Production Halted

My second most dreaded occurrence in music production has transpired once again, after only three years.  My amplifier has been called away by God to beat down Heaven's gold paved streets.  Thankfully I was spared the worst. The computer yet lives.  A double funeral would be too much to bear right now.  Blessings are counted. 

These events might not mean much to the average musician, i.e. a sane one, but few people can mistake me for that.  The most important electronic components of my rudimentary music studio are the only family I have at this point, so the loss really took an emotional toll.  Instead of being able to describe the day as awesome, and really mean it, I was forced to say, "Fucking bummer, man. Sooooper drag."  Just for the record, the amplifier's name was Sticky, an endearing nickname that stands in contrast to the computer's, which is P.o.S.

For those interested, a memorial service for the item will be held at 4:20.  In lieu of flowers, smoke some flowers. The service would include music, but ffffffffffffffuuuuuuuuuuuu.

Production of "A Null Leak Age" will resume as soon as I can muster the motivation to go find another amplifier.  I would pretend this never happened and soldier on using headphones jacked into the desktop, but they've been busted for quite some time. The procurement list includes those as well.

There is always hope that everyone will understand that many statements here at Symbols are ironic.  Sadly, the tone of thoughts does not translate into print.  Therefore the shiznit must out be pointethed.  I do know that God did not kill the amplifier.  It was the devil.  *__*

Thither Rests Swollen Recompense

A Null Leak Age continues.  This song, entitled "Yonda Lydare Ward," begins with a satirical dance hook, minus snark filled lyrics.  It ends with a piece of work that originally carried the most tasteless and offensive message I have so far sunken to, and will hopefully be forgotten.  The midsection is all "Yonda" though.

Savoritie

Song two (officially) from A Null Leak Age.

A Null Leak Age

The new lesserdevil album is called "A Null Leak Age."  A couple of tracks that spun off from the main body were already in circulation, but this is the first official song of the album.  I don't want to make too many comments about the work.  I figured I would try something new and STFU.

Description of song one, "Hoarded Lives:"

Sounds from a nightmare Kerouac had after drinking some of an "off batch" of corn shine, in order to come down from four days spent talking in short clipped rhymes while under the influence of biphetamines and tobacco. It was not the best time of his life, and the dream was memorably unpleasant. Strangely enough, the music in the dream was not what made it a nightmare. That was due to being chased by Neal Cassady wielding an iron ball peen hammer through a field of purple marshmallows.

The description may as well have read, "It is what it is."  At least the album did not receive the pretentious title "Reign of Quiet Violence," although the old ego almost sneaked it into existence.  Thank God Moo-Bun was around to draw my attention to the faux deep, holier than thou hipsterism such a title would have brought to people's minds.

Fin

Snippet

I did this to test out a new setup.  It's a shorter than most of what I keep.  I didn't like it very much at first.  Later it sounded pretty good.

"You will be. You. Will. Be."

Omens and portents have revealed that a few people of the world will soon suffer the release of a new lesserdevil album.  Though it will be for them to pass on what sonic convolutions befall them when they encounter the disembodied wails of that soul's perpetual torment, one thing can be said beforehand.  Practice makes perfect.  Applying the phrase "practice makes perfect" to oneself may rile the ego to subconscious irritability; the statement subtly admits that perfection had not already been attained.  But if these overworked ears do not lie, then the works have come closer to it than before.

Soon:  Er, in a month?  Sumpn'...  Oh, still working on the new novel.  Work paused due to moving; will resume after everything is settled.

Fron "The Empty Grave"

...

 A perfectly white marble headstone caught the first rays of a fledgling sun barely 30 years old. The illumination began at the top of the headstone. As the sun rose it spread amber glow downward toward the base in a crisp, clean line.

At the moment the light reached the ground hairline cracks appeared all over the headstone, or, they appeared to be cracks. They migrated up out of the earth and covered the headstone like a veil. In the blink of an eye the scene had changed, and just as quickly a tiny hum accompanied by an all-over energy glint that lasted longer than the clock could measure, in one brief second.

...

Understand Zees

Have returned from months in the hospital.  Will not elaborate at this moment.  Much of it was near death.

129 pages into writing a book that will hopefully quiet current fears of minute accomplishment.  Within, speculative fiction runs rampant, and offensive sexuality is kept to a bare minimum.  The work of literature serves to address this author's long and deep relationship with God.  These words can only be said while one yet lives...

Perhaps at some point loving God and still channeling through heavy darkness will be explained here.  Despite loathing all aspects of ugly and wrong, beautiful jut isn't the same without it, so it has been displayed once and again here (maybe too often).  Should life continue long enough it would be a tremendous wonder to present numerous pondered matters from the viewpoint of light and goodness that never leaves the heart of the consecrated.

Be good.  Be good at it, at it all.  Prosper and cultivate wellness.  Peace be unto you, and blessed be.

- Day


P.S.  As to the title:  Unless somebody has followed this blog on one of these days when I do a live writing session they could never entirely understand how the mess of words gets left behind.  "It reads all crazy like."  Could somebody explain how to understand the mess of garbage left behind by our financial system during one of their "creative" sessions?  It really looks like massive wealth confiscation for the wealthy, to some of us.  Thoughts and ideas being fired out at high speed for artistic sake surely has hurt few.  The same could not be said of hunger and poverty.

Whimper Fibreaux Myzalgo Was Angry About His Name

The pain just sent me a telegram.  It is on its way back home.  It will be here soon, in full force.  And it's going to be sticking around.  

When I get to the hospital they need to meet the undisguised me, the one with the pain.  Lately it has been so severe that when I wake up I don't know anything about anything, except that there is this pain (which makes me holler, even scream, and which will not go away, and which is so severe I can not change position at all).  It takes about two minutes for me to understand where I am, who I am and what is happening.  It takes at least ten to make it out of prone.  Yep, that's the guy the hospital needs to meet.  The one in hell.

Now I have to edit this mess here... nah, maybe later.  

Oops.  One of my opinions escaped again.  Very dangerous, for me.  I believe in peace, love and understanding.  Now is just not a good time to be into it.  Because the longer the people who watch the people who care believe we are copacetic with the way things are then the more difficult it will be to cast off the chains that have been placed around our socioeconomic freedoms. Because we need the people who pay attention to what we do, more than anything.  And by that I mean all the peaceful people who are happy enough and think things are good enough.

The post that follows could be called chapter one of a larger project, although no such plan was ever made. Also, it would be stupid to do so. That would effectively relegate perfectly good meta-punk spec-fi to the heinous Symbols "To Do List." 

How heinous is the To-Do List? A photoset of a blossoming, freshly famous 19 y/o model was promised the readers; some demanded the "Dox of Never Ending Death" as retribution.  By the time the search of Symbols Prime found the model she was a grizzly old hag covered in open sores.  Little flecks of noxious pus oozed from her abscessed teeth, and escaped from between her slack lips to plummet the short distance to her nicotine stained pullover with a tiny yet distinctive plop.

Such horrors do not happen due to a conscious effort on my part. The To Do List, in the absence of authority and responsibility, comes to represent those things, which magnetically draw to them the deepest contempt and most intense loathing extent in my subconscious mind.  The artistic endeavors on the list really get a bad rap out of this deal.  So no list and no promises.

Promises are really more to blame for some of the horrible things that have happened over the years than hatred of authority (and the voodoo plot to jettison every responsibility of all time from a thumper over the Gulf of Freaky-Bad Shit in that dimension peopled by emetophiliacs). 

Details of the promises' curse at work here:  A promise may not actually have been broken for this author to take the blame for having done so; sums up the quagmire nicely.  How is that possible?  Information that would absolve of broken promises never makes it to readers (or listeners).  The reason for such a disconnect is almost always absence of Internet.  In the world of stable artists and musicians (I have been told they exist), the Internet never gets cut off.  The reason release schedules are not adhered to summarily gets reported to site visitors, and everything is hunky peachy dorey terrific.  Smoke signals do not work as an Internet substitute, even if it is one big damn hookah.

Get Bent is be-da-fuq-hind schedule.  Intend to make serious effort to get desktop into hospital room rather than sit there watching minutes of life disappear forever (do not like that idea, running out of those).  Composing takes a lot more concentration than writing or it would be going on now.  Neither would be even remotely possible except for one thing. Pain: killed, deader'n hell, again

The people wgaf enough about expanding their minds and enjoyment levels to stop through here matter a great deal.  There ain't no way to give you all lollipops.  Actually, fuck candy and drugs and everything else that does not make dollars and cents.  If there was a way for me to make it happen you'd stop by Symbols one day and receive a certificate (to be printed out on 20 lb. cotton vellum) that would land you all jobs where you fucking deserve to be working for the pay you deserve to be making.

We all know that sort of real human compassion just isn't possible in this world.  Why?  The people who already have very nearly all the money and very nearly all the land believe that they are better than not only damn near every adult alive today, but will continue to be better than every adult who comes into existence in the future.  Because of that belief they are willing to do everything necessary to prevent people like you from having a chance to chip even the tiniest sliver of wealth and power from the mountain of it they have.  

Since every one of these people could be gathered together in our university's football stadium, and the place would look lonely and deserted, they are pretty uptight.  Looking at the number of people involved it does not seem like it would take very much time and effort to fire every single one of the .56% (a much more honest number).  Don't believe those people have not thought about that.  They live in fear of you and I (we, the fucking pissed off people) dismissing them from their jobs as masters of the universe or emissaries of the dollar god, or whatever the fuck they think their jobs actually are (besides calculating how much their ridiculously unnecessary income has increased since the last time they deigned to check it).

And how could we do it?
How could we fire them?



There's that opinion ^.  (Uhhh, the embed did not work initially).  Told you it was dangerous, for me.  The idea of conducting massive scale socioeconomic reform through a campaign of not-freaking-peaceful-at-all is nothing new.  Dedicating to it in the Western world is a deadly affair.  It's a young person's fight.  Think the fantasy and walls of sound are better for the doddering. And I so wanted to watch large portions of the capitalist world go up in flames for a failure of the owner's club to make high quality life possible.

But that passionate desire does not help.  The cost of the fires would just be passed on to us.  The only people who would be hurt are the people the whole thing would have been about helping in the first place. It sucks that true intellectuals don't get to believe that violence will solve problems, almost as much as the fact that violence can't solve them.

I'll catch you kids on the flipside. With a new spine it should be no problem to write some mind bending lore that can be read with wtf-core playing in the background.


Note:  This place needs more [deleted], that awesome place where oranges grow the size of cojones but taste the size of watermelons.  It's magical!