Boxes and books and discs and clothes and suitcases have entertained me today. Rekless on the radio. The rebuffer. Footache and songs about heartache and tears and all those basslines. Softwaredevelopment. Bits and bobs. Party animal. You can't find entertainment like this anywhere else. Mixedup. Dirty drops. Dirty meaning bad. Nonsense. Rebuffer.
What started out looking shit eventually took shape. Throw the words together in a different way and stuff starts making sense. Emerging from the nonsense, separating itself, standing out from the crowd. House beats continue all day and the moon is insane. Torch in the sky.
Inserting parentheses here might allow a breather from the cascade of words, the caschaos of thoughts dropping freely now as the moon lights up the sky and gives the night form. The darkness and the uncertainty, now accentuated, haunted, and macaroni cheese. Disco beats emerge from the house beats, I think it must be a joke, but maybe they're serious.
People. Suddenly there are people. Brazilian music accompanies the arrival. "This one goes to the South American crew."
The discipline, oh the discipline, it's all too much, easy yet difficult, overbearing. The plug says it all. The plug is attractive. Stop and break for a while.
It's time to admit.
- - - - -
This is a search through nonsense.
- - - - -
First, the pieces, and then the form, although to do it backwards is feasible and preferable at times. "Turn this ish up." (I don't know what an 'ish' is). "Hot off the press." I'm just recording this, it doesn't mean I have to understand it. I'm recording so I can re-play. replay. Howeverever.
Total boredom.
The purpose of art? To give people something that means something to them? To ask questions? To open up new experiences? To provide new languages? All these questions bombard me.
This is not art, by the way.
The purpose of studying art? To help people make sense of it? Understand where it came from and why it arose?
How does art support the economic side of life? An escape? A reward? A reaction? A revolt? All of these 'A's are disturbing my eye... The music plays.
"I feel good, 'cos I know there's a God somewhere!"
House music on a Tuesday afternoon. It's getting carried away. Soulful. I almost can't cope with the intensity of the high.
Writing as a memory aid. Drop fragments of your afternoon over a page, and then return to it the next day. Remember what you did. The ambiguous words and phrases either tell what happened or tell what might have happened. And if someone else reads this? Do they experience the same afternoon? This is the key. Generation.
Morph.
And more boredom?
Excitement of the day? Crazi Cousinz. 523 texting in. Pullit pullit pullit pullit!!!!
