to trap my insides in and wear my skin all over again. Compression wraps. I'm trying to learn so many things on my own.
What do I need to do to suppress the monster? It's a puzzle game again. It's the puzzle game again. And I don't want to play. Even if I did, I can't if I can't get over there. Reconsidering therapy for the hundredth time.
I am dense. Dumb. I get that. So ask for help. I do, the problem, however, is that half the time I do ask for help with X and Y I get bitten. Look, okay, no one ever taught me how to be a grown up. I'm fucking trying. Okay, calm down. I'm trying and learning how to be an adult. How to take care of myself. How to be a part of other people's lives and, more over, part of society and a functioning member no less. It takes practice and it takes patience and sometimes other people are not as patient with me as I would like. I may not be the sharpest tool in the shed, but blunt objects get the job done pretty good. I'm good at things. I know that. I can do some things pretty well. Other things not so good. But why come no patience on their part? They must know I'm being patient with them and their remarks and their assumptions. They must know by now that I'm doing the best I can and that's all I've got by now. Granted the repertoire grows yearly, monthly, sometimes daily, but it's never going to grow fast enough to get on their level. I mean someone has to bring up the rear. Who else will be there to pick up the leaders when they stumble and fall and roll their ankle and have to be dragged until they can stand up and break the trail again? I serve a purpose, gotdamnit.
I'm not a doormat, or inferior, but I kind of am in many respects. In terms of tangibles. A state of perpetual repair. 800 brake horsepower on the dyno and shit tires. Steel struts for shock absorbers. The ride is harsh, but give me enough straight asphalt and I'll burn straight through to the vanishing point. I've been thinking my siblings and I relied on and alternately hated each other through the years, but before everyone dove off the edge to lives and relationships and variables apart from the smoking hole in the ground where our lives blew up, we were complementary parts.
Are you really happy? I'm happier than I've ever been. I swear I cannot fuse myselves together. It's like some kind of micro field acting over exceptionally short distances and so they gravitate and hang loosely together if I, when I, can manage to coerce them into the same headspace, but any further, any fucking further, and they fly apart. Driven like body parts from a weatherman's over packed pipe bomb and a warning two hours too late. Reduce the casualties, she says. We're not terrorists he says. Y'all can go suck a dick he says.
I chewed through my lip the other day. I'm not the strongest man in the world, or the tallest. But weapons are all around me. Tools, you know? A weapon is a tool. We should spend some quality time together some day. I know this place where the street lights have gone out. It's a stretch of road really. The headaches have gotten a little worse, but sometimes I can convince myself. Heavy industrial works and general cause. It's kind of funny sometimes. Let's play cards. Let's play Spades. I'll never go board. In my dream I was shot four times through the back, it was pretty amazing. Not the getting shot part. That part hurt a lot. More than anything I've felt in life. What felt amazing was the increasing inability to breath while my lungs filled up and my brain started to die and became unable to process pain. I started to think about how screwed up it was that my first DMT trip would also be my last, but then I started to look forward to at least being able to do that. And then someone else came up and they passed the gun and held it up between my eyes and blew my head apart before I could enjoy it. And I died, but didn't wake up and they left. And I waited and I waited and I waited for my life to start over. For reincarnation. For hell. For heaven. Nothing. And so, inside that dream still, I simply stood up, with half a skull from the nasal bones down to my neck, and walked out and woke up into an afternoon. Disappointed.
I am me. And you are you. The greatest form of flattery. The finest grains of abandonment. In the soles of my shoes. The cities crumbled. Many people died. The pain never goes away entirely, but honestly, that's asking too much. Who and what you are is no concern of mine. The man with the crystalline mind and the watch maker's hands with browns for whites of eyes and a head more water than land and no docks to be found. I don't know. I don't know and I cannot tell you if I wanted to. Steps in right directions. I need cold weather. I need something to cool the pile. Carbon rods? Is that what does it? The machine to help me understand and define the horror? Parcels of molecules and reckless atomic connections.
