Tuesday, February 05, 2013

on a mean pyramid allow for a lossless

The cult of Triobelisk.

What attracts me about this music is how, since the revivals of synthwave have overlapped, diffused, and become mutually permeable, it's become impossible to specify the original, or the copy either, as pure, or fixed in time. All of it is now a fragrance, and a fragrance's overtones...

Creeping death from Neptune.

(via The Atlantic)

Black metal sightseeing.

I imagine leading a guided tour of the relics of what had been the 80s Dallas arts scene: there aren't any. Every building has been removed. "You stand here," i say, "and imagine it was somewhere you wanted to be."

"However, nobody seems to have taught Lojban to a newborn baby before, so I'm having to work out how to do it myself, based on advice from people raising bilingual children in other languages.."

The abjection of never being able to finish, always interrupted, continually refused any palpable closure: this as a place, a condition we are in. To find a way to inhabit it--as nomads. Haunters of the flicker-light.

"And lo-fi has a beauty and logic all of its own, which has something to do with the imperfectability of listening or hearing, or of the act of recording itself."

Carrying trash bags, in a foggy antelucan hour, out to their pickup point at the end of the driveway. A loneliness like being in the forest. Nothing to respond to.

Hardcopy Ithkuil.


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