Sometime August 19th, following a long day of inner bonding. For a while, I felt completely immersed in the work and was drawing it without saying a word, and then I looked over you and I felt as though I had been a bad person and kind of collapsed afterward:
I have done a new digital piece for enjoyment of my blog viewers, which there seem to be a lot more of nowadays (not sure how that works, really). It is called 'An experiment in towers "how I'm feeling" (attempt.)' or something like that (as an update: yes, it is called this). I hope I don't forget to update this. I am on my computer and I drew this on my laptop, so I can't reference the title right now. We drew lots of other stupid things together today, but again, I did this one all silent and serious. I've never really gotten like that.
[redacted for the time being]
Written about a month later, but I realized I wrote "blog viewers," which goes to speak of my thoughts on these things. I don't believe you're reading in to what I'm saying, but I don't doubt that you're spectating my work. This has always happened. It is okay.
Sometime
August 20th, following a long day of reverse engineering a deceptively
broken Flash game which has received lots of love (but not as much as it
should):
Technology is beautiful. It is beautiful I can
talk to you in an instant and hear back from you in just another. It is
weird and strange I take this for granted. I am listening to a song that
was recorded in a farm in Chapel Hill, South Carolina (going through
this old thing again, to keep this entry up-to-date and whatnot,
realized I don't know where the C'est la key farm is. I don't believe I
need to know this information, but the lack of it has made this
paragraph all the less true), at some point between late 2016 and 2017.
The window, pt. 2 is a song I am slowly beginning to unlearn. Ironically
I have only recently tried my hand at learning it on guitar, but these
words have stopped feeling so true and right. This we have is making me
lose my fear, this we have is making me stop being afraid. It feels as
though I were stepping out of the white mist. There was a lot of white
mist this morning, but I am talking about a more general form of white
mist. I read a bit of Hobbes today, and I remember when this was all
going over my head because I couldn't wrap my head around its abstract
confine. Good times. In some form I am lesser than I have ever been (and
this will continue to be true forever), and in a million other ways I
am slowly becoming everything I have never been, I am slowly amassing a
complete fulfillment of myself, and I owe this to you.
"I'm afraid," but "I'll be brave."
I think that's my new sentiment. I think this is where the future's ought to take me.
Sometime August 21st, following the previous two:
It's been a week since the last update. I guess maybe it's a bit impossible to abandon these things. I liked writing every day, even if it wasn't much most of the time. I guess I did this again (19-21) but I won't count it this time. I won't count it again. It's okay. It doesn't have to be anything special. I wonder how many more of these updates I'll write out though!
Sometime August 22nd, following an early wake:
"I'LL SEE YOU AGAIN UP IN THE PLEIADES."; 2017 faux-genderbyck live. Realized in conjunction as "Atticstar Color Drain," performs six songs extended into the night for an audience. Recorded and pressed to seven rw discs. A miracle for those who still seek low-fidelity.
All who still have this get in touch with me, I'm trying to live again.
$$
I think everyone's still hoping for some sort of cultural regression, and it's never going to happen. Not because anything special is going on (admittedly, there are a lot of special things going on which would prohibit this also, but the point I'm making is that these are not relevant), but because the world marches on regardless of its individuals! The sun has a job to cover, the earth is rotating places, they are all ensuring time is a constant moving forward, and so we adapt this. It is fun to dream of the past and imagine our lives as though they can still take place in the past, but this can't happen anymore. Not now. Not here. Not again. Me writing through Blogspot is the icing on the cake here, what do I know about abandoning the past?
Oh well.
To love is to let go. I don't think I'm there yet.
Sometime August 24th, following a midday strung on by through continuous listening of "Black Country" by Tonstartssbandht:
I've lived a long time. I don't think I'm particularly conscious or anything (I liked pretending I was when I was younger) but I've been here for a good chunk of time and ultimately I'm still alive, there's joy to take from this as much as I haven't seen it. I think it is all coming to me, "escaping the veil" or whatever. This song's treating me nicely. I feel good. I want to be alive.
Sometime August 27th, following a rainy day's clearing:
"Blue the dreamways"
"Brown the dreamways"
From what I gather the rainbow's colors were split so to make 7 colors, same as the diatonic (or heptatonic or whatever you wanna call it) scale! Weird stuff. I almost don't believe it.
