#It was like performance art via vocal cords

[crystalkleure]

Woah!

I’ve never heard Maxim speak out loud for very long before! I think he usually doesn’t get to, because we in general don’t get to just talk a lot IRL very often, but he was specifically asked to read something long out loud for our mother a little while ago. He has an accent! A REALLY nice one! And he has a LOT of control over his voice. He just sounds really good. He can probably sing, but we’re not allowed to do that so I won’t get to find out anytime soon.

[astrognossienne]

scandalous star: eddie “rochester” anderson - an analysis

“Hold it, I don't do that any more.” - Eddie “Rochester” Anderson, when asked if he wanted to be Jack Benny’s valet

Before Richard Pryor, Eddie Murphy, or Dave Chappelle dominated the comic consciousness, it was a relatively little-known entertainer named Eddie “Rochester” Anderson who broke comic barriers as a pioneer of early radio and television comedy. Anderson became the first African American to have a regular role on a nationwide radio program, playing comedian Jack Benny’s valet, Rochester van Jones. Over time, Benny and Anderson became good friends and developed ways to make Anderson's role even better—thereby giving African-Americans a more important standing in American culture. Pullman porter, waiter, valet—these don't sound like breakthrough parts, but for an African-American actor who was accustomed to producers casting white men in the roles of black people (these were the days of Amos and Andy), these parts offered a major opportunity. Some African-Americans disparaged the fact that he played a stereotypical and demeaning role, but many other African Americans warmed to the character and appreciated that Anderson had broken a barrier—he was a black man playing the role of a black man; not a white man playing the role in black face. At a time when many African American characters in film and on radio were dim witted, lazy, or servile, Anderson was playing characters who were intelligent, resourceful, and independent, and luckily for him, art imitated life in that regard: playing the role of Rochester (both radio and television) made Anderson one of the most popular and highest paid comedians of the 1940s, 50s, and 60s.

Edmund Lincoln Anderson, according to astrotheme, was a Virgo sun and Taurus moon (the moon is speculative). He was born in Oakland, California to parents who had been performers. His father had been in minstrel shows, and his mother was a circus tightrope walker until an accident removed her from the business. According to Anderson, his forefathers had come from slavery and escaped the South via the Underground Railroad. To help earn money for the family, young Eddie sold newspapers on the streets of San Francisco. The newsboys competed for sales by hailing customers as loudly as possible, and over time, Anderson permanently damaged his vocal cords. Though he started in vaudeville at age 14 as part of a song-and-dance act, it was his distinctive voice that made him distinctly recognizable to listeners on radio. Anderson loved horses and dreams of being a jockey but that came to an end with his increase in weight. After he won a vaudeville contest he was soon seduced by the theater and by the early 1920s he and his brother, Cornelius, were performers in a variety of productions. But it was as a comedian that he excelled, and he traveled across the U.S. and eventually met famed comedian Jack Benny in 1926. His gravelly voice was among the things that singled him out from other comedians, and he was hired to play Benny’s on The Jack Benny Program. He was originally hired to play the one-time role of a redcap on the Benny program, but he was so popular that Benny made him part of the cast as his butler and valet, Rochester van Jones. Despite his stardom, Anderson was not able to avoid some of the more discriminatory practices of the day. A large number of his roles continued to be subservient in nature, and even “Rochester” was portrayed as a somewhat stereotypical character. Yet, despite some limitations, Anderson was able to break the mold in many ways. Though technically subservient to his white boss, “Rochester” was at the same time witty, sarcastic, and often portrayed as more intelligent than Jack Benny himself. And at the end of the day, Anderson was working at a time when most African-Americans were struggling greatly in their attempts to break into show business, he was able to find great success.

He starred in other films as well, notably alongside bombshell superstar Lena Horne in 1943′s Cabin in the Sky. During World War II, Anderson used his celebrity status to advocate for blacks in the military. He believed that African Americans should be given the opportunity to fly planes for the Armed Forces. To show his support, he visited the Tuskegee Airfield and meet with pilots there. While The Jack Benny Program continued to air on CBS radio until 1955, a television version debuted in 1950. Following World War II, the racial humor on the show surrounding Rochester declined. Benny and the writers made a conscious effort to remove all stereotypical aspects from Rochester’s character. The relationship between Benny and Rochester became more complex and familiar over time. Mary Livingston, Benny’s wife in real life and on the show, decided to reduce her role. Despite her success, she suffered from stage fright, which grew more acute over time. As Livingston appeared less frequently, Rochester became Benny’s primary foil. After the television show ended in 1965, by all accounts the two men held each other in high esteem and remained friends. Among the most highly paid performers of his time, Anderson invested wisely and became wealthy. Until the 1950s, Anderson was the highest paid African American actor, receiving an annual salary of $100,000. In 1962, Anderson was on Ebony magazine's list of the 100 wealthiest African Americans. In the last year of their professional association, Anderson and Benny appeared again in the 1968 special Jack Benny's New Look, where Rochester drives Benny home in a Rolls Royce after Benny's meeting with Gregory Peck to discuss appearing as a guest star.

Benny: "Well Rochester, congratulate me. Gregory Peck said that he would be on my show" Rochester: "Good, good. I'll bet you had to pay him a lot of money" Benny: "You're wrong. He's going to do the show for nothing". Rochester: "How did you do that?" Benny: "Because I'm a very good salesman. I didn't come right out and ask him. I was very subtle" Rochester: "What did you do? Did you cut your wrist?" 

At the conclusion of the trip, Benny remarks "Thanks for the ride, Rochester. And oh by the way, you have a beautiful car!"

Upon Benny's death in 1974, a tearful Anderson, interviewed for television, spoke of Benny with admiration and respect. During the latter period of his life, he spent most of his time with his stable of racehorses, a hobby he had developed earlier in his life. Anderson died on February 28, 1977. He was posthumously awarded a star on the Hollywood Walk of Fame for Radio. In one last philanthropic gesture, it was Anderson’s intention to will his sizable home after his death. The house at 1932 Rochester Cir. in Los Angeles, was to be used to house at-risk substance sober-living residence for homeless substance abusers. Three decades after his death, The Eddie Rochester Anderson Foundation in Los Angeles ("The Rochester House"), helps troubled men transition into society. He was inducted into the Radio Hall of Fame in 2001.

Next, I’ll talk about an early dancer: Cancer Katherine Dunham.

STATS

birthdate: September 18, 1905*

*note*: due to the absence of a birth time, this analysis will be even more speculative.

major planets:

Sun: Virgo

Moon: Taurus

Rising: unknown

Mercury: Virgo

Venus: Virgo

Mars: Sagittarius

Midheaven: unknown

Jupiter: Gemini

Saturn: Aquarius

Uranus: Capricorn

Neptune: Cancer

Pluto: Gemini

Overall personality snapshot: He was resourceful and took life as it came, even if another part of him got flustered when he saw things being done in an unintelligent and wasteful manner. He was at home with the earthy reality of life, and took part in the daily, weekly, yearly round with ease and enjoyment. In other words, he possessed the farmer’s instinct to cultivate and nurture. All things concerned with physical wellbeing may have interested him, either gardening, carpentry, sculpture, or banking. All he really wanted was to live a full, useful life in which his talents were productively engaged, helping him carve out a solid, secure and well-ordered niche for him and his. In whatever sphere he worked, his vocation was to serve and provide. He was not just a ‘farmer’, however, as it was very likely that he had exquisite taste and a deep appreciation for beauty in many forms – the fine arts, music, drama, opera, literature and people. Tangible beauty and the cornucopia of artistic life delighted him and he wanted to be near it, participate in it, patronize it, and perhaps possess some of it, too. Indeed, he could be quite possessive about his valued belongings, including people and children, but he knew how to look after them, how to honour and respect their integrity, and how to enjoy and take responsibility for treasured assets.

As a result, others sensed his trustworthiness, felt safe and comfortable in your presence, and respected him implicitly. His penchant for duty, order and security sometimes blinded him to the more subtle realms of fantasy, feeling and imagination, and to the more individualistic and eccentric outlook on life which is typical of a fiery individual. He was simply not interested in what he could not see and understand logically. He studied the facts; he got to know his world; he used his experience and acquired knowledge to function efficiently and successfully in the ‘real’ world, and often wondered why everyone else cannot do the same thing. He made a wonderful parent and provider, instinctively knowing how to live on a budget, to help others cope with busy schedules and get their homework done, to plan for house redecoration and the annual holiday, and still be able to end his day unruffled, enjoying that glass of wine or cup of tea by the fire. However, he had a relative inability to nurture anything which is not practical and valuable to his life in a tangible way. It was not that he did not have the patience to nurture creativity; it is just that he would rather nurture that which he could touch, taste and measure and which will yield a good harvest in time.

His skeptical mind was capable of precision and detail, so he was well suited to science and critical writing. He found learning easy. When he didn’t know the answer, his honesty made him admit it and he usually followed up by finding out the answer either on the spot or at a later date. He had no time for frivolous ideas. Practical matters interested him, as did diet, health and hygiene issues. He was a mentally restless person, both versatile and broad-minded. He experienced personal growth through analysis and using his intellect, although the collection and communication of facts may be an end within itself. He tended to dabble in many areas of knowledge, building up an extraordinarily varied store of information, rarely specializing in one area. He was slightly selfish and emotionally intense. He was reasonably practical, as well as socially aspiring and humanitarian. His main focus in life was to gain the security that allowed him the freedom to do as he liked. Because he was able to establish priorities and he had great determination, he usually realized his goals fairly early in life. He was willing to accept responsibility and didn’t want to depend on others for anything. He found it hard to let go of the past, but he should have so that she could have grown.

He belonged to a generation with a rational and logical attitude to life. There was a conflict between tradition and convention, and the experimental and unconventional. As an individual, he had to learn to strike a balance between the erratic and the conventional. As a member of his generation, he had the ability to come up with original ideas which could be of practical value. He was part of a very artistically talented and creative generation that wanted to escape from the demands of the world around them into a world of excitement and glamour. He was part of an emotionally sensitive generation that was extremely conscious of the domestic environment and the atmosphere surrounding his home place and home country. In fact, he could be quite nostalgic about his homeland, religion and traditions, often seeing them in a romantic light. He felt a degree of escapism from everyday reality, and was very sensitive to the moods of those around him. Anderson embodied all of these Cancer Neptunian ideals. As a Gemini Plutonian, he was mentally restless and willing to examine and change old doctrines, ideas and ways of thinking. As a member of this generation, he showed an enormous amount of mental vitality, originality and perception. Traditional customs and taboos were examined and rejected for newer and more original ways of doing things. As opportunities with education expanded, he questioned more and learned more. As a member of this generation, having more than one occupation at a time would not have been unusual to him.

Love/sex life: He was the most skittish and inconsistent of all the lovers of this Martian type. Sometimes he ran away from sex, love, and commitment liked a scared puppy. Other times he went charging at all three with rapacious abandon. He possessed a very strong and physical sex drive but he was often too nervous to put it to good use. At his worst he favoured expedience over quality in his sexual experiences and wasted his time pursuing the partner who was convenient when he should have been working toward getting the partner he deserved. At his best, however, he was also a very resourceful and attentive lover who made mistakes but seldom repeated them. If he was given time to sit back and analyze the sexual comedy, he could have overcame his nervousness and impatience and become a very skilled and eager practitioner of the art. With a little luck, he found a strong partner who understood both his earthy needs and his idealistic reserve. In the right hands he could have been the best kind of lover—someone physical enough to please the body, innocent enough to replenish the soul and wise enough to understand the difference between the two.

minor asteroids and points:

North Node: Leo

Lilith: Taurus

Juno: Cancer

Chiron: Aquarius

Vesta: Scorpio

Ceres: Pisces

Pallas: Aquarius

Vertex: Cancer

Fortune: Leo

East Point: Sagittarius

His North Node in Leo dictated that that he needed to downplay his more anarchic and unpredictable aspects and turn his attention to developing his personal authority and allowing himself to show more warmth. His Lilith in Taurus ensured that he was dangerously attracted to women who were unabashed sensualists. These women were earthy, smutty, and totally without apology for their perfectly natural needs. He fell for women whose gut instincts were impeccable, their libido formidable, and whose sexual life-forces operated above and beyond petty morality. Juno in Cancer, he used emotional means of getting what he felt was his due reward. He used subtle manipulation of others. When he felt hurt or unfairly treated he went to any lengths to exact justice. He sought mates who were concerned with traditions and who’d accept the responsibility of home and family. Chiron in Aquarius, he often felt wounded because it was hard for him to connect, it was also very difficult to make friends and build his emotional support net. He truly wanted to belong in a group and be surrounded by people, but he also felt disconnected. Vesta in Scorpio, he was as exacting with himself as well as with others. He seemed to always be judging. He believed in total regeneration of the personality and may have had psychic abilities. Ceres in Pisces, he narrowed philosophical and religious issues to the core of their meaning and then applied those principles to his everyday life. He distilled the essence of information given to them. Intuition was used in a practical way and all experiences were analyzed impersonally.

Pallas in Aquarius, he had an excellent sense of timing which made learning, for him, a pleasure. There was practical application of knowledge gained. On the mental plane, he was a humanitarian and liked group activities. His Vertex in Cancer, 8th house dictated that he had a dream for an almost womblike environment that shut out all discordant noise or interference from the outside. There were very deep desires regarding the ideal structure or family and home life. When he did commit herself in a relationship he was really deeply committed and if he felt that his partner was not similarly serious then he struck out at them in defense. His expectations of others were unrealistic and based on his own feelings of insecurity. He had an internal yearning for an inseparable union with and total commitment from another, come what may. This need was so intense that he may have fantasized all manner of unspeakable actions and reactions if the final dream, once attained, was even threatened. The dark side is that when the reality of his partner didn’t fit this model (and it rarely did totally) he had a difficult time adjusting if faced with a breach of contract of any sort. Once badly hurt there was a tendency to become jaded and guarded in future relationships, thereby passing up the opportunity to explore interactions which might just fulfill out intense needs perfectly. His Part of Fortune in Leo and Part of Spirit in Aquarius dictated that his destiny led him to a prominent position in life as a leader of some sort. Fame and prestige brought him success and material rewards. Success came to him when he stepped forward into the spotlight. His soul’s purpose asked him to embrace unique and unconventional life experiences. He felt spiritual connections and the spark of the divine when there was a humanitarian benefit to his efforts. East Point in Sagittarius dictated that he was more concerned with finding final answers, and was, in some way, identified with the absolute. This manifested in him as: “I should be perfect.”    

elemental dominance:

earth

fire

He was a practical, reliable man and could provide structure and protection. He was oriented toward practical experience and thought in terms of doing rather than thinking, feeling, or imagining. Could be materialistic, unimaginative, and resistant to change. But at his best, he provided the practical resources, analysis, and leadership to make dreams come true. He was dynamic and passionate, with strong leadership ability. He generated enormous warmth and vibrancy. He was exciting to be around, because he was genuinely enthusiastic and usually friendly. However, he could either be harnessed into helpful energy or flame up and cause destruction. Ultimately, he chose the former. Confident and opinionated, he was fond of declarative statements such as “I will do this” or “It’s this way.” When out of control—usually because he was bored, or hadn’t been acknowledged—he was bossy, demanding, and even tyrannical. But at his best, his confidence and vision inspired others to conquer new territory in the world, in society, and in themselves.

modality dominance:

mutable

He wasn’t particularly interested in spearheading new ventures or dealing with the day-to-day challenges of organization and management. He excelled at performing tasks and producing outcomes. He was flexible and liked to finish things. Was also likely undependable, lacking in initiative, and disorganized. Had an itchy restlessness and an unwillingness to buckle down to the task at hand. Probably had a chronic inability to commit—to a job, a relationship, or even to a set of values.    

planet dominants:

Mercury

Mars

Saturn

He was intellectual, mentally quick, and had excellent verbal acuity. She dealt in terms of logic and reasoning. It was likely that she was left-brained. She was restless, craved movement, newness, and the bright hope of undiscovered terrains. He was aggressive, individualistic and had a high sexual drive. He believed in action and took action. His survival instinct was strong. He wanted to take himself to the limit—and then surpass that limit, which he often did. He ultimately refused to compromise his integrity by following another’s agenda. He didn’t compare herself to other people and didn’t want to dominate or be dominated. He simply wanted to be free to follow his own path, whatever it was. He believed in the fact that lessons in life were sometimes harsh, and structure and foundation was a great issue in his life, and he had to be taught through experience what he needed in order to grow. He paid attention to limitations he had and had to learn the rules of the game in this physical reality. He tended to have a practical, prudent outlook. He also likely held rigid beliefs.

sign dominants:

Virgo

Sagittarius

Gemini

He was a discriminating, attractive, thorough, scientific, hygienic, humane, scientific, man and had the highest standards. His attention to detail was second to none and he had a deeply penetrative and investigative mind. He sought the truth, expressed it as he saw it—and didn’t care if anyone else agreed with him. He saw the large picture of any issue and couldn’t be bothered with the mundane details. He was always outspoken and likely couldn’t understand why other people weren’t as candid. After all, what was there to hide? This need to know sent him off to foreign countries, where his need to explore other cultures and traditions ranked high. He ventured out to see what else was there and seized upon new ideas that will expand his community. His innate curiosity kept him on the move. He used his rational, intellectual mind to explore and understand his personal world. He needed to answer the single burning question in his mind: why? This applied to most facets of his life, from the personal to the impersonal. He was changeable and often moody. This meant that he was often at odds with himself—the mind demanding one thing, the heart demanding the opposite. To someone else, this internal conflict often manifested as two very different people.

Read more about him under the cut:

The son of a minstrel and circus tightrope walker, Eddie Anderson developed a gravel voice early in life which would become his trademark to fame. He joined his older brother Cornelius as members of "The Three Black Aces" during his vaudeville years, singing for pennies in the hotel lobby. He eventually moved his way up to the Roxy and Apollo theaters in New York, which led to the Los Angeles Cotton Club in the west. He began to appear in films, typically in servile bits, his best being the featured role of "Noah" in The Green Pastures (1936). He continued in that vein until a chance pairing with comedy star Jack Benny on his radio program in 1937 put him on the map. He only had a bit part on Benny's Easter show as a Pullman porter, but his scratchy voice, superb timing and comic reaction to Benny's banter earned him a fixed spot. He then was heard as Benny's personal valet, Rochester Van Jones, and the role became so popular that he became billed as Eddie "Rochester" Anderson. In between radio assignments, he found the time to appear in both film drama and comedies, including You Can't Take It with You (1938), Kentucky (1938), Jezebel (1938), and three with Benny - Man About Town (1939), Buck Benny Rides Again (1940) and Love Thy Neighbor (1940). After the films Brewster's Millions (1945) and The Show-Off (1946), Anderson concentrated on his partnership with Jack Benny, following him into television and working with him for a total of 23 years. He returned to the screen for It's a Mad Mad Mad Mad World (1963) but ill health eventually forced him into retirement. He died of long-standing heart problems in 1977. (x)

[taww]

First Take Review: Gryphon Essence Preamplifier & Stereo Amplifier

Okay, let’s get this out of the way: with a combined retail of over USD $40k (and that doesn’t include another $6k for the optional Zena DAC module), The Gryphon’s Essence preamplifier and stereo amplifier are by far the most expensive electronics I’ve ever had in my home! They might be the Danish firm’s entry point into separates, but that’s akin to calling a $146k Aston Martin Vantage “entry level.” There was a time in the not-so-distant past when spending such sums of money on stereo gear struck me as pointless excess. Perhaps I’ve been numbed by flipping through too many issues of The Absolute Sound or walking the halls of an audio show; perhaps I’m just entering a life stage (mid-life crisis, anyone?) where I’m allowing myself to indulge in such luxuries. Whatever the case may be, I’ve now had the good fortune of several months with the Essence combo, and despite a number of people prodding me for this review it’s been quite difficult to put into words how they perform. Why? Because every time I sit down to do the “work” of reviewing I just end up getting sucked into the music and forget to do the reviewing bit! But, here goes...

The arrival of the Gryphon components was a case of one thing leading to another. My first experience was when I strolled into Gryphon’s room at RMAF 2018. After being disappointed by so many other mega-buck systems at the show, I was delighted that this one actually sounded like music! Frankly, a lot of über-expensive show systems landed on my ears like amusical hi-fi effects or whimsical fancies of what some people think music should sound like, rather than an actual musical performance. Like other big systems, the Gryphon rig was imposing and fancy-looking, but with a decidedly purposeful, even stark, aesthetic. And the sound - so tangible and luscious, maybe a little dark and brooding, but in a way that connected me emotionally to the recorded performance rather than distracting me with sonic affect. 

At the time I was happily running the Valvet A4 Mk.II monoblocks, and also had @mgd-taww​’s Pass Labs XA30.5 at my disposal. Both delivered the pure and colorful musical flavors of Class A amplification, and both are superb amps. But things got thrown for a bit of a loop when I settled on the Audiovector SR 6 Avantgarde Arreté speakers as my new reference. I had auditioned them at AudioVision SF with the Gryphon Diablo 300 integrated amp ($16k) and the sound gave up nothing to high-quality separates - big, bold and dynamic with tremendous poise and nuance. Coming back to the Pass and Valvet amplifiers (coupled with a Pass Labs XP10 line stage) certainly wasn’t a let-down, but they didn’t have quite the same level synergy with the Audiovectors which sounded more complete and visceral with the Gryphon integrated. 

This combined with the strong aural memories from the RMAF room led to a call to Gryphon’s US distributor, Philip O’Hanlon and Pandora Pang of On a Higher Note. Philip acknowledged that the Diablo was indeed excellent but teased that Gryphon had recently introduced a new line of separates worth consideration. The Essence had just arrived in the States and he had one more set in stock if I were so inclined... and next thing I know, a pallet loaded with what my wife lovingly referred to as “an illegal arms shipment” landed at our doorstep.

Serious crates for serious gear

Like all separates in The Gryphon’s 35-year heritage dating back to the original DM100 amplifier, the Essence line features pure Class A operation with minimal negative feedback, but brings it at a lower price point ($22,990) with more conservative aesthetics and practical packaging. Prior to the Essence, to get a Gryphon amp one had to shell out anywhere from $39k for the Antileon EVO to $57k for the flagship Mephisto (double those if going for monoblocks). The tradeoff is a lower power rating - just 50wpc, albeit in pure class A and doubling into 4 ohms and again into 2 ohms - so you’ll want to pair it with a reasonably efficient speaker. The Essence preamp meanwhile is a repackaging of the Zena preamplifier launched in 2018 (also $17,500), reskinned with cosmetics to match the amp. It features fully balanced operation via a discrete DC-coupled Class A circuit with zero global negative feedback, and can accommodate either of two optional internal modules, the Zena DAC ($6,000) or an MM/MC phono stage ($2,250). Being strictly digital I opted to evaluate the DAC, which I’ll talk about in a later installment. I’ll also save more details about the design and operation of this beautifully-crafted gear, including Gryphon’s unique Green Bias system, for a more in-depth review. For now, let’s get down to the business of how it sounds...

The Essence Preamp

When the Essence components arrived I clearly needed my wife’s assistance to safely unpack and set up the 45kg/99lb Essence amp. But she was busy making reeds for her oboe that evening, so I initially made do setting up the preamp (it weighs in at “only” 13.4kg/29.5lbs) and comparing it to my Pass Labs XP10 with the Pass Labs XA30.5 amplifier.

Firing up the Essence preamp from a cold start was one of those “damn, I don’t understand how a preamp can make this much of a difference” moments. Even though the Pass XP10 is a very solid performer - I find the sound of my PS Audio DirectStream significantly improved by it vs. feeding an amplifier directly - the 3x-as-expensive Gryphon outclassed it from the first note, taking musical resolution from the micro to nano level.

The first thing I noticed was how the entire back of the stage opened up. I never realized how triangular it sounded before, becoming narrower as you went deeper. With the Essence it suddenly feels rectangular and whole, with winds, brass and percussion able to naturally spread out and breath on the stage. It didn’t even take a big orchestral recording to experience this - my very first track was an intimate vocal with piano accompaniment, soprano Elsa Dreisig singing Strauss songs with pianist Jonathan Ware (Qobuz). The sense of the space - a church, as you can see from this video - and where the performers occupied it became strikingly tangible. Piano has starting clarity, with all its complex overtones unfolded and laid out for your ear to sample at its leisure. Dynamic resolution is also unlocked - subtle gradations in vocal intensity flow so organically. Going back to the Pass pre, macro dynamics weren’t Iacking, but the transitions somehow came across more synthetically, as if the volume dial was being turned rather than the performers modulating their instruments in the original performance. 

