Good Morning/Afternoon/Evening/Dusk to you, honourable Sir... Whichever the appropriate greeting should be given our assumed vast geographical seperation, on this very fine day of 27th September 2009.
I've not written a lengthy speil for a few weeks now, and my brain is swelled with angst and savage self-awareness. Too much shit, too little time. Consequently, I thought it would be beneficial, to both parties, if I were to take a therapeutic stroll along the metaphorical Bay of Splaff. Disregarding the need to set any sort of recognizable scene and enjoying whatever it is that I allow to come careering out into the open with all the grace and vigour of a confused and potentially vicious otter in the last violent throws of some flesh-eating mental derangement (pictured above).
So, first things first, in order to delve into the murky world of random thoughts and still come up smelling of roses and boyhood dreams: Good Music is an absoloutely vital requirement. Nothing of any worth has ever been written in clean silence. Any sort of barely-audible background buzz, however menial, is always a help. Bear in mind, though, that the Big Guns of Navarone only ever fire off at their most spinal-cord shattering awesomeness when the airflow of the room is being actively warped by some obscure Icelandic ambient-Dub. If possible, a set of professional-grade subwoofer's should be placed facing each other, positioned a few feet from your skull, to create an all encompassing and powerful spectral low-end. Tinnitus is a small price to pay for the erotic swell of creativity that can be tapped into if this approach method is adopted in conjunction with the medicinal usage of potent marijuana.
This sort of soul-defining stuff is what everybody should be doing as much as practically possible.
Nobody knows who they are anymore because the world tries to mould us into the same faceless consumers: Listen to these people. Read that. Become this. But whatever you do, don't do this... Banal commonality is the death of the individual, and the foundation upon which submissive apathy is built. And it doesn't get any more commonly banal than the constant stream of rancid horse shit which gets passed out as "entertainment". And as the world is magnetised to their living rooms and the high-definition, piano black, bracket mounted behemoth in the centre of the room; all hopes of revolution are lost. You will remain in the dark about the way the world is unfolding. You will remain unaware of the violent shit-storm being stomped hard into human faces by those who seek only "Freedom and Democracy for all". You will remain engrossed in meaningless TV, soulless ideals, and unnatainable materialism. Comfortably dumb, with just enough mental capacity to not give a conscious fuck. You are already dead...
Ah, and at this moment, at the pinnacle of the discussion, which has seemingly amounted in my apparant confirmation of the death of the beauty of the human spirit, the CD has just shuffled to "Never Seen The Sea" by Gavin Clark. A reminder that not all of us are dead. Thanks again for that tune, as it's proved, once more, to be a soul-saver of profound and gigantic dimensions...
But life it is for living, so now a call to arms
Join with me my brothers and infinity is ours
Bassline driven words delivered with all the timing of a blissfull 4/4 musical mind-fuck. I told you that shit worked well.
Peash
I've not written a lengthy speil for a few weeks now, and my brain is swelled with angst and savage self-awareness. Too much shit, too little time. Consequently, I thought it would be beneficial, to both parties, if I were to take a therapeutic stroll along the metaphorical Bay of Splaff. Disregarding the need to set any sort of recognizable scene and enjoying whatever it is that I allow to come careering out into the open with all the grace and vigour of a confused and potentially vicious otter in the last violent throws of some flesh-eating mental derangement (pictured above).
So, first things first, in order to delve into the murky world of random thoughts and still come up smelling of roses and boyhood dreams: Good Music is an absoloutely vital requirement. Nothing of any worth has ever been written in clean silence. Any sort of barely-audible background buzz, however menial, is always a help. Bear in mind, though, that the Big Guns of Navarone only ever fire off at their most spinal-cord shattering awesomeness when the airflow of the room is being actively warped by some obscure Icelandic ambient-Dub. If possible, a set of professional-grade subwoofer's should be placed facing each other, positioned a few feet from your skull, to create an all encompassing and powerful spectral low-end. Tinnitus is a small price to pay for the erotic swell of creativity that can be tapped into if this approach method is adopted in conjunction with the medicinal usage of potent marijuana.
This sort of soul-defining stuff is what everybody should be doing as much as practically possible.
Nobody knows who they are anymore because the world tries to mould us into the same faceless consumers: Listen to these people. Read that. Become this. But whatever you do, don't do this... Banal commonality is the death of the individual, and the foundation upon which submissive apathy is built. And it doesn't get any more commonly banal than the constant stream of rancid horse shit which gets passed out as "entertainment". And as the world is magnetised to their living rooms and the high-definition, piano black, bracket mounted behemoth in the centre of the room; all hopes of revolution are lost. You will remain in the dark about the way the world is unfolding. You will remain unaware of the violent shit-storm being stomped hard into human faces by those who seek only "Freedom and Democracy for all". You will remain engrossed in meaningless TV, soulless ideals, and unnatainable materialism. Comfortably dumb, with just enough mental capacity to not give a conscious fuck. You are already dead...
Ah, and at this moment, at the pinnacle of the discussion, which has seemingly amounted in my apparant confirmation of the death of the beauty of the human spirit, the CD has just shuffled to "Never Seen The Sea" by Gavin Clark. A reminder that not all of us are dead. Thanks again for that tune, as it's proved, once more, to be a soul-saver of profound and gigantic dimensions...
But life it is for living, so now a call to arms
Join with me my brothers and infinity is ours
Bassline driven words delivered with all the timing of a blissfull 4/4 musical mind-fuck. I told you that shit worked well.
Peash