I can remember going in for the scans and the EMG and the warmth of the dye they injected into my veins and waiting quietly in the wheel chair for it to get pumped throughout before they put me inside and trying to stay awake while feeling like my entire nervous system was wrapped in an electric blanket. It was a gorgeous feeling. That was years ago. I've been thinking about dating again. I know I'm not and will probably never be ready. I also know what I want is something I can't have. It's a catch two two. I can't bank on getting away with it twice. I just wish I could have thought of that the first time. Says everyone at some point in their life. It's been difficult. I won't suppose. I know. Reaching out to other schizophrenics is like picking up someone else's phone, pounding the numbers until it rings, and saying "hello, it's me. You know me, right?" Asking someone to come in, when the sign on the door clearly reads "get the fuck out."
I'm trying. Please be patient. The heat has been stifling. Crush, baby. Crush. Who loves you? I do. You still keeping odd hours? That depends. Are you still on vacation? I don't know. Maybe you should think about writing during daylight hours. Maybe you should think about the kinds of questions you ask me. The city is large and I'm just one man. The country is larger, but I'm still just one man. Come with me if you want to see or don't. I won't fault you either way. Do you remember how you laughed in 2005 at that concert? No. But the tears have been uncontrollable since. A right sort riot. I can't go back, but I have to. Keep it down. Where are your sunglasses? I don't know. Let's get it right this time. I was born yesterday.
///Lo-Fidelity Allstars - "Valentine Boast" ... the greatest romance of the 21st century...
///The Orb - "Secrets" awed by tradition
I'm losing my shit. I don't understand everything. In fact, I don't understand a lot of things. In fact, I understand very few things and some of what I do is pure emulation. Some of it is learned. The things that I do when I'm not alone. When I'm trying to communicate and rub elbows and socialize and allow myself to be socialized. From a pure experiential stand point, I am always still catching up. Especially when it comes to purely adult things like paying bills and writing checks and progressively more complex responsibilities that come with age. Learning on the fly. Is part of why I am perpetually referring to near and distant past interactions and outcomes to judge and play into and inform and explicate the more recent and definite present ones. I need snow. I need cold weather. I need Winter. I need to trap my insides in and wear my skin all over again. Compression wraps. I'm trying to learn so many things on my own.
What do I need to do to suppress the monster? It's a puzzle game again. It's the puzzle game again. And I don't want to play. Even if I did, I can't if I can't get over there. Reconsidering therapy for the hundredth time.
I am dense. Dumb. I get that. So ask for help. I do, the problem, however, is that half the time I do ask for help with X and Y I get bitten. Look, okay, no one ever taught me how to be a grown up. I'm fucking trying. Okay, calm down. I'm trying and learning how to be an adult. How to take care of myself. How to be a part of other people's lives and, more over, part of society and a functioning member no less. It takes practice and it takes patience and sometimes other people are not as patient with me as I would like. I may not be the sharpest tool in the shed, but blunt objects get the job done pretty good. I'm good at things. I know that. I can do some things pretty well. Other things not so good. But why come no patience on their part? They must know I'm being patient with them and their remarks and their assumptions. They must know by now that I'm doing the best I can and that's all I've got by now. Granted the repertoire grows yearly, monthly, sometimes daily, but it's never going to grow fast enough to get on their level. I mean someone has to bring up the rear. Who else will be there to pick up the leaders when they stumble and fall and roll their ankle and have to be dragged until they can stand up and break the trail again? I serve a purpose, gotdamnit.
I'm not a doormat, or inferior, but I kind of am in many respects. In terms of tangibles. A state of perpetual repair. 800 brake horsepower on the dyno and shit tires. Steel struts for shock absorbers. The ride is harsh, but give me enough straight asphalt and I'll burn straight through to the vanishing point. I've been thinking my siblings and I relied on and alternately hated each other through the years, but before everyone dove off the edge to lives and relationships and variables apart from the smoking hole in the ground where our lives blew up, we were complementary parts.