One thing that didn't change too much was overall tonal balance. I find the Pass pretty neutral and extended, if anything having a subtly warmish character to it, at least by solid state standards. The Gryphon doesn't deviate notably from that, leaning slightly in that direction though with more sophisticated and varied tonal richness and density. The quality of the frequency extremes, however, is a different matter. Most striking is how triangles sparkle and ring with startling presence on the Gryphon. With a claimed frequency response out to 1MHz, the Essence pre delivers the highest highs with a sense of ease and finesse. And the bass is everything people have come to expect from the Gryphon house sound - deep, taut and powerful with beautiful tonality. The Pass Labs wasn’t missing any of the music per se, but the deepest bass notes and highest overtones sounded constrained vs. the effortless and wide-open delivery of the Essence.

So, yeah - a preamplifier that costs 3x as much as the Pass XP10 sounds clearly superior. Not much of a news flash, and a much fairer comparison in the Pass lineup would be the XP32 ($17,500) or at least an XP22 ($9,500). But what took me aback was how a preamplifier like the Essence could bring out so much life and nuance that was being curtailed by an otherwise fine piece like the Pass. The net effect was to make the musical performance feel significantly more tangible, visceral and unclouded - something that even the change of a DAC or amplifier doesn’t consistently achieve. The Gryphon Essence pre is simply an incredible conveyor of the musical signal.

And we haven’t even tried the amplifier yet...

The Essence Amplifier

Once I got my wife to assist in positioning the hefty Essence amp in the cabinet (safety first!), I hooked up the Audiovectors via my usual Audience Au24 SX cables and powered up the Gryphon using the stock power cord (the amp requires a 20A IEC connector, so standard cords won’t work). I played a bit with the Green Bias settings but obviously settled with it in red-hot Class A operation for serious listening. And while the amp has since benefited from multiple months of break-in, it was apparent from its first notes that the Essence had resolution, clarity, dynamics and tonal completeness on an altogether different level from any amp I’ve experienced in my system. But there was something else remarkable about its presentation that’s taken me many months to put my finger on, and I think I might be finally getting it.

The Essence amp has a very special ability to deliver the leading edge of a sound with incredible speed, precision and clarity. I’ve heard amps with fast leading edges (some attribute this to high slew rate), I’ve heard amps with very clean ones (lack of distortion and ringing). The Essence delivers a combination of fast and clean that is truly exceptional, and perhaps close to the state of the art. Every impulse and note attack hits you with perfect timing and delineation, then decay with similarly impeccable control. By comparison, amps like the Pass Labs that struck me as very pure have a bit of fuzz to them. Ever listen to an AM radio station when the signal gets weak, and all the starts and stops of sounds get staticky and fuzzy? There was a bit of that feeling going back to other amps in my system... no, they weren’t literally fuzzy and distorted. It’s just that the Essence amp sounds exceptionally lithe and clean, removing an extremely subtle layer of distortion that became difficult to un-hear in other amplifiers. 

Coming from the Pass XA30.5, the Essence’s midrange was less overtly warm but even more substantive in tone. The Pass is certainly on the warm and lush side for a solid state amp, but past Gryphons I’ve heard had their own dose of chocolatey richness, so I was initially surprised by the balance of the Essence. It has the midrange density and lush tonal colors I was expecting from a Class A Gryphon amp, and yet it also sounds close to dead neutral in character. There’s a crystalline transparency that makes everything else sound a bit cloudy by comparison. Class A amps usually get the tonal part right, but can sound a bit sluggish or rounded dynamically; Class AB amps often have great transient speed but with some roughness around the edges and a bit of tonal hollowness. The Essence backs its exceedingly snappy and clean transients with real tonal substance and an infinite palette of realistic tonal colors. It can simultaneously preserve the gravitas of a string bass ostinato, the glowing warmth of a French horn, the delicate nasality of an oboe and the ethereal lightness of a flute all in balance. Orchestral recordings have never sounded this vivid and realistic in my home.

An interesting display of the amp’s prowess was in violinist Hilary Hahn’s recording of the Vieuxtemps Violin Concerto (Qobuz). The album also contains Mozart’s popular “Turkish” concerto which probably gets most of the plays; the Vieuxtemps is infrequently performed and mostly known by violinists as a sort of advanced student concerto (yes, my teacher made me study it). Vieuxtemps was a Belgian virtuoso of the romantic era and while the concerto has its charms, its orchestration is rather clunky. This actually made for a fascinating sonic experience in the concerto’s orchestral exposition, where different instruments pass melodic fragments back and forth in somewhat disjointed fashion rather than the more cohesive harmonization and counterpoint you’d get from a German master. A flute here, a clarinet there, a timpani roll or violin flourish coming and passing - the Essence conveyed each one with striking clarity and trueness of timbre and dynamics, arranging all the instruments across the stage in perfect proportion. So much of the feel of an instrument lies not just in its tonal makeup but the shape and feel of its notes - the reedy breathiness of a clarinet, the ringing “bong” of a timpani, the firm attack of a trumpet, the brush stroke of a violin. This is where the Essence’s leading-edge precision and lack of electronic haze help it truly evoke the feeling of sitting on the stage with the musicians, each and every instrumental entrance having that tactile realism.

Having been a classmate’s of Ms. Hahn’s I also have first-hand experiences of her playing, and the Essence strongly evoked memories of hearing her performing in recitals or practicing in our conservatory. Though we were both teenagers at the time, she had already developed her distinctive tone and focused intensity, and hearing that reproduced so vividly through the Essence and Audiovector speakers is uncanny.

The frequency extremes of the Essence amp, particularly in combination with the Essence preamp, are also something special - the crazy-wide specified bandwidth of Gryphon components is no joke. The speed and tautness and slam of the bass brings realistic clarity to the foundation of the music. It’s bass that I like to call “sneaky” for the way it doesn’t unduly call attention to itself, but then will come out and smack you in the face as in a live event. Instruments like string bass or contrabassoon are naturally portrayed in the orchestration, rather than getting buried in the mix. The top end is extended and articulate, capable of bringing out all the energy and brilliance of string, brass and percussion instruments, and yet certain recordings that tend towards brightness actually sound warmer and smoother than I've heard before. It sounds so pure and free from distortion, so that if there’s any distortion already present on the recording it does nothing to aggravate it. Sibilants and tape hiss and clipping are still there, yet come across less obtrusively, making them easy to tune out in favor of the music. 

Case in point: the DSD remaster of Strauss Don Juan, recorded in 1958 by the Cleveland Orchestra under George Szell (Qobuz). My wife and I have listened to this recording dozens if not hundreds of times and while the performance is riveting, the recording quality has always been a bit hissy and strident. My wife asked to listen to it again on the Gryphon setup for study purposes and halfway through I remarked, "does this recording sound a lot less bright to you?" She concurred - we had never heard it sound so clean and natural, and for the first time I didn't notice the tape hiss at all. The Gryphon gear really does excel at extracting the essence of the musical performance locked in the recording, neither artificially filtering nor amplifying the distractions of its mechanical limitations. I’ve heard far too many ultra high-end systems that need absolutely pristine audiophile material to sound their best. With the Gryphons, every recording in my collection has never sounded more distinguished and compelling.

The sense of space that the Essence preamp conveyed with other amplifiers becomes even stronger in combination with the Essence amp. I have never heard the different sections of a symphony orchestra arranged so palpably. Winds and percussion have clearly delineated space behind the string section, and delicate clarinet solos that are typically a bit hazy in recordings are conveyed with both clarity and intimacy. There’s something about the Essence’s blend of clean transients, tonal rightness and harmonic resolution that bring out the distinct ambience and texture of each recording - the aural equivalent of the “mouth feel” of a wine. Going back to otherwise excellent amps makes everything feel a bit more homogenous, a hair less stimulating.

There are a couple of potential shortcomings to call out, and they may be interrelated. The first is that the bass in combination with the Audiovector speakers isn’t quite as hard-hitting as with, say, the 600wpc Class D Legacy iv2, or as what I heard with the Gryphon Diablo 300 integrated; nor is it as plump and room-filling as with the Pass XA30.5. Quality-wise it’s exceptional - fast and deep and pitch-perfect in ways they can’t match - but sometimes I just want it to fill out the space a bit more and punch me in the gut a little harder. I mostly miss this when listening to pop tracks, e.g. anything from Billie Eilish where the raw punch of the Legacy amp factors more strongly than the n-th degree of refinement from the Gryphon.

The other nit is that the soundstage, while vividly painted, feels a bit less “generous” than bigger-sounding amps like the Legacy or Pass Labs, or the Gryphon Diablo for that matter. There’s a bit more emphasis on the precise constituency of an orchestra, as opposed to its sheer scale - a little more of the trees, a little less of the forest. To some, this may make the Essence feel a hair light in presentation, despite its rich and layered midrange.  Ears I trust tell me moving up the Gryphon line to the Antileon EVO or Mephisto can give you the best of both worlds, but those are obviously at increasingly exorbitant price points. 

I’ll need to try tweaking these area of reproduction more (e.g. cables), but as it currently stands, I could see the Essence best matching with speakers that are tonally richer and a bit less critically damped on the bottom end, vs. requiring care with something leaner and more laser-focused. It’s slightly lean with some recordings on the Audiovectors, and I’d definitely want to check before paring it with the likes of a Magico. It goes without saying that when you get to this level of fidelity (and cost), you should expect to spend a fair amount of time and effort on component matching.

As a side note, I was able to further extend the capabilities of the Essence via Furutech’s DPS-4.1 power cord (custom built with 20A connectors) and DSS-4.1 speaker cables. These upped the clarity and transparency yet another notch or three, opened up dynamics further and created a wider sense of space on recording after recording. I’ll have more on these excellent cables and how they synergize with the Gryphons in a future installment.

Capturing the Essence

It’s been challenging pinning down the character of the Essence system, the amp in particular. Even more so than other great Class A amps I’ve heard, including from Gryphon, the Essence amp has a combination of purity, openness, refinement, clarity, speed and dynamic life that defy the usual idiosyncrasies and limitations of Class A vs. AB vs. D. It’s dynamically fleet, rhythmically incisive, tonally sophisticated, dimensionally resolving, and sneakily powerful and punchy. In combination with the superb companion preamp, it uncovers a sense of space in virtually every recording I throw at it with greater detail and palpability than I’ve heard before, without seeming artificially holographic like some tube amps. The tonal purity and resolving power of this pair are simply at a level I have rarely experienced anywhere at any price. Moreover, the name “Essence” couldn’t be more apt - all these sophisticated qualities are squarely focused on conveying the beauty and quirks of the original recording without need for enhancement or editorializing to make it enjoyable. The closest aural recollection I have of this sort of musical resolution was the MSB Reference + Magico M3 system at RMAF 2018, which had a significantly superior DAC and a total cost approaching $300k. 

As for the price... well, I can say that the monies spent on a piece by The Gryphon clearly go towards obsessive engineering and craftsmanship in the service of state-of-the-art music reproduction, rather than ostentation or frivolous excess. This is musical fidelity of the highest order, and my new reference in amplification.

[harrishanie]

"Fragmentary Annihilation” by “Alexander”

If you’ve ever encountered the PDF versions of Jesus Ignacio Aldapuerta’s The Eyes or Roger Gilbert-Lecomte’s Black Mirror, you’ve probably seen the link to The Usual Cannibalism, the (now former) blog of the transcriptionist. This blog advertises two original works, now seemingly-inaccessible, Meditations on Ero Guro and Fragmentary Annihilation. I have been curious about these works since my first discovery of the aforementioned documents, but it only occurred to me today that I might be able to find them by just plugging the dead links into the Internet Archive. I thought that they were interesting enough and worth preserving, as much as anything else, so I am posting them here--just the first for now, since I am not sure if Meditations fits the current content dogma. I have also not done any formatting whatsoever so I will apologize.

Both pieces are attributed only to “Alexander”--if you are him, my kind regards. To everyone else, my apologies.

Fragmentory Annihilation

An attempt at overcoming Nihilism and Limitation By Alexander http://the-usual-cannibalism.blogspot.com/

Selected Music: OST 2001: A Space Odyssey: Composed by various. The Beyond: Composed by Fabio Frizzi Blue: Cowboy Bebop OST: Composed by Yoko Kanno. Cannibal Holocaust: Composed by Riz Ortolani Dawn of The Dead: Composed and performed by Goblin Fish ~ Silent Cruise: Ghost In The Shell Stand Alone Complex OST: Composed by Yoko Kanno Greed Bird: Cowboy Bebop OST: Composed by Yoko Kanno Holy Mountain: Composed and performed by Don Cherry, Ron Frangipane, and Alejandro Jodorowsky In Heaven: Eraserhead OST: Composed and performed by Peter Lvers Lucifer Rising: Composed and performed by Jimmy Paige Monochrome: Ghost in the Shell Stand Alone Complex OST: Composed by Yoko Kanno Nosferatu: Composed and performed by Popol Vuh Rain (Female Vocal Version): Cowboy Bebop OST: Composed by Yoko Kanno Requiem for A Dream: Composed by Clint Mansell and performed by the Kronos Quartet Suspiria: Composed and performed by Goblin

Original Compositions Adagio for Strings: Composed by Samuel Barber Ase’s Death: Composed by Edvard Grieg Carmina Burana: Composed by Carl Orf The Crucifixion: Composed by Samuel Barber Dreams Less Sweet: Composed and performed by Psychic TV The Downward Spiral: By Nine Inch Nails F# A# (Infinity): Composed and performed By Godspeed You! Black Emperor Holocausto De La Morte: Composed and performed by Necrophagia Horror of the Zombies: Composed and performed by Impetigo House of the Rising Sun: Performed by The Rolling Stones Hurt: Performed by Johnny Cash I Want Your Soul: Composed and performed by Aphex Twin Ode to Joy: Composed by Beethoven Rain Drops Prelude: Composed by Frederic Chopin Prince Igor: Composed by Alexander Borodin The Requiem: Composed by Mozart Strange Fruit: Composed and Sung by Billy Holiday Song for Liberty: Composed by Giuseppe Verdi Sympathy for the Devil: Composed and performed by the Rolling Stones Va Pensiero: Composed by Giuseppe Verdi Yanqui U.X.O: Composed and Performed By Godspeed You! Black Emperor

In Puberty’s ambush, maidens bloom, All unaware of impending doom They listen to the radio, drink tea Unaware they will lose their liberty Bourgeouis recoil not from slaughter Though victim be son and daughter From Salo: The 120 Days of Sodom.

Diagram -an attempt to understandThe World that follows Sadism or Social Darwinism. Invokes the OverMAN, Absolutism, and a kind of Primitism. Leading to the Simple Passions, the Complex Passions, the Criminal Passions, and the Murderous Passions. Power. The World that follows Psychology (Freud, Jung, and Wilhelm Reich): Implies a tree of influence and evolution, cherry picks the good out of each religion. Interconnectedness. The World that follows Unification (Kierkegaard, Krishnamurti, and the Bhaved Gavid): Man is unified with himself and every other, simplicity, taking away from excess resulting in Social Evolution. Instrumentality. The World that follows the Poete Maudit (Lautreamont, Baudelair, Rimbaud, and Artaud): It is with a fury that man achieves a manifest destiny, personification of the Phoenix. Death & Rebirth. The World that follows the Larvae (developmentally halted no further evolution): An introverted and absolute justification for being wrong and spiteful at humanity. The emulation of an idea taken from a great man, modified for the benefit of the shepherd. Defined technically as Scizotypal. The World that follows Escapism: Be satisfied with life and pursue its vices, no more joy to be partaken than that inside a fellow, and housed in a limited splendor with glass walls. There can be no manifest destiny nor growth when one is given it. The Consumer. The World that follows the Dictator: Differing from the others, this is entirely individual yet joins every belief together for the benefit of the one and truly via cherry picking. Implies a Tao of humankind that commits all positive and negative acts, a kind of birthing process where all thinking merges to create a child different from both parents. The Third Mind. Evolution. The World as Reality: the meaninglessness of art and thought as a futile interprise, limited by the finite life span of the earth and the eraser of all hard external memory. Implies that we will not be remembered no matter the effort. Nihilism. The World as Splendor: To believe one and only, by following only Islam or by following strictly Nietzsche. Limiting one self to but one interpretation, thereby denying reality and evolution. Faith.

SACRED Imagine a voice that is low and hollow and that its vocal cords strain to produce sound. This voice that utters a monotone speech begetting remorse and pain, dignity and hatred. Picture this voice on your parent that visits you in the morning and rapes you at night. Object 1 A woman runs up a stairwell, pursued by a deformed man who walks on all fours; his flesh is bruised and clean shaven, the ears are shorn and pointed, with a tongue sewn from two –twice as long as a dog tongue- without thumbs or big toes, those amputated by eugenic miracle, a man is what he sees himself as through the eyes of others by this very transmuted flesh. The woman is cornered on the roof; this dog/man proceeds to rape her. She then slowly changes, shedding her skin, each limb becomes metallic, she transforms into a plane and leaps from the roof and glides into a building, explosions, a gray fog bellows out.

-£¼ªÙÆ When it comes to conversation, I rehearse almost everything. Ad-libbed material gives way to awkward speech like in a random conversation rushed out if only to keep interconnectedness afloat. That is insipid. Better to rehearse and come across as better then a fellow then to wallow in mediocrity and a limited dialogue. People are angry and nice, giving me eyes that would paint me as an evil outsider placed therein to murder them all. The niceness comes from opening doors for them, as they do not do for me. It is unfortunate that I have the habit of implanting pieces of my personality within my characters, what new extremes that I invoke: Three characters that are the me when given over to fury: They escape my brain and proceed downward through my skull where they break through my mouth, which now resembles a deformed cunt. Yet I cannot stop writing, so with my left hand I use a sewing needle and twine and proceed to stitch up the wound. On a mirror just above this paper I carefully study the wound, opening and closing the lips, showing my slightly yellow teeth; realizing it looks like a rat chewed a circular hole asthough my lips were bitten off completely. I continue forward with this surgery, I do not need a mouth to speak.

The character of Defilement Here arises another Eden; one imagined by that better person inside each and every other –that human that acts upon desire-. The setting is the same as the pictures from the bible

with waterfalls and golden gates, populated by one old cow that can just barely stand. Defilement approaches the cow with the glee of a great sadist. “You ask nothing more then to feast and to have your teats pulled and drained of a blockage of fluid. Much like the nymphomaniac left alone with their arms amputated. Allow me to pay tribute to you and all others.” Defilement undresses, smiling as he shows his disfigured prick; for it takes the shape of a double A battery with a stub of flesh protruding through the hole. His testicals are in fact one dozen knives strung like wind chimes. He is not obese, just pounds of loose flesh hang off him, folding over like animal flippers found on a new race of man. His skin ripples like the top of disturbed water as his knives slightly tingle and ring, and drops of ejaculate fall from them. Now a dirty cunt brimming with urea, crowned by dried shit, penetrated. He kisses the animal’s snout in submission. ‘Bestiality is to give up on humanity’ he whispers into the animals’ ear. With that finished, he begins milking the cow. His children drop onto the grass, colored of milk-white with no mouths or any kind of limbs, but born as torsos though they were only bio-engineered fuck-holes. Defilement buries his children under shallow earth; they grow like trees over years and decades thereafter. He bleeds out, feeding his children organic debris. His plasma becomes their water and his shit becomes their food. Once they have matured, he proceeds to their mother and wrenches loose one curved blade. As saintly as conjoined pedophile and martyr when one kills their lover and a surrogate mother. The teats are completely severed in three disorderly gashes, like a crescent with the star being a separated heart. He wears this apparatus atop his skull like a hat. The cow falls to the ground trying to crawl away. Calmly, he sinks the blade through the snout multiple times as if a child making sure his pet is dead. Cutting off its ears now, he has little time left until he dies of blood loss, and cutting off many inches of skin that would bestow one large coat in one last frenzy that relinquishes everything that once made him human. One last gash to the throat, blood pours in gallons; he punches the jaw and breaks it in half. He opens up its stomach and hallows it out and crawls down this hole, curling up like a fetus, preserved for his children, for this is Eden and depravity is only memory for an audience of weeping trees. The character of Defy “Young boy with medium-sized breasts walks pompously, walks right by me. A boy of milk less breasts dares himself to think that he is better then I with his pompous walk, how dare he looks down at me.” A fifteen year-old girl part of a tribe of the destitute with her fat, crippled girlfriend in tow. She curses at me, calling me a faggot for my nice clothes and my walking like an aristocrat. I am dressed in top hat with a Christian cross etched onto the front, an

expensive suite and shoes, and a magnificent cane beside me with the handle of the Cobra (For Defy is the best representation of me as a person, in how I dress and speak) “You walk like you got a corn cob up your ass!” I approach her, being so cautious that she may have several inbred protectors, “You, minute and destitute whore, you were not christened by any kind of virtue nor vice, for both have a kind of attrition and dignity. You, who were born from a moronic fuck between such forgettable inventors, that which claims how great is life and how great is their delirium; those who bore you and let live, what a waste of raw material. I would not rape you in a fury; I feel your vulva has mixed with the mucus of dogs and paint, standards be not your priority –how you will die from pregnancy-. For I am the me that I WILL, such a high and vulgar being of all powers that dwarfs you and your nothing-life. I pity you for having to bathe your crippled pet with your ignorant tears. I wish you nothing. People, such as you, the peon-masses deserve the earthly Hell that you have so graciously built, that is paradigm, that is Darwin, that is you little woman, without power, you and your class, you incredible weakling, you timid and tortured bitch.” She seemed dumbfounded. I see an ugly girl with brown hair with a scalp resembling a bird’s nest filled with parasites. She has an ugly and misshapen face with protruding teeth and glasses that truly add nothing to her appearance. She walks with her pack of an equally disgusting mother and grandmother or some such; they are all obese, just as putrefied and dead as the child. Someone asks them what time it is… they strain with this simple question for about a minute, and they finally give a wrong answer and proceed on their way. I will prove a point to an atheist author, for I am the great Agnostic. I will see the murder of a martyr, that grand attrition, the only tool worth anything by your cult and genius. Back to the crucifixion: I see a crowd devoted to that phantasm of faith; how easy it is to think all is well at a crucifixion post-mortem. Children start to beat the body with sticks as I arrived, pushing down members of the crowd and presenting one simple dialogue as I arrived and spoke“I am the murderer of god, you are but his pets and I have bathed in your creator’s blood. And I have castrated this god of human hands and a blood-less heart.” Raising my hands high, mentally controlling their will with my skeletal fingers by twisting my left hand’s fingers, beginning with the pinkie, turning inward with a folding thumb. “Every man now, is only a fallen god without eyes. You see the world once emerging from the engorged cunt, and there your fellows sealed your eyelids to a close, your voice becomes an echo, and your hands are now tools for someone else. I offer you the heart of your creator. Ingest this organ of not truth or what is known as divine, but a though, like a match to bring the flames.” I pull out a heart and carve it open with my nails then throw the remains to this crowd of the illiterate and begotten. In actuality, it was the heart of a large ape. As the crowd and minor holy men are busy picking the pieces of the heart, I approached christ with his black hair and a tiny height that rivals the myths of Napoleon. His nails are long, his teeth broken and crooked like a

beggar, his anus widened as with cut open balls. “This is what we’ve been waiting for?” I asked loudly and expectantly, my right arm pointing to the body “We’ve waited thousands of years to see the return of an ordinary man not any different then any of us? He is not worth it. He is not the jesus to be forgiven, he is the man we are glad to be rid of; the bourgeois and insipid variety.” I insert my longest fingers into the spear wound and stretch it open, like a portal down not into the thought process but a descent into organic nausea. Through this hole, passing by fantasia no grander then packaged gizzards. I am now at the top of an incredible mountain paved with diamonds, gold, and titanium. Such a spot befitting a man who says ‘I am god’ I see him now, this most real form; here is the inner child sucking on a thumb. Wait, I examine closer and see he is dead when I feel for a pulse and put my ear up to the mouth and there is nothing. The body is slumped to the right side; thumb still in mouth, covered only by a blue blanket that barely hides a violet flesh, his face is cut apart by the shaving of moustache, eyebrows, and hair on the left of his face, this small and castrated child. I curl up right next to it, hiding under the blue blanket and I sleep. The body dissipates like ashes. I smile. The character of Atheism Atheism, dressed in a white short sleeve shirt and black pants with black tie, armored with a Snake Skin jacket while clutching his imposing pocket knife in a side pocket, culminating with a two-foot long cross impaled through his skull; this deformed pariah who failed as a chameleon. The Madman is dead, and we have killed him. Morality is the assassin; we are the conspirators for being so compliant and listless. We have succumbed to not a land without god or logic, but a mindset without idols. The idol is the bringer of influence and what idols remain? But the dead, dying, and meaningless without innovation and strife… A natural selection that favors the weak. Oscar Wilde once said that all influence is immoral, something referenced to by my now dead friend. The reincarnation is not worthy. If that were untrue, then would we not have evolved beyond Nietzsche? All that has been created are the ouroboros of shared ideas. It is the Madman to come from the brink and deliver to us something that had never before been conceived. As it would, that a Madman would arrive with every dying star, it reminds me of a whore who is given a facial and there discovers illumination. I come too late. My time has long passed…

