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Primitive Prime!

New Blog. Cambrian Prime Tumblr RIP (2011-2013) 

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East of Eden

I'm far out from shore, the beach of this island. The water keeps deciding between warm hums of waves and frigid streams of icy neglect. I'm still close enough to swim back to land. Back to paradise. Adrift now as the last company of light leaves me, alone in the dark uncertain waters. I could swim back but I don't. Every moment pulls me away just more and more, eventually passed that threshold where I am no longer of the island's influence, and under currents stamp their dangerous, primordial claim on me. Offering me to that wide-mouthed abyss; directionless, perceivably infinite and unfamiliar, with only a world I can never belong to, awaiting me under the surface. My body wants to swim back, while there's time, every second demands more effort, distance is fed and increasingly strengthen. I could and should go back to paradise. But I know the truth. I know why action won't support thought, why the membranes of each nerve cell won't respond to the screams in my head, as crushing as these far waves, I know who I am and what I can do. I know, though paradise home may be, Its not one I deserve. I simply take and take from the land, I dry out its resources and offer no maintenance. There is no synergy, I do not live with it, with the core of my essence existing parallel and synchronized with the nature of eden. Without a god to expel me, I still must go. I must be exiled. Afloat, my chest and head facing back as the many hands of the surf push me away. This is a place for someone willing to be one with that nature, who can submit himself wholly, without compromise and still functioning under insistence of his purest will. 

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M8 Lagoon and M20 Trifid Nebula by jccjmurphy on Flickr.

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What is yes?

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BOWIE AND WALKER HEAT

Bowie and Walker Heat. Bowie and Walker Heat. Bowie and Walker Heat. Bowie and Walker Heat. Bowie and Walker Heat. Bowie and Walker Heat.Bowie and Walker Heat. Bowie and Walker Heat. Bowie and Walker Heat.Bowie and Walker Heat. Bowie and Walker Heat. Bowie and Walker Heat.Bowie and Walker Heat. Bowie and Walker Heat. Bowie and Walker Heat.Bowie and Walker Heat. Bowie and Walker Heat. Bowie and Walker Heat.Bowie and Walker Heat. Bowie and Walker Heat. Bowie and Walker Heat.Bowie and Walker Heat. Bowie and Walker Heat. Bowie and Walker Heat.Bowie and Walker Heat. Bowie and Walker Heat. Bowie and Walker Heat.Bowie and Walker Heat. Bowie and Walker Heat. Bowie and Walker Heat.Bowie and Walker Heat. Bowie and Walker Heat. Bowie and Walker Heat.Bowie and Walker Heat. Bowie and Walker Heat. Bowie and Walker Heat.Bowie and Walker Heat. Bowie and Walker Heat. Bowie and Walker Heat.Bowie and Walker Heat. Bowie and Walker Heat. Bowie and Walker Heat.Bowie and Walker Heat. Bowie and Walker Heat. Bowie and Walker Heat.Bowie and Walker Heat. Bowie and Walker Heat. Bowie and Walker Heat.Bowie and Walker Heat. Bowie and Walker Heat. Bowie and Walker Heat.Bowie and Walker Heat. Bowie and Walker Heat. Bowie and Walker Heat.Bowie and Walker Heat. Bowie and Walker Heat. Bowie and Walker Heat.Bowie and Walker Heat. Bowie and Walker Heat. Bowie and Walker Heat.

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Approaching Aurora

In the abyss which dews the morning haze, cloak for all in the alluding fade, I keep stillest vigil for the distant steps as delicate as harp plucks. I note the motionlessness of the pale sky, livid with innocence. I hear the muffled impression of sudden definition, approaching the lens, into focus with its shadow bent apart, full of its own gravity and thus physics--A thing on the verge, always, of being. At that cool edge, statue palms and pupils, heavy with patience and anticipation, they shift in subtle inflections of excitable bursts. Never here or there but mimes between gestures, unreachable ghosts that stain the bones with desire. I watch between the air, breathless and suspended through the minute cracks of exhales and pulse; as still as the night sky may portray a star, which may have already disintegrated far before its light could ever find our admiring eyes.

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26 Letters of the Logos

One of my explanations of God is that the entire universe is like a universe of written language. There's works of literature, including novels, plays, poems, but there's also correspondence letters, graffiti, texts, blogs, notes, lists, newspaper print, street signs, directions, etc. And just because its the language in which I'm writing this post, let's say that language is English. This universe of written english language is without an exception subject to the 26 letters that each word must contain at least one member to be a word that is then combined and organized with other words to make phrases, sentences, conversations, and so forth. The relationships may be intricate and the grammar, like physical laws may govern to a degree a standard of common understanding but there is no denying the 26 letters of the alphabet are the creative drinking well from which all words originate. If our universe was the written language of English, God would be the 26 letters of the alphabet.

I do not have a religion and I do not believe that these 26 letters need the worship or love of its produced language. In fact, the existence of the language is the celebration of the 26 letters. Imagine a God who's only paid tribute is every and anything you do, good or bad because you exist and in existing, uniquely as a never again repeated phenomena, you as an individual are something the universe learns about itself.

At the core of language, we create words for ideas that require attention, that seem vital to existence, words for hunger, affection, danger, fear, protection, joy. The fact that certain languages have unique words to only their own language is a window into their culture and what's important to those people. Through 26 letters, the written universe explains to itself its own identity. 

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Lincoln and I. Discussing the new music project. 

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Prometheus Abandoned. Still a larvae, development is invited by time and curiosity.

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Archaeologists have not yet discovered any stage of human existence without art. Even in the half-light before the dawn of humanity we received this gift from Hands we did not manage to discern. Nor have we managed to ask: Why was this gift given to us and what are we to do with it? And all those prophets who are predicting that art is disintegrating, that it has used up all its forms, that it is dying, are mistaken. We are the ones who shall die. And art will remain. The question is whether before we perish we shall understand all its aspects and all its ends.

Alexsandr Solzhenitsyn, Beauty Will Save the World (via quaerere-deum)

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How We Are Hungry:

How come when you bite your inner cheek it feels as if it'll never heal and the annoying discomfort of stinging pain is just something that you're gonna have to endure for the rest of your life. You'll never get used to it and it'll hurt forever. Mind you, you've bit your inner cheek before and its healed before but this time has to be different. This time you bit on a bigger chunk or a farther delicate spot. You keep passing your tongue over the surface of the area to remind yourself of the pain as if it's changed within the last 10 seconds since you last checked. You hate the feeling but you love you can feel. 

I wonder how careful we would be to eat or chew if we were constantly reminded of that pain that once was (that we thought would never end). Our memory forgets and we're okay with that, otherwise it would just interfere with new pleasures to come.

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Arius Blaze was born in Poetland Orgone; an artist with an emphasis in sound - taken with the belief, in fact, that he and most everything else is composed entirely of sound. He is also taken with the concept of bypassed technology and that, as technology progresses, there are hundreds of gaps that will need to be filled in - things to do with cassette tape, vinyl records and a fair amount of Bakelite and fine aged wood. As he strides fourth, he is, as it were, taking simultaneous leaps backwards.

Having done this simultaneous backwards/forward artistic traveling professionally for around eleven years, we can estimate that his current aspirations as well as his split sonic being exist in both 1988 and also 2021 at the moment this is written. Hence the concept of his work - the future, the past, in collision. Though if one were to consider some exponential artistic growth similar in nature to that of the Fibonacci, we can consider that the work of Arius Blaze is currently grinding through both 1946 and 2074 simultaneously and working toward the Tesla era (in both directions) - which seems to be more the case given the current aesthetic. Being the head of Folktek, one can expect to see the concept live and breathe on, and as it delves further into the past and the future it will without a doubt grow and become something more deeply unfathomable - like most things that we have yet to see exist in the present.

Arius Blaze also works with visual arts, wood craft, bookbinding, book writing, music composition and greater sound art sculpture and installation.

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Notorious B.I.G.'s Suicidal Thoughts from the 1994 Ready to Die LP accompanied by Perihelion and I Can't Take it Anymore, both by Trent Reznor & Atticus Ross from The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo Motion Picture Soundtrack. I own not the rights to any of these songs, I am only playing host at the party where all three meet and decide, "yup, we can make something happen together."

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23 stories regarding the mindlessness of technology, as collected by Psychology Today. Yes I know, this post has been posted onto a social network site which no doubt contributes to mindlessness. Get used to some of these findings because technology and its advance will probably continually be linked with the reduction of the human mind. 

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Ordered one a while ago from Turntable Lab, apparently they're on back order, which means I have some waiting to do.