Are you really happy? I'm happier than I've ever been. I swear I cannot fuse myselves together. It's like some kind of micro field acting over exceptionally short distances and so they gravitate and hang loosely together if I, when I, can manage to coerce them into the same headspace, but any further, any fucking further, and they fly apart. Driven like body parts from a weatherman's over packed pipe bomb and a warning two hours too late. Reduce the casualties, she says. We're not terrorists he says. Y'all can go suck a dick he says.
I chewed through my lip the other day. I'm not the strongest man in the world, or the tallest. But weapons are all around me. Tools, you know? A weapon is a tool. We should spend some quality time together some day. I know this place where the street lights have gone out. It's a stretch of road really. The headaches have gotten a little worse, but sometimes I can convince myself. Heavy industrial works and general cause. It's kind of funny sometimes. Let's play cards. Let's play Spades. I'll never go board. In my dream I was shot four times through the back, it was pretty amazing. Not the getting shot part. That part hurt a lot. More than anything I've felt in life. What felt amazing was the increasing inability to breath while my lungs filled up and my brain started to die and became unable to process pain. I started to think about how screwed up it was that my first DMT trip would also be my last, but then I started to look forward to at least being able to do that. And then someone else came up and they passed the gun and held it up between my eyes and blew my head apart before I could enjoy it. And I died, but didn't wake up and they left. And I waited and I waited and I waited for my life to start over. For reincarnation. For hell. For heaven. Nothing. And so, inside that dream still, I simply stood up, with half a skull from the nasal bones down to my neck, and walked out and woke up into an afternoon. Disappointed.
I am me. And you are you. The greatest form of flattery. The finest grains of abandonment. In the soles of my shoes. The cities crumbled. Many people died. The pain never goes away entirely, but honestly, that's asking too much. Who and what you are is no concern of mine. The man with the crystalline mind and the watch maker's hands with browns for whites of eyes and a head more water than land and no docks to be found. I don't know. I don't know and I cannot tell you if I wanted to. Steps in right directions. I need cold weather. I need something to cool the pile. Carbon rods? Is that what does it? The machine to help me understand and define the horror? Parcels of molecules and reckless atomic connections.
I can remember going in for the scans and the EMG and the warmth of the dye they injected into my veins and waiting quietly in the wheel chair for it to get pumped throughout before they put me inside and trying to stay awake while feeling like my entire nervous system was wrapped in an electric blanket. It was a gorgeous feeling. That was years ago. I've been thinking about dating again. I know I'm not and will probably never be ready. I also know what I want is something I can't have. It's a catch two two. I can't bank on getting away with it twice. I just wish I could have thought of that the first time. Says everyone at some point in their life. It's been difficult. I won't suppose. I know. Reaching out to other schizophrenics is like picking up someone else's phone, pounding the numbers until it rings, and saying "hello, it's me. You know me, right?" Asking someone to come in, when the sign on the door clearly reads "get the fuck out."
I'm trying. Please be patient. The heat has been stifling. Crush, baby. Crush. Who loves you? I do. You still keeping odd hours? That depends. Are you still on vacation? I don't know. Maybe you should think about writing during daylight hours. Maybe you should think about the kinds of questions you ask me. The city is large and I'm just one man. The country is larger, but I'm still just one man. Come with me if you want to see or don't. I won't fault you either way. Do you remember how you laughed in 2005 at that concert? No. But the tears have been uncontrollable since. A right sort riot. I can't go back, but I have to. Keep it down. Where are your sunglasses? I don't know. Let's get it right this time. I was born yesterday.
///Lo-Fidelity Allstars - "Valentine Boast" ... the greatest romance of the 21st century...
///The Orb - "Secrets" awed by tradition
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