I hope the sky fully clears out soon, and this rain and cold stops hailing down on us. It's been too long! It's been too long.
$$
Wouldn't you know it. Beautiful and golden now.
$$
(:) all this () is Leaving () me beh()(ind) (;) all this non(e)() is (;) now behind. Me! (:)
Sometime September 1st, following a beautiful sunny week's worth:
Humpers _1.
Sometime September 4th, following a stark realization:
I am really just keeping this blogpost hostage. I wanted it to come out on the 27th, but I had the idea for "Humpers." for a couple weeks by that point so I held off for the fear of making a third update post, because wouldn't that be horrifying? I also never got around to attaching the digital piece I did on the 19th, which delayed it further. Here I sit September 4th awaiting the impending day I get enough inspiration for 40 minutes of through-composed plunderphonics in the form of "Humpers." ... the demo from the 1st was only 10 minutes long, and I felt like I was pushing myself already.
When it comes to my songs, I seem to fall into a bit of a trap. They are generally in two ranges; 3-5 minutes or 9-17 minutes. Sometimes shorter, never longer. I have maybe seven songs that are 17 minutes each, and I don't know why. It's not even a number I like! I did actually release a 20 minute song one time, but it was a mesh of a 6 minute song, an 8 minute song, and maybe another 8 minute song (don't do the math, there were some elements of those songs cut out), so I don't think it really counts. With "Humpers." I am trying to do an actual full 40 minutes, maybe with an underlying sample at the base (which I guess goes a bit against that idea of through-production) or something, who knows. It's been a struggle.
I realized I don't particularly write much about reality, as I am doing here. Welcome. I spent most of the day programming for a mod of a Flash game, you can see here some of the output of that:
[redacted for the time being]
Nothing terrifyingly interesting, I apologize. I remember when I was younger we had small, kind of nowhere-heading (bless the ways of "no child left behind" and etc.) robotics classes with Arduino and the like. I wasn't bad! I would say I was always good at understanding code and being able to engage in pseudo-code, but I found robotics mindnumbing regardless of this because I did not care for... robots. When I gave due to trying out game modding I immediately fell in love. I like the idea of reverse engineering, of course, who doesn't?, but actually trying it out for yourself and getting to experience some form of amazement over the dogshit code you're looking at is truly an out of this world feeling/experience/etceteralia. Hard to describe. Recommend. I enjoy it.
Also, damn, I used to write this blogpost's worth in a couple hours. Where has my writing voice gone?
"My singing voice is gone," I remember when I had this other website of mine up somewhere (it still is, but I don't like thinking about it) and I tried to do a little blog there. I think I kept it up for a few days before caving in. At least here I lasted a month and change, and I could've gone longer but I felt as though I was being disrespectful by that point. I wonder what would've come out of it if I kept going. I see I have some... forgive me, motion... every time I open my blog (the views tickers go up for some reason? Why? There's nothing new here? At least not yet...) so I guess that would've snowballed into something bigger if I let it grow and grow, but... who cares for this? Speaking of;
Was thinking about the ban again. I think I'll always be thinking about it somewhere in the back of my mind. Me and my dear friend Kona have both grown disillusioned with the site, and I still haven't figured out where writing is supposed to live in the internet now. I wrote a lot about "life after the end of death" (a lot of it now deleted, sigh...) but what about "life after the end of free publication?" Is this even something worth being published? Maybe this should rot on my computer forever, and one day in some amount of years, when my friends finally figure out my passwords, they can read it again and think about all I wasn't cracked up to be. What will be then? But I digress; This is a new life, this is a new world, some new book is starting sometime soon and I am none the wiser. This is curious, this is scary, this is exciting. I am admittedly glad to be living in this moment, as much as it doesn't sound like it at times.
What do you think?
Saw a bit where I said "I won't count these again, not again, not again" and like, I'm not counting them or anything, but I wonder how long I'll keep this up for. When I read that part again I didn't recognize whoever wrote it, so, maybe if it takes me long enough I'll be able to read this I'm writing right now with new eyes, and new skin, and a new and endarkened body, if things go right. How scary it is to be in the future, and still be encroaching on this new inexplicable future of mine. I wonder how long it'll take me for me to forget why I was afraid of the future!