A young Mormon boy, an old Catholic with a black beard, an obese Evangelist mother of three, one follower of Islam, a female atheist, one stereotypical Buddhist, ending with a small Hindu family; all of whom are extremists which should be noted. An illumination, brilliance, and the Madman: They are the conclusion but to what? Countless images happening all at once, struggling to find that vent through this one character in each action of repulsion and glory. I pondered for a moment if I should draw this out for much longer, then again, this should be quick as my author has set me free and I shall thank him with an excess of blank pages. This Mormon is beheaded by an Al Queda operative. The Catholic is placed in the Antarctic half submerged in ice water. The Hindus are treated like untouchables in their culture; the women are raped and beaten, while the men watch and are castrated. The Evangelist is fed to several apes. The Islamist is given a world without enemies; there he finds no one and dies alone. The atheist mocks primitive cultures; she is then subjected to their rituals and is raped and beheaded. The Buddhist is locked in a room without windows; given only a little tree and sand, within days he consumes every leaf on the plant, and then dies of starvation. I am afraid. as I remain one without bible or coda, but a verve that coils and sheds the former ideal like the serpent crawling upwards the tree of knowledge; things that I have written and will re-enact. My fear is that I will not pursue them any longer when pacified by society. It is like a poker game, it ends when you show your hand. … “The girl screamed. The murderer laughs like mad, she begs, he takes out a large knife. She prays, tears rolling from her eyes, a bone-crunching sound is heard. A shot from the policeman’s nine-millimeter pistol, the fatal shot to the head of the murderer. She pleads to her hero ‘I just want to go home’ “ “This novel is my masterpiece,” said an eleven year-old boy struggling to become a horror writer, the author of the above paragraph, if even that, more like an extended sentence. He has had two short stories published in very, very small fanzines and he has posted four more on the Internet. This “masterpiece” is a typical slasher story; so typical it would have been rejected for a Friday The 13th screenplay. He shows the novel to his boyfriends, and they love it. A Naïve boy who is devout to the followers of a passion-less manifesto, and the novel is sold to a large publishing house and it does all right on the market, not at all surprising when the challenge and depth of this book reaches the mighty height of a grain of sand. I write myself in, “Naïve boy, you must challenge people.” he screams that he does not want to, that he only wants to be a jester, to be remembered for his entertainment. I retaliate, “True, that after your death people will remember you, but for only a shot

period of time, fifteen minutes to be exact if we are to follow Warholla and his pretension. For decades after no one will care about your rotten corpse that the worm defecates on, and no one will remember you past that expiration. But, we always remember the pariah’s who wish to change the world and to show us glory whether introverted or extroverted. It depends not on timelessness but on the passion.” A critic descends, casting me as perverted and unworthy, going on in the erotication of rape that I bestow, the difference (same old same old) between pornography and art. I will show misanthropy personified, this is a way to view something as the atrocity that inspires hope, pain, and numbness: In a room of teal, we watch three figures through an iris window, looking out from within my two eyes. A man dressed like an aristocrat except for a black hood that hides his face who stands between a blonde-haired girl no older then seventeen trying to cover herself, and her mother with matching hair; whose limbs are chained to a concrete ceiling that hold her several feet high. Both are of course nude. The daughter cries, and her hands block out her pubic hair. The aristocrat that does not show his face brandishes a very clean and defined sickle with a metallic handle painted yellow. The mother becomes silent. A portrait ten feet by ten feet descends attached to two near-invisible strings, just a foot or two above the mother’s skull. This portrait is in fact an enlarged photograph tainted (artistically) in sepia; the image becomes visible, showing off a victim of Ed Gein’s immortalized by her violation. Gein, one of the first American serial killers: his victim, this aged woman that hangs by her lifeless feet chained by ankles, torn open from anus to chest. It is so awe-inspiring that you would think Dali would masturbate to it. The executioner tilts his skull slightly upward for which beams of light shine on him, thereupon a bent halo tears through his eyes and hangs above the skull; suddenly two large wings rip through his back and these wings are plastered with lined paper and drip ink. From this man’s spine, the epitome of Goodness wrings loose from him, born from the pores of skin and showing its innocent flesh to human eyes. Goodness emerges as a limbless dwarf with empty, plastic bottles planted in its mouth. With a clammy and Asiatic (recalling Shintoism) skin that turns violet from the exposure to oxygen, no longer shelled within polluted man, crawling slowly forwards like a dying slug as it approaches the child and rapes her with its bottles, to give her pleasure, for that is mutually good to the corrupt individual. The sickle approaches the mother, her child still is watching with a penetrated cunt magnified by a see-through bottle: The sickle (moving upward) penetrates the asshole by a few inches, and then a slow lift approaches; working in a seesaw motion, the blade moving quickly; slowly tearing through the outer wall of the cunt, tearing through stomach, and now torn en half. The mother is dead. The boy and critic vomit in unison, I speak, “You see how I’ve made art out of a tragedy? Showing how our world is a constant mirror, I have taken a man who wanted to fuck his mother out of love and hate. He wore the flesh of his victims much as the same as we wear masks; whereas he wore them to become what he wanted to be, we wear a mask to be acceptable. And, by that dismembered woman we witness the birth of new pleasures, and new freedom. The mask becomes our weapon, and the trophy is our freedom.”

“You’re sick!” the boy screams. “No, you’ve glorified Gein’s crime for your own profit. Simply creating a series of violent episodes does not make you a writer, it makes you a pornographer” said the critic. I speak again, “I don’t give a damn if I’m right or wrong. I will change people by showing them our world simply as it is; deep down inside they know this is true! It is all a reflection of our corrupt universe that offers no solace but hope while elites continue on in murder and monopoly, it is this idea of hope that has only given us shit and democide.” “What is true? Showing men committing bestiality? Saying there is no God as repeated for over a century? You’re nothing but a hack wishing to gain attention for his crimes!” said the critic. “What crimes? This is everyday violence; you simply ignore it and refer to it as a tragedy. It is no tragedy; this is the way of life, it is Social Darwinism prophesized by the divine Marquis! To do away with it is to do away with the society that created it, a solution through artistic genocide. This is necessity; one cannot overcome reality without having first faced it.” I speak again. “I sincerely doubt that the essence of Good is a crippled dwarf, or champions of capital punishment fuck on a mountain in celebration. This is obscene. Enough of your ‘mirrored’ world, people want the truth” said the critic. In defiance, “I am giving it to them” The critic shakes his head, bemused. I speak once more, “You hate people like me don’t you? It is of course obscene but people need obscenity! Enough of this cushy world where imaginary characters are created to live in a tedious cycle of life, death, triumph, love, and freedom, enough of these anecdotal biographies written exclusively for money, enough of everything that rebuilds people as puppets meant to follow the words of an invented prophet such as your Ayn Rand. We NEED work that will fuckin’ murder our glee and take with it our restraining morals. To gut punch us and implant it’s terrible voice in us” foaming from the mouth “We need violence to show violence! There must be this conclusion, the end of the moral coda and the end of the meaningless life and with it the end of meaning. No more a truth to be found, that absolution may only be a word to satiate the herd while men lie and give of them selves to nothing, and they die for nothing. Only in the extremes may we find what we have ignored, the Gray. Love and hate, horror and the paradise, are the same. No different to fly or fall. I do not propose to know of the truth, nor the proper way of life; but I know what is wrong, and that is the slavery of today encompassing Social, Religious, and Economic varities. Before each and every ritualistic task to find oneself, one must recognize what is around them and the idea of Good & Evil being the supreme Lie given to us by our kind and loving society, though well-intentioned it became the greatest kind of propaganda. Secondly, one must react to it. ”

The critic gives a good review of the boy’s work. They quickly undress and begin to fuck like student and teacher. … I peel away a piece of dead skin from my face, nuisance hangnails amputated with nail clippers, pieces of me fall onto this very paper with a single drop of blood, I wipe off this waste and continue onward. I, not we, you could never understand me no matter what lengths I reach, and I say that out of relenting to a truth and not a defeat nor condensation. I alone must commit transgressions out of invented mysticism; therein I will be created as I see myself and not as I dream in writing. An individual and selfish trait usually referred to as martyrdom by people who do not wish to create themselves but only follow that which has been created. I feel this is a trait that links subversion, atrocity, and glory. To be a martyr is to give your self over to the masses, and then be reinterpreted to be more appealing. When you become the individual, you are the in-understandable entity like the Sphinx or Stonehenge; the ritual and the God cemented in time. There I am in this limbo, muted colors flow from above; you can taste these colors by licking the air. Who am I? I am the one who desires to be the OverMan, to laugh at every weak last man. What am I? A man that remains hindered by what he has. With a hacksaw, I set about decapitating my self, to free mind and body as separate entities. The pain soon subsides, a fetus levitates off in the distance, there is me in the mirror and my desire. The stage has been set for metaphysics, but this body needs freedom from this reality constructed for it. Only there may mind and body become whole and separated into eternal entities of absolution. My brain is above me, awaiting me, my body is like cement in water; eating of the fish and viscera that swim by it while still rooted to this world. I will become as I desire, to confront reality and conquer it and to map out my self and remake it. Take all that you despise, use that as the catalyst for the new body like wood to the fire. When I see myself, I see only so much to still be done. … Of Nine Eleven: From the viewpoint of a misguided martyr not at all different from a child wishing to emulate dead mentors Knife in briefcase, could not believe how easy it is to fool these bastards. The others were very anxious and I was worried that the others in the other planes would back out like in the Conspiracy to murder Lincoln or some other fuck up would occur. The plane takes off. The plane is a little away so I motion to the others that the time is right. Brandishing our weapons and doing our best English, screaming aloud in a tall and arrogant voice.

“We have a bomb on this plane” My fellows were breaking down the door to the cabinet as I secured the rest. I then quickly ran in and bound the flier’s hands with those plastic handcuffs that idiots use to tie up toys and loose wires. One of the pilots pissed himself and I took the reigns of the plane, and then ordered the others to secure the passengers. My fellows went at it with but a few hostages were allowed others to gather in the back and phone whomever they wished, it was the least we could do, it would not matter; we feed the mouse before we feed it to the snake. The tower is within range; I fly into the top-middle trying to get the best possible shot. Collision. We die in flames. People scream. People will film it. And I will be immortal. Praise be to Allah, and let I be remembered. [Ending with a very average man committing what is only a spectacular suicide to prove he is something more then simply human] Even now I have not committed the most despicable of things as accorded by the moral guardians and do you know what that is? To say that 9/11 was a staged event. No room for the politic, they are a thing you cannot preach, for the insipid refuse to even listen and only condemn, this prejudice of knowledge. Êö”ºÆ_ Ö×ØÙÚÛÜ -£¼ªÙÆ @™Çö”ºÆ_@ __ __ __ __ __ ÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿ Only an excuse to cross a bridge, such as a meaningless parlay- like you would bring up the mundane only to get to that crass joke or make a point on the day-. Such a revolt of misguided proportions, he would even speak ‘the artist crucifies them. The artist crucifies all of them.’ … _ þª_ «_ _«_ _«_ _«_ _«_ «_ «_ «_ _«_ _«_ _«_ _«_ _«_ _«_ _«_ -«_ «_ "«_ ì²_ î²_ ð²_ ò²_ ô²_ ö²_ ø²_ ú²_ ü²_ þ²_ ³_ _³_ _³_ _³_ _³_ _³_ _³_ _³_ _³_ _³_ _³_ -³_ ³_ "³_ $³_ &³_ (³_ The other two would be restrained and forced to watch: the longhaired one has her hands handcuffed behind her back, her legs tied and held apart. She is cut along the thighs with a box cutter, the blade invades underneath her toenails, her hair is ripped out and stuffed into her mouth, her eyelids are held open while a match is struck and falls onto an eyeball, the cunt is spread open to greet one intrusive lit match, a breast carved into, the fat is expunged and replaced with cotton. The image of Shiva and Kali are tattooed upon her forehead and pubis. A climax is not a necessity to affect people, like a staged orgasm in pornography. When it is the moment caught in the twilight at the height of an extreme that is the necessity. Think of a boring film/book that is remembered or the weak man who became a killer. …

“I should’ve had the abortion; I should’ve had the abortion” My mother, speaking to me when I was nine years old…Suddenly that sentence just sprang into my mind so suddenly. One boy very much in accordance to what is the outsider finds his vices, and he becomes dominated by them-mimicry- becoming just as the other humans, one who putrefies while living in dreams. He is torn by the complex nature of his deranged mother, and feels intimidated by his father, which yields him to his mother. Slowly becoming aware of his errors, yet still pious to delusion, and still buried in limbo while thinking of cruel ideas. He finds an angel in fuckery; he begins to learn new things. An angel in philosophy visits him; he thinks new things. One day he no longer thinks and sets about to be what he has always dreamed of being. OverMan. The writer may be god but the writer is also a slave to their creation. If the creation fails, the writer must abandon it and forget it or destroy it and rebuild it anew. If it succeeds the writer is forced to outdo it or perish in its ravages; if not the writer is forced to create clones of his creation. One man approaches me, spouting on and on about how I am a threat to humanity and have perverted previously innocent children. He continues to harasses me for the appraisal of all freedoms and of all men in which every thinker is the Iconoclast; as he referred to me as a cancer to his utopia that had never existed. ‘Turns out he hasn’t even read of my work, so I hand him a copy while saying with an arrogant smile “judge not les ye be judged” and I leave him my email address. Weeks later amidst many emails, I received a message from this man. He tells me how my work has changed him and he has given up his ways and became an organ donor then helped bastard children by giving them much-deserved toys, and most surprisingly of all, he has donated to pro-choice agencies to raped mothers. How I wish this was true and this man existed instead of merely writing this paragraph of fiction to create a counter-image. Am I no better then he? Write to me at Etuvivrainelterrore@Gmail.com … Idols riding in Cadillac’s with open tops down a poorly planned parade, they look no different from a walking billboard, such as a living deformity attributed to Teflon poisoning. I am part of the crowd and dressed in the skin of Jack Ruby; I take careful aim and fire the fatal shot at one such idol no different from any other. This one hollow point round makes contact with the face, and dead center down the nasal cavity. The idol now resembles victims of nerve gas through a heavily deformed mouth and face, like a horse with its face blasted off and its body dragged throughout the streets, my way of giving them a purpose through a stupendous demise. That is the me who subscribes to violence being an immortal action.

That is, Immortality by Immorality. What an insipid, and at once brilliant and proven thought that violence in it self may grant eternity. A road traveled by the most insane of men; your Albert Fish, your Idi Amin, your lord Heliogabalus, and your artist. It is no better then to carve into a tree. We soon forget that the tree will die. “If God is dead… Must we not become gods ourselves to seem worthy of it? “ NIETZSCHE The Gray (in Tao terminology) that embodies man, for it is gray which grants us the ability to do both positive and negative at once. This Gray would now be truthfully recognized… and not as the purgatory or the void that is filled, but the totality of all creation. As ‘Do what thou wilt’ is not the pass to commit atrocity, but to only be human, and once we see what we are fully capable of there may be created the second paradise. The first paradise was the one created by Cavemen freed of restriction. Though, debatable as to what exactly restriction is. It may be an invented reality (such as what we have now) or reality in itself (an unchangeable thing). This applies to the mass and not in it self to the individual. Such as Jonestown, which was a reality founded by one man, with a herd that latched onto that, thereby placing themselves within another paradigm without pursuing a personal freedom -just another escapism- and perished in that reality. Whereas the individual is free to create as he pleases and walk away from that mass and his debts. His is entirely manifest. See also Perspectivism. … The book posses the author; becoming a surrogate brain of what we desire to be, no better than a log of dreams or a diary filled with paintings about as understandable as a blank piece of paper. The book becomes a map of the thought process or the external memory of ancient humans. I see it as a scarification process much like a live autopsy committed by our brains upon this limited body, no better or worse then the monk who set himself aflame. … A dead oak tree lies in the middle of a dirt field; old condoms hang from the dead branches while icy cum drips down onto mud along the road to an Orgiastic Heaven: Where man and rhino are united by a speared anus. One octopus pleasures eight women while eating pubescent girls feet first-but not before drowning them with a flood of ink. men and women fused to create bee hives joined by the hip as their genitals are the gateways for such bees where bears pluck these hives, bite into them and drink the honey. Women are impaled from anus to throat by giraffe necks, each giraffe adorned with this human necklace. Clean-shaven people are laid as the ground and ceiling to every last species of bats, these people are the toilet and the nest for the bats, for that shit to be eaten, and bodies hollowed out and homes for dozens of bats. Tigresses with immense clitorises rape young boys whose limbs are rooted in cement, the tigresses generally bite

off the ears and claws the backs of each child during the hourly penetration, and how they mimic male orgasm and urinate into the mouth of each boy. Men enjoy the splendor of birds that lift them up onto a bed of spikes; the remains are fed to young children as vomited by the birds. Pigs would bite off the fingers and toes of men and laugh while the men struggled to grab and stand. Horses would trample the old and invalid after a lifetime of suffering; where ducks and chickens would be lifted up to their faces and scratch out their eyes, or plow the fields tied by their breasts or genitals, along with previous and unheard atrocities, as newborn children are fed alive to komodo dragons. Yet, that one angelic woman that stood out was subjected to the very worst; being lifted to the sky and forced to watch it all for a lifetime. In Heaven. … Jerry Fallwell, Pat Robertson, and Billy Graham are the recipients of retribution for every man to be given a smite by a fascist, or for every man to have come so far and believe in personal freedom… only to be reminded of these wretched men and the will to be rid of them. Fallwell is strangled to death by a leather strap. Robertson is gutted and thereon stuffed with the many pamphlets promising one land for the Christian and the triangle-eye of the dollar. Graham is ignored entirely, and he and his offspring disintegrate, there exists no real life to a thing if it does not make a human connection either positive or negative…It is not to ignore a virus, but to isolate it. Religion spreads by the ears and eyes, when a virus is then isolated and cannot grow; it then rots from the inside. That I realize too late, and am now executed for murder. … "Let the most insulting blasphemy, the most atheistic works next be fully and openly authorized, in order to complete the extirpation from the human heart and memory of those appalling pastimes of our childhood; let them be put in circulation the writings most capable of illuminating the Europeans upon a matter so important, and let a considerable prize, to be bestowed by the Nation, be awarded to him who, having said and demonstrated everything upon this score, will leave to his countrymen no more then a scythe to mow the land clean of all those phantoms, and a steady heart to hate them. In six months, the whole will be done; your infamous god will be as naught," Marquis De Sade To murder the epitome of faith and beyond, to defy all others and insult them brutally like the coward, to outdo human capacity: The artist aims at this so revered and holy target. This is my great transgression; for I may never look back again, for it necessary if nothing but for my inner peace, and once there you can never go back to what you were: Jesus approaches with a solemn look and with hands laid low and open, I say ’free me’ and he then walks over with a gesture to kiss his bloodied feet. I stab him with my pen in his ribcage, clutched by my left hand, and now painted with blood and dirt. Using this pen as a lever to lift him before a giant sheathe of sheet metal with a white crucifix

painted before, cementing him there by thousands of pens to crucify this dead hypocrisy. A figure riddled with protrusions, like an Indian fakir fallen upon his bed of spikes, kept alive now by these very words that wish to torture him more with metal pens imbedded into palm and wrist. I cannot let such a thing die by a bourgeois mechanism such as the crucifixion. Therefore, he is lowered into a vat of boiling lead, consumed and now recycled into a tool for every man that thinks, both pen and rifle. I hate to plagiarize; but I have committed another meme formation of your jesus, at best he shall evolve into a phantasm long forgotten, at worst another kind of ideology. Something that Atheist and Iconoclast so worship, the destruction of a man they do not believe in, what wretched people these must be to invent their enemies such as your religious extremists and each and every last herd. What evolution we have come across, to go over the same old same old. I see god: This obese hermaphrodite figure, with crooked teeth emitting ‘round the mouth and down the chin, and ratty hair and one hundred arachnid eyes. With fingernails showing skewed remnants of little men, and a belly and breasts covered with the filth of dancing angels mocking tortured humans in cages. With a body hair like the forest and a prick miniature and syphilitic, an ugly cunt is the gateway to paradise and saint peter being a louse. Dead children fall into god’s mouth and eaten in its slack jaw like a Roman being fed grapes by his chained prostitute. I throw his whores and his meals away from him and into space; it pleads with me without emotion, like a child saying ’I’m sorry’ with a lifeless tone. It offers me immortality with no morality so long as I rejoice in putrid faith. My right fist connecting a one-inch punch to its skull, the noise of a jet breaking the sound barrier erupts while the face falls to atoms. Falling out of a throne made from human bone and crowned by fetal fossils, tearing away the crooked jaw and pulling out each of its one hundred eyes. My nails are now dirty and covered in blood and sinew. The cunt penetrated by my pen clutched in my left palm; with a pistol held by my right hand, I fire six hollow point rounds into the abdomen, legs, prick and balls. The pen blasts poison ink down a tainted uterus, an ink no different then a flesh-eating virus. The king is dead.

Finale The me whom I desire to become witnesses the best & worst of humanity: Abraxas I write of a fine escapism. One that requires all the energy needed to crush a minute insect -so easily in reach to an average man who gives birth to nonsense dreams- but there are cripples that envie such men. Hypothesis: For every action committed (referring to a Tao of Joy and Pain), a kind of energy is emitting that mirrors string theory in the joining of two opposing ideologies. It is a kind of energy to wallow in the wake of Kierkegaard’s ‘Single Individual’, in particular a ‘sea of individuals’ united in totality. Like how radioactivity emanates over time and poisons the inhabitants over an undetermined period; if such energy were genuine, it can then be inferred that both saint and Madman are the result of genetics. Such as the Holocaust influencing a half-Jewish man, with a wife indifferent to Judaism whose son then carries this kind of baggage. This also references Jung’s theories on the Family tree and Eternal Reccurence. In metaphysics: to create an individual (in the ‘enlightened’ sense) is by a continual process in thought and doing in order to overcome limitation while separating oneself from the herd. This creates the genius both tortured and divine, and men that the masses will not remember, because ‘enlightenment’ is a solipsist activity. That is voided when the genius creates something in order to connect him to his herd; often art is that attempt. In reality: one becomes individual by retaining popular ideas as created by the original genius; like manufacturing plants that create cheap imitations. One cannot become an individual in reality. From the artist, dictator, and fucker each and every last one is an imitation of another… proving right Kierkegaard and Jung. For the idea/dream: As we only know 1% of the universe, the dream is all that remains. What if such positive and negative energy gave birth to one man via the great and evil Abraxas beyond only an idea but created here and now. What would this man be? A flow Sacred: Knowing a man and his attempt at conquering limitation. Finale: He gives birth to an individual that cannot exist-abortion-. Return: Purgatory state. Man thinks he is individual and attempts to conquer nihilism. Incomplete/broken Man is born and gives one sermon promoting an artistic genocide. An author counters this, promoting the ideal of the masses being wood to the fire. The ‘Tower’ is referenced,

such an idea of a paradise that retains this idea of society. I recognize the value of society. I recognize the value of eugenics. All this leads to a new society; once this world dies and is reborn. … Multi-colored mammals lay out, stabbed, shot, executed By the millions. Bowels lacerated, mammals vomiting shit and blood. Among this New excreta, ankle deep in a newfound blood tide In waves, in rivers, amassed in a small pool of fat creatures as men stand in the muck prodding dying animals singing sweetly in unnoticed sighs. Yet another and another gashed, torn open, fountains of the divine essence, in a ritual swirling of all things, joining, becoming, all united in pain, pleasure, & pity in a visceral ink, endlessly. An ink without conscience; only hard-externalized memory. A needle and thread arrived from flesh hallows of dying slaves; little mouths violently react to a bio-mechanic deep throat by needle and twine, bridging ones and twos and threes united as one enumerable creature. The needle/thread are now the magic wand of a creator who mends a unity between things never meant to coexist; cats and walruses, mice and birds, two-headed cattle and dead men hung across the skies and replace telephone wires, bringing a new communication through a semblance of maggots where the citizenry writhe in a new and living ink. Otherwise, what is orgiastic and good without mantra are impounded by vanity and good cruelty. Scorpion tails are amputated through genetic regression; the scorpion no longer kills but prefers to die by its one time prey like Quang Duc who did not fight but preferred to die in a martyr-fashion. A sign of the times being a waste of resources. A woman volunteers to have her teeth pulled out; the teeth are removed and are then planted in the desert and give birth to untold acres of snow. Scorpion stingers are fitted as her new dentures, and we see drops of venom falling down her throat. Throngs of people in a brown valley; flowers stick out among atrocity photographs and old soda cans littering patches of tall grass. One photograph displaying dead children killed in the West Bank atrocities fills an empty Coca-Cola can. These people proceed very solemnly through a path; every twenty steps they stop to pick the flowers. After two miles of this, they rest atop a tree stump with arms filled with flowers. They proceed to rub the flowers in their eyes, soaking poison and pollen, awash in the fury of gathering bees and mating insects, thorns scratch the corneas along with inflamed eye sockets. Tears fall from now distorted faces onto a handful of undisturbed flowers clutched in the hands of a little girl pigeon-toed. The flowers bloom in deep shades of red and blue. Nests of bats are poisoned; mid-flight the drug kicks in and they are left dying in grassy fields being visited by merciless sunlight and the thirsty fly. By the way side of these

dying bats are the birth-process: gigantic mud puddles with tumourous bulges, reindeer watch over this in a protective manner as one giant reindeer oversees the operation; its horns are made from human fingers, and for this it declares itself the king of Eden. Out from the mud emerge young children born into a pantheon, animals of the forest partake in tearing off the wings from the previous dying bats and then suture these wings into the backs and temples of the children. The children sing in alien voices –relying entirely on body language, each child signals the depths of their torture- as the sun baptizes the bodies in molten gold. Two men embrace before a burial pit of hermaphrodites and fetal deformities that are speared and now preserved in oddly sexual positions, as though De Sade wrote the Karma Sutra and this fills with illustrations. The men commit to their passions; and sperm falls down the esophagus’ of corpses. One woman seated like a monk with palms folded and introvert. Her hair begins to fall, joyful faces everywhere, over a muddy floor that cradles a comatose people submitted to invisible bolts of electricity which puppeteer an aimless frenzy. These people are fed cowhide, are then placed in one pile to vomit their meal; on top of that are placed the finger and toe nails torn ‘way. As that cancerous woman like the virgin monk, watches like an idol witnessing innumerable sacrifices. Fallen teeth cover this pile then set upon a pyre. The strong man leads herds of animals into tar pits. Animals drown and are encased in tar. The man has the bodies dragged out and are set as stairs leading to the next ambition. No need to describe, which has been foretold too numerous a vision: But here is one before you, this very ink. Look and touch upon this blank, and here is your universe: Swarms of greenish twigs with insect faces, open sores sending loud vibrations, without voice and without the passions-angels before mankind-it becomes a mirror of a homeless people in bondage with closed eyes. While those eyes reveal images of Abu Graihb: Malcolm X: America’s conscience is bankrupt. She lost all conscience a long time ago. Uncle Sam has no conscience. They don’t know what morals are. They don’t try and eliminate an evil because it’s evil, or because it’s illegal, or because it’s immoral; they eliminate it only when it threatens their existence. So you’re wasting your time appealing to the moral conscience of a bankrupt man like Uncle Sam. If he had a conscience, he’d straighten this thing out with no more pressure being put upon him. So it is not necessary to change the white man’s mind. We have to change our own minds. You can’t change his mind about us. We’ve got to change our minds about each other. We have to see each other with new eyes. We have to see each other as brothers and sisters. We have to come together with warmth so we can develop unity and harmony that’s necessary to get this problem solved ourselves. Three Japanese women sit to watch a one man play performed by a hunchback; the man proceeds to play with a small dog. Two old men in overalls haul a crosscut saw over to the women in attendance. The women applause greatly, lovingly, when the two men took

that saw to their necks and behead them. The three heads drop in an orderly manner as the puppy licks the man’s face, Buddhist sutras falls from the bleeding neck stumps, and in those eyes for those last ten seconds of life are the reprieve of a million lives. Foetal bodies are hollowed out, computer parts are built into the cadavers; these computers produce modern children literature. A procession of bodies cut apart and sorted on a conveyor belt by grinning senior workers that dismember an unending multitude of bodies where the remains are fed into a furnace. I do not know if was an energy plant, a meat packing plant, or a mass crematorium. A man named Arundhati obsessed with cunnilingus; his home is enveloping and has a moist air that you could feel upon entering a fog of semen. In his brain played out a collage of every kind of cunt that could be imagined: black, white, yellow and brown, pierced and infected, hairy and prepubescent. He falls into another world Among reddish/pink walls drowning in a kind of urea/saliva, think of a man trapped in his attic with flooding water. This new universe where he is cradled like a planetary fetus, to feel every last sensation down to the molecular level… he becomes a new kind of circuitry for supreme pleasure. The pleasures sweep away every desire and want, all needs evaporate as starvation begins to set. An amusing sight to see a skeleton at orgasm; then he consumes the flesh and begins to taste humanity, absorbing a macrocosm of our narcissism and joy. The universe contracts Each tremor of fruition What is not ritual but New pain and pleasure The TAO fully realized In a man to die by his pleasure To become the next evolution From the cunt emerges this man, Arundhati, born as the Harlequin Fetus. Among a slave nation, a stillborn creature falls. The workers kick at the body, cursing it for being unable to work. The elites stab at the body with their umbrellas, cursing it as a useless thing as if it were a temple of knowledge. The beggars rape this body, infecting it with the sweet venom of pity. The animals gnaw at this body and see it no differently then water in the river. Your wise and bitter god and Nietzsche use the body as a metaphor; it is the mantle of the entirety of earth to be displayed and judged, this hammer of the gods. Blood pulling up from the desert floor; young girls are subjected to circumcision rituals, the immature clit is nailed onto their foreheads.

Among the massacres of the Indians, one soldier’s scalped brain becomes the map of new sensations: He sees a middle-aged nude woman, arms chained above her via wiring; she is a spider web of tubing, a new kind of human circuitry. Her eyelids taped to a close by electric tape; she dreams of paradise and weeps, tape began to slowly peel, tears fall with ebbing blood. … Chapter 3 How Candide escaped from the Bulgars, and what happened to him afterwards “Those who have never seen two well-trained armies drawn up for battle, can have no idea of the beauty and brilliance of the display. Bugles, fifes, oboes, drums, and salvoes of artillery produced such harmony as Hell itself could not rival. The opening barrage destroyed about six thousand men on each side. Rifle-fire which followed rid the best of worlds of about nine or ten thousand villains who infested its surface. Finally, the bayonet provided ‘sufficient reason’ for the death of several thousand more. The total casualties amounted to about thirty thousand. Candid trembled like a philosopher, and hid himself as best he could during this heroic butchery.” The young philosopher belched as he stepped upon the remnants of little brother and sister. Each thought strained to be produced from such obvious epiphanies that could be drawn out by a boy who has yet to know what is greatness and what is a reality –like it were a bullet wound ebbing with error & vice, collecting among a pool of individuals, and bleeding out to the very final drop of existence though it were mohammed personified in bacterium. That fine thought did come among the sweeping euphoria of epileptic convulsions and tremors of faint orgasms. With a fist planted at each pillar of cadavers, with a scream, and expelled in a putrid verse ‘Let there be a new mankind’ spoken by Candide in a manner both plain and obnoxious. A silver ship descends, fire bellows from its bottom, lighting ricochets off the surface and into Candide’s very eyes. Gigantic creatures with arachnid faces and bird torsos exited the craft and greet him. While survivors stood and watched when these creatures spoke ‘What you know as man is only a conduit, a statue of dead men’ and then leave, Candide proceeded to fuck child corpses; their orgasms shall be his philosophy, and the sunlight his dinner. … ‘Let there be a new mankind that does not wallow in the latrines of dead men’

One hand appears of our as-yet-to-be-born individual. It touches one plastic mask, woodcarved masks ‘round the world burn; each pore on the hand becomes an eye and a gateway, it sees what you are. On the Virginia Tech Massacre: My boy, you are one who does not know of much more agreeable targets. You see ‘immortality by immorality’, which is a flawed structure. Why don’t you partake in a more satisfying execution, such as the extinction of the creators of such insipid creatures? To murder only the insipid is a waste of energy; it is like setting out to destroy every usless insect on the planet, not only pointless but you fail to strike at the very heart of the matter. A lab mouse in its cage set in a sterile environment, in the corner is a homely woman with glasses and yellow dish gloves. The oxygen is plain and disinfected, a hospital all the better without a consumer. The woman proceeds to extract the mouse… Mouse: Please cease what you are about to do; I am not one to be sacrificed for nothing. Woman: Why not? What I’m about to do may save innumerable lives. Therein will be delivered my sainthood and your martyrdom. Wouldn’t you do the same? Mouse: Yes I would; but that would be performed on a more deserving creature. Woman: Such as? Mouse: Those inhuman deformities you knowledgeable types like to call ‘individualists’ if life itself is divine (to ignore Schopenhauer) why pluck from its womb, such cherished and meaningful creatures as I and every other? Is it not your tyrants, your impoverished, the unknown depths of deformities that should be the fuel to the fire? Woman: Eugenics: A series of unsuccessful experiments. Mouse: But doctor, what separates you from those very scientists at Auschwitz and Unit 731? You may say that you’re black and that alone separates you as far as racial duties. But that is only a matter of pigment. If pigmentation and this idea of genetic unity among fellows is your defense, I could so easily deconstruct it: Genetic unity is a lie. When parts may so easily be assembled by the most unskillful of creatures, that we are unified in such an insipid factory. Yet we are created blank; any individualist traits may be so easily explained as simple auteur theory. The whole of humanity can be broken down to mechanic a motivation: that tree that grows to become your paper that is scribbled upon by your children –domino theory and interconnectedness-, your art and culture-but elitism and the remaking of an idea-. Even what I speak is pilfered dialogue. Woman: So if life offers no real individuality, and this is due to a bio-mechanic paradigm. Then I ask again, why should I spare you?

Mouse: But you see at what I’m getting at? Why should I perish when you can use any other? What we think grants us individuality, is only fading memory. It is that which creates any kind of identity. Woman: Incorrect. What is real is real and not perception. Memory may be cheated by physical markings with violence, love, and barcodes. You in fact prolong life with metaphysics. No. It is technology, growth; the third eye rebuilt… enough of your bullshit. The mouse protests while being placed inside a small window box. The woman manipulates robotic fingers and hypodermic extensions via remote control, as a now tortured mouse mutters a sentence struggling to be profound. The stomach is slit open, the intestines criss-crossed with plastic tubing, veins plugged into black electronic boxes, a Star of David is excised from a beating heart housing the remains of lynched blacks and whites. A South Korean boy lays waste to whitey and darkie. Shooting a woman in the gullet, she vomits flowers. By a grin and muffled voice armed with distinctly feminine pistols-such weaponry is no longer phallic when misused, such as a dyke armed with a strap on- at close range, emptying entire clips into the torsos of men and women. What is individual? Not creation in itself, or the will to break away from herd mentality, the individual lies in neither extremes or profound awakening nor even Gray, but only in oblivion. Just as Kierkegaard was no more individual then a radical priest to be triumphed by Nietzsche. No more then Sade was a more talkative Vlad or Genghis Khan. There is your god and master, your new jesus per century, your car crash/crucifixion and your viral phrases. There is your individual: A stillborn fetus. Feel it, know it, it is our delusion and god. It is the cancer I neglect and my last futility and final bridge there may be. Total freedom is a lie. Without structure, this class system-paradigm- what are we then but a people without language, without escapism, without a Gray, in other words Haiti, a country with a people who have not gone much farther then creating the wheel and fire. A nothing. I recant once idealist values; I favor building for something, an attempt at anything for what we will never realize. Be it eugenics or free enterprise.

The individual is born. The Great Individual: A handsome face stabbed and re-worked, a screaming face that spits. A tongue made from human faces, winking as it clicks and smiling as it lies. Here is what I give you, our god and master, your prophet and mentor, your martyr and rapist, your saint and chameleon, this Tao of pain and creation. Here, I am a man that wreaks their brain to create something, only to see another summit to surpass. White hands with short fingernails, palms are painted with tar, every fine hair has been plucked; no imperfection shall dampen a fine cannibalistic meal this moment in time I take from you, how well you feed me with blood and brains. There I am as a man that rapes the earth; I take your little joys and little death and will transform them into far greater things, through art and crucifixion. The torso is my mirror; here the roach may survive without a head till the end of time, the well of vice and greatness. Each body hair upon you is a wire brimming with electricity, to touch me would be enlightenment and to die for a cause. But there I am as someone who struggles, one that creates everything and becomes nothing. The legs are great serpents without need for genitals; they wrap around you and caress, be enlightened and look into my tongue. The feet are defiled with shit, the perfume attracts herds of animals, and each toenail is infinite and is marked with the portraits of saints and madmen. A nasal cavity deep and violent, as ethereal as a rainforest while stealing your oxygen. And now these eyes, red and deformed about to burst then and now from the strain of knowing, knowing I and you, and it is dead. The Individual caresses an emaciated torso atop a Gray planet. Stars bloom, a smile brings on erect legs to swoon such a torso, unity in great things: an idea and a mutilated body.

A Return Would you think I hate people or am alone? I only resent mistakes; hence this thing, this book of mine. Life is my only burden and I completely empathize with Bunuel in that he only wanted to live in dreams. This book remains as a continual mirror, but how could anyone write down the entirety of himself when the ‘Will’ is given shape by ink, blood, and hardware? How could we possibly take this incredible force that is beyond perception, and illustrate it for a third party? How many great men have poured out everything they could into the arts, and in technology, and so on… endless volumes appear for each of these humans, and we still do not understand them. A bit of hair falls out, with each hair soaked with oil and a bit of scalp root giving a cocaine-like appearance, and each hair tells me a bit about myself: One would like to see an accident on the side of the road; the hair would be the catalyst for this event. It would not matter if people died or not, only that it did something in the third person and that it was felt. One day there was a pigeon by the roadside, the hair had attempted to crush it but the bird had flew away. Another would want to keep a pubescent girl as a slave, fuck her occasionally but ultimately enjoy her in all avenues. If she had no pubic hair, it would cut off the mane from a rabid dog and glue that hair upon her pubis. How lovely would it be to see a clitoris encased in fleabites. This one dreams of great blasphemies; it would spit on crucifixes, stab at mormon and muslim and buddhist with great vigor and strength -not the kind befitting an Atheist, nor the drone, not the mere shit-stirrer, and not a single man alone-. This one would be a herd formed into a single warrior. Tearing up bibles then praised and reviled. It will be the murderous hero to destroy every last superstructure, then suicide it self upon a throne of guns and old manifestos. This hair would soak it self with lighter fluid and other chemicals, and then be immolated. Yet again, this one seeks martyrdom. It would want to die on live television by suicide or assassination just as it delivers a particularly scathing remark. A twin to the others, but one of two colors, my dyed and natural hair color that wants to live and enjoy life in excess of nobility, and to be that one great man. It then tells me things I needed to know, that there is several conspirators here: One wants to ruin me then re-create me as a drone. One last would like to see me as a prostitute and nothing more. A humanistic side wants children if only to name them upon my mentors. This leader being the head of this little group tells me I should end it, I am not an author, I am not a creator, I am only a thing no different then the leaf. “Okay” I say to the hair “How do you propose I fight them?” It speaks “You must combat them.” But how then do you fight better judgment? It gives no further response. People don’t want art; they believe they may create a meaning out of fruitless endeavors.

Only art can love art. Those who love art without creating only seek it out of emulation of their desires. How must I fight them? How will I fight them? Praise? Great success, great deeds, great obscenity, great virtue, great spirit, beloved people, the herd, the mere animal, the pet, the toy, escapism, infinity, useless. I realize one thing that I have been suppressing for some time. Writing is for cavemen. Why do I, why should I only create an emulation of what I see? That is all it is when the primitive witnesses a deer disemboweled and eaten; it creates pictures, same as if we invent. The exception would be the thought process, how else do we paint what we think? Unless you only think upon simplistic matters, that kind of thinking isn’t interesting in the end, like examining a rat brain and charting banality; it’s just another type of purgatory. I see myself as the drone locked by his chain; this book becomes a letter to be smuggled out into the hands of free humans and warn other minds to awaken the slaves. It would be a total riot in the prison; great art and rage merge into a living spectacle of a man feeling suicidal revolution; not a one that he would destroy himself for, but one he knows will beget his annihilation. Atrocity. That is the accent, both conclusion and catalyst to a society that does not work. A thing made in a dystopia; in that the atrocity is the catalyst for new order and new tactics along with the deaths to the king and queen and cronies, the end of an era devoured by another. This is Social Darwinism as the worm ouroboros. If you break it down much more, you can see that the atrocity is only unfiltered communication; from within you is carved onto the body and land of another. No art may do justice to this when one is true and pure in great violence. The nature of violence is to escape from reality by unmaking it. … I see a circle; within the circle are untold numbers of people fused to religious artifacts with each overlapping the other: The circle is one universe housing innumerable planets. One planet just beyond our own houses men and women in the midst of fuckery projected before a Star of David giving way to a tide of human fluid, where we see men crucified to these stars, their falling blood is our comets, their screams our thunder, and their orgasms become our lightening. One other planet has a floor piled with amputated hands; above this pile is a weeping black man emitting red sunlight, and each tear resembles falling napalm. One looming planet where bestiality is encouraged, the emerging children from man/animal fusion look like angels with wings splitting from the back. Two tiny planets -which plays all too well in this macrocosm- within grasp of the other. One occupied by men, the other with women; in the center of the two planets there is born one looming hermaphrodite… birth of god from man, this Roman universe consumed in the orgiastic. The last planet inhibits

the ode to joy, a totality of love and hate in sweet chaos and total freedom via one mountainous tower in a city; this planet shall be spoken of much later. … A grotesque human where no sexuality may be defined that is hidden by emerging tumors and dirty flesh lay out in the heart of space. With a putrifying planet-shaped torso, laid out for eons while a long tumor hangs from his lower jaw extending from the chin past his left eye and into the scalp: he is a landscape imagined by Bosch and Joe Coleman. Nothing happens while the tumors age with a host immobile and uncaring, and relents to everything. The body is overwhelmed, slowly becoming one indescribable mass curled in a fetal position. That is your modern man who lives and dies. Out of that emerges a new parasite, one that may speak and hold a consciousness and as enormous as a mite, and just as compelling and fearsome. A parasite requiring all of the attention and spite as we would a deaf mute – this single bacterium pious to one and only fusion, a mantra so sacred to the herd-. From there stood alien creatures with a mutant origin, splintered by tribes, and no more human then fantasia spewed by wretched minds. Until one deformity spoke as pretentious as he could, and emerging with a language just as toxic as his species “Glorious is the man who stands up to die.” This was the beginning of a Roman society, one of divided classes and a divinity in madness when futility and mortality overwhelmed the senses… therein Decadence. What has emerged has been the classic structure of the elites and proletariat recited ad infinity. This once great Dionysian structure perverted by dead men and animals laid out side by side with erect pricks as the conduit for ebbing desire, with carved open bodies resembled looming organic foxholes. Children play crude clay flutes while bloodied spears encircle the lot: Mars, Venus, and the Child. A light rainfall occurs as with rejoicing, blood and water spill out of abdominal cavities. For there is created ritual, thereon philosophy and tortured humanity; no different then society as that is nothing more then ritual. From there a woman’s head is held aloft, from that meaningless thing spills new humans from putrefying eyes. Sixteen men and women (eight per eye) poured out; these children of a new world emerge with a new primitivism. There they create a new society ratified in unified incest with new elites and new leaders, the pariahs are born and there is now nihilism, and from the drone there is now positivism. Out of all of this, the planet is rebuilt with isms and a new language- this they call the paradise- the sixteen children then split, each professing a will to life. Each child creates a new group, which begets the concept of morality, good and evil, monopolies, and the nature of life. Typical divide and conquer strategy to prevent unified freedom, then came the little man personified as shepherd and herd as one. Centuries later atop one misshapen mound drawn by magnetism between pain and viscera, and this one creature pulled itself from the wreckage and stood.

The Last Individual No gender was apparent for this creature at first with a height of 6’1 with barely a face, it could not be called a hermaphrodite or an evolved man, nothing human emanated from it. A third arm protruded from its chest that reaches below its knees, with raptor-like feet rooted on the haunches, and staring out with a crude face painted with yellow fingernail clippings arranged as three circles like eyes. White feathers drooped from the scalp, a mouth decorated with rows of knives and pens matching a long and black tongue, each hand came equipped with eight fingers, the third arm equipped with two thumbs parallel to the palm but with only three fingers, with a multi-colored skin tone; the chameleon made into man. It seemed to gesture with just a flick of all three hands in an upward motion, as though it spoke ‘one last manifesto’ and it bit off its tongue with black ink pouring from the wound. This is what spilled out onto the ground: God is not the invention, no opiate may suffice; the creation of a god is like the big bang, a social ejaculation I had seen a middle aged man rape three teenage girls about the age of fourteen and Asian and this man had raped each child through every available flesh vacuum, at one point forcing one girl to shit herself endlessly while he ejaculated onto her open eyes. There I sat watching them, without any spectacular epiphany or any great deal of empathy had emerged as I watched in quiet reservation. The man finished up, the girls were laid out in a circle in a drained and broken attitude. I had unsheathed my M-1911 Pistol and conducted it at the man while telling him to kneel and be silent. At the same time, my left hand brought out three appropriate blades and letting them land before the three girls in an expectant manner. I spoke in a monotone voice to these children “Do what thou wilt” while directing my pistol at the man. Revulsion had overwhelmed me to such a hysteric disbelief once these children told me the most inhuman thing I had ever heard. Without even glancing at the blades, they had explained to me that they will love this man, how they will remake him into the ideal lover, how splendid of a man he will be, and what a great life that would become. It would be nice to quote what exactly they had spoken, but my mind was too far gone in deep thought upon hearing such atrocious spectacle; this inhuman spirit based on a god who has never been there, this platitude which defies the very will of nature and humanity sans mass stupidity… yet stupidity recognizes itself for being such. I exploded “You! You violate the words of De Sade? You ignore what makes you, every essential component of humanity is a loss; you are inhuman! Your rapist, this most insipid of pederast, he at the very least pursued simple passions. For that he may not be faulted for if only to have the desire to carry out these

passions… he invites himself to have all manner of passions be taken out onto him whether murderous or simple, the ebb and flow of life in Master and Slave principals. Yet I gave you the tools to rise up and take upon him all that you have lost and wish to carve onto another in the infinity of violence and cathartic dreams. How you reject good fortune! Putrid cunts, you believe in fusion! Where the one needs the other to gain out of the lie of pacifism and goodness. There is one and only one! We use the other to gain out of conquest and manipulation; even your idols are guilty of this! The one is virus, the one is parasite, and the one is divine; that which is all that you ignore out of that pathetic will to ingest godly escapism of the drones who do not think! One is wretch, one is depraved, one is powerful, and one is De Sade, one is Darwin, one is Nietzsche, one is Goethe, and one knows when to act! The wise man walks away but only the fool takes it on his knees! Nihilism is the tool of the greatest of individuals, therein exists the mighty Sadist. Lo, you refuse logic and seek delusion, and that is your religion.” The man attempted to flee, so I shot him from behind just below his right kneecap. The pariah has the gift of invention for being handed morality and then refusing. I drag him by the wounded leg back to the girls and before those blades. Again, logic’s defied when the girls –in knowing they could not attack me and live- chose suicide. Two had slit their wrists, and one committed Hari Kari; she looked as though she was attempting to give herself head in such a position. The man said nothing. I had shot him an additional four times in the left kneecap, both elbows, and at the base of his spine with slug rounds. He rolled around pitifully while screaming. A pariah is only a thing that builds and dies. The manifesto ended, thousands have gathered to watch as the face of the creature began to give way; the likeness of Artaud had emerged, with a tongue no longer bleeding and a body emptied of verve. A sweet odor emanated from him like a candle burning skeletal debris as he raised his right arm coerced with remaining iota of strength, and Artaud offered his body to the masses. He is quickly eaten by the people who render free dry limbs without flavor, devoured and crushed on the spot. The manifesto was all that was left, and it could never be removed. Society had become hungry; it began to need absolution while being no longer aroused by the delusion of escape. A renewed passion began, recalling Dionysus and Osiris. Several centuries later: A people still in deep thoughts ringing with the tale left by that final individual; they realized that a zenith had been reached; no resources were left, nothing more to invent, and a kind of primitivism had now awakened. The end had come;

reaching metaphors from the wilting plant to the dog with rabies whose limbs quiver and collapse into itself with a drunken stupor. Mass suicides dictated by Schopenhauer-Idealism, wide-ranging depression, giving up on everything and laying down to rot. Entire armies forfeit, leaving tools and guns by the wayside as they walk back to their homes without a uniform. Prisons collapse with inmates casually jogging back into the cities committing simple passions. Churches remain decimated without a herd; the Vatican Bank has its assets plundered by bishops with businessmen fearing a proletariat uprising of all castes that would shower themselves with international coffers and Nazi gold. The corrupters assassinate each other; no anarchist need apply as one after another murdered each other, they remain as the cannibals holding that severed head –a last vestibule of power- before their fellow in dying ritual. Starvation, murder, total madness same as we know, be it the last time. The man/planet had died long ago, with his tumor feeding off his last bit of life; finally dying from prolonged starvation. Out in the heart of space: A centipede-like creature deflowers a cunt; the hymen is torn open as with tears of blood spilling out and creating a new planet. A new beginning, a valley without mirrors that female ejaculate drips down onto = man blooms once more. A new world without the words of dead men; they are cremated upon a dead planet as befitting a philosopher’s head on a pike, as are annihilated entire ideologies and the whole of morality and good and evil. Man created as they want without hindrance and therein dies once more. … When the herd begins to splinter off into single cells in anger and despair, the right catalyst is needed to set them off. The Hutu-Tutsi Genocide springs to mind in what has come and what may be. Here you had millions of people in conflict with the other. For months the anger and frustration at Hutus grew, until a radical broadcast sounded the alarms and the people were armed and slaughtered a million Tutsis, the details of such atrocity ring of the details encapsulating De Sade. Today we have millions of illiterate, homeless, and unemployed in this country all awaiting to be led and utilized, herein exploitation of resource and man’s true capacity are merged. … I had once believed in this dogma ‘Immortality by Immorality’ which suggests that one can find eternity in atrocity. I had given everything I had, every iota of strength to this doctrine where in the end I had created nothing. Such endeavors are no more glorious then a crush video with just as much callousness to a fellow. This is a Christian dogma: that violence in itself will free mankind that commits transgressions. Each religion dictates this approach to violence that without this body there is delivered your freedom. When it is without the insipid dialogue, without religion, without restraint, without

morality, without conduit, without artifice, without the masses and without shepherds, and with pain and joy, this greatness within Gray with what we discover as humanity. When we paint, as we fuck, as we give birth, there is no resolve for a ceaseless and ongoing ouroboros that only a mechanic oblivion would suffice. … The OverMan: For every man that sought eternal freedom, at his mercy are trillions of universes that each mirrors ours. This is the reward for each man to have become individual divine. Could you imagine a world governed by Nietzsche? In Nietzsche’s paradise both Zoroaster and Jesus are complimented by the Wicker Man, this was his sabotage of society. His people became primitive OverMen governed slowly by technology. Leonardo Da Vinci creates angel wings and gives his people flight as they escape limitation, law, and paradigm. Artaud’s galaxies are composed of mutes who communicate by body language and excreta, a constant motion resembling collective bacteria incarnate as the phoenix. It goes on to Hunter S. Thompson, Bruce Lee, Schopenhauer, GG Allin, Che Guevara, etc and etc. … I give birth. In my child I witness my naiveté. I see my weakness and strength. I see the seed of a shepherd. I see a deaf-mute who will be suicided with a fine pistol. I cradle my offspring and snap its neck, letting the body float into space. Am I the man who believes they are a phoenix that will plunge and with his picture in the paper to be an inspiration to another? I give up my former joys. Here I exist as someone who should have rightly died long ago, for I had nothing to create but for repulsive mirrors. I renounce suicide. I renounce the Tao. I renounce everything I had once put faith in. When one thing is roadblocked, man may use their fists, their voice, and their inherent weaponry to continue onwards to break through that boundary in ‘The Will to Power’. Then they die so suddenly and create nothing else.

Notes: Look towards the history of humankind.

The Extermination of Humanity Under Keynesian Economics "I have become death, destroyer of worlds," Oppenheimer I see comets fall, riding them are a bacteria known as refugee. A boy writes ‘fuk ur god’ on a computer monitor; within that very text, macrocosm, entire worlds feud and die, their blood runs down the computer screen, the boy licks up this blood, and how sweet it tastes. The boy walks off, half-smiling while staring at the breasts of twelve-year-old girls. Later at home he masturbates, a little fetus covered in boils falls out; he kills it and consumes the child. “Hello boy” “Hello Danny” “Hello Son” As spoken by elites. The boy is held down on an operating table. “Please help me.” As spoken by the last man. Down an open mouth, I see the real world. There are children playing atop a glass dome, inside the dome are future weapons and new innovations. A man proceeds to dig his way to China; he breaks into the dome and falls. A bound Asian man shot in the head point blank, rows of murdered civilians, some trampled by tanks, and they got their information by then. In captivity are middle eastern men being tortured by suited whites. Sen. Wellstone is laid to rest. In Haiti, the results of a puppet who rapes children: people living in cardboard houses with flooded latrines, the UN forces leaves a message by executing a man and leaving him rotting in the streets, forgoing the usual media. The Democide of the once saintly individual, there now is your Pinochet, here overcome are the murderous Spics. There is an image of a black man crucified onto a monolith. “He’s coming out of it now; notate the foam falling out of his nose. I know we’re only to record spoken word, but I feel it necessary, this may convey a kind of poisoning” “What a trip.” “Indeed.” Air force pilot Alex Harmen awakens from his Demerol-induced trip, he has been given a code name he will not remember; he has seen such horrible things.

“How do you feel John?” “Fucked.” “That’s good you feel something, better for that then the usual depression, eh? We can set you up there John. Ermm, uh, just, waitaminute, there we go, sorry about that I forgot hit the record button. You feel fucked right? Testing. But the depression, how is the depression?” “Neutralized for lack of a better term, I feel weakened, my testicals ache, and my feet are trembling a little. It’s like feeling drunk in a way.” ‘Good.’ They never suspect, nor will they ever. Our media and Devine Tesla. We shall make these birds sing, we shall let them see what we want, o’ mighty, o’ infallible rouge, that be our religion, what a nice and pretty thing. You kind birds that part my hair; you pursue our interests, you make us strong, O insipid and great mankind! Riding alongside Gary Powers, we do not have our cyanide capsules… he refused and I forgot. The plane is shot down so suddenly by a patriot missile. I see the Tesla coil as the crucifix. There is Tesla palming balls of lightening, at that moment I realize just who is the true prophet. There exist no beautiful cherubs, but only HAARP, Tungeska is the fall of man, every last man being tracked with radio chips – a list for who’s naughty and nice – what a pity for men that will never realize Saint Peter is a computer. Summary of the MK Ultra Project: was put into action when U-2 Pilot Gary Powers refused to take his cyanide capsule when captured. To prevent the leaking of any information, his plane was shot down on return from the Soviet Union. Though it were researched well into the late 40’s/early 50’s, it was after the Powers incident that the program when into effect for all airmen. Reasoning: It costs millions of dollars to train an airmen, versus thousands of dollars to train a grunt, they would sacrifice one hundred grunts to reclaim an airman. Execution: The subject would be placed in a drug-induced coma (once done with LSD now done with Demerol) and given a trigger word, when the subject has been captured, the trigger word is given to the subject in some manner and the subject commits suicide or assassination (see Sirhan Sirhan). Dr. Keynes, god bless you. What amazing spectacle, the brain of Keynes downloaded into an android. I see over a dozen people in lab coats covered in vomit, computers reaching orgasm through a mass of new information, paint-like fluid ebbing out of hard drives… they know now and see the rebirth of their messiah. Here to witness, the fall of every little man; cementing a warped ideal of the OverMan as recited by the great Nietzsche; an ideal that perfectly validates Darwin and De Sade, Natural Selection via Master & Slave.

Dr. Keynes gives his speeches by binary code, it takes 5-10 minutes to translate each senteance uttered. “My people, how far you’ve come. To advance upon an idea to mutate this wretched, deviant species into something without future, without a god, without anything but to give to us. And you have taken it even higher then I hoped, with worthless paper, and great and holy media. How splendid it is to have only the consumer. We need a more controlled population, for that I refer to the great and beloved Rwanda. With what we have asserted, the white protector to save the poor and dying niggers, by the simplest possible manner, upon these very hands (invokes the crowd of sychophants, spooks, and idealists) are befallen diamond and crude, how justly to reep material from a people who do not think. And so our bases were made, our men deployed and (begins speaking even more pretentiously) sheltered they that were provoked, they that were our fuel to the fire, they that ranks among the greatest of parasites that which partakes in a social cannibalism.” How much longer should I see it continue? Cameras which monitor every last gesture, and every conversation recorded with a multitude of triggers. I see people re-wired and dumbed down. A sick and meaningless people (Image of the American flag, the masses, cannibalism) Arise Dr Keynes; you will be the eternal Ugolino Della Gherardesca. You will be remembered as the man who gave us the television. You have won the battle without a Stalingrad, for you are Mengela and General Shiro Ishii. You are the Wiseman who says to us ‘May you live in interesting times.’

In The City Excavated buildings, rainfall of black ash & rivers of saliva. Trees upturned with roots soaking of blood and fused knives. Held under a red and blue sky with no wandering humans, no arranged ode to pain and joy, but only a sacred misery. There’s people lynched from atop rotting buildings with protruding skewers, their agony muted by cut vocal chords & blank faces. A people united under not cruelty, but Instrumentality beyond pain or love, but the flesh married to idealism & completed with the utmost in artistry. A nursery holding mutant children; one child’s fingers are broken backwards; the fingernails grow immense & dig into his torso & now paralyzed in a sitting position with his toes plugged into electrical sockets for eternity. Untold rows of dear minority hang in the sun with amputated noses, tubing runs from each nasal cavity up into a high structure where biological weapons are dumped into, & bodies stay in constant rot & convulsion. There is a stadium rebuilt by one crucified muslim who becomes a new kind of circuitry, his limbs become extension cables to power the one thousand electric chairs for seated cowards & every last & remade fuck machine. Among his attendees, holes are cut into the tongues of one dozen women, funnel-like jowls erupting from the earth, and ants are lead down their gullet & begin to nest. When a queen emerges, she will lay her eggs down into her victims’ open mouth, under the shadow of mohammed, under the shadow of dead jesus: the begotten people who do not realize what they are, walk past such spectacles while speaking to themselves in tongues who stare with the eyes of an insectseeing but a few millimeters ahead of them in this glory of the planet now minimized-. On billboards promising newfound glory, there lay the image of one male pubescent, with each limb amputated including the minute prick, the flesh filleted ‘round the chest, re-wired to become a polygraph device to listen in on each confession by godly men who have had their ears stabbed by crucifixes, stars of david piercing the eyes, and etc. In the streets, two dozen people laid on their backs, their feet pin pricked by intermittent fires, pointing up at the sky & doused by the concurrent rain looking out into nothing, these living anchors. One lesser building is crowned by young girls held and raped by gargoyle automatons, fucked by a constant mechanic motion & emptied with sperm at every hour, and pausing just before any child could ever reach orgasm. Each child has an opened stomach by cesarean where a new child is plucked, the fetal legs ground up and fed to the mothers; the remains are left in gutters that house rare flowers, broken glass & vomit –this is the manure for a rare plant that arises with a human hand clutched in an Anarchist fist-. In the glory of the sun, there beams a gigantic mouth with a jaw like a guillotine & a tongue like a needle, people are kissed by that tongue & bitten into twos & threes, and left to writhe and live by that wretched kiss. Dogs with sewn eyelids live inside each hollowed & sustained bodies. New-Age solar panels with opposing men & women are speared upside down in a criss-cross fashion, they are let live by a series of tubing

leading from the cunt, prick, & ass to each mouth, one couple are impaled by a spike through each head in a kiss, being held together in sun light, giving vital energy to this very paradigm. In school yards I see giant men at least seven feet high, are run around with razor wire like a may poll by wounded children while the wire is wire is rooted in the palms & may easily give if any slack is applied. On the beach a man is crucified upon a dying whale, spray paint marks a cross outline, black natives appear & sing, guided by a road of dead animals opened by bullet holes, such beautiful chants from atop a mound of dirt –an island within the city- the natives kiss this man on the cheeks, the whale explodes from expanding gasses. Laughing; dying refuges lay out on hospital beds, feeding rows of tears to mosquitoes sat upon unblinking eyes; a white nurse looks after them, a white man is born from a shotgun wound (pellet round), pulling himself up & emerging now as a thing beyond little wars & little men, the white man & woman proceed to fuck. There is a thing levitating upward,

The Tower From the extremes of Hedonism, O’ mighty Libertine and significant herd In the middle of the city, one tower pulls up from it immeasurable in scope and all too palpable to the richest of men. It seems to root the city as it touches the sky, like the handle for a dradle, an anchor, a tool, a thing with life. Too difficult to place it into the limited confines of language, you can only see and know what it is from the outset, seeing something so powerful it brings enlightenment. No entry is apparent, this is not a thing made for humanity, but just a painting made manifest. Each floor follows a different variation on total freedom: Populated by nude women, and sustained entirely by diluted urea. These most exquisite of women neither anorexic nor obese, those extremes lay only to consumers. Some with a gap in the teeth, or slightly crooked, others with minor baby fat, others still with shaved cunt and a light stubble, every race is welcomed without a creed, their numbers in the tens of thousands, haven’t I said that the herds have been separated and retained? What of birth? There is no need to create a vice when one achieves totality. Another floor, a mirror of the previous, but only with men; and one other going a step farther with hermaphrodites. On one floor all three converge, it resembles the birth of the universe. A domain of creators; philosophers, scientists, inventors, etc: Many are re-incarnations of previous great men, and some request to be placed back into their original and mighty state once they acknowledge the outside world. Some do nothing and enjoy the view,

saying that everything that can be said has all ready passed, and while others questioned their meaning on a planet where an ideal has been reached and now attained. God is here, a monochrome deformity useless and preserved in a vat of ecstasy. A plaque above him reads ‘Paradise is a shifting element that must always grow and evolve, if satisfaction is ever reached thereon it mutates into purgatory. Here lies your idea of heaven.’ A school environment, nude children are encouraged to watch Madolescenza. Free love and little angst, with those vital years recycled and re-invited, pick your parents; for once you may actually choose a destiny. Dead civilians from each war, united here in a new state. Theirs to grow and nourish, strangely Masochistic in its appearance, pain is too familiar to them. There is a family portrait in bondage. Ocean of cum, nudist camp set on the beach with an orange light that would tan. People frolic and enjoy, but not at all sexual as they remain unaware and naïve of such things. Children swim in the ocean, by the side are women masturbating in a frenzy, emptying their selves to give these children water. A floor of fetishes from necrophilia to crush, with imagery too obvious to recall. The castle of the Four Libertines from De Sade’s The 120 Days of Sodom are granted the gift of modernity. Only here the children are replaced by realistic Japanese androids. The Holocaust: The camps are now bordellos; it resembles an Italian Nazi-sploitation picture where Jews, Poles, Christians, Homosexuals, and Deformities converge and writhe with soldiers. Not offensive at all once you subvert a thing sexually, no one may resist pleasure and the most abundant of escapism. An electronic floor; children are seated in a Chucky Cheese-like environment with wires run to their brains. They play the arcade games; each victory brings a flood of endorphins. The games, you might be wondering, are wired to pedophiles trapped in a hidden room. Each victory brings a prolonged electric shock with a minimal amount of endorphins injected. On the example set previously, with androids being a catharsis: There exist an infinite amount of floors dedicated to each little group and their hatred. From pigs beating to death minorities, Black Panthers executing corrupt white, muslim extremists stoning women to death and committing suicide – though they let live, a secret room houses 72 androids who remain virginal due to blood pumps and an automatically regenerating hymen-. This domain of metaphysicians granted a second set of arms, an extra finger, dual genitals, and a third eye, etc. They speak of their thoughts and given little applause, repeating how they will begin to do something in creating a new and better planet, amounting to only the usual masturbation.

Topping off into the crown this floor of deformities without language, but only a screaming cacophony, and with a wallpaper of mutilated holy figures: There stood mohammed tied to a crescent with a star anchoring the mouth, there sat jesus in an electric chair, the usual mockery as you could imagine for buddha and vishnu accompanied by a dance of these people. One inhabitant without eyes, four arms without fingers, and pointing needle-appendages up at the roof where it meets a giant hand plain and forgiving as they touch and sing. The roof opens, light beams, it looks like Bosch’s painting of insect angels flying into heaven. Populating yet another floor, one without anything, but these deformities who lay and weep, and arises a cloudy-ness of a stillborn people that anchors this planet. It stays like this for eternity.

apocalypse The Chameleon has died and the spider has escaped from its nest Travelers enter a ravaged village smelling of blood. Huts broken open, dogs torn to pieces and impaled with sticks. Screaming faces forever set on beaten bodies. Men and women crucified upright and upside down, torrents of blood falling down the hillside. People half-buried, an old man dragged across the fields by his intestinal tract; hands and feet cut off and hung from tree branches, now limbless people struggle to crawl up the hillside, away from the forest, begging, whimpering, covered in lively essence. There’s a boy crucified through his palms, castrated, and still drawing breath. A forest of hanged and gutted animals. Every woman lay destroyed, crucified upon those trees, pierced and impaled by every phallic limb. Mother s torn open a daughter s cunt impaled and stretched wide, funnel-like. And I was the ruler and the Devil: Spreading from me this biological infierno, flesh-like walls lined with entrails, demons conjoined to screaming children fused to the skull, back, and genitals with weeping faces sprout, these demons stabbing screaming people laid out on all fours with finger nail-shaped blades. People falling, screaming, laid on needle mountains, constant and everlasting screams, and a hot steam arising from a river of blood and ejaculate. I was there, eating these broken bodies . May you come to the attention of those in authority. . Seeing Human heads falling, cut off by massive swords protruding from the palms. Phallic and spear-like blades arising from arms held high above a massive human form clouded by shadow, each arm parallel to the other, and each blade toped by human heads, one head is white and the other is black, the Ying and Yang of mutual decapitation. Mountains of human heads stretching for miles upward, young lovers begin to fuck on these mountains, blood ebbing from torn hymens. It is all here within this coliseum, and there was an obese Caesar presiding over this accursed place, thumbs down. Sparks fall from the sky and there is a loud electronic hum of machinery. Black wires decorate the walls and floors; it is difficult to find your footing. People in the stadium stare down at you; Lightening bolts fall and strike me, my limbs are numb and scalp is set afire, struck again and again by lightening falling from heaven. Other people tortured with electrodes attached to genitals and nipples, and another crowd joined together by holding hands lit up like a live circuit as electricity courses through them. Man attached to flying kite and once he is struck by lightening he plummets; blood, shit, and random viscera covers the wires, a floor drowning in a small pond of blood, low-level electricity slowly killing those who drown, death by heart attacks, charred flesh, aneurisms, ruptured veins and destroyed eyes, ulcers exploding and exiting bowels. I hear a great electronic hum in tune with my heartbeat, a subtle pounding of what may be generators or the trampling of dying slaves, I hear it so often and so familiar, even when I fall asleep it continues, this electronic beat. Children take bullet hits for the Elites who watch onward in the stadium, one of which is dressed as Caesar: the king of Earth. There is an orange/reddish light which permeates throughout this place, an underground cavern, a ground of jagged stones and bits of dirt, naked human feet, a ceiling of stone spikes almost touching the ground. Man with outstretched hands walks over the thriving

bodies as if he is in a drugged trance, and with blank and lifeless eyes. A blond woman presides over this, not a queen but an heir apparent to butchery and grace. Man masturbates a woman laid out on floor; his hands are then cut off, large clumps of hair pulled out of now bloodied scalp by a clawed hand reeking of chlorine. A threesome with a brown-haired woman fucked with two pricks in her asshole, a knife forced into her mouth, with her nipples and pubic hair draped in falling cum and blood, held in the splendor of the stars. Beautiful Italian music with a woman singing elegantly plays on, labia s bitten away by plaque stained teeth, a man tied to the ground on all fours, his asshole fisted, he is decapitated, and he gives birth to a child through his opened neck. The child is the idea, the blond woman holds the child and say’s ‘oh king of god, open your gates’ and the child levitates off into the sun and perishes: Plants grow, buildings fall, no more vices to find once blighted by supreme pleasure that no one may resist, and therein the world is reborn. ... Blue The most morose of colors, there is something about it that conjures the feeling of depression, and much more simplistic, easily grasped things such as the abyss of water, memories and flight. There is hope in Blue; the world may be destroyed as would Pariahdom and there would arise and forever be of permanence Individuality. Limitation is a forgotten memory. The world is opened and we have become the new bird no longer chained. People begin to swim in the air, and they are set free. Ascension, free from paradigm, and there allows new humanity. When I die, no one will remember me. My body will nourish this planet; I will be the nourishment for all people. I will be this great and kind thing once I am gone, no more will there be this void to be filled. My escape shall be Manifest Destiny, and then to let it all go and lay in peace. I witness the limits of violence and pleasure, and I see how limited they are. There is only so much you can take away and rebuild, when you see that a corpse is just a corpse without a freedom or final descent. But a nothing. I am at peace with that.

Final sophistry of a Pseudo-Maudit: Infierno: There is an orange light interwoven with needle mountains, mud pits filled with black pikes, flames, howling, and ongoing groans of pain. On one scaffolding to my right there is an Asiatic adult male laughing while he is whipping a young girl with what looks like intestines, a violent strike to her lower stomach splits her open like a cheap piñata, I am awash with her viscera. I see a man impaled by a Catholic drill and held over a group of slithering pigs, his eyes are furious and drip ink. Large human erupts from the dirtlayered earth sprinting miles upwards with an extended right arm and a clenched right fist; the body explodes with a rain of blood and refuse. Constant sounds of fucking high on the mountains, motherly woman overjoyed by one dozen pricks, her skin melts away as a flood of sperm falls. Girl squatting and masturbating with a white horn filled with termites that eat out her womb and spill out of her body, she presses a button on the horn and it ejects itself out through her body and emerges through her back. Yellow birds fly to the crucified that hang below and pluck out their eyes. Up high between two mountains, there is a man trapped in a webbing of medical gauze, he is pinched and prodded by a scorpion created by fused humans hanging just below him, its phallic tail bores through him, a poisioned torso, with blood and venom overflowing. Ancient woman with amputated limbs laid out on her side, her stomach lined with nipples, infants suckle from her. Preserved fetuses attched to umbilical chords hang off the ground, tortured by lit candles planted below. A sow’s breasts are bitten way by infantile boys. A woman sweats, her cunt pulled open and filled with hot lead. Man is pulled inside out, still alive as ancient men eat him. Too many more that passes by and are too easily forgotten. I see the exit, appropriately a grail doorway and what I thought was the pubic hair were instead pikes which bore through a multitude of screaming people of all genders and all ages, a man crucified to the clitoris. Paradiso: It is much more tropical, jungle-like then a forest. There is a blue sky mixed with clouds and stars and even bits of most cherished night, there is a constant sunset here, a grassy floor rich with green. Every women lay entirely nude and there lies no shame nor morality, and no punishment given to a free body. Many orgies under the trees before not a one who is holier-then-though but your fellow Wretch, and foliage-covered mountains echoing screams of glory. Children even involved with this mass and consensual pleasure, involved with their equals or yet even older, not following the law of Give and Take but only Need. A mad sense of pleasure without fear of being stricken by plague or that of parasite. Elephants howl and bathe women in water from a lake of ejaculate. A baby hippopotamus steals the clothes off the backs of young virgins; they give chase to that infant animal with a great deal of joy. There exists no oppression; there is no opponent that shall rob man of their want and desire; everyone has achieved what is manifest, hence their point of existence made realized through physical interconnectedness.

PaRaDISE I love you please please I don’t want to be alone anymore Someone love me, someone need me, I need you to leave I’m all alone in the world I have died and gone to hell That were my innocent and weak self You have awoken me, I the sleeping demon I would gladly bite off these feathered wings and bend these horns I just don’t want to die alone You will be with me, for without I would gladly die then to be without a goddess I will be with you darling, you are my Lover You will be my awakening from this limited planet I will spare you agony upon agony You will not feel pain, nor birth, nor wraith For I would give to great attrition Moreso then any woman on the planet, as I have no mother My mother the queen of lies and pity All men should destroy their mothers All women should defeat their fathers For we are Apollo & Dionysus This tao of mighty things Thy will that man becomes whole again The void filled with not flesh nor ink But unity among a fellow Let us glide and dance Let there be a new ego One evolved and loving Not to die like a philosopher Not to live like the prisoner But a void filled With all manner of what begets Instrumentality For you, my Love

birth Rioting Asiatic people rampage through villages, they are driven by some religious/political right that brings back an ancient practice of their culture. As they decapitate begging men on their knees that they do not see as their fellow nor as opponent but only as a trophy, three heads placed on a roadblock and the people cheer as the camera records it. It was done mainly to gain attention for the people‘s cause or the media wouldn‘t give a damn and there would be no world coverage. There is a photo of a man in military fatigues seated by his trophy, the putrefying head of a young man. Here we have a prime example, where violence is committed not so much to gain attention for a cause, but to be noticed by a third person. Not so much as a cry for help, but a method to prove one’s identity. We may have an existence through one and the other; two humans become a mirror of the other no matter the relation of blood. By committing this act, they have drawn attention, people know of them, no longer as the powerless specter, they have an existence in the third person, their cause is no longer an esoteric spectacle for their people, it is their identity to all people on the outside; they have murdered in order to establish their existence. ... I tear away my flesh, and there I see my true self. We forget that we are alike underneath this nervous system of physics, the flesh is only a microbiotic society of interactions, and the society that houses the one is not the identity to the self, it is only a delicate ecosystem that may crush the one. Just as spirit/mentality is individual, when the flesh was born it was plugged into to this society, it is joined to a fragile thing and the cure is when that single cell is extracted from the diseased creature and it evolves to a higher being that wipes out that disease. ... To amputate your Index and Ring fingers is to be free of marriage and of making accusations. ... What are fascists but sexual cripples? ... These new creatures, adaptations of humanity One is a black thing, near shapeless with few defined features. With a mouth cavernous and wide like the spread cunt, five fingers often held together as three sharp and scissorlike fingers. The body overall is mutilated and deformed, often walking on its haunches and leaping onto the weak to eviscerate them with an intense speed. With needle-like teeth and it shall vomit napalm and without asshole or genitalia. This is the Ego, and the Ego does not shit.

It brutalizes a single man who is defiant to it, slamming his head against the wall effortlessly, cutting off the face whilst amputating struggling limbs. It culminates when this man is disemboweled at an instant and napalm falls onto the exposed entrails. The Ego feasts on that castrated organ with a subtle joy. The second creature: The ‘supposed’ Goodness, I say ‘supposed’ because a sense of good is not born from within the human, it is an implanted idea. It is a thing that is mimicked so long as it may serve the one; Goodness is only a modified clone of the Ego. A figure clothed in a deep blue gown with awaiting arms in faux-human form, as if to embrace you and bring out a goodness; a goodness that is ultimately an inhuman thing wherein a cancer grows from that tainted heart now blackened and ugly, pumping that diseased blood, topped by disintegrated marrow, and a toothless mouth. It grabs handfuls of pubic hair and shit glued together by saliva and forms wings out of these ugly things attached to its spine, masking the ugly as pure and clean. It attempts to live onward, deluding it self with visions of grandeur. ... That which separates man from lower animal: For the benefit of the insipid, cut off your thumbs. Then we would become equals.

D e p r a v i t y (Justification) D e c i m a t i o n = C r e a t i o n. This is an Anti-Christ Complex; the death of everything could only beget the creation of a new and better thing, a Fascist approach. One may draw parrallells between the Inquisition and the democide by the Khmer Rouge. E x i s t e n c e a n d t h e n a t u r e o f V i o l e n c e. Philosophy clefts at one point, that the animal exists for it self or it exists for the nourishment of the other-just as humans are social animals. That is a flawed argument, man chooses to exist as a social creature (Fusion) and that gives way to Pariah. One cannot exist for the other (society) and maintain wholly, physically and mentally, a new filter is created as an intrinsic piece dissolves to achieve life in a Society, and that being our individuality. The Pariah gives up only the albatross to Society, and grows a further enhancement, and that is to evolve. When I exist for my self, therefore my inner ecosystem implodes and takes away, nothing. Nothing collected, no genetic tree of life, nothing added and nothing gained, a human worth -0. Art and Action are the one loophole to this truth, when one engrains their existence upon another… they in fact violate the nature of the Pariah. When I exist for the other, I have become a molecular creature bound to the other. You may find metaphors in paradigm and evolution, the splendors of life that they may affirm. Both values imply Eugenics –either the one who exists for himself evolves then dies, or we are fused and evolve as the mass- and have then been executed by Democide and the Serial Killer. How often Social Darwinism clashes with Peace & Love. V i o l e n c e a s i n t r i n s i c t o E x i s t e n c e: Those within Society go towards violence to escape this universe. The Pariah retorts to violence as a counter action or overt anti-influence to create a new paradise that suits their comforts. According to Kierkegaard, the Single Individual is the one who has separated from a society of individuals (individuals as if cells that work in conjunction of one being). That is, complete separation, becoming an alien thing to that former society; like birth of a deformity. How does one separate from society? Separation from the masses is an impossibility when taken into accord the unionification of mankind… there is that scientific suggestion that we each interact with each other via mass energy, negative input creating negative output, and etc. It seems that growth is the ideal he went for, but it has been misapplied. Chaso Applied to the Masses: The Negation of state, the Negation of the politic, the Negation of the dictator and all democracies, the Negation of money, the Negation of religion, the Negation of morality. Therein is the man that seeks his fame and destiny, he is that Single Individual and OverMan with another kind of irredeemable growth so easily available to people with a horribly precise logic. Like Consumerism; the simplest possible method to fill the void.

Tao of Joy & Pain (Chaos depicted in terms of the Madman witnessing the fall of society) One, one vast land of a natural yellow-ish pallet overgrowing with unimportant minutia (grand buildings, televisions as large as oceans, scrawling text/propaganda) non-human models, in-human models, dead animals and living cannibals, brief vestiges of former slaves, new generations of fused races, and half-dead Methuselah’s connected to biological mechanized hard external memory. Birth of new man; an unending violence that is both catalyst and result, a thing which creates itself; a man who disembowels himself and gives birth to the embodiment of his ego in a child’s body draped with his innards = rebirth. Therein man invents his destiny and reaches it. Foam streams through the sewers from mouth and wetted cunt, from the armpits the people give birth to new beings no longer blank but entire ideologies created in the flesh, millions with knives, guns, and untold weaponry, and to drown in flooded latrines. No heat or wind, no weather of any kind, constant falling of cum -tears of freed humans- the sewers stuffed to the brim with bodies, and shit arises among the converging masses. Omnipresent laughter and screaming, screams of joy and pain, man in black guns down gyrating fuckers in Tiananmen Square and he begins singing Strange Fruit shooting them thrice out of a luminescent joy. Craniums broken open on concrete sidewalks, people kiss the ground housing their buried lovers, a man takes a screwdriver upon his finger nails, tearing them out one after another and feeding them to a child, and the man then writes a poem in ode to Will Inman’s The Flowers of God . Pricks grow from a man’s shoulders, rows of them as with several rows of teeth, he lacerated his tongue and cannot speak, he keeps biting his pricks, and he then amputates them with his teeth thereupon bleeding to death. Average woman clubs a man until he is in a coma; she amputates his hands and fucks his stumps, and riding those black arms endlessly. Wounded humans run onto the highways and suicide themselves while pilgrims use this collection of bodies as a massive raft to a new world. All races/generations of people fuck one and other not at the final dawn of apocalypse, not to fuck out of futility but only to live freely, all people fuck openly, splendidly, in that are expelled what makes humanity, creation in not a blank, creation of the joy of life. ….

I see the nature of Chaos. Is it a throw back to grand primitism, or an explosion of mind and body? Only bullshitters seem to know the exact answer for that. I no longer see anything in Chaos, there is no great thing to it, only a mass of imagery-our purest language- however great and divine it is, it is only built upon a simple logic, and Nietzsche said that the OverMan should not follow only logic. If Chaos can then be evauluated as an act of an Individiual, then no longer can violence be claimed by an individual if it is available to the masses. Therefore; the individidual would be a wholly unique creature that applies to no real set of standards, but a shifting set of principals that works like Evolution (an inescapable idea blighted by herd mentality and a limited manifest destiny) that suits that same man. With that, we discover that Chaos may not be violent, but only another life form like water, a thing that can become anything. May you find what you are looking for.

The Madman and his lover What I see now remain as fragments But pieces of a landscape Still morphing and being molded By what is the same old same old Even for the approaching hurricane Nothing new to find in this final image So obvious and unexplainable When you try to find your self and escape But predictable paradigm The usual ‘cause’ of all errors on this planet The experiment has failed Start over How comforting it is to a people Never once to find absolution Never to gain what is cherished and so sacred The death of God and all masters Let us become the new masters So we may chisel away the teeth Of little slaves and little men The final solution But turmoil and grace What little depth and pity For the blood of billions Like a newfound virus –cured by the bullet and furyWhat is Manifest and what is insipid Oh worldly genius and dictator Every last who will perish on this planet Now manure for fresh creatures A magnificent age The Dawn of nothing but individuals To battle time it self Without finish nor last glory What we see now Is endless possibility Infinite Divine and Cruel

[globebusinesscenter]

Country music legend Charlie Pride dies of COVID-19 complications in Dallas

Country music legend Charlie Braide has died at the age of 86 of complications from Covid-19 in Dallas, his representative announced on Saturday.

legend Charlie Pride dies of COVID-19

Pride has been recognized as a pioneer of black country artists.

From the late 1960s to the early 1970s he rose to prominence with singles such as "Kiss An Angel Good Mornin", "Is Anybody Goin" To San Antone "and" Id Rather Love You ".

From 1967 to 1987, Braid received 52 Top 10 Country Songs, multiple Grammy Awards, and became RCA Records' best-selling country artist.

Her last performance was "Kiss An Angel Good Mornin" at the CMA Awards on November 11, 2020, at the Nashville City Music Center.

“There's nobody in country music who isn't crying right now,” said Mark “Hook” Lewis of New Country 96.3 KSCS. "He was a pioneer. He did something that no one else had done, first of all, it was possible to do something that no one else had imagined."

“He was a real gentleman,” said Judy Dean of the Texas Radio Hall of Fame. “That's the word that comes to my mind when I think of Charlie. Respected person.

Pride grew up in Sledge, Mississippi, the son of a farmer. He had seven brothers and three sisters.

In 2008, while accepting a Lifetime Achievement Award as part of the Mississippi Governor's Awards for Excellence in the Arts, Braid said he never focused on race.

Braid said, “My older sister once said, 'Why does she sing her music? “But we all understand what the syndrome looked like to all of you. Look, I never accepted that as an individual, and I really think that's why I'm where I am today. ''

A young man before starting his singing career, he was an archer and defender in Major League Soccer Blacks with the Memphis Red Sox and in Major League Soccer in Montana.

After playing minor league baseball for two years, he found himself in Helena, MT, working in a zinc smelter by day and playing country music in nightclubs by night.

After experimenting with the New York Mets, he traveled to Nashville and dabbled in country music when Chet Atkins, president of RCA Records, heard two of his demo tapes and signed.

To ensure that Braid is judged by his music rather than his race, his first singles were sent to radio stations without publicity photos. After his identity became known, some country radio stations refused to play his music.

Despite this, Pride said it was generally well-received. Early in his career, he comforted white audiences when he joked about his "lasting color."

He declared in 1992: "Music is the greatest medium of communication on the planet". "Once people heard my voice correctly and heard my show and saw my childbirth, any fears or bad feelings they could have allayed."

Throughout his career, he sang positive songs instead of sad songs often associated with country music.

He told The Associated Press in 1985: "Music is a great way to express yourself, and I really think music shouldn't be seen as a protest." "You can go far with anything - sing, perform, whatever - and become so politicized that you stop being an artist."

In 1994, he wrote his autobiography, “Pride: The Charley Pride Story”, in which he revealed that he was suffering from moderate depression.

He underwent surgery in 1997 to remove a tumor from his right vocal cord.

Received the Living Legend Award from Nashville / Music City News, in recognition of his 30 years of achievement in 1997.

“He was a man who could break the ice with his heat,” Dean said. "Looking at when he started, what he went through, what he never talked about, what he wore anyway, the levels he rose to ... Country music, all the music, owes him gratitude. "

In lieu of flowers, the Pride Family is asking fans to donate to The Pride Scholarship at Jesuit College Prep, or St. Philips School and Community Center, Food Bank or other charities.

Pride was a minority on the Texas Rangers baseball team. The team released a statement regarding his death.

“It's with heavy hearts that we share that our friend Charley Pride has passed away at the age of 86. Charley played here at the World's Largest Honky Tonk many times over the years, cementing his mark on the club with his handprints in 1992. Our thoughts are with his loved ones, ”the venue said.

Country music legend Charlie Pride dies of COVID-19 complications in Dallas Charlie Pride, News via exercisesfatburnig.blogspot.com https://ift.tt/3qRw0YM

[fire-toolz]

My family's beloved 16-year-old Siamese cat, Webley, died in my arms last year. He'd been a sleek fat kitty before he got ill, but he'd lost weight and lost weight till he was little more than a bedraggled shadow. At the end he could barely lift his head, and then the vet gave him the shot and he couldn't lift his head at all. I was scratching his ears as I'd so often done before, and suddenly they dropped, and whatever I was petting wasn't Webley anymore. It's one of the worst memories of my life.

I've been thinking about Webley a lot while listening to the new Fire-Toolz album, Rainbow Bridge, which comes out May 8 on local label Hausu Mountain. Angel Marcloid, a Chicago musician who records as Fire-Toolz (as well as under several other names), made Rainbow Bridge about her 16-year-old cat, Breakfast, also a Siamese, who died in December 2018. The album is an idiosyncratic collage of guttural death-metal roars, electronic bleeps, and vaporwave ambience. Bleak, sweet, and quietly unflinching, it slides back and forth between two emotional poles: one boils with rage and grief, while the other is steeped in a comforting lyricism as gentle as a cat rubbing its chin against your hand. "It's been a while, but I think about her every day," Marcloid says. "I still have moments where I feel her close and I just cry a whole bunch. I've got her ashes two feet from me right now. I have a tattoo of her on my chest. So yeah, I'm happy to honor her in my music."

From as early as she can remember, Marcloid says, music made her feel things "that are just so abstract and visceral and hard to put your finger on." She was born near Annapolis in 1984 to a music-loving family; her parents constantly played CDs of hair metal, the Beatles, and her all-time favorite band, Rush. Marcloid started making little drum sets out of pots and pans almost as soon as she could walk.

Her first public performance was when she was seven. Her parents knew a local bar band, and she sat in with them to play drums on a cover of the Black Crowes' "Hard to Handle."

"This is a smoky bar, women showing their boobs and stuff—it was not an environment for kids!" Marcloid says. "But I sat down with the drum kit and we played the songs, and they were just amazed. They were looking back at me while we were playing, like, 'Holy shit! This kid's actually keeping time!' I'll never forget walking off that stage, and all these drunk, smelly adults cheering me on, and a couple of people just gave me money. 'You're awesome, kid! Here's 20 dollars!'"

Marcloid soon taught herself to play guitar and bass too, and her musical interests expanded. As a child she had a formative late-night exposure to Morbid Angel's 1993 video for "Rapture" via MTV's Headbangers Ball, and soon she was also listening to jazz and electronica. She performed in several short-lived bands, and in the late 2000s she launched her own label, also called Rainbow Bridge. Through it Marcloid released cassettes and CDs by other musicians, as well as a blizzard of her own music under various names—including ambient acoustic music as the Human Excuse, punky dream pop with the trio Shadow Government, and electroacoustic noise as Water Bullet.

Marcloid came to Chicago in 2012 to move in with a girlfriend, who owned several cats and had just adopted Breakfast. Like most Siamese, Marcloid says, Breakfast "has always been a little strange." She was neurotic and disliked the other cats, and she never really warmed up to Marcloid's partner. In fact she only had one clear favorite. "She took to me immediately," Marcloid says, "and always wanted to be on me and just wanted to spend all her time with me." When Marcloid and her partner split up, there was no question who Breakfast would go with. The kitty ended up spending most of her life in Marcloid's bedroom to avoid other cats. "The rest of the house was just scary for her. There were too many other cat smells," Marcloid says.

"On the one hand, it may seem weird or maybe even borderline cruel to keep a cat in a single bedroom for their entire lives. But that's what she wanted; she was happy."

Marcloid has featured Breakfast in tracks throughout her oeuvre. "Spirit Spit" from the 2017 album Drip Mental (Hausu Mountain), for example, is a short wordless suite in which Marcloid imagines the usually shy Breakfast grown adventurous enough to go exploring in the house during a storm. The track opens with Breakfast engaging in some Siamese vocalizing and squawking, with thunder in the background. The rest of the narrative unfolds through auditory cues. "She comes down to the basement and turns on her ancient computer, which dials in to AOL," Marcloid explains. "Then she puts on a Telepath CD, which is a vaporwave artist that I absolutely love. You can hear the CD drive opening, you can hear the Telepath song start. And then she types some stuff and is meowing. And then she turns off the computer and goes back upstairs."

In 2018 Breakfast began to go into kidney failure. She was constantly peeing in Marcloid's room, and she wasn't eating. Eventually she was so uncomfortable and miserable Marcloid had to euthanize her. "And that was just so fucking traumatic for me, and so emotional," Marcloid says. "It really energized the search for truth and meaning that I had already begun years ago."

Marcloid began making Rainbow Bridge during Breakfast's illness. The title isn't just a callback to her record label (which she folded around five years ago) but also a reference to contemporary folk mythology about a rainbow bridge that, in Marcloid's words, "our pets either cross when they die to go to the other side, or they go there and they wait for us." The cover art, by Marcloid and Jeremy Coubrough, shows a Siamese cat sitting in a green field with her back to the viewer, looking at the prismatic steps of a bridge that leads upward into a kind of bloated growth of exploding colors.

The chaos of different hues fits the Fire-Toolz aesthetic. As Hausu Mountain cofounder Doug Kaplan puts it, "There's just nobody else that sounds like this, and there will never be another. Each track goes a billion different places but has a strong sense of oneness." Marcloid's other projects often follow particular rules or fit into particular genres; Mindspring Memories, for example, is mostly slowed-down and otherwise manipulated smooth-jazz samples. A recent album under the name Path to Lobster Believers is tape-collage improvisation. But with Fire-Toolz, Marcloid says, "Anything goes. It's a no-rules catchall; everything reports to it. It's the top of the pyramid."

The violent shifts in tone and genre on a Fire-Toolz track often feel exuberant and playful. On Rainbow Bridge, though, they create splatters of emotion: nostalgia, confusion, loss, hope. The opening track, "Gnosis .•o°Ozing," starts out as ranting death metal, with Marcloid screaming distorted, virtually indecipherable lyrics: "Arms wrapped in neon like a warning / A rainbow bridge unfurling / And now I lay listening to nothing / I feel my organs locking up."

By the second verse, she's superimposed smooth-jazz keyboard flourishes atop the noise, so that it sounds like the metal is battling easy listening, anger struggling with happier memories. "Layers in grief not unlike stages of passing / There are many / Not too many / Not so much."

The video for the song "Rainbow ∞ Bridge," created by Marcloid with Armpitrubber (aka Christine Janokowicz), provides an intense visual analogue for the music's smeared palette. This song too starts with a death-metal feel, pairing double kick drum with Marcloid's throat-tearing vocals. "Please don't be mad that I cut your cord / Fear lodged in my gums / Pressing into my face with fingerlike force / Breakfast!" she yells, as images of the kitty strobe and dissolve into colors, lights, emojis, a door opening, SpongeBob screaming. Tinkly new-age keyboard ambience plays over purple clouds and the on-screen words "Heaven! They say I can sit and soak you up." A guitar solo fit for a classic-rock ballad cuts through the shifting landscape, and then the song briefly fades into ambience as Breakfast romps across the screen and dissolves. It's a vision of a loved one disintegrating, perhaps into nothing, perhaps into memory or heaven, while pain and happiness alternate in spasms of glitches.

"Heaven has no location," Marcloid howls near the end of the track. That's a statement of spiritual hope; heaven is everywhere, Marcloid believes. "It's not any particular place. It's something that is all-encompassing," she says. "I think that it's everywhere and everything. It's the flow of life." You can hear that hope on tracks such as "⌈Mego⌉ ≜ Maitrī," which is all gentle surging keyboards and pattering electronica, encouraging you to gently drift into an ether of soft fur and purring.

A heaven without location can also simply be a heaven that doesn't exist, though, and that fear and doubt is also part of Rainbow Bridge. On the jittery "Microtubules," a throbbing beat loops around and around as Marcloid asks, "Were you afraid of crossing?" It's an unsettling question: of course she'd worry about a cat who never wanted to leave the bedroom going off on a long journey alone.

"When Breakfast was sick, anxiety was a huge, huge part of it," Marcloid says. "And even after she passed, and I knew that there was nothing to be done, there was still so much anxiety. I became frustrated because I wanted to know where she was, if she was anywhere. I just want the truth. I don't even care what it is, even if the truth is we're all just dead, and that when my body stops working, it's completely over."

Marcloid finished Rainbow Bridge months ago, and of course she didn't know it would be released at a time when anxiety, uncertainty, fear, and isolation would be so pervasive. In the context of a pandemic, the album seems even more relevant, not just because of its grief but also because of its prescient reminder of the importance of pets: during the stay-at-home order, animal adoptions have broken records as humans turn to cats and dogs to keep them company, and keep them sane, in isolation.

Marcloid adopted another cat herself after Breakfast died, and she now has three. "It's incredibly comforting to have them during a time like this," she says. "They're a solid rock for me to lean on. Especially lately, because they just don't fight with themselves. They're just such simpler creatures, and they're so much more connected to reality than any human could possibly be because of how complex our lives are. When they're in pain, they'll react—they won't like it, but they don't conceptualize and theorize about it. They don't get into this existential dread. They're just in pain, and they just want the pain to go away. That's all it is. It's that simple. We are just hopeless cases in comparison."

Marcloid's music, for all its genre shifts and chaotic oddness, can also reach for that kind of simplicity of thought and emotion. The six-minute instrumental "Angel (of Deth)" is elegiac, oceanic Muzak—a soundtrack to play while the waves roll in, or while watching a kitty sleep. At its conclusion the track breaks up into electronic blips and warbles, as though the world were coming apart and something else were wavering into existence behind the static.

"It's a mystery because we don't know," Marcloid says. "So I have to love and honor that mystery. I don't even know what God is, or if God exists, but whatever it is, that's what I love." Marcloid's tribute suggests that cats may know more about love than we do. They trust you even at the end, to help them die. Rainbow Bridge is not just a eulogy but an expression of hope that they'll lend you a paw in turn when your time comes. It's a comfort to think that when you start up those stairs, there will be a small someone to show you the way.  

[beneathtreemomo]

Victorious AU

So I’ve been thinking of messing around with a Victorious AU that’s similar to the Burlesque AU I thought of around a year or so ago in that It’s basically a massive modern au with all my OCs involved somehow. And as I recently got a new phone that comes with a pen and has a drawing section in the notes, I figured I’d draw the OCs that star in the AU! Some of them don’t look as they normally would, though, because they had to be turned into fully-human characters! At most that means their teeth or eyes have changed. I’ll eventually do a headshot for all my ocs, but these were the ones I wanted to do for now. Here we go!

Ashton Fairweather: Dancer/Stunt Double, Junior (3rd year)

Ashton is homoromantic asexual & is crushing on/ eventually ends up with Kenny McCormick, a singer in their grade. His mom used to teach dance at the school. He prefers ballet and pole dancing and is vice-captain of the cheer team. He and Jasper used to be dance partners.

Jasper Wells: Dancer-> Songwriter/Guitar player, Junior (3rd year)

Jasper is homoromantic demisexual & is in a polyamorous relationship with Adrien Agreste, an actor/piano player in his grade, and recently graduated guitar player/singer/songwriter Luka Couffaine. Jasper starts off as a dancer at the school, but after a certain incident that completely destroys his vocal cords & affects his breathing, he turns to writing songs and playing guitar. He and Ashton used to be dance partners. His friend Neeks is trying to help him dance again.

Yoru Yukimura: Dancer/Actor, Junior (3rd year)

Yoru is demiromantic asexual & eventually ends up with Shirou Fubuki, a singer/songwriter in his year. He’s new transfer student to the school and he has an odd knack for being able to read people with ease. His singing isn’t amazing but it’s enough for him to pass classes. He still dances after his leg gets injured, but it’s harder and he can’t do as many hard-core dances. Partners with Shirou for pretty much everything involving performances and hates how protective Natsume, his older brother, is some times.

Natsume Yukimura: Actor, Senior (4th year)

(first I’d like to offer apologies for his face looking a bit weird, my hand didn’t agree with me that day) Natsume is bi and currently stuck between crushes on his best friends Haruka and Toshiro. He is Yoru’s older brother and pretty protective over him. He's a good actor, but no one really knows why he goes to a performing arts school when his passion is clearly baking. He’s also great in the make-up courses thanks to his skill at decorating cakes.

Neeks: Dancer/Singer, Junior (3rd year)

Neeks is demiromantic/demisexual & in a sort-of-romantic relationship with Plagg, a dancer/actor in his grade. It’s complicated. No one knows Neeks’ real name and he’s sort of like Jasper’s big brother after Jasper’s incident. He is working with Jasper to help him get back into dancing. He and Plagg are dance partners and his singing isn’t half bad. Adores wolves more than anything.

Haruka Hamasaki: Singer/Costume Designer, Senior (4th year)

Haruka is straight & one of Natsume’s best friends. She doesn’t have a crush on him yet but they’re super close and eventually date in college. Her passion is costume designing and she’s the best in their grade. She’s also a pretty good singer, but she prefers the costume department. Is like the mother of the group and can always be found either doing something or helping someone out.

Hurricane Lantern: Mermaid Performances/Singer, Senior (4th year)

Hurricane is demiromantic/demisexual & crushing super hard on his best friend Tyler Ridgemount, an actor/ director in their grade. Hurricane got into the school via singing but his true passion is mermaid performances. He practically lives and breathes swimming and is captain of the swim team. At some point his relationship with Ty becomes strained and he decides to put his heart on his sleeve one last time before they graduate. He doesn’t plan to stick around after graduation.

Koray Storm: Actor/Tech Theatre, Senior (4th year)

Koray is demiromantic homosexual & crushing on Yuusei Fudo, an actor in their grade. He spends more time on the tech team than he does acting but he doesn’t mind. He’s a bit of a troublemaker but has a heart of gold. Spends his free time riding around on his motorcycle and visiting the local orphanages.

Hiraku Kurosawa: Tech Theatre, Senior (4th year)

Hiraku is demiromantic asexual & eventually crushes on his friend Yuusaku Fujiki, a singer/guitar player that’s a sophomore (2nd year). He got into the school by acting but told the teachers flat-out that he really just wanted to work in the technical theatre department. He’s always tinkering with things and can be found covered in oil and grease outside of school. He works at his dad’s mechanic shop and is close friends with Koray. His older sister went missing a few years ago, and this year the case has finally taken a dark turn.

Drakon Silverstar: Actor/Singer, Senior (4th year) 

Drakon is panromantic demisexual & freaks out the second he starts crushing on his friend Varian, a singer/actor/tech theatre kid who is also a freshman (1st year). He likes to joke that he’s half dragon and can often be seen with gold and blue stripes in his hair. Sometimes he’ll even wear contacts w/ dragon pupils and fake fangs. He’s close with the others but sort of became Varian’s support pillar after Varian had a difficult falling-out with his friends and actually helps them reconcile! Puts friendship before crushes every time and has a strained relationship with his family.

[brittanyinterviews]

Kristin Dominguez, Artist and Musician

Kristin Dominguez, Artist and Musician

---

This interview was conducted via email in April 2020.

---

Brittany: Can you tell me a bit about yourself?

Kristin: This feels like it should be the easiest question to answer, but it definitely isn't. Starting off on a very simple and earthly foot, I'm from the Bay Area. I grew up in an extremely nurturing environment filled with music, creature comforts, and varying levels of structure. My dad is from Mexico City, so I've had the integral influence of Hispanic culture throughout my life, which is such a blessing. I graduated high school, but am still completing college as an adult, and I have always been connected to the arts. I have always been perceived as scattered and free-spirited. There is some truth to this, but I also feel very grounded in who I am. It never used to be this way -- thank goodness it is this way now. 

Brittany: Have you always been interested in art and music? Can you describe your first art or music memory? 

Kristin: I think that almost every child is interested in art and music -- then again this may just be my perception. My first memories regarding my own forms of expression are linked to sound. My mother has recounted my running around the house singing opera for her when I was a 3-year-old. I liked the experience of feeling my vocal cords vibrate and the breath that was involved. I had always loved singing, but I became more and more private with it as I grew older. I sang with and to the people that I felt close with, to myself in the car or in the shower… It was quite recently that I began to write, record, and perform my own music. 

A painting from Kristin’s Instagram

Painting was / is always enjoyable. The daycare I grew up in was very "hippy"-esque. I was partly raised by a beautiful person named Annie, an artist / love child of the ‘60s who used to sing-talk her way around the daycare with a guitar. She always had paint for us to play with. 

My interest in the arts was always something that held its permanence. It stuck with me always, and I found this reassuring, although it took me a very long time to identify as an artist. 

Another piece from her Instagram

Brittany: Your painting style seems very distinct. Can you describe the process of making a new piece?

Kristin: Music is always playing in the background. This moves a lot of what I do and what comes out on the canvas / paper while I'm creating, so I am very meticulous with my playlists on Spotify.

I’m sort of OCD with how my space is set before I get into painting mode, but that space gets very discombobulated and deconstructed by the end of one of my "flow sessions." 

I get very lost in what I'm doing after that first "ripple effect" is initiated. There is a suspended sense of self while you are watching the colors dance across the page. You are the guiding force -- but once the color is on the page, there is no going back, only forward. The real difficulty with abstract art is there are no guidelines. A lot of the time you create things that you're not that crazy about because you either pushed it too far or didn't give it enough care. There is intention in the abstract process if you bring your awareness to it. 

My process was sporadic in its early stages -- painting only when I had the urge to -- but now I am implementing a stricter structure with my creative process. Ritual and practice are so important for growth and pieces that you feel proud of. 

Another piece from her Instagram

Brittany: The way the paint splatters across the surface or how you use water to move the paint around in your pieces can elicit a very emotional response in the viewer. Is creating new work an emotional process for you? Is it more intuitive?

Kristin: Haha, I showed a family friend a few of my earlier works with acrylic ink and alcohol as a medium and he responded with "I am having a visceral response to these… They are terrifying." I couldn't help but laugh. 

I think that it is an intuitive act, but there is emotion as well. The color "flow sessions" put me into a flow state, in which I am beside myself and completely immersed in the work. Although I am "out of my own way" at this point in the creative process the emotions still work their way out, but everything is transmuted onto the page. Working with water is an incredibly emotional experience because it is unpredictable. You are flowing with it and guiding it at the same time. Only one thing is certain and that's how the work will mutate and change as you influence it. 

Brittany: How would you describe your music and/or musical style? 

Kristin: Soft. Slow. Vulnerable. Warm. A little haunting at times (so I have heard 😂).

Brittany: There are a lot of beautiful covers of popular songs on your Soundcloud. How do you pick which artists or songs to cover?

Kristin: Primarily I choose songs that I identify with. Songs that make me feel something deep and spiritually tangible. I also choose songs that I wish I could have written. Covering them feels like giving that artist and piece new shades of glory. Like looking at the same view but through new lenses. 

I love the classics and anything that brings me that feeling of nostalgia. But mostly I like finding songs that fit me. Like trying on a pair of leggings. Some fit with my voice and tempo, others don't. Others I can squeeze into and others I can't even get up my thigh. It depends. 

Brittany: Who are you influenced by in the worlds of art and music?

Kristin: This is always a hard question because there are so many talented people that influence what I produce, but at the same time I feel my style to be very much my own.

I feel my influencers mostly to be the singer-songwriters of the indie and folk persuasions. By no means am I placing myself in parallel, but to name a handful of talented individuals: 

Elliott Smith

John K. Samson of The Weakerthans

Andy Hull of Manchester Orchestra

Kina Grannis 

Joni Mitchell 

Feist

Daughter

Paul Simon 

Side and ending note: It is such a profound task to strike a nerve, pluck a heart string, or paint a picture for the listener. I am a hopeless romantic, therefore any artist (which is almost all of them) that romanticizes the human experience is an influence, because I identify with them. A good artist makes you feel seen, heard, and understood, without even meeting them. 

Brittany: When you're not creating art or music, how do you spend your time?

Kristin: Normal human-y things. Eating, sleeping, nature walking, spending time with loved ones. Coffee shop dwelling, journaling, reading, doing yoga. New developments: I am trying my hand at knitting, keeping spaces organized, and when the world calms down, I would like to face one of my fears and go swimming in the ocean. 

Brittany: What can we look forward to seeing from you in the future?

Kristin: I am working on my debut album, Settle In.

It has been a long process, but I am a bit of a perfectionist so I am still dealing with that aspect of myself, haha! But I feel like it should be ready by 2021. I am already writing and working on new material for the second album, but I figured I shouldn't get ahead of myself just yet and finish what I started with Settle In.

Upcoming work with Sage and Rock includes working on getting prints of my original works made so that they are a little more accessible. Stickers and possibly shirts, maybe hoodies. Also getting work and plans together to start a stationery line, create an art calendar that includes the lunar cycles and transits, and I would love to move my work to a larger scale.

--- 

Photo provided by Kristin Dominguez. Images of her paintings taken from her Instagram.

---

Special thanks to Kristin for discussing her work with us. You can follow her art on Instagram and music on Soundcloud.

[vkstar-kagemori]

WHAT is up fellow Gamers it’s an intro post

Hello! I’m Jules (she/her), I’m 21 years old and I’m excited to meme with you all! I took a pretty long hiatus from the DR community, but this is my fourth game since I came back.

Now to introduce Fake Punk Gakupo, better known as Kagemori Kanta, the SHSL Visual Kei Artist! (Public bio is here!) Because, as they would insist, it’s truly an art. But what visual kei really is differs from person to person, as the phrase can be interpreted as anything from a music genre to any musical act that utilizes varying levels of make-up, elaborate hair styles and flamboyant costumes in their performances. Visual kei takes a lot of inspiration from Western glam rock, and fans of the movement are often drawn in because of the level of expression presented by artists!

Kage’s band gets their sound from a marriage of goth rock and synthpop, and the band is known for their over-the-top (but what about visual kei isn’t over the top?) aesthetic that’s been described by a certain fanclub as “modern vampire chic.” The band has yet to comment on this description. It’s embarrassing.

So! Would your character know Kagemori?

If your character is interested in the visual kei scene (or similar subcultures of music), it would be hard not to hear of Kagemori! They’re the lead vocalist for the upcoming visual kei group “Deadman’s Party,” and they’re touring this spring! Before becoming popular, the band frequented public places, restaurants, festivals, and bars in Tokyo.

He also recently appeared on advertisements for the eyeliner and mascara brand that his band uses during all their performances.

If your character is a fan of idol groups, you character might have heard of Kagemori. He was in the popular group “Afterschool,” an all-boys idol group, until three years ago (and did a loooooot of public/televised appearances and advertising with this group). Maybe they were at the Tokyo concert that Kagemori’s band crashed last year - or maybe they just read about it on fansites. Orrrr, maybe they heard of what caused Kagemori to leave the idol group and go on a musical hiatus? Hm, hm.

Besides having killer vocal cords, Kagemori is very outspoken via interviews about things he sees as issues in Japanese culture. This isn’t incredibly surprising, as visual kei puts an emphasis on individuality and a certain comfort in being unique. What is surprising is just how critical they are about the idol industry...many, many aspects of the idol industry. 

If your oc lives in or frequents Tokyo or the Akihabara area (part of the Chidoya ward), maybe they’ve seen Kagemori out and about? He’s not exactly hard to miss, and he often hangs out hogging the Dance Dance Revolution machines in local arcade when Deadman’s Party isn’t doing a performance.

If you want any more info on basic background stuff your chara might know about Kagemori, send me a dm I guess? I won’t think it’s out of the blue or anything, and I love to scheme. ;3

OOC Stuff

Shipping is never my end goal in RPs, but I am open to it in the long run!

I don’t have a strong preference of public vs private threads honestly! And for future reference, I’m cool w/ any of my private thread partners creating backlogs of our threads for organization once the thread is over, no need to ask.

If you draw Kagemori, I’ll a) love you forever bc I’m cool w/ that and b) apologize about how many accessories they have. 

If I don’t get back to you immediately, it’s not you! Some days I have less social battery than others, but I do truly enjoy talking to the muns in RPs I’ve been in and this one is no exception!

Please do tell me if you feel like I’m not including you in any way! I don’t want anyone to ever feel that way for long in an RP group if it can be helped.

Trivia!

Kagemori’s vocal range is incredible! His natural voice is strong, medium pitched, and very clear, although he can reach a convincing soprano if he warms up properly.

The rabbit skull logo is something that Kagemori doodled on the back of a takeout napkin, and the rest of the band liked it enough that they ran with it as their logo.

Horses probably unsettle Kagemori the most. They look weird.

Somewhere out there in the dark corners of the internet is a cover of Kagemori singing “World Is Mine.” Best not to bring that up.

They main Bayonetta in Smash Bros. Look at them and tell me they’d main anyone else.

His hips don’t lie, although it is questionable how Kagemori can wear skinny jeans so much without losing leg circulation.

He’s been open with his fanbase about how he’s exploring his gender and doesn’t exactly vibe with the concept of masculinity, and even he’s unsure of what it is right now (and I’m not even exactly sure what Kage’s gender identity should be RIP).

[theteenagetrickster]

KILLSWITCH ENGAGE Singer JESSE LEACH Collaborates With Girlfriend On Dubstep/EDM Song

KILLSWITCH ENGAGE singer Jesse Leach has collaborated with his girlfriend, Philia Porphyra, on a dubstep/EDM/industrial song called "Luminescent Dreams". Check it out below. She stated about the track: "[Jesse] and I have been talking about making dubstep/EDM/industrial music since we first met. It feels so good to finally say that we've created our first song together and paired it up with this dope dance video by [Warren Archer] filmed at [Elements Music & Arts Festival]. "I love hearing both of our voices match up with one another and I'm so damn proud of what we have created. "Thank you for being my muse, my best friend, and the love of my life. "We haven't figured out a DJ name yet but we are open to suggestions if anyone has any. Please keep in mind that we did this song with zero equipment and it's just a demo at the moment. This song is just a teaser and a taste of what we will be creating. More to come in the near future." A little over a year ago, Leach announced that he needed time "to get help" after informing fans that he and his wife of over 16 years, Melissa, had decided to go separate ways. Leach, who has been open about his battles with anxiety and depression, took to Instagram to let his followers know that he would be seeking treatment so that he can avoid becoming "another statistic of suicide." 2018 was a tough year for Leach, who underwent surgery on his vocal cords to remove nodules in April, and dealt with depression, anxiety, and "full-on mental breakdowns" throughout the rest of the year. Although these setbacks had an impact on the recording schedule for the new KILLSWITCH ENGAGE album, Jesse eventually finished laying down his tracks for the effort with the help of guitarist and producer Adam Dutkiewicz, whom he has described as his "musical soulmate." KILLSWITCH ENGAGE's latest album, "Atonement", was released in August via Metal Blade Records in the U.S. and Sony Music Entertainment in the rest of the world.

View this post on Instagram

The song is in demo form but my beautiful and talented girlfriend is not! ? We did this song together called “Luminescent Dreams.” She is a multitalented performer and artist as well as a brilliant poet and writer. Give her a follow @purplespolepoetry ・・・ Repost from @porphyraphilia “So many of you have been asking me when you'd hear Jesse and I sing together well...I'm happy to announce that it has finally happened! @jesse_d_leach and I have been talking about making dubstep/EDM/industrial music since we first met. It feels so good to finally say that we’ve created our first song together and paired it up with this dope dance video by @warren_archer filmed at @elementsfestival_ ? I did this performance with a separated shoulder. AC joint was totally messed up. If you look closely when I do the handstand on the pole, you can see how swollen it is on the left side. After this gig, I had to take it easy for several months before returning back to my usual crazy self. Looking back now- I don't know how I was able to pull all this off with such a bad injury, but I do remember how determined and passionate I am about what I do (under any circumstance). I wasnt going to give up. I love hearing both of our voices match up with one another and I’m so damn proud of what we have created. Thank you for being my muse, my best friend, and the love of my life @thewaybackwithin. ? We haven’t figured out a DJ name yet but we are open to suggestions if anyone has any. Please keep in mind that we did this song with zero equipment and it's just a demo at the moment. Thank you to all who listen and appreciate our art. This song is just a teaser and a taste of what we will be creating. More to come in the near future. Dig it? DM me for bookings !!! Accepting dance gigs in the NYC and upstate area, but also willing to travel outside of the East coast if necessary. MY NEXT PERFORMANCE WILL BE IN STATEN ISLAND FEB 8TH WITH @jesse_d_leach DJing FOR @pinupsforpitbullsinc at @bootlegmannings Doors at 6pm.

A post shared by ? JeSsE LeAcH ? (@jesse_d_leach) on Feb 8, 2020 at 7:28am PST

View this post on Instagram

Hanging around the circus like a bunch of misfits at #thegrammys ?

A post shared by Purple Goddess?Leopard Lady? (@porphyraphilia) on Jan 27, 2020 at 9:12am PST

This content was originally published here.

[buttonholedlife]

KILLSWITCH ENGAGE Singer JESSE LEACH Collaborates With Girlfriend On Dubstep/EDM Song

KILLSWITCH ENGAGE singer Jesse Leach has collaborated with his girlfriend, Philia Porphyra, on a dubstep/EDM/industrial song called "Luminescent Dreams". Check it out below. She stated about the track: "[Jesse] and I have been talking about making dubstep/EDM/industrial music since we first met. It feels so good to finally say that we've created our first song together and paired it up with this dope dance video by [Warren Archer] filmed at [Elements Music & Arts Festival]. "I love hearing both of our voices match up with one another and I'm so damn proud of what we have created. "Thank you for being my muse, my best friend, and the love of my life. "We haven't figured out a DJ name yet but we are open to suggestions if anyone has any. Please keep in mind that we did this song with zero equipment and it's just a demo at the moment. This song is just a teaser and a taste of what we will be creating. More to come in the near future." A little over a year ago, Leach announced that he needed time "to get help" after informing fans that he and his wife of over 16 years, Melissa, had decided to go separate ways. Leach, who has been open about his battles with anxiety and depression, took to Instagram to let his followers know that he would be seeking treatment so that he can avoid becoming "another statistic of suicide." 2018 was a tough year for Leach, who underwent surgery on his vocal cords to remove nodules in April, and dealt with depression, anxiety, and "full-on mental breakdowns" throughout the rest of the year. Although these setbacks had an impact on the recording schedule for the new KILLSWITCH ENGAGE album, Jesse eventually finished laying down his tracks for the effort with the help of guitarist and producer Adam Dutkiewicz, whom he has described as his "musical soulmate." KILLSWITCH ENGAGE's latest album, "Atonement", was released in August via Metal Blade Records in the U.S. and Sony Music Entertainment in the rest of the world.

View this post on Instagram

The song is in demo form but my beautiful and talented girlfriend is not! ? We did this song together called “Luminescent Dreams.” She is a multitalented performer and artist as well as a brilliant poet and writer. Give her a follow @purplespolepoetry ・・・ Repost from @porphyraphilia “So many of you have been asking me when you'd hear Jesse and I sing together well...I'm happy to announce that it has finally happened! @jesse_d_leach and I have been talking about making dubstep/EDM/industrial music since we first met. It feels so good to finally say that we’ve created our first song together and paired it up with this dope dance video by @warren_archer filmed at @elementsfestival_ ? I did this performance with a separated shoulder. AC joint was totally messed up. If you look closely when I do the handstand on the pole, you can see how swollen it is on the left side. After this gig, I had to take it easy for several months before returning back to my usual crazy self. Looking back now- I don't know how I was able to pull all this off with such a bad injury, but I do remember how determined and passionate I am about what I do (under any circumstance). I wasnt going to give up. I love hearing both of our voices match up with one another and I’m so damn proud of what we have created. Thank you for being my muse, my best friend, and the love of my life @thewaybackwithin. ? We haven’t figured out a DJ name yet but we are open to suggestions if anyone has any. Please keep in mind that we did this song with zero equipment and it's just a demo at the moment. Thank you to all who listen and appreciate our art. This song is just a teaser and a taste of what we will be creating. More to come in the near future. Dig it? DM me for bookings !!! Accepting dance gigs in the NYC and upstate area, but also willing to travel outside of the East coast if necessary. MY NEXT PERFORMANCE WILL BE IN STATEN ISLAND FEB 8TH WITH @jesse_d_leach DJing FOR @pinupsforpitbullsinc at @bootlegmannings Doors at 6pm.

A post shared by ? JeSsE LeAcH ? (@jesse_d_leach) on Feb 8, 2020 at 7:28am PST

View this post on Instagram

Hanging around the circus like a bunch of misfits at #thegrammys ?

A post shared by Purple Goddess?Leopard Lady? (@porphyraphilia) on Jan 27, 2020 at 9:12am PST

This content was originally published here.

[atechnicalactiongroupitcomp-blog]

10 Technical Actionable Tips For Better Talking

Among the essential things I do is teach acting and peak singing skills to act pupils for a Washington, D.C. operating as well as modeling institution. Due to the fact that of the practical and conveniently applied methods I show, I have actually been called Professor Practical by some students as well as fellow faculty. I don't explain many concepts. Below are 10 workable suggestions for far better speaking. 1. Hydrate: a well-moisturized body/vocal cords and soft cells perform much better. It needs to begin a minimum of 24 hrs before your talk. The glass of water on the platform is NOT the appropriate technique of hydrating. By the time you feel thirsty, you are practically dried out. Hydration is merely taking a sip of water each time you pass a water fountain, consuming a gulp from a container whenever you consider it. You can not adequately moisten the early morning of your verbal interaction. Stay clear of any caffeine drinks, alcohol, or supposed energy drinks. The fact is that they dehydrate you. You drink 10 ounces of coffee or juice, and after that you urinate 12 ounces. It actually pulls wetness from your body as your liver and also kidneys work overtime to refine these liquids. Pure water with a little lemon in it is perfect for the speaker.

2. Stretch the neck, shoulders, do vocal warm-up ranges like singers do to increase blood flow to all the soft cells. 3 Read a half-hour in your area daily. The technique makes the best. There is no alternative to intellectual proficiency in your sector. 4. Smile. I instruct my acting pupils regularly that your smile is the trick that unlocks doors. If you have a stunning smile ... USE IT TO YOUR ADVANTAGE. Make a smile at your default facial expression ... suggesting in between sentences, most likely to a smile, not a neutral facial state. Practice having two facial looks: smile as well as dull. The frown or negative sour puss is unattractive as well as turn an audience off. When being interviewed on television or video, this is particularly crucial. View the most effective press reporters and see for yourself. If you want your speaking profession to skyrocket, Media training is probably the ideal financial investment you can make. You must understand your angles as well as the method you grin. 5. Utilize a very slim coat of Vaseline on your teeth to promote enunciation and also assist your lips in moving much more comfortable. Vaseline additionally mirrors the intense white lights off your teeth that make them appear whiter. Having white teeth is among the appearances of success. Put chapstick (matte/non-glossy) on lips. Avoid glossy lips. The matte look assists frame the smile. It is like a lovely image in a beautiful framework. 6. Stay clear of mints, Altoids, cough drops, etc. They dry the mucosal lining in the mouth and also throat. I encourage making use of Slippery Elm tablets as they are generally called a diva friend and assistance naturally oil the soft tissue of the throat, tongue, and also periodontal. 7. The most effective audio speakers are ones that can effectively tell stories. The most effective template is the PSO x 3 style ... indicating Problem-Solution-Outcome tales. Do it 3 times and it strengthens your message without really saying the word. 8. Master the art of stops briefly and silence while speaking. It gets even more focus than competing via your material. Be delicate to time. It is much better to do just part of your discussion than to race to pack all of it in. It is the law of diminishing returns.

9. Pronunciation as well as proclaim flawlessly. Your diction has to be remarkable. If any of them use to you, Research the 100 most frequently mispronounced words as well as see. You will undoubtedly be surprised at the number of words you might unconsciously mispronounce. Just purposely take care of that problem. Tape those words in a recorder as well as play them back to hear the correct pronunciation. Enunciation is utilizing your singing device to its fullest. Many people experience singing negligence. One great exercise is to talk in front of a mirror. Say the alphabet in front of the mirror. Make sure to make your lips look like the letters or words that you are saying. One terrific workout is to claim the alphabet with a pencil, lengthwise in between your teeth. This forces your lips to overemphasize the sounds of the words and also letters. Read a page from a favorite book with the book your mouth. Then do it without a pencil. You will see a significant distinction in your pronunciation. The following exercise is to video or record with your webcam your face while you are reading a page from any paper. Silence the volume when you play it back. Now look at your mouth to see if you can determine what you are actually claiming. You should be able to understand every word without the quantity up. This is likewise called lip-reading. Hearing-impaired people do this frequently. Also football teams have professional lip viewers to detect what plays the opposing coach might be interacting with his offensive or protective planners. You will undoubtedly see lots of trains covering their mouths with a playbook while they interact. 10. Your talking outline ought to follow this style: Tell them what you are mosting likely to inform them ... Tell them ... and then tell them what you informed them. It seems redundant, but you have to take full duty to obtain your clear message throughout. I have taught people in networking teams, that if a person doesn't get your name, that it is your own fault, not theirs. You must open with something engaging and also unforgettable. This will undoubtedly be covered in another phase. I teach my acting trainees all the time that your smile is the key that opens doors. If you have an attractive smile ... USE IT TO YOUR ADVANTAGE. Make a smile at your default face expression ... indicating in between sentences, go to a smile, not a neutral face state. The method was having 2 facial appearances: smile as well as dull. The matte look helps mount the smile.

[oneweekoneband]

Look at these dweebs with these yellow outfits and mullety, spiky hair. How young and innocent. I think this is from March 2006, about five months after debut, so their ages range from 18-22 in this. I’m going to helpfully use it to introduce them to you! It’s a long post, but there’re a lot of members; bear with me.

1) Yesung (Kim Jonghoon). Best singer in the group, at least for the first several years. Has not been taking care of his voice, got vocal cord nodules, got them fixed, didn’t improve his technique afterward so is probably going to get them again. Known for doing his “octopus dance” whenever he is prompted to dance solo. Says that Super Junior is not actually friends, but they succeed as a group because they have good working relationships with one another. This is patently not a statement blanketly applicable to everyone else in the group.

2) Kim Ryeowook. Currently #2 best singer in the group according to your writer. Maknae, if you can still call him that, now that he’s 30. Is a tiny elfin little man who wears comically high lifts in his shoes. Tends to generally strike me as “your weird little brother,” and in defiance of his general image, has a history of performing the most “adult” solo songs in Super Junior concerts. Is possibly the least successful member of the group at looking or acting “tough” and “hard.” He is currently in the military (all South Korean men are required to complete around two years of military service at some point).

3) Kangin (Kim Youngwoon). Singer with a voice that’s consistent but not too exciting, kind of like the person you see at work every day who greets you in the exact same way each time. Probably the most successful member of the group at looking and acting “tough” and “hard”. Got in an actual bar fight in self-defense and has two DUIs. After the first one, they sent him to the military; after the second one, he’s on what seems to be perpetual hiatus. Not sure if they are ever going to let him participate again. I have mixed motherly feelings about whether he should ever be allowed to.

4) Lee Sungmin. Singer and sometime featured dancer. The cute chipmunky one who does lots of Chinese varieties of martial arts, and also the only one who is married. Despite being the most traditionally “cute” one, he’s struck me for some time as the most serious member. Some part of the fanbase is mad at him for being married, and for blatantly prioritizing himself and his fiancé/wife over ELF. Even his mom thinks he deserves it. Could he have been more sensitive about it, almost definitely, but does it merit ELF insisting that he not be allowed to participate in anything, and SJ/SM bowing their heads and acquiescing? Iiii don’t really think so. Do these things happen because SM thinks the hardcore semi-aggressive Korean fans (#notallKoreanfans) are all that remain or all that matter, and if they leave, there will be nothing left? You have lots of international fans who are much more chill, you maroons.

5) Kim Heechul. Singer and occasional rapper. Does not normally have hair this spiky. Is well known for running his mouth on TV, on all of the TV actually, and for looking like a girl. He doesn’t really do the girl bit much anymore and sanded off some of the rougher edges of his personality after coming back from the military, probably because being in the military gave him enough free time to grow up a bit. Basically went from “asshole” to “jerk with heart of gold”. Has several cats, loves Anna from Frozen, and is friends with lots of women in Kpop. Had a nasty car crash in 2006 that shattered his left leg, and it never healed quite right; dance routines are hell on it and he’s admitted that it’s caused him significant worry and shame as Super Junior prepares for their latest comeback. My second-place bias.

6) Leeteuk (Park Jeongsu). The oldest member and leader of the group; better at dancing than at singing. (tw: violent crime) Publicly struggles with depression, and this terrible thing that happened didn’t really help. Is a strong big brother who really works hard to make sure the group functions as one. Is simultaneously someone who has a tendency to say sexist crap. 

7) Eunhyuk (Lee Hyukjae). Lead dancer and lead rapper. Bestest of the best friends with Donghae. Has the gawkiest face and compensates for this by doing the sexiest dances. Was acting leader of the group while Leeteuk was in the military, which coincided with a huge argument in the fandom about Zhou Mi and Henry, and he ended up having to make a statement about it at a concert, and then later when Leeteuk was back, Eunhyuk did an angry solo song and dance in the next tour about how fake fans would never understand him. I’m sure that wasn’t related at all!

8) Shindong (Shin Donghee). Secondary dancer and rapper, and occasional SJ music video director. Does a lot of hosting on TV in his spare time and was a comedian before joining SJ. Is the “fat one” of the group, and has therefore participated in many, many embarrassing fat jokes. Not embarrassing that he’s fat, just embarrassing for whoever had the idea, that they kept putting him in those situations. His weight has seesawed around for the last several years, but he says fat girls are gross, so that pretty much makes him an ass. Don’t be an ass.

9) Kim Kibum. Rapper and maknae. Went on hiatus in 2009 to focus on his acting career, and never came back. To be honest, probably the member of SJ that I feel the least about, because even prior to 2009 he was not a super-active member of the group musically; he didn’t feature much on songs, and he wasn’t in any of the subunits. His contract expired with SM in 2015, and therefore I don’t technically count him as a Super Junior member anymore. He has a surprisingly beefy neck in some videos, and had better English skills than probably anyone else in the group while he was still active as a member.

10) Han Geng. Former lead dancer. The only non-Korean member of the original 12, he is actually trained in 56 traditional Chinese dances. His Korean speaking skills were notoriously bad, which made it awkward every time they went on variety shows. Was visibly a lot more comfortable on Chinese TV. Eventually SM worked him so hard that he developed kidney problems, so in 2009 he sued SM, broke his contract, and went back to China, where he went on to have a successful acting and performing career. If this sounds familiar, then I’ll mention that I think EXO was originally intended to be a reboot of Super Junior, which makes it ironic that they had the same issues.

11) Choi Siwon. The “face” of the group. Probably the most famous member of the group to Western audiences, as he has appeared in a Jackie Chan movie! and got killed in it! Has a lovely chiseled masculine face and is rather tall and has many abs. Does more acting than any of the other members, to the extent that he sometimes does not appear in the dance portions of music videos because he didn’t have time to learn the routine. Always tours with Super Junior though and is as committed as everyone else. Also is super-mega-evangelical Christian and says he wants to be a missionary when Super Junior retires. Recently went through this scandal regarding his dog, in which I mostly want to shake Siwon by the shoulders and yell at him a lot. Is not on hiatus per se, but is skipping promotions for the new album.

12) Lee Donghae. Singer, dancer, occasional rapper, and bestest of the best friends with Eunhyuk. Known for acting like kind of a dope, and also for looking a lot like Amber from f(x), or vice versa. Lots of people ship Eunhyuk and Donghae because they are so close, and they ended up having to adamantly refute it on Chinese TV when the presenters started teasing them. Third-place bias because look at that faaaaace.

But that is not of course everyone, because that’s only 12.

13) Cho Kyuhyun. #1 best singer and #1 best bias thank you. Joined the group in 2006, because he had already been set to “rotate in” before SM decided to scrap the rotation concept altogether. “Evil maknae” because he likes to give the older members shit. I’ve seen subtitles of Korean shows call him “pessimistic;” I think “grouchy” might be a better word for it. Was involved in a terrible car crash in 2007, along with Shindong, Leeteuk, Eunhyuk, and Heechul; Kyuhyun nearly died and his voice was only spared because his father spoke up for him. He spent most of 2015-2016 promoting his technically-great-but-also-really-corny-and-boring ballad EPs (I hate that anyone even had the idea for this concert series) and I suspect he was getting burned out much like Heechul was; Kyuhyun is in the military now and I’m optimistic that he’ll come back refreshed. I wrote a much longer thing about him, which you can read here if you’d like. Suffice it to say, I identify with him a lot.

14 & 15) Zhou Mi & Henry Lau. Listed together even though obviously they are separate people, because they are the two controversial members of the group. This is because they were added in specifically for the Super Junior-M subunit, and ever since that day there has been much dispute about whether they are “real Super Junior members” or not. I think they are; SM-via-Eunhyuk says officially they are not, and for the sake of not ranting for paragraphs, that’s all I will say. Henry is Chinese-Canadian, can play pretty much every single instrument, and complained loudly enough about SM giving him nothing to do that SM gave him four singles in five months of 2017. He’s also best friends with Amber from f(x) and they’ve appeared together on songs. Zhou Mi is Chinese, is taller than Siwon, and is a sparkly sugarbun of cuteness with a gorgeous smile. Seriously, his legs are like six feet long on their own.

Now that we’ve gotten who’s who out of the way, we can move on to what Super Junior has to offer!

[crarsports]

I Will Tell You The Truth About Famous Latin American Artists In The Next 12 Seconds | famous latin american artists

It’s not every day that a Latin allurement music assertive account the Nassau Coliseum — in fact, it’s never happened before. But on July 13, Puerto Rican superstar Anuel AA takes over the 14,500-seat amphitheatre with his “Real Hasta La Muerte (Real Until Death) USA Tour Part 2” show.

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Anuel, built-in Emmanuel Gazmey Santiago, is abundantly admired as a avant-garde of the agreeable genre. His Long Island show, which is abiding to affection blatant date designs and a analogous arrangement of accomplishments dancers in adult outfits, is the ninth in his 14-city cord of performances.

It’s the 26-year-old rapper’s alone stop in New York.

Coliseum admiral say they were quick to apprehend the draw of bringing in an act like Anuel, an artisan arguably at the accomplished point in his career with his chart-topping songs and Billboard Latin Music Artisan of the Year accolade — and accept his concert at the area does added than advertise the growing acceptance of the Latin allurement music brand as a whole.

“It speaks to the beyond advance of the Hispanic and Latino-American communities on Long Island,” says Nick Vaerewyck, carnality admiral of programming for NYCB Live’s Nassau Coliseum. “We saw that the appeal for added Latino programming was there and acquainted Anuel AA was a absolute fit … The acknowledgment from the association has been able and alone encourages us to acquisition added [booking] opportunities in this genre.”

The alone added Hispanic singers to host abandoned concerts at the Coliseum accept been Marc Anthony and Mexican brilliant Luis Miguel, both domiciliary names in Latino homes for decades.

Vaerewyck beneath to animadversion on tickets sales for the advancing show, but if it’s any adumbration — Anuel’s “Real Hasta La Muerte USA Tour Part 1” included three sold-out dates at New York’s Palace Theater backward aftermost year.

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Newsday covers the belief that amount best to Long Islanders. We dig abysmal to bare the facts, authority the able in analysis and accumulate a alert eye on Long Island.

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For those accustomed with his music, it’s not surprising.

Anuel’s absolute lyrics of sex, drugs, and abandon — and the addictive beats of the songs he lays on top of them — accept been accession an ample afterward back the alpha of his career in 2014. Yet, his acceleration has been annihilation but smooth. In 2017, he was bedevilled to 30 months in federal bastille for actionable control of a firearm. None of that seemed to stop his advancement trajectory: From abaft bars, he appear new music, best conspicuously his aboriginal hit song “Sola” (promptly followed by a remix featuring “The King of Reggaeton” Daddy Yankee, amid others) awash branded commodity and connected to arbor up millions of followers on amusing media.

El Salvador-born Jasmin Chavez, 23,  who afresh confused from Hempstead to Virginia, says she and her admirer Ruddy Gutierrez, 25, whom she declared as a “one of Anuel’s better fans,” love Anuel’s music. They plan to accomplish the five-hour drive to appear the appearance in Uniondale.

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“He wouldn’t absence it for the world. I beggarly I’m aflame but he’s really, absolutely excited,” she says of Gutierrez. “He’s consistently singing the songs … He alike says that he’s my Anuel and I’m his Karol G.”

Colombian reggaeton accompanist Karol G, herself a force in the Latin music world, is Anuel’s actual accessible girlfriend. The two, accepted for their baroque appearance — anticipate sparkly joggers, checkered Gucci sweaters and million-dollar gold chains — are about as acclaimed for foolishly authoritative out on date and administration affectionate moments of their accord via video posts with their accumulated 35 actor Instagram followers, as they are for their agreeable collaborations.

Elizabeth Garcia, 17, of Brentwood, says she enjoys afterward both singers on Instagram and says she’s been tracking his career and alert to his music for several years. She’s accessory the appearance with her mom, Francia Villatoro, who is additionally a fan. Garcia has apparent Anuel on date at a concert featuring multiple performers in New York City.

But, “I anticipate it’s activity to be abundant accepting him actuality on Long Island, and it will accord abounding added bodies an befalling to see him and see his aptitude and acquaintance his music.”

Garcia, whose mom is Colombian and ancestor is Puerto Rican, says she was built-in on the Island and grew up alert and dancing to music in Spanish.

“I’m attractive advanced to alert to [his song] ‘Ella Quiere Beber’ [She wants to drink] and dancing, you apperceive … aloof accepting an all-embracing acceptable time.”

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Anuel AA

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Also accepted as trapeton or Spanish-language trap, it’s a appearance of Latin hip hop that originated in Puerto Rico. Vocals accommodate a mix of singing and rapping, with influences from reggaeton, accent and blues, and southern hip-hop.The brand started acrimonious up beef afterwards 2010 — but not via radio airwaves due to boundless profanity and lascivious lyrics. Instead, artists abundantly grew their afterward by administration their uncensored assignment anon with admirers on amusing media. These days, the genre’s blemish stars are absolution added commercial, danceable tracks, which is addition Latin trap’s ability to audiences.

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[averyansky-blog]

Valentine’s Day 2017

I realize 3 days have passed since Valentine’s day but I do want to chronicle this year’s Valentine’s Day even though it was a little unorthodox. On the 14th of February 2017, my significant other, Dan, and I celebrated the day in a way most people will not even consider in their wildest dream. They think of V-day and immediately think of spending this special occasion with their loved ones.. in real life, physically. Being able to hold them, feel them and essentially have them in your clutches would be the typical way to spend V-day. If it’s not with a life partner, then perhaps a dear friend.

However, that’s not possible for Dan and I. We’re currently in a long distance relationship - him in Malaysia while I’m all the way in the states. We’re 9,554 miles away. 13 hours difference. Hence, we had to....improvise. It didn’t matter to us where we were in the globe; as long as we had each other’s company and could feel the other’s presence, then we’ll be greatly elated. That’s exactly what we did.

We video call via Skype often, even when we’re busy we’d just get on video, stay in call and just do work. On Valentine’s Day, I remember waking up not remembering it was February the 14th. Then it hit me and I immediately wished him “Happy Valentine’s Day.” To his dismay, I wasn’t supposed to remember it (because of my goldfish memory) so he was surprised that I did (little did he know I actually woke up not remembering it!). He didn’t want me to remember because he had planned a surprise gift for me. I should say gifts because the second one came hours after the first one. We got on Skype, the first thing I noticed was the fact that he dressed up for me. Neatly, too. He looked real clean and suave. It was impressive, even if it were in the form of pixels. Now, if there’s one thing you have to know about Dan.. is that he’s not the type to dress up. He likes it casual, simple, practical. His usual getup consists of short, t-shirt/sweater and a cap. On the other hand, I’m on the opposite end of the spectrum. No, I don’t “dress up” or take hours to look nice - I just dress well.

It really was a pleasant surprise to see your significant other -who never see the need to dress well- all dressed up just for you, on a special occasion. In return, I dressed up for him too; wore a nude-colored dress with frills hanging down the lower half of the torso, a black choker and a fitting hairstyle to go with the look. While I was getting ready, I had my video turned off so you can imagine the look on his face when I turned it back on to reveal his partner looking real sophisticated. In that moment, I realized, we were creating memories albeit its unorthodox nature.

That day marked our first ever Valentine’s Day - first of many. Yes, it was unfortunate that we couldn’t spend it together physically but did we make a wonderful day out of it? Yes we did. We did our best.

We revealed our gifts soon after - he made me Toothless the dragon from paper triangles. Toothless! The dragon! The Night Fury! It was made in extreme details and even had the red tail fin to complete the look! I was really happy because when we were watching How To Train Your Dragon 2 last year, I remember telling him how cute Toothless is, I can’t believe he would actually craft one for me. Dan had made a collage of my pictures with the huge words “I LOVE YOU” plastered right in the middle as the first gift. He incorporated tiny animal stickers, 12 of them and told me if I could find all of them, I’d get a special surprise - that surprise was none other than Toothless.

Call me a horrible girlfriend but when he revealed his first gift to me, I had nothing for him. I started thinking “What can I give someone who already has everything he ever wanted?” Then it hit me. I disappeared from Skype, told him I had some reading for History class to review and turned my video off, muting my mic as well. I’m not much of a tinkerer like he is but if anything, I’m a pretty damn talented person in terms of performing arts. Although I admit, it has been 3 years so clearly, I was rusty. My vocal cords are not as flexible as they used to be. That’s right. I gave him the gift of music. I recorded “Say you won’t let go” as best as I could. It took a lot of retakes and energy. When I was finally satisfied with my recording, I sent him the file through Gmail along with a paragraph or two expressing how much he means to me. He read it, listened to the audio and told me that the first few minutes into the song made him want to tear up. Ladies, you know you’ve got yourself a keeper when your burly significant other feels comfortable expressing his inner, most deepest emotions to you be it to the brink of tears or outright crying a river. I teared up too (haha).

The wonderfulness of the day didn’t stop there. Earlier, I had received a notice in my mailbox saying there’s a package for me. I fetched it and as it turns out, it was the ring that the both of us ordered on January 29th. When I opened the box and saw the rings, I was lost for words. It was absolutely beautiful. We ordered the matching rings on a random day and it arrived on Valentine’s Day! What are the odds?! I was beyond ecstatic. I showed him what the ring looks like on my finger - it fits perfectly. Did I mention that the rings have our names engraved on them? His ring has my name whilst mine has his.

We spent the rest of the night watching our favorite show, Friends, laughing away, reminiscing about the past and of course, spoke of how much we love one another. When it was time for my bedtime, we got on voice call and talked for a little bit more before I drifted off to sleep. I was in call for the duration of the whole night, snoring away (that must’ve been annoying for you, huh? sorry not sorry!).

It was the perfect way to end a perfect night. Here’s hoping for at least 3 more years of unconventional Valentines to come. I look forward to each one. 

I love you, Dan.

[poetryofchrist]

Reviewing a review of Burns, words, only words

BURNS, J. — The Music of the Psalms, Proverbs and Job in the Hebrew Bible. (Jüdische Musik, 9). Verlag Otto Harrassowitz, Wiesbaden, 2011. (30 cm, XIII, 495). ISBN 978-3-447-06191-9. ISSN 1613-7493. / 68,- in BIBLIOTHECA ORIENTALIS LXX N° 1-2, januari-april 2013 p 192 I don't have the subject text or 68 Euros to spare. But I was curious if the statistics implied in Raymond de Hoop's review hold up in my data. De Hoop writes:

In this chapter he emphasizes the strong relationship between a disjunctive accent and its regular preceding disjunctive, like for instance tifcha-atnach or pashta-zaqef, a relationship, which is also mentioned in the grammar of Joüon-Muraoka (§15i).3 ) More revolutionary is that he refers to the fact that in such regular combination the preceding (“intermediary”) disjunctive might in addition have its own regular preceding disjunctive (“prefix” disjunctive), resulting in combinations like for instance tvir-tifcha-atnach or geresh-pashta-zaqef.

Can you believe anyone here is writing about music? The first question this raises for me is, How often does tifcha-atnach or pashta-zaqef occur in this sequence? Let's remind ourselves what these signs are. Tifcha is g#, atnach is A. And yes they frequently occur in this sequence, 8,733 times. The pair is very frequent in the approach to the subdominant (as a musician would expect). They are both sub-lineal signs. Pashta is the prose version of qadma. They are both supra-lineal signs. They have differing placement. ב֙ ב֨. Haïk-Vantoura interprets each as a single note above the reciting note. One could think of it as an inverted mordent. Zaqef, roughly speaking is its opposite, though there are two the lesser and the greater and her interpretation of them is not quite the same. So how often do these occur in sequence? I count 320 matches for pashta zaqef-gadol and 6532 for qadma zaqef-gadol. So they are each relatively frequent. Now what about the intermediary disjunctive, tvir-tifcha-atnach? d g A occurs 589 times. geresh-pashta-zaqef? no matches, geresh-qadma-zaqef 4 verses only. E.g. Numbers 14:19. What is frequent when there are 23197 verses? Apart from the last one which is obviously rare, the others run from < 2.5%, hardly significant, to about 30 up to 40% of the verses, relatively frequent but not overwhelmingly so. But who would explain music with such statistics? Even the musician Burns writes: “we must assume that the Biblical text contains all essential information for its performance – and consequently any elements that it does not contain – like the exact performance of melodies, which, today, vary from one locality to another – are unessential". This is a very disappointing assumption. We do not need to assume any such thing. We do need to use all the information at hand to figure out what we have. We have melody by a set of inferences on the number and placement of signs below the text. This is the best use of Occam's razor in the analysis of the accents that we have seen in 1000 years. We do not have an indication of mode. SHV herself said it takes musical judgment. We all must learn to judge with what we have and weigh the consequences. The possibilities for musical development are extensive. That is our gift. As for de Hoop's conclusion,

I regret to say that the book is too obvious an “Unvollendete”. Only for those readers who are really acquainted with the Masoretic accentuation the book might offer some interesting insights for study.

There is no 'finished' book on the accents in the commonly accepted literature that I have come across. Haïk-Vantoura's book demonstrates a beautiful portrayal of the musical possibilities. I have put out on the web 929 files that allow one to examine the music as music and to develop further music. I have written a shorter book that attempts to tell the Scriptural story in music and clearly explains Haïk-Vantoura's inferences. I have seen no adequate view of the history of the signs. Older manuscripts than Aleppo are needed. Mitchell's book is the clearest I have read. I am totally biased against studying the existing terminology of disjunctive and conjunctive. Those who 'are really acquainted' with these are lost. The terms are useless when describing music. In the confused literature on the accents of the last 1000 years, they are explained in contradictory ways. The musical phrase never conflicts with parallelism or word recurrence. It is the musical phrase that resolves the problems of understanding prosody in the Hebrew Scriptures. There are plenty of performed examples available from the last link on the music page. Literature I have referenced on this subject:

Adler, Cyrus, and Cohen, Francis L. https://ift.tt/2ZEJsCb.

Anonymous. 1744. The Majesty and Singular copiousness of the Hebrew Language Asserted and Illustrated. In Eighteenth Century Collections Online, via the University of Victoria Library.

Behrens, Kenneth. 1990s. The Vowel Mantra of the Gospel to the Egyptians and the interpretation of the Masoretic te'amim and other ancient cryptic symbols as musical notation, unpublished manuscript.

DeHoop, Raymond, 2013. The System of Masoretic Accentuