07_06_26 (Me oh myriorama - Iris)

Baby what a shame!
Baby what abrasion!
This is not a game,
DissociATIIOONNN!!!
DISSOCI A A A A A A TION TIONN!!!
A A A A A A TION TIONNN!!!

$$

This is gonna take a bit of effort. Bear with me. Are you bearing with me?

.. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. 
.. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. . .
.. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. . .
.. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. . .
.. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. . .
.. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. . .
.. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .  
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.. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. 
.. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. 

That looks bad! That looks really bad. Oh well.

$$

(A ticking metronome sways with phronesis-resembling impulse. Between manne and pianos
lies a painting of a red horse, a painting of a dead horse, a placed-by-hand 260-glass-rod
chandelier, a salt lamp, and a signed vinyl of "In the Aeroplane Over the Sea". This
conversation begins at an earlier point and follows an already entangled relation, but the
coroner could not piece together anything beforehand, so now you're just left to guess. He
believes this is what they call "Miseralia".)

(flickers his brows      You don't get it. It doesn't sound          (I just can't take it here anymore.
by rubbing salt           anything like that music you're             so much disrespect every day,
on the       eternnial    talking about. I don't know who                      and I don't even get paid!
          wound pro-      "Wilco" is, or are, or have been,          It's all a joke. I'll wake up soon.)
-lapsed from  prior     but clearly you don't understand
injustice)                    what I'm really alluding to here.

                                  This is really simple. You should
                                  be embarrassed that I have to
                                  even explain it to you. Let's put            (On first thought, I thought I would
                                  it this way. In the greatest year            not particularly love the aeroplane,
                                  on this earth, which, we'll say at          but I hugged it tight and Holland
                                  the same time, one, two, three:           welcomed me with love.)

2011                                                                                     1870
                                  ...

(laughs and               How?
laughs, for crying      1870?
would be like             Can you name me a single good thing that happened in 1870?
   staging a mound                   Are you a big fan of the Franco-Prussian war? What's going on
operation like, like,                                                         here? Have you completely lost your
Cóndor? he wraps his poor fingers around his brain,                               mind? Do you wanna
trying to remember the real name of the operation,      see what they were getting up to in the
but like, who even knows? And what's even the           f- the, the uh,                      (Fuck...)
      relevance of American murder?     Forced              FRANCO-PRUSSIAN WAR. I said it
structuralized                                                                 right the first time! I don't know why I
                            impotent                                                           even doubted myself.
                                              undaringly                          Isn't that lovely? Isn't that beautiful?
grotesque                                                                      Have you ever witnessed a murder?
m         u          r        d           e            r                 ?)              If you were alive in 1870, I think
                                                            you would've witnessed a lot more than a murder. May'
                                                            two? Maybe three? Maybe four? Do you know
                                                            how to count? Do you want to learn how to count?
                                                            I'm getting really sick of           
                                                            talking                                      (I thought of murder
                                                            t       o                                      twice, didn't I?)
                                                            y  o  u
                                                            y  o  u     k       n       o      w    ?

(Lightheaded. Throat closing in)                                          I... give me a rest, will you.

                                                                                          (My doctor, he comes in, busts
                                                                                          through the door, all for no good
                                                                                          reason, and he's yelling at me,
                                                                                          and he says, "Look, you've got
(Quite miserable gagging.)                                                Misophonia.") (And, I don't know
                                                                                          what that is, so I try to get him to
                                                                                          tell me more, but he refuses, and
                                                                                          eventually I start getting real dizzy
                                                                                          and feel my throat closing in, just
                                                                                          like what's going on now.) (But,
(Helplessly abandoned as the door closes.)                     there's no doctor now, it's just me
                                                                                          and the worst pretender I've ever
                                                                                          seen, so, am I going to die in this
                                                                                          place? Even the thought of that
                                                                                          makes me feel worse...) (I think
                                                                                          some people are terribly terribly
(In resting place...)                                                            incapable of thinking.) (I was g...
(In resting place...)
(In resting place...)
(In resting place...)

$$

"I came home on Tuesday and found all of the chairs that I own stacked in a tower in the
center of my kitchen. I don't know how long they had been like that but it can only be me that
did it. It's the kind of thing a ghost might do to prove to the living that he is still there. I am
haunting my own apartment."

$$

Yesterday, before fully falling asleep, I had a dream I had already lived through long ago.
There is nothing I remember of this dream right now.              (I guess the editor is not used
In recent time I have been made to play and experience a      to so much weird formatting,
lot of things beyond my comfort, which stemmed from years   given how much it's lagging
of closing myself in, as though to not do so would imply a       every time I input anything!)
sure death of some sort. I've been trying to break away from being a completely hidden and
rotten person lately and although it's all hard and scary I have been attemptedly reassured
time and over that "it'll all be okay."                (I remember maybe last decade I finished this
                                                                        album, "Runescape Dream", about a relation
If I were given another chance at this thing,   I went through that changed the course of my
I would really like to try out life in the trades,  life forever. Making that album was no easy
or something else physical like that! In this    task! It took me seven painful years, much
life I spent most of my time dwelling by          inspired and derived from whoever I was into
computers and all sorts of these post-haste   through those years, through which I discovered
inventions of the 20th and 21st century.         myself and eachother. To say that I was at any
                                                                       set of two days there, "the same person", would
I would have liked to enjoy carpentry.            be a really sad lie. Tragedy. Miseralia.) (This
                                                                       whole remembrance of Runescape Dream
                                                                       comes from some of the last lyrics on the album,
                                                                       which say, simply,

It'll take some time
But somewhere down the line
It'll all be good
It'll all be alright
It'll all be better next year. 

                                                                       and although it did not get better the year after,
                                                                       or the next,
                                                                                            or the next,
                                                                                                                    or the next,
                                                                                                                                          or...
                                                                       ...the next, it was wishful thinking that kept me
                                                                       going for all this change. You know?)

$$

god. god. god. god. god. god.

        god. god. god. god. god.

                god. god. god. god.

god.                 god. god. god.

god. god.                 god. god.

god. god. god.                 god.

god. god. god. god. 

                                                                           take me out of this! 

07_05_26

Emotional dependence will kill you, you know! I guess at least for now I can still hide my opinions from Jazz- and therefore engage in -death of the nonsequi(turi-turi-turi)ty of opening up and allowing my bones to be dug up and explored in-out-around-juxtapositionally-uncardinally-aligned-to-ways-etc... where was I?