See? That's modernist writing. We are currently at a point in time where the center has not fallen, where it has not collapsed. I am awaiting an impending collapse based on my premonition and knowledge of the post-modernist, but this lack of collapse in reality has made the situation much different. Maybe I'll get killed in a templicyrcomplicit (multi-modus word-bo...(...s) to allude: To) center of my own.
Hey. It's not even 12:40 yet. I guess I did write a good amount. Worry feeds (ways beckoning/becoming worryfeeds? To expand on) like wormers and receivers.
Sometime September 8th in the earliest morning hours, following a failed operating system installation, because the past never stops catching up with us... now listening to Oh, perispomenon! because at least that serves as a retreat against the future:
I guess I kind of put it all out on the title. It's been a rough couple days, my head is stretching deep into my stomach. I guess my dear's head is doing that, actually, but mine is mentally following suit. Sometimes I want to be a real deer, and trod the prairie
Sometime September's end, following a great clock's work involving the painting of a missing mural to represent stolen culture of Mexican muralists we have not lived nor attempted to understand, then the great inbound, a relapse of The Autoandrogonyans, then the real nothingness of the hollow moment when I called, then a week of things middlingly if not annoyingly left unspoken, wrapped up in outerpersonal conflict:
I wish there was a real song here I could link, but it does not exist at this time. Since I know its name, I can deduce its link, so I will leave it here for an eternity until I have figured these things out. It is called Humpers., it is a self-titled album ostensibly about "Humpers.", and also about "the things that bind "us" as we understand it." As of the 15th, I have a 10 minute demo of this one-song album (Humpers. - Humpers. - Humpers.) but I have allotted 46 minutes to my SoundCloud to finish this pursuit, so I am not planning to stop until it's closer to that. And then I will be done. My friend said he hopes that when his album is done, he can go back to being a normal person and get into all the things he's put off, and right now I kind of feel like that. But it's okay. It's alright. It'll all be better sometime this year.
$$
Am I just dreaming?
$$
Regarding the title, Fermín Revueltas was a great painter and none of us could ever be like him. (Not regarding the title: John Martin was a great painter and none of us could ever be like him.)
Regarding the title, "do you remember being born?" I remember hearing this song alone alone alone alone alone alone alone... (something tells me I'm misremembering) ...alone alone alone, down on an empty stomach and out of my stringsfold ("The Autoandrophile's Lament" by Lex Walton), and only now have I taken to crying to it.
Regarding the title, nothing is new, nothing is old.
$$
"Humpers ghost"
Conclusion, September 19th, aligned in a sense to Geordie Greep's "The Magician"
Also,
[no date]
54-55. A mutual arr.
8/20
56. Snowcrest.
Change your hair change your life.
8/25
57. Not what I have
Something skulls onward!
58. Couple in two planes
Featuring new clouds and similar-to-previous ghost
9/1
59. B&W spring colordream
Forest clattering down as described
60. Naked as a ghost!
Interrupted by wind.
61. View
What's it to you?
62. Surfboard devil
With two horn-esque teeth, and clouds
63. Cyclopees
The one eyed hugging and forming a shape together with a ghost
64. Ann (Laestrygonian)
Disfigured and ugly.
65. My... guillotine...
My beautiful humble kind everloving springborn guillotine for all spirits, esters, ghosts, stars, angels, and laestrygonians alike who perspire and breath in the land we call
66. There's no telling where the war sends me
Fighting and fighting and fighting and
67. Neutropia
Newthing following "the end of"
68. Cx
What hasn't been lived
69. Close!
Almost touched there.
70. Life on the line?
Pale, unlike the cubists
71. If nothing.
My owl vue
9/16
72. Buceo
On going swimming as a pair of pianostairs
73. As my antennao
On beckoning steam and vapor in our infinite rayo-road
74. Dw...r
Water attack
75. The downpour!
Waiter attached
76. My stairs
My lying narrator, depicting a Yume 2kki scene
77. My ghosts.
Barely interpretable
