Category Archives: thoughts|on

…beautiful transient sculptures in the air we swim through

slowly seeping


This song is
the last track your last tape your last date the last great fake. The last. Nowadays there is no linear, we’re all hyperlinked. I’m hyperlinked to my current and my ex and my future hyperlinks are all shimmering out there, avatars enticing me and sliding once again down a circle of wit and who-can-type-the-fastest and wouldn’t it be great if this worked out in all the ways the last one didn’t? Before all this there used to be first and last, and back then this song would have been last, the dead last, deep bottom of the tape. The “deep cut”, the “timebomb track”, forgotten until it catches up to you, on an extended car-trip through cornfields that happens to include everything you own except for all the things she was able to take from you. And maybe you’d drive fast or maybe you wouldn’t, but you would be pleasantly surprised, and for a second forget the pain and heartbreak and all the regrets slowly seeping out of you and staining the pavement you blur across under a bright sun.

a single unbroken stream


JasonSufjan StevensA Sun Came

This song is cream poured with infinite care in a single unbroken stream at the absolute limit of the liquid surface-tension’s ability to hold itself together in a continuous flow. And the spider’s web-thin filament of white liquid hits the coffee in your cup and sinks right in, the cup which is spinning at 10RPM on the dead center of your Numark Direct-Drive turntable. But then the line of cream resurfaces five millimeters behind its point of impact, tracing a circle in the coffee as the cup spins around. And the robot arm holding the pitcher of cream, its servo-motors and hermetically sealed, self-lubricating joints calibrated to within a thousandth of an inch, begins to move outward, and the cream continues to pour into the cup in a barely visible line. And it hits the coffee and dives under and then resurfaces, and what does the arc of its under-coffee journey look like you wonder? And you wish you could watch that part of the journey as well. But instead you must be content at this point to watch the resurfaced cream spiral out from the center of the coffee cup. And it occurs to you how the cream resembles the grooves in vinyl, just as you hoped it would. And you are glad you remembered to activate the hi-def video recorder on the robot you built for this task. And later on today you will edit this image, add the soundtrack, and share it with the world.


An Adagio For Tandems StackedTeargas&PlateglassTeargas&Plateglass

This song is crawling up into the faucet of your bathroom sink, moving like an insect, the indestructible cockroach. Crawling along as corroded metal and clumps of oxidized plaque accumulate inside this copper arterial. Back into the walls and down down down. And then out, into the holding tank, drifting slowly to the bottom, clouds of dirt and rust illuminated in the tiny spotlights of your explorer-robot bug eyes. And down again, down into the earth. Pipes. Faster now. Pipes and conduits speed by, enlarging enlarging. The aqueduct. Massive. A crushing rebirth every second in turbulent, violent water. From 1,863 streams and 15 mountains it comes roaring into this single channel to carry you away, carry you somewhere you can start again…another chance…and the water will always be there to remind you of the gift given and received floating, arms and legs trailing behind, brought to the surface by the unimmersible buoyancy of your own beautiful heart.


Cold In The SunThe Red Eyed LegendsMutual Insignificance

This song is a motor scooter ride through the back streets of El Borne in Barcelona. The light is bright when it cracks through the narrow buildings above you on either side. You find yourself almost unable to watch, giddy in the rush and excitement, and you try to surf this feeling, tease it into a full-blown euphoria. The sort of abandonment into dangerous activity, with complete and utter faith in the ability of your pilot to keep you safe, that you haven’t had since you were a child in your father’s hands. It’s much harder now, but that makes the accomplishment so much richer, faceted by every other experience life has thrown you since then. The rush is prismed like the inside of diamond as you speed beneath the drying laundry past basket shops and shuttered tapas bars.


Hello? Is This Thing On?!!!Louden Up Now

This song is dancing alone at 2am with five thousand other people. Which is much more comfortable than dancing alone with, say, five other people, but at its core the experience is still the same. And anyone who says that it’s fun to dance alone, you can perhaps at certain times or psychological makeups in your past find that display of bravado to be admirable or at least worthy of some small measure of sympathy, but really it’s not something you have any fucking patience for with who you are just right now at this moment. So you dance, you dance as hard as you can, perhaps you look like some kind of whirling dervish, or a scarecrow having some sort of epileptic fit. Well fuck it. You’re just trying to feel it, get some sort of blissful experience out of this without resorting to chemicals. But it’s hard to get lost in this…maybe it’s because you’re tired, maybe it’s because you’re reconciling expectations to reality and now you’re thinking that any adventure has its limits for shifting your perceptions on life and all it has to offer.

Except you weren’t thinking that then, but you’re thinking it now…watching a drum circle in _ _ _ Park and wondering if you could find, like, the perfect drink for cold and gray afternoons like this one. Something hot and sweet and bitter and smoooooth, chocolate tea. That’s exactly what you want, why doesn’t anyone make chocolate tea..?