I think dissonant jazz is real beautiful. I think noise is real beautiful. I think post-rock is real beautiful when it's done by people so mystic and unapproachable and... androgynous... that I can only bring it in myself to admire them. I think low-fidelity is the best form the music can have, because it shouldn't matter what your equipment is provided you can make the music coming out of it be real beautiful. Of course, you can come in and argue "what about harsh noise? What about...?", but, that's not very beautiful of you to say. Anyway, I think a combination of all four of the previously mentioned (sorry harsh noise) would make a truly beautiful piece of music. And maybe that's just me wishing that Les Rallizes Dénudés had more of a jazz touch to it (they did have a saxophone for a while, but imagine their strength were they to bring in trumpets too! Imagine if they had an acoustic bass! Although, I guess you wouldn't particularly be able to hear it over everything else going on... but a trumpet would've been cool.), but who knows! I think there's something real beautiful that could be found in a combination of all these. Do YOU know any? Is this how I get engagement on my blog posts? Feel free to click on the "title", which should say 07_05_26 because titling things is a sin and involves attachment and connection beyond annexia, and then go down to the bottom and drop a COMMENT with your ACCOUNT. Thanks!

$$

Snowdream might come true. Scary. 

$$

Still struggling on the Mario end of the battlefield. They're kicking my ass! It's fucked up.

07_04_26 (Duran Duran - Rio)

Strung thoughts from the spacebox.

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Oh, Sun Ra! Your idea must follow that of mine! Listen and heed, Sun Ra! Come on, Sun Ra! Loosen up on the horseys, Sun Ra! (Does this constitute a Tantacrul impression? That would be quite sad.)

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Not as anything as I was hoping.

$$

A couple seconds minutes hours days weeks $$months years decades centuries millenniums eons millenniums centuries decades years months$$ weekswasfineactually ago I wrote down that I wanted to take the car out and drive through the countryside with the laptop in my possession and make the next the Attitude Era, although the possibility that I'd spend any of that time actually making music is just too unbelievably detached for anyone to pretend like it's the truth, and so, I'd end up crying and freezing to death, where no anthropologist would ever find me, and where no aspect of my sheathself would be perrogative to whatever future investigation of women in the past (misinformed and maladapted daydreamless) will be occuring in the next couple seconds minutes hours days weeks months years decades centuries millenniums eons $$ from now. From now. I'm safe for now. I'll stay for a while longer. I'm not interested in driving when gas is this expensive anyway. I'm safe for now.

$$

I hope historians say we were only ever friends. This is all strange and bizarre and, frankly, I'm not trying to get myself stuck in the bile right now, for my teeth are too quiet and weak and brittle and, and, and, afraid, to try to bite thru the gnaws and hypothetical synthetic gash product hereforever. Hereforever. that's good. I want to use hereforever again.

I'll always be afraid
The Iliad didn't prepare me for this
But in summer and winter
I'll be hereforever.

That's kind of cheating. I just used it as you'd normally use it. Lame. Oh well.

$$

Here to report on a loss of the internet: For some reason if you go to History's (the TV channel) website it redirects you to their YouTube channel? I was looking up information on what was the first music video and I found an article from History (which sounds kind of funny looking back) but like, I can't look at it! All they do is redirect you to their YouTube channel now! Tragedy. Miseralia. Linkrot is real and it's out here to get us all.

$$

New things are turning 20 years old all the time. I saw a review on an album published in 2006, and I realized, that was 20 years ago! In 2006, "In The Small Wee Hours" by Frank Sinatra was only 51 years old. It is now 71. Isn't that crazy? Time flies away and although the other night you tried to trap it in a birdcage, it fluttered out in a manner too majestic for you to lock it back in, so with its neon wings unfurled you watched it return love and power to all the clocks in your house, you watched it re-synchronize its ways, you watched it forgive you and you waved it goodbye. And that's alright. You welcomed it into the same life you took it from like a post-death-relived patient.

$$

Remembered when I was a little kid racing cars with the other little kids of the park, and none of us ever made contact again, but I'll never forget the thrill of automotives. I understand why politicans don't want bikes to succeed.

$$

Really really really love the part at 2:30 on Save A Prayer where the melody repeats on the electric guitar except it bends higher, so high you'd think it was taking you as though you were in control of the hands of time! Stare through your winter angels buried in a snow-white suit.

$$

On the topic of Duran Duran, The Chauffeur is proto Boards of Canada. Have you ever heard A14? You should. That's the song I'm alluding to. It's very beautiful.

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Click away to let go!

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X X X X X X X X X the king X X the king X th X X X X X X X
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get it?

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Ambient idea:
*Infinite layers of feedback... (Delay feedback set to 90-105%)
*Tape emulation (personally I like Aberrant's plugins for this. You could also use like, Ferox)
*Export as 56kbps mp3 then re-encode to flac if need be.

$

Just one.
After I wrote the above I found myself wanting to try it out, because it's been a while since I made a song, and sure enough, it worked! I followed my own steps as though they were tight-knit prayers from the Lord Sharifi, where I (am) not allowed to stray from the conventions implanted here...

I can't embed audio files to Blogspot. Shame. The song is called "I found myself sleeping in the same valley where you birthed me" and it is 17 minutes 13 seconds long.

$$

Remember a couple years ago I was looking up something regarding to increasingly ridiculous RAM usage in software and one of the replies was just, "RAM is there to be used.", and I remember thinking that was one of the stupidest things I had ever read. And you know what? Looking at RAM prices today... I'M RIGHT!!! THAT RAM EXISTS IN SOME CAPACITY DOES NOT MEAN YOUR PROGRAM SHOULD BE UNOPTIMIZED!!!!!!

Sorry.

$$

I found my mom's last.fm page.

Zero scrobbles. It's like you hardly had any idea of the relevancy of this in the future.

$$

In a way, we're all burdened by the shackles of debts-of-the-past as though we were Sonemic.

$$

Spent 2000 summers as though if I were to look away from my visualbox for one second I'd be cast into hell for all of eternity and never allowed to return again, with my only hope for salvation serving to set an even higher combo on Tony Hawk's Pro Skater 3 (which is in its own way a small form of heaven to a girl like me...)

$$

These Kaizo hacks are making me realize I'm really bad at Super Mario 64.

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End of strung thoughts.

