Flotsam-Jetsam-Lagan-Derelict
Lewis Del Mar - Loud(y)
The Drones - Taman Shud
Big Dead - Sad Machine
Braille Face - From
Rioux - Spectral Chop
Guitar Wolf - Summertime Blues
utilitarian kebab chart
nils frahm - them
turiya & ramakrishna ~ alice coltrane
homesickness ~ emahoy tsegué-maryam guébrou
got to give it up ~ marvin gaye
the sun ~ alice coltrane
thom yorke ~ nose grows some
waylon jennings ~ big mamou
big sean ft. kendrick lamar ~ control
duck for cover
tom waits - get lost
moses sumney - quarrel
james blake - i am sold
the kit - les plus beaux
andrew bird - why
moses sumney - doomed
D/F/W
A little-mentioned paradox of substance addiction is: that once you are sufficiently enslaved by a substance to need to quit the substance in order to save your life, the enslaving substance has become so deeply important to you that you will all but lose your mind when it is taken away from you. Or that sometime after your substance of choice has just been taken away from you in order to save your life, as you hunker down for required A.M. and P.M. prayers, you will find yourself beginning to pray to be allowed literally to lose your mind, to be able to wrap your mind in an old newspaper or something and leave it in an alley to shift for itself, without you. That certain persons simply will not like you no matter what you do. Then that most non-addicted adult civilians have already absorbed and accepted this fact, often rather early on.
That AA and NA and CA’s ‘God’ does not apparently require that you believe in Him/Her/It before He/She/It will help you. That, pace macho bullshit, public male weeping is not only plenty masculine but can actually feel good (reportedly). That sharing means talking, and taking somebody’s inventory means criticizing that person, plus many additional pieces of Recoveryspeak. That an important part of hallway-house Human Immuno-Virus prevention is not leaving your razor or toothbrush in communal bathrooms. That apparently a seasoned prostitute can (reportedly) apply a condom to a customer’s Unit so deftly he doesn’t even know it’s on until he’s history, so to speak.
That a double-layered steel portable strongbox w/ tri-tumblered lock for your razor and toothbrush can be had for under $35.00 U.S./$38.50 O.N.A.N. via Home-Net Hardware, and that Pat M. or the House Manager will let you use the back office’s old TP to order one if you put up a sustained enough squawk.
That over 50% of persons with a substance addiction suffer from some other recognised form of psychiatric disorder, too. That some male prostitutes becomes so accustomed to enemas that they cannot have valid bowel movements without them. That a majority of Ennet House residents have at least one tattoo. That the significance of this datum is unanalyzable. That the metro Boston street term for not having money is: sporting lint. That what elsewhere’s known as Informing or Squealing or Narcing or Ratting or Ratting Out is on the streets of metro Boston known as ‘Eating Cheese,’ presumably spun off from the associative nexus of rat.
That nose-, tongue-, lip-, and eyelid-rings rarely require actual penetrative piercing. This is because of the wide variety of clip-on rings available. That nipple-rings do require piercing, and that clitoris- and glans-rings are not things anyone thinks you really want to know the facts about. That sleeping can be a form of emotional escape and can with sustained effort be abused. That female chicanos are not called chicanas. That is costs $225 U.S. to get a MA driver’s license with your picture but not your name. That purposeful sleep-deprivation can also be an abusable escape. That gambling can be an abusable escape , too, and work, shopping, and shoplifting, and sex, and abstention, and masturbation, and food, and exercise, and meditation/prayer, and sitting so close to Ennet House’s old D.E.C. TP cartridge-viewer that the screens fills your whole vision and the screen’s static charge tickles your nose like a linty mitten.
That you do not have to like a person in order to learn from him/her/it. That loneliness is not a function of solitude. That it is possible to get so angry you really do see everything red. What a ‘Texas Catheter’ is. That some people really do steal - will steal things that are yours. That a lot of U.S. adults truly cannot read, not even a ROM hypertext phonics thing with HELP functions for every word. That cliquey alliance and exclusion and gossip can be forms of escape. That logical validity is not a guarantee of truth, That evil people never believe they are evil, but rather that everyone else is evil. That it is possible to learn valuable things from a stupid person. That it takes effort to pay attention to any one stimulus for more than a few seconds. That you can all of a sudden out of nowhere want to get high with your substance so bad that you think you will surely die if you don’t, and but can just sit there with your hands writhing in your lap and face wet with craving, can want to get high but instead just it there wanting to but not, if that makes sense, and if you can gut it out and not hit the substance during the craving the craving will eventually pass, it will go away at least for a while. That it is statistically easier for low-IQ people to kick an addiction than it is for high-IQ people. That the metro Boston street term for panhandling is: stemming, and that it is regarded by some as a craft or art; and that professional stem artists actually have like little profession colloquia sometimes, little conventions, in parks of public transport hubs, at night, where they get together and network and exchange feedback on trends and techniques and public relations, etc. That it is possible to abuse OTC cold and allergy remedies in an addictive manner. That Nyquil is over 50 proof. That boring activities become, perversely, much less boring if you concentrate intently on them. That if enough people in a silent room are drinking coffee it is possible to make out the sound of steam coming off the coffee, That sometimes human beings have to just sit in one place and, like, hurt. That you will become way less concerned with what other people think of you when you realise how seldom they do. That there is such a thing as raw, unalloyed, agendaless kindness. That it is possible to fall asleep during an anxiety attack.
That concentrating intently on anything is very hard work.
That addiction is either a disease or a mental illness or a spiritual condition (as in ‘poor of spirit’) or an O.C.D.-like disorder or an affective or character disorder, and that over 75% of the veteran Boston AAs who want to convince you that it is a disease will make you sit down and watch them write DISEASE on a piece of paper and then divide and hyphenate the word so that it becomes DIS-EASE, then will stare at you as if expecting you to undergo some kind of blinding epiphanic realisation, when really (as G. Day points tirelessly out to his counsellors) changing DISEASE to DIS-EASE reduces a definition and explanation down to a simple description of a feeling, and rather a whiny insipid one at that.
That most substance-addicted people are also addicted to thinking, meaning they have a compulsive and unhealthy relationship with their own thinking, That the cute Boston AA term for addictive-type thinking is: Analysis-Paralysis. That cats will in fact get violent diarrhoea if you feed them milk, contrary to the popular image of cats and milk. That it is simply more pleasant to be happy than to be pissed off, That 99% of compulsive thinkers’ thinking is about themselves; that 99% of this self-directed thinking consists of imagining and then getting ready for things that are going to happen to them and then, weirdly that if they stop to think about it, that 100% of the things they spend 99% of their time and energy imagining and trying to prepare for all the contingencies and consequences of are never good. Then that this connects interestingly with the early sobriety urge to pray for the literal loss of one’s mind. In short that 99% of the head’s thinking activity consists of trying to scare the everliving shit out of itself. That it is possible to make rather tasty poached eggs in a microwave oven. That the metro-street term for really quite wonderful is: pisser. That everybody’s sneeze sounds different. That some people’s moms never taught them to cover up or turn away when they sneeze. That no one who has been to prison is ever the same again. That you do not have to have sex with a person to get crabs from them. That a clean room feels better to be in than a dirty room. That the people to be most frightened of are the people who are the most frightened. That it takes great personal courage to let yourself appear weak. That you don’t have to hit somebody even if you really really want to. That no single, individual moment is in and of itself unendurable.
That nobody who’s ever gotten sufficiently enslaved by a substance to need to quit the substance and has successfully quit it for a while and been straight and but then has for whatever reason gone back and picked up the substance again has ever reported being glad that they did it, used the substance again and gotten re-enslaved; not ever. That bit is a metro Boston street term for a jail sentence, as in ‘Don G. was up in Billerica on a six-month bit.’ That it’s impossible to kill fleas by hand. That it’s possible to smoke so many cigarettes that you get little white ulcerationson your tongue. That the effects of too many cups of coffee are in no way pleasant or intoxicating.
That pretty much everybody masturbates.
Rather a lot, it turns out.
That the cliché ‘I don’t know who I am’ unfortunately turns out to be more than a cliché. That it costs $330 U.S. to get a passport in a phony name. That other people can often see things about you that you yourself cannot see, even if those people are stupid. That you can obtain a major credit card with a phony name for $1500 U.S., but that no one will give you a straight answer about whether this price includes a verifiable credit history and line of credit for when the cashier slides the phony card through the register’s little verification-modem with all sorts of burly security guards standing around. That havinga lot of money does not immunize people from suffering or fear. That trying to dance sober is a whole different kettle of fish. That the term vig is street argot for the bookmaker’s commission on an illegal bet, usually 10%, that’s either subtracted from your winnings or added to your debt. That certain sincerely devout and spiritually advanced people believe that the God of their understanding helps them find parking places and gives them advice on Mass. Lottery numbers.
That cockroaches can, up to a certain point, be lived with.
That ‘acceptance’ is usually more a matter of fatigue than anything else.
That different people have radically different ideas of basic personal hygiene.
That, perversely, it is often more fun to want something than to have it.
That if you do something nice for somebody in secret, anonymously, without letting the person you did it for know it was you or anybody else know what it was you did or in any way or form trying to get credit for it, it’s almost its own form of intoxicating buzz.
That anonymous generosity, too, can be abused.
That having sex with someone you do not care for feels lonelier than not having sex in the first place, afterward.
That it is permissible to want.
That everybody is identical in their secret unspoken belief that way deep down they are different from everyone else. That this isn’t necessarily perverse.
That there might not be angels, but there are people who might as well be angels.
That God – unless you’re Charlton Heston, or unhinged, or both – speaks and acts entirely through the vehicle of human beings, if there is a God.
That God might regard the issue of whether you believe there’s a God or not as fairly low on his/her/its list of things s/he/its interested in re: you.
That the smell of Athlete’s Foot is sick-sweet v. the smell of podiatric Dry Rot is sick-sour.
That a person - one with the Disease/-Ease - will do things under the influence of substances that he simply would not ever do sober, and that some consequence of these things cannot ever be erased or amended.
Zizek - ideology
When we read an abstract "ideological" proclamation we are well aware that "real people" do not experience it abstractly; in order to pass from abstract propositions to people's "real lives," it is necessary to add the unfathomable density of a lifeworld context. Ideology is not constituted by abstract propositions in themselves, rather, ideology is itself this very texture of the lifeworld which "schematizes" the propositions, rendering them "livable". Take military ideology for instance: it becomes "livable" only against the background of the obscene unwritten rules and rituals (marching chants, fragging, sexual innuendo...) in which it is embedded. Which is why, if there is an ideological experience at its purest, at its zero-level, then it occurs the moment we adopt an attitude of ironic distance, laughing at the follies in which we are ready to believe - it is at this moment of liberating laughter, when we look down on the absurdity of our faith, that we become pure subjects of ideology, that ideology exerts its strongest hold over us. This is also why, if one wants to observe contemporary ideology at work, all one need do is watch a few of Michael Palin's travel programs on the BBC: their underlying attitude of adopting a benevolent ironic distance towards different customs, taking pleasure in observing local peculiarities while filtering out the really traumatic data, amounts to postmodern racism at its most essential.
[...] So where is ideology? When we are dealing with a problem which is undoubtedly real, the ideological designation-perception introduces its invisible mystification. For example, tolerance designates a real problem - when I criticize it, I am, as a rule, asked: "But how can you be in favour of intolerance towards foreigners, of misogyny, of homophobia?" Therein resides the catch: of course I am not against tolerance per se: what I oppose is the (contemporary and automatic) perception of racism as a problem of intolerance. Why are so many problems today perceives as problems of intolerance, rather than as problems of inequality, exploitation or injustice? Why is the proposed remedy tolerance, rather than emancipation, political struggle, or even armed struggle? The source of this culturalisation is defeat, the failure of directly political solutions such as the social-democratic welfare state or various socialist projects: "tolerance" has become their post-political ersatz.
SFX_Fart Chart.wav
emma louise - i thought i was a ship
fleet foxes - I am all that i need / arroyo seco / thumbprint scar
toby wren - sirens
max richter - XVI Tuesday
skinny jean - prenup
gambles forever we'll be
mclusky to hell with good intentions
radiohead daydreaming
new venusians keep running... and running
deem spencer iwyboft
moonchild doors closing
john frusciante life's a bath
broen <3
bon iver 715 CRΣΣKS
jenny hval female vampire
the low anthem apothecary love
praxis axis piano grains
"thank god it's TGIF friday" chart
connan mockasin - faking jazz together
andy shauf - the party
KYA - icarus
the cactus channel ft. sam cromack - sorry hill
moonchild - all the joy
gavin bryars - jesus blood never failed me
ghostpoet - immigrant boogie
sibylle baier - forget about
Dislocations
Shilling art
Creative wasteland
Heart restart
Intimate friction
Nostalgia porn
Dominatrix
A woman scorned
Affective sugar
The id craves
Earth's salvation
Pre-teen raves
Schoolyard bullies
Sunday best
College failure
House arrest
Swinger's parties
Dancing shoes
Divorcees
Lasered tattoos
Fantasy threesomes come in twos
Being drip-fed global news
Frat-dude bro-eds
Big man-boys
Rotten meat fridge
Confiscate toys
Cancer tissue
Asbestos fumes
Self-imprisoned
Windowless rooms
Wanker's cramp
High teas
Drinking piss (literally)
Bourgeois investment property
Medal-winning hypocrisy
Music business' little leagues
Sacrificial dignity
Verse-then-chorus song form
Naked nightmares
Dateless proms
Sexist swines
Battery caged
Ritual slaughter
Confected rage
Hot masters
Chaining slaves
Computer monkeys
Inverting phase
chart for a heart restart
einstürzende neubauten_silence is sexy
angharad drake_baby
massive attack_come near me
sia_elastic heart
damon albarn_everyday robots
butch bastard_magnolia
kayleigh pincott_growing in circles
ainslie wills_running second
sloppy dum dum tears chart
isaac hayes >>> your love is so doggone good
os mutantes >>> a minha menina
tiana khasi >>> who's georgia?
deanna storey >>> little person
benji hughes >>> you stood me up
hite >>> light
royce wood junior >>> honeydripper
holiday hangover chart
gillian welch good 'til now
gil scot-heron on coming from a broken home pt. 2
harry styles sign of the times
rhiannon giddens at the purchaser's option
moreton restitution
father john misty things it would have been helpful to know before the revolution
boogie in the living room
sense = king gizzard und die lizard wizard
inside job = oscar key sung
liquid paper = ainslie wills
truno = moses hightower
T42 = merinda dias-jayasinha + steve newcomb
la dream = julia jacklin
cough drop = the o'my's
inside my love = minnie riperton
lost myself = jordan rakei
a little older ~ chart
serpentwithfeet F O U R E T H E R S
fink Q & A
wilco J U S T S A Y G O O D B Y E
stevie wonder S O W H A T T H E F U S S
laurie anderson O S U P E R M A N
fleet foxes T H I R D O F M A Y
saul williams P E D A G O G U E O F Y O U N G G O D S
james ball M E M O R Y O F F R I E N D S D A N C I N G A T A W E D D I N G
cecile salvant G R O W L I N D A N
If we accept the metaphysical notion of language clearly identifying objects, and we take this into account, we could risk the hypothesis that in the conditions of our language, this can be said to be a blog
nu chart
alice night - curious child
nina simone - it be's that way sometimes
nocturne - julian lage
confidence man - bubblegum
jennah bell - candied daylight
mko sun - black seaweed
chart 4 23/2/17
me and your mama / childish gambino
didn't it rain / sister rosetta tharpe
fawn / spencer tweedy
beautiful ppl / mark pritchard+thom yorke
triste / jobim+regina
cosmos / vulture st tape gang
laura mvula kiss my feet
tabletop joe / tom waits
chart for the inexplicable
telepathise - lydia cole
lowlands - jaala
tonight -- the avalances
but i'll try - ainslie wills
kinda messy - antonio sánchez
melody - serge gainsbourg
symphony no. 7 in eM, mvm III - bruckner
The Bright Blue Marble
Imagine, if you will, that you're way out in space looking at the earth
And you start a free fall in the direction of the bright blue marble
Losing more and more perspective on what an abstract and impermanent place our planet is
How predictably we step on the same rakes
Slip on the same banana peels
Quickly becoming immersed in the very messy business of being human
The dubious privilege of being here
True love and it's habitual absence
Truth and it's more alluring counterfeits
Rapture in the inexplicable misery of others
The sophistication of answers that don't make sense
Crippling, mind-numbing boredom and the terror of it all ending too soon
Before you know it, you've delicately crash landed and find yourself laying on your back looking up at the stars
If you're lucky, with someone you love
Though just an hour has passed, you have no recollection of what the earth looked like from the far flung reaches of space
Nor how simple it all seemed a matter of minutes ago - Tillman
The Torture Garden
What else do you do except to lie, to lie to yourself and to others, and to lie to everything which, in the depths if your heart you know to be the truth. You are obliged to feign an outward respect for persons and institutions you find absurd. You remain timidly attached to moral or social conventions which you despise and condemn and which you know have no justification at all. It's the permanent contradiction between your ideas, your desires and all the dead forms and vain pretences of your civilisation which makes you sad, troubled and imbalanced. In this unbearable conflict you lose all your joy of life and all feeling of personality because at every minute the free play of your instincts is being constricted, impeded, and stopped - Mirbeau