07_03_26

(Alluding to a movie, untragically) I watched a man die u[pr]ooted in a lack of pr[otection] by throwing his hymnself off a building. It was sad. I never knew the man, so I could not particularly long for him either.

$$

I am deathly ill. Forgive me as I have not been. Binary fission is making the better of me at this instance and I can't stop exploiting newscare unscheduleable drugs for salvation.

$$

Ever since I was a little kid I wanted to see snow in the city I was born in. I could of course go anywhere else in the world where it snows more often, but I missed out on the opportunity to watch snow here, in my form of reality, and isn't that just terribly unfortunate? I wonder if I'll be walking outside, and I'll see all I can't find it in me to forgive, and then the snow will come hailing down as though I were about to turn transparent. Would I be able to cry there? Would that be okay? Would that be acceptable?

Who knows.

It's the peak of winter somewhere down (even though the solstice should've been last month, but, it's fine, everyone's skewed and skewered like little sacs of lamb meat these days), my grandparents called me to let me know it started snowing in their city, which admittedly is only a few hours away from here, but still I could never find it in me to visit that place. It's not where I was born! I don't belong there. I am nothing there. If I were to move I'd revisit Star City(s) from forever ago and settle over there instead. I'd like to walk around my imaginary Michigan prairies with sheep and cattle as though I were in a beautiful and neverending Heidi episode.

$$

 

07_02_26

Interpretation of Here comes everybody. 

And it's like,
I can hardly feel any form of happiness, and
Nothing feels real, it's like, everything's out of place
And, who was it who talked about this?
Maybe I should've payed attention in philosophy class
But I was busy cuddling my friend whilst peering out the window with my looking glass 
We saw the manhole open, and from it crawled the ants
Then marched the bruins and ways, and now,
Here come the rats.

Retelling of today, and only today, for I have not yet lived tomorrow, and the past is being memoryholed in present happenstance. 

I walked down in complete opposite to my rutushyual soute and got myasmelf some surgeries. "Black cake" $ "Middleman's moon" $ "Guardian angel" $ "Next Year's Snow" amongst any (hoetel (landlineless))otherians. Landed=:"the job"(although of course Life is not a game, and Life is being capitalized as though it were Of a god, because, it is, but rather: Life IS A misryaro-dio-weak/wiki/weakling/trudgingthroughthemud(bleedingthruthenose)-DIORAMA OF SENSIBILITY WHERE YOUR BIGGEST CROWDIEST ROUDIEST YELL YELL YELL, MY-MUSTbeguidedbythecapital,whichcommandsitsothat$$theanchorofcapitalcommandsitsothat$$theanchorofcapital-uuughghhh...-YOU-YELL, OBJECTIVE IS TO BECOME A SYMBOL OF RESPECT AND INNTURNNE the ELITEENS FAVORITE PASTIME) by which I simply, simply, simply, simply mean I showed up to #RepresentOnSomeBitches down the allwayhighway of eternal elitinfant sensibilia. Had to pretend there was none of that Miseralia! A girl came up to me and asked if I was a ghost. A boy came up to me and asked if I was a woman. I could not answer either question by the time their teachers called to slip them out of such a fishy situation. $$ In alluding to earlier_wheniwaswalking ) still though to clarify in this stillborn Life that it does not hurt to be A**** in usual seasons, but THIS SEASON, it did, it does, it will (Even if I supposedly don't know what The future holds, I can gander and peek and prod at a guess or two or... or... I'm running out of breath. Let's take a stop, let's cruise down, I want coffee, I want soup, this girl... wants soup.) and it seems like it will never end. Tragedy. Miseralia. (_, I spent some time out there imagining I was walking along with my real friend, who in this context was merely imaginario. I know he's real because I've talked to him! I've seen the time it takes for him to type, I've heard the music he's sent my way, I talk about him (isn't that scary?), I think about him when he isn'(t)here (isn't that even scarier?), I find myself inspired by his ways (isn't that horrifying and embarrassing, if not Sickeningly honest and sentimental?) Regaaarrgh(((il)lia)d)less, he wasn't real, neverthelessandmorehowmuchIargeuaboutit, but in a way neither am I, so really it's all okay and beautiful. And... I can't repeat myself anymore. $$ I'm cold. I'm really cold. In solitary I was looking at negative degrees today. It's harsh out there. Stay safe and warm.

Interpretation of Adventures in babysitting.

Bile and dog food
Worms that glow
There's a heaven in this here underground
(Fallen bodies cascade into the soundscape)
It wouldn't hurt to give it a try
(Rotten cronies long to give a try to these adventures!)

Fallen
Bodies
Fallen
Bodies
Fallen
Bodies
Fallen...

Well, I can think about the past now, so Here it comes.

Nobody can come dig up the bones. She's lying there all rotten and bizarre, stuck in her episcera. I remember how long we spent in the past whilst she made me listen to her Game of Thrones podcast. How sad I feel for her about that ending! I remember after she watched it she never felt the same again. I think I get it. But I'll never really know, for she isn't here anymore. She's lying there all rotten and obscure. I don't even know what hospital they keep her in anymore. I don't know if she's even, in any form or capacity or amount or..., material anymore. I think she's only purely solely inmaterially a star, and she brings warmth and love here, so it's okay, really, but she's also brought a ghost I knew closer to this weird brink, and now I think it's a star too, and, I just kind of miss when nobody was a star.

It was very cold "this"(* not to be addressed) morning. I found myself laying down by the insides of my mattresses as though I were a baby spider, naked in fear and drenched in the possibility of immediate death and disappearance of all that I love. I wonder if I've ever ruined the life of some insect I wasn't capable of getting to know. I think I'll go to hell over it. I don't know. I. I. I...
I ' m  l o s i n g  m y  m i n d !

07_01_26

Echolalic bubbling is going and happening about in my ears. Discordant. Unsure what to make of it all.

Oh, I can embed music here.

Look! This is what I was alluding to with the echolaaawwwuueeeeeeeeeee...

neverwinter incendiary flamebox lit match ESCAPE from the wicked WAYS in your miraheze GAS CHAMBER with your ETIQUETTE AND BURNING PILES OF HAY all consumed by...

the wicked ways. 

06_30_26

"Throughout my career, some of my best ideas came from dreams."

06_29_26

A short one to offer some respite from all previous, 

"Bendito sea el juramento de los panaderos! En su magia amiga tan anagramica yo creo que encuentran todas sus respuestas, todas sus bendiciones. Ningun silencio ni confesion estarca se podria realizar en sus jardines fractalicos, los panaderos existen honestamildemente con confeccion de inalambria. En su matriz veo y vere! En su matriz todos seremos. No te inspira la manera en la que los panaderos caen como puntos en una representacion tri-triconica de la ciudad? No te inspira a mejorar Livonia?"

It really doesn't, no.

$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$ 

Sun setting to Splitter. Feeling the burnworks as they were wash over me and hover my abstractia-magi-ya-ji(qah/cah)equeaelia.

I must be one of the last girls in the world still cuddling to Coin locker kid.

Have a good day now.

06_28_26

The start of my dream: I don't know.

The middle of my dream: I don't know. 

The end of my dream: Was thinking about if that guy who figured out the church sample into Father Stretch My Hands (which had the cover for Jesus Is King here) was still happy about hearing the transition anywhere and everywhere. As I was thinking about this I started walking down the asphalt of the ways. I saw lightbeams ahead of me, by which I mean, a fast-encroaching bus was trying to get the best of me! I felt paralyzed and without a trace, so all I could resort to do was stand. The bus was to my right (which I guess was its left), but still I kind of moved to the right and I guess in doing this the bus took a bizarre and not-accurate-to-reality turn to the left, tumbling over on its side! It got back up, I don't really know how, and I started crying because I thought everyone in it had died, but, the bus driver kind of just looked at me with a reassuring expression and took haste again.

As I looked back, two homeless people were sitting down by my sides and my phone and wallet were gone. Bummer! 

Also at some point earlier I dreamt I was no longer banned. Tragedy. 

~oh im actually unbanned on one of the accounts~

Well. Account 2 is dead and dusted! Tragedy! Miseralia! I guess I brought this onto myself.

Everybody learns
The end is the end.

What next?

I don't know.

$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$

For my friend: You can be Elliott Smith! You know how to work a guitar, you know how to sing! "All the little people" walk around the street after school's over and they talk to the donut man (that's his new name, now that he's been assigned this role by me, in my fantasydreamworldmagicscape-of-infinite-fantasia (wait-I-already-said-fantasy-I-can't-say-fantasia)) and with whatever money their parents allowed them to scrounge up they get a donut or two (I saw a kid walking by with four, although the little bag the donut man has isn't big enough for four, so it was kind of an awkward situation) and finish it before they're even halfway home. I saw a kid riding his bicycle. Actually, I think I saw a couple kids, but none of them were going the same way so it was hard to count "all the little people." like that! They should try being more convenient next time.

$$ 

Oh, I'm curious now, I should probably look this up before the inevitable comes to strike and murder me violently with black vitriol licorice or whatever I was spewing on about last time. 

 

 

... 

 

Well, okay then. I have from (CURRENT TIME;~+∞) to work on my blog. That's reassuring!

Sorry for the gigantic ugly space here. I... think I selected a box? A hidden box? And that fixed it. I was having trouble with aligning the text here but it looks left-aligned again. Blogspot is strange archaic sorcery and all that convinces me that it won't last all that long intowards the future!

I would attempt to fiddle with the HTML view instead, since that's what I'm generally most familiar with, but the HTML for this very post is a gigantic ugly block that will probably collapse dare I touch it too much (they could at least only condense it when you're not looking, right...?) and I don't feel like pulling up any beautify websites either. Or de-ugly-beaut... that's the same thing!!!

$$

In waiting for it to turn June 28th I found myself incapable of sleeping. Opened up my laptop. Working on a different browser... all this writing is in Times New Roman now. Weird! I found myself staring at the ceiling and I was thinking about "immigration plight," which I gave meaning as alluding to this idea of all that's lost in the fauxtural Grand Exchange. It is such a struggle to convert some of these archaic formattings into a different website! I'm reverse engineering JavaScript, and like, I don't even know how to normally engineer JavaScript, so what the fuck am I going to do!? I was also thinking of 12 Stout Street for some reason.

And now I'm thinking of mage tears.

Strange.

Originally I believe I was thinking about California by Organ Tapes (which I can't find any individual uploads of on YouTube, sorry) but my brain loves doing this thing where everything morphs and wraps around, and like, I think this is how I was doing all that shit to samples back when I made music, but I don't really know anything at all! My friend's saying I shouldn't stay the night in the palace of the past, which ironically reminds me a lot of this book my mom was writing which never got finished called "Euridice" about... a hotel, maybe? I never got around to finishing reading it. But, yes, staying the night; how can't I? It feels so close by! I'm a first generation escapeer not-by-choice, I loved my flawed country but this war was too terrible, my family too at-risk, my future incapable of withstanding it all...

The end is the end. 

So it goes! 

06_27_26

Blasphemy! Excitatia! Incarnate to my-self. I'm kind of cheating here actually, I started this one on the 26th, but what fun and games are there on a day where you see two... reviews, yuck, compared to two days where you see one blogpost each!

Wait.

Reviews. 

So I guess that's something I can do huh? It's called "Proxima Nova".

I don't know what they fucked up over there, because the tilde (~ not ´) isn't aligned to the top like ^ and the like. Look! ~what the fuck nevermind. When I tried the font on its page on Adobe Fonts (sorry) the tilde was aligned to the center! What is this sorcery!? Could I theoretically style this site to look like ****************************************** now!? That would be kind of awesome. Although I should've probably just ******* *** from ********** instead and put it on *************. Actually I shouldn't be saying that! Sorry any-body-s who could dissect and understand.  

Born 7000 summers ago into a luscious frolicker, not to be a froglicker, not to exist as a lickerfrog, but like ash in the wicker, and, vigor, and, my hands have these scary oily tremors of stuporious laborious fear & reluctance-rejectance-unenamourance of DEATH! I WILL DIE! We will all be dead children and ghosts cluttering and littering by the living rooms.

This is my impression of an elephas review. What do you think? On my last elephas review (which I'm realizing maybe nobody got to read, tragic) I gave a couple questions and directed people towards my email address to be able to answer.

I'm realizing I have the CSV for elephas, actually. Here:
[06_24_26]
How silly of me. oh well. goodbye now. may you wear my soul like worn-out cassettes cant keep wearing their songs. may you keep a memory of me like a drape on a ghost's head who you just dont want to stare at anymore. how do you deal with saying goodbye? "you used to see me in my room, and one day you saw me still but i wasnt there" how do you deal with a new door? how do you.?

[spoiler]**********@******.com



let me know.[/spoiler]","" 

And I left a comment saying "✴✴✴" and nothin' else. What an ending! Had the account managed to stay up long enough for it to display that I hadn't logged on in the past 60 days maybe someone would've managed to get me a reply in time. What an ending! Think of the tragedy! Think of the illusion! The wonder! The melodrama! Egads!

Oh, black text on a black background is not actually black, it turns the text grey instead so all those asterisks are readable. That's kind of lame. 

Something I kind of remembered and forgot and remembered and... ...is that my original reviews were really honest! I was still new to the practice and didn't particularly want to prove myself to anyone or "push the boundaries" or whatever else you wanna call it. I remember writing the first review for The Ghost~Pop Tape as a way to try to save myself from everything that was going on at the time. It was dire! It was really dire! I was sad and helpless and at odds with anyone I could call a friend. I used this avenue, inspired by ~konasalbumjournal, to not die! I didn't want to turn into nothing. Splitting splitting splitting splitting... splitter...

Blogspot... blogger... whatever you wanna call it, is kind of fascinating. This is destined to die! Google will kill Blogspot off just like it kills off everything else and in the end we will be all the dumber for it. Fools fools fools fools fools fools.

$$

Looking at the wikipedia page for the Mona Lisa, because, I guess that's what I get up to these days, and seeing Marguerite Agniel's "As Mona Lisa" and thinking, damn, she looks like my mom!, and then (two months earlier but let's pretend it happened after) seeing that one lady in Nightshift and thinking, damn, SHE looks like my mom!, and then, and then, and then and then, and then, and then. And then, and then. Then. Then and then and then, and then, and then, and then, and then.

 

I think that when I hold your hand,
It's right
And it's enough
To be together & alone.

Hm. What else can I do here?

I think that when I hold your hand,
It's right
And it's enough
To be together & alone.

Together & alone! Together & alone! Together & alone! Together & alone! 

Together & alone! Together & alone! Together & alone! Together & alone!

Together & alone! Together & alone! Together & alone! Together & alone!

That's pretty cool. I think the only thing this is lacking is a monospace enviroment! Can you tell I still wanted to do ASCII art at some point in time? I think the furthest I got was the Merzbow review, and maybe the one for Abandoned Cities (thanks Octa!) which I'm realizing probably nobody read, but I LIKED THOSE! So it goes, I guess.

Oh, I forgot to do justified text. Here's some ramble bamble aaugughghgghghh. Etcetera. I wonder how people got by in a land before reality. If every day of my life all I had to do was read Excelsior or whutever else is on the news (yeah I'm still on the wikipedia page for the Mona Lisa, motherfucker) I would have ended up sadder perhaps. Would I even have a concept of sadness in my mind? Or would I not be more worried not trying to die via like... whatever plague was going on at the time? Am I going to end all my entries like this? Mystery.

$$

"One day I will lose everything and die on the street like a rotten dog. Vitriol stolen. Heart swallowed and coughed back out once it stopped being able to fit. Where's the ways?"

$$

The ways are gone.

$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$

Wrecking my brain real hard here and realizing I can now convey dialogue in so many ways I couldn't before! Of course, this is at the cost of being recognized and read (which whilst not major before was not this miniscule and nothinglike), at the cost of being able to use the formatting I was accostumed to (which isn't a major loss on most regards, but to link albums now I have to go through more steps...), and at the cost of some metaphysical form of self I will pre-emptively call "The future (Romanticized)". We can call it Tf(R) for short.

I can now use left-aligned and right-aligned text for different speakers, I can use colors, I can use text weighting... it all feels so much less limiting! And yet I cannot implement a clickable spoiler button that unveils text, so it all feels so incredibly limiting and worthless... what a tragedy of infinite proportion! Tf(R) weeps and cries day-in and day-out at the thoughts I'm currently having, for Tf(R) knows better and lived in comfort of odd numbers. How dare I make it four? The future holds no place for continuations of even numbers.

$$

I've been thinking about Even Care again. I think maybe some form of myself could've been reflected by pet like, 40? Let's say 40. Or maybe 39, if we're so against even numbers.

$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$

In waiting for it to turn June 27th I beat Super Mario 64 again. Maybe I'll allow myself more than one a day given the time it took for this one to pass! Refer to previous whining about how I almost never play with widescreen and 60FPS but just played different this one time. Whatever. May you forgive me as I have not been by the Lord Sharifi.

 

06_26_26 (Janis Lago - Mao / ERS)

Year day! I remember seeing a possible interpretation of how a day in a year would look like (as opposed to a year constructed from the green/red/? calendar bones of land before, all to say, days) and although I really did not understand it, I felt moved by all this glamorous gloomylous manifigtantastic talk of the hill&&valley of like... time!

Some years ago: Playing RuneScape. Classic elephas.
Some years ago: Playing RuneScape. Classic elephas.
Today: Woke up in the morning (shocker), looked at my email to find no inquiries. I believe the sky was a pearly (cloudy cloudy cloudy) white outside although looking from out my largely closed window is a hard ask.

Oh, I can attach pictures on these. That's weird. I remember when writing in the past I could only do [wi:] and they didn't let you do those on the "apartado real para escritura" of the website! I almost translated that as apartment instead. Forgive and be forgiven.

Janis Lago - Mao / ERS (2026)

This album was good. I heard it when it came out. Janis has a nice voice and she can work those instruments of hers! Majestic bunny.

Oh, what I was saying before! Yes, the sky maybe looked incredibly white but in my dreary sleep-phase (ala headcamp/freebase/$$$) I was imagining it as yellow/golden and wondering what all I had lost. I had a dream about the past, indefinite beauty in a 640x480 (pre-responsive design!) website with a gradient... perhaps I was thinking of Shakespeare Online? Looking at the site nowadays it either got brighter or my monitor was worse back then (which is kind of surprising given that this current monitor is already pretty yellow-washed as it stands)

Some years ago: Playing RuneScape. Classic elephas.
Some years ago: Playing RuneScape. Classic elephas.
Yesterday: In a weird fit of trying to get over it (not that one), I picked up Super Mario 64 again. It's a beautiful game, you know. Sometimes I wonder how something that 'broken' was released, and that's not to beat down on the game or anything, but if you hit all the invisible walls I've hit, if you clipped with a bobomb through the top of the pyramid in Shifting Sand Land (like I can't do) (okay apologies for the second parentheses, I was trying to find the video I'm alluding to here but I couldn't find it, so instead I'll link this equally mesmerizing bob-omb related glitch, then you'd understand what I was talking about. I wonder if Lil B likes Super Mario 64.

Usually, when I play, I'm not one to bother with "fixing the game" or "making it look good" (because to do that is to deny the game of its inherent and natural artifacting, and also because doing all that makes framewalking on JRB harder) but on my solemn laptop I already had Coop DX (the full thing is too many syllables, they should work on that) loaded so I just started playing on that instead.

Playing this game on a keyboard sucks. I had forgotten about this! I still got through a good chunk of the game before my laptop's battery died though. I remember that when I got to charge my laptop that day I opened it up and poor little Mario was floating at the top of the ship's innards in JRB. 24-27? stars and all!

Playing this game on my controller sucks. I've played so much Super Mario 64 that my poor PlayStation 3 controller (no shame in this "house"-"hold")'s X button (that's the one you use to jump for all you richer than rich Nintendo fans) turned to MUSH! Mucky muck muck.

11:11:11. I should make a wish one of these days. I hope my normal voice is returned to me. I hope I gain some new traits. Most of the time I've been alive I've wished to look in a mirror and have some deformities that I can confidently stare at, and have people go and yell "Look! Look! Deformities!" as though I were in dire need of exorcism.

Oh, it's 11:12 now. Too late to make any wishes.

Coin locker kid - Empathica (2015)

I was planning to write something alluding to Empathica now, but I just noticed the image is saved as a bitmap file and that fascinated me so much that I couldn't do anything else but try to look into it! I opened a random website of the many millions today that host articles with answers to whatever disparate question you may have that you wouldn't ask Reddit instead (you know, I think they used to call those "listicle" sites, although this isn't a list, but I'm sure the site has lists), and it said that advantages of bitmap images include "visual appeal" for "rich gradients", and that disadvantages include "limited color depth" "prohibiting rich gradients", so frankly I don't know who or what to believe anymore.

Who do you think drew this cover? I saw some art by Devyn recently that was very beautiful, he doesn't post much art anymore (and his Twitter was deleted God-knows-when) but whenever he does it feels like Christmas has come to hang me from up above in an attempt of inertic suspension of the newbelieved newfound newcherished...

Does a wet glass surface feel like skin to you?

It doesn't feel like anything. But everything feels like glass. Everything is like I'm looking through glass and a window made of flesh pressing itself against a monitor with images moving around on it in black and white like surveillance footage and there's this super-imposed text that flashes red and says,

Live your life. Now. 

...and on that topic, I wonder what land I'd inhabit nowadays were my "pioneers" better people. Do you think we'd be inhabiting anything at all had the world not been pushed forwards by slavery? I believe a different form of Mark Fisher would call this "Colonialist Realism". Or perhaps imperialist. Or neo-colonialist. I can hardly keep up with any words that aren't my own.

06_25_26

Taken by the storm! Turns into a blur. In tacit boulevard. Lying against the piss-ridden posts. Laptop brightness low as it can go. Muscle memory guiding my hands through an invisible keyboard. Here I sit learning I have been shunned and exiled. Tragic.

Original intentions:
- Account 1 is a chronological failure of medium-sized proportion under the guise of the Lord (Sharifi) with purpose to learn and be educated.
- Account 2 is an attempt to rewrite history.

Previous intentions:
- Account 3 would detail roaming tourage from 2010-2015 in "The Scene" (particular interest in Metro Zu), all an impossible reality existing magiaquinachally. 115 ratings served as preamble mostly based on unreality and judging how you're not supposed to.
- Account 4 would begin with an introduction of the city from which its name was derived; Citizens, weather, happenstance, the local park, that one album...

Future intentions:
- Account 1 lives but Account 2 does not: I will spiritually and metaphysically die.
- Account 2 lives but Account 1 does not: I will ill-begottenly die.
- Account 1 lives and Account 2 lives: We can all pretend nothing happened.
There is no future in which Account 3 and Account 4 could ever live! All taken by the storm.

Coin locker kid - Hailstorm & Maelstrom (Cyan Sun Records Issue)

1 favorite - Review in the list "Series" under "Coin locker kid reviews" (Alternative review) - Main issue review

On Bloomsday 2002, The New Shakespearean user "Patternculling" posted the now forever lost thread "How do you write an ending?"

Endings are hard! This was a valid question and people resonated in sharing their bizarroball ideas of what writing constitutes and how everyone should universally approach it. All the time, you see conflicting advice on everything in life, which on top of the minuteness and universal impracticality of things like "general field advice" , only serves to complicate this advice more. For interesting writing, you end up getting told to listen to all the music in the world, to diversify yourself as much as you can, just as you get told to not listen to any music, to not read any low-brow magazines, to avoid filth and rot, for you will become filth and rot. "and that's true, that's true, but that's not what I asked here. I just have a complicated story that could go lots of ways and I don't want to write a dissatisfactory ending for it. Is that something I should be considering? What organ should I be using when I'm writing nowadays?"

"Think with the mind, speak from the heart!"
"Love is all you need"
"It doesn't matter what you use so long as it feeeels right"
"Have you ever played...?"

Come a week past the post and it was... still kicking and breathing! Patternculling was actually mostly a Tony Hawk's Pro Skater player, "KINGOFDANETPLAY" and whatnot. Writing was a little sidehobby he used to occupy his mind when he didn't feel like playing (or more accurately, when his eyes wouldn't let him keep playing). Some of the people on that forum had published books, you know! How could he compete with them? Although in his mind, how could they compete with him in Foundry? How could any writing live up to the beautiful snow in Canada? Come winter's harvest the reapings of his netkids and web-bings would become less and less focused in writing and more and more on the 4th entry behind his netplay crownholding. "It kicks ass, dude."

PoRtCuLLiS, righteously, loved Pro Skater 4. He set up a website with videos for every goal for the 3rd and 4th games and even gaps! Do you know how hard it is to not only find every gap but compile a video together of all of them!? No easy task. The site received lots of praise, righteously, because nobody really likes GameFAQs guides unless the ASCII art is real pretty, so you've gotta get your leg up elsewhere on the web.

Well.

Almost everyone loved tonyhawkguide.com.

Current nowhere-to-be-found, previous Tony-Hawks-critic, even previous-er Saints-Row-aficionado Fl1ppy found all to hate on this website. Doesn't it just ruin the spirit of trying to discover how to do the goals and gaps by yourself? THPS4 alreaaaady went OUT OF BOARD $ OUT OF SCOPE by including a gap list, but an entire website? With videos!? It's like the game's being played for you! Fl1ppy didn't want this "atrocious and insulting display of a complete lack of understanding over what makes Tony Hawk's Tony Hawk's" to live any longer, and so he challenged PoRtCuLLiS on the basis that were he to lose he'd have to turn off his website permanently, "although previous harm would not be amended by this, it would just prevent future harm."

PoRtCuLLiS got bested.

The king of the netplay! The champion who had lived for so long, who had existed for so long. So many days and nights spent proving himself, spent NOT-HAVING-TO-CHASE-VALIDATION, for he ALREADY HAD IT. King of the netplay! King of the netplay! King of the netplay! He didn't like to say it, but he used to play other types of multiplayer games too, he just happened to be best at Pro Skater and incomparably less so at all others, so really, HE CAN'T NOT BE KING!!! And inbetween all this fear-feel and doubt over himself, over what constitutes someone righteous, the answer for his decade-old forum question finally clicked. Set to one of His prayers at a deafening level, he began crying and wringing out his body like the worms before him. It was all scary and new to him, it all looked wrong, wrong, wrong and wrong and wrong, but he could not bring himself to stop. He was proven right only a few minutes in, as his monitor exploded and all left behind was the reverse white behind it. Void enveloping. Void turning and creaking. Void growing its warmth. Adapting to new surroundings. Void enveloping.

PoRtCuLLiS only caught a small glimpse of the void before He was awarded wings. Flew away only somethrough out of his own accord. All left was a large river where his apartment used to be, for he picked the traveler path and no longer took to the fish in an aposiopesic end.

"Dear Fl1ppy, dear Shakespearean:
I will not return
But still you'll keep your head up
Everybody learns
The end is the end."

Acknowledged historical inaccuracies:

The New Shakespearean is modeled after phpBB(oards) from much later.
- PoRtCuLLiS did not start his website because of THPS4, but because of THPS3. The site is also still up to this day and has goals and gaps for Underground 1 thru American Wasteland.
- PoRtCuLLiS did not record the gap videos on his site, those are all by Sulig.
- I don't know how old Fl1ppy is. I have no idea if in 2002 he could've really been arguing with PoRtCuLLiS over the site's existence. I have no idea if he would even protest its existence. I have no idea if he's used this site in the past. Who am I to say!

Coin locker kid - The Salmon of Doubt (Plantasia Issue)

1 favorite - Review in the list "Series" under "Coin locker kid reviews" (Alternative review) - Main issue review 

Oh and oh, to and where and fro! Speed and "the biszq" are KING in the modern day... there is something quite beautiful in engaging with the worst banals of the universe every so often. I love checking my Instagram(TM) whilst eating McDonald's(TM) and like, do you think if Joyce was born a hundred years later that he'd be enjoying himself a Triple Baconator Deluxe right now?

I was just informed a Triple Baconator Deluxe is not served at McDonald's. That's like, Wendy's maybe. Oh well. You know last time I was at a Wendy's all I got myself was a coffee, because I was like, early-single-digits so I couldn't think (and I was stuck in my pre-foodie ways) or anything and my mom thought the best suitable meal at a fast food place would be a coffee. Well, well, well, whatever! I was going through "everything in my mind" and to some extent everything the web and what my own web can extend to, and I was thinking, man, writers have "this way" of speaking/being written down that makes them sound kind of mystical and fantastic, and I guess I can't really tell if that's an intercrossectional generation divide or if I'm just dumb as shit and can't possibly compare to all I "look u(dropped p)nto"

And, oh, we're being kicked out! (I didn't know this at the time but my friend had 'stolen food and disturbed the wellbeing of the populace') My friend's protesting... there's these weird fauxbstract pieces behind me of fries? I think? Like...

GET OUT OF THE FUCKING STORE!
 
Oh, right.

Well, the streets are a surprisingly normal temperature for such a cold-looking night so it's not a terrible bother. Inbetween all the streets we perused findings included a dead rat (let's see how to obfuscate the words; decaying vermin? Rotten, ergo not-all-too-diff'rnt, tiny prancer? Elton & unrelattiac (backhalf spelt like lattice un-akin to licorice) Johns save us?) and WINE. WINE. WINE. Because a sane world is a drunk world.

How do you deal with homeless people? I think my friends don't particularly think too hard about it, I've never seen them give any money to homeless people. I remember a couple days ago we were sitting down by some stairs (looking quite homeless ourselves) when a lady came down and told us about her sick son, she said things were no compromises and that we were invited to look. Of course it was all socks, because I guess those are cheap (alright wait I'm realizing I'm making it sound like this lady was homeless, I don't think so, but I guess I can't really know, so I'll leave this parenthesical here to state "I JUST REMEMBERED OF THIS TIDBIT WHILST THINKING OF ANOTHER TIDBIT, OH, ISN'T IT INTERESTING HOW BRAINS WORK!?") enough to buy and resell to random people. You know, if I wanted cheap socks I'd go to your supplier. How expensive does Alibaba get these days? How could I know? I haven't bought socks in forever. Oh, there was more to this story but I think I went on long enough already.

My friend tripped and started making real loud akin-to-a-near-death bundle of sounds including AAAAAAAAGHHHHHHH AND ****//_$$$_\\**** a little too close to this homeless guy that was sitting down, and I guess he interpreted that as a personal attack or something because he got up and started RUNNING AT US! And like, SHIT MAN! I DON'T WANNA DIE! I HAVE SO MUCH SHIT TO LOSE!! I DON'T WANT TO TUURN INTO YOUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUU!!!!!!

Escaped by being appreciative of the beauty of the sun. We all embraced it and blinded ourselves until we were taken away thru angel wings into a brighter kingdom. The trainride was nice and uneventful.

It was a hard day's night.

My bed was slumped in as usual.

I sleep on top of two dumpster-pilfered mattresses that look about as dirty as the cover for Barely Legal.

Good night.

C'est la key - Superflat

1 favorite - Review featured in the list "Series" under "Coin locker kid reviews" 

Heaven & earth.

train-escaper-fear-fright-hey-whats-it ITS a costume quest to disguise whatever littles down there. downtrotten in your sleep. phantomwise. quercus works like lackadaisique mechanickal cogwork or that nightmusicbox in nightshift where it keeps looping on the wrong part of the melody... incongruent innecessity could be cut long for further abstract beauty. in love at the eys of the beholder. you keep me forever afraid

for years spent seeking answers in a farm, i know you got rid of all your toys and music boxes, as much as i wish your equipment wasnt destroyed in a uniquely chapelhillian act of passion and love and fear. everyday of my life i sit looking at my small universe and wonder if i should delete it too, im wondering that right now. i guess i understand even if that happened id find the clé tucked somewhere else... you came back to that whole music thing but you left me wondering for year and ages "Navigator"ing what was to be with qurikist and qurecus and larry rhode-the-bus... as much as i wish you didnt sever the capital i get it. id be afraid too. you keep me forever afraid

In the end...

"Sometimes I look at the boy and I wonder if he's really in that room I'm staring into" spoke the great Mandy Lockwood... sometimes i look at your metaphorical lettering and wonder what kind of typography and calligraphy you were most into. whats good in a favorite novelist if not for his esoteric and largely unreadable writing? but it seems joyce had this under grips and the great t.mule also similar... one time i stared into my own mirror and i felt this intangible grip from the other side, i felt compelled to jump in... but that was a story i told another day and theres no point in repeating looping excentrically meaninglessness anymore. you keep me forever afraid

fFamous reveled compelled propulsed like espn podcast quote dhe daily milking unquote once stated that working with you was not quite the easiest task. youd wake up late and shimmer about like the glitter on my keyboard right now and ;yes my keyboard has this weird glitter; it took you so long to get up from bed because you were trying to grapple with a sense of identity bear all bear none but as much as they wanted to give you bear hugs there was nothing youd do. and i understand it. you were stuck in this masturbatory pit of ungoogleable nonsense in a very classy contemporarily-but-not-back-then dated fashion... were i to look any de3per into any of your pitches id understand how you got out of that whole and that hole and that tunnel and how you didnt become a worm or a sheep and you milked the cows... ... ... ...but who knows what good that could ever do. you keep me forever afraid

By the ways.

Skewered, hung and burnt to a crisp as an ephemeral halfway lumakeyed transparentish disposition of Love and arid Miasma Materia. Up on the pedestal as an inclination to the ghosts. Rotten upon it. Naked, naked, naked. Microbangs and fenline* like award to the xanthic oilanting-resembling candlelight.

Croaking...
C'est la key

Explanation of Superflat: Where the rest of the discography seems to answer "Who is Coin locker kid?" in the way of an interconnected relation (barring Discordia, Traumnovelle and earlier, 2015-2016 story across 4 albums) between a boy and a lady, where many arid mishaps plague the love-not-meant-to-be, Superflat stands out as a "Why is Coin locker kid...?" ...it is an admirable work of deep mystery and intrigue, a self-reflection that even its contributors have carved away at understanding years later. Planting the mirror to Devyn, he points out fear and astrology. So, so much fear. Sometimes you wonder if he's even human or a stress materialization concept...

In the universe, Devyn utilizes water to symbolize chaos. Perhaps he sees something about the waves and storms washing away unpredictably... it takes liquid and solid form, such as in "City of ice." which places the lady as an icicle ready to fall down, impale, kill, and strike fear at any moment. It is this fear that drives the boy, it is this trepid weird psychosexual confusing life which he lets himself live. Hardly at any point does he try to abandon the relationship, it is mostly by way of the lady that they experience splits and endless abandon. It is this fear that drives Devyn. Kept forever afraid... ending up with boyhood abstracted and removed in a million visits to the mind, Cornelius' mule, and the ocean up there...

Story of C'est la key: Dissatisfied with the ways as expressed with "Diluvium"'s creation, a chaotic and excentrically experimental outdoing all centered around the oceans and waters (*eternal eternal turmoil caused by the waves... how I pity you!), Devyn Smith "destroyed all his equipment" in one way or another, leaving behind few remnants of his music on the internet either. Moved to a farm and took to a TASCAM recorder for a study of the mind serving as "C'est la key". The Midwife was the introduction to this idea, most disparaged and at-first-glance aimless collection of oral showings... I still find something beautiful in it moreso as a museum piece, I even dig "thuh beats" that supposedly aren't there!

Generalia (personal story with interconnection between topics prior): Tomorrow is the start of an end for my friend. Let me paint you a new recollection of the current scenephereamarama... the money I have is money I can no longer afford not to have. We're all insistent on a continued sense of hate! Split up amongst two fields between the living and the perhaps-willingly-or-un ignorant. I find myself not clueless, but not alive, somewhere in the middle of these two fields. As it stands, there is nothing but fear in the communal! We're afraid of living. We're afraid of the future. We're afraid of the past and present, and yet above all we are afraid of eachother. To understand what led to this point is something beyond me, I was admittedly shoehorned in to this new life so I am hardly a "present figure" or even an imprint of a ghost onto every photo, moreso a subconscious connection associated toward my mainbound, but I have still been cleared as a subject in need to be disappeared.

Every day I wake up to a new dream that I am hated by currentworldly presences for things entirely in the reach and grasp of my control, and that's a hard force to reckon with, you know? My dad says he woke up yesterday, and when he went to look in my room, I wasn't there anymore, and I guess right now I'm looking around and I don't know where I am either.

In a concise form,
I'm afraid.

In a less concise form,
I'm so afraid.

The main element that drove Superflat, there is nothing purer and more honest, there is no form more logical to express this album, than a display of fear. Following a half-decade of nowheresuccess with littleaudience and inmenstruable music, ( ) found it fit to make an honest truthful display. To put the prior in a better-lover brighter-light, following some reflection and extra thoughts...; Where his 2015-2016 run focused on a story of a relationship between a boy and a trans woman, where neither side could ever be in the right as though to pretend they weren't painful forces to eachother would be to lie, and where separation would always imply losing an essential part of the soul, Superflat finally shines the light on Devyn instead. I have tried to write a lot and a lot and (...) a lot about this album through the years, it's something I hardly understand and whilst not a foreign sound or concept to me, the execution is still a furtherance to all prior-n-future and detached from my knowledge. People are imperfect, sometimes they disappear and reappear in entirely new manners, sometimes the people they would most want to be around are people they drove away thru a first impression, sometimes people can look at walls for days and hours and never once reach an internal conclusion about who they are (sometimes not even beginning to wonder about it all!), even if they're mortally terrified and, and, afraid, in desperate dire need of those answers, and that keeps them humane. There is nothing more real than fear.

If Finnegans Wake is a story, a study, the truest explanation and exploration of sleep, written by a prescient explorer navigating the interrealms with qualms and qualia, then Superflat is a story of all encompassing fear. I hope one day I can no longer find answer about the future in here.

Morning milking 3/3/21

In deluge... in mystery...
Endless endless endless endlessss navigation area...
...expanding and shrieking, and, crying for the first
time... it's really quite beautiful, even with that
lack of anything. Endless endless endless endlessss.

(See also: Notes on Superflat written by Simon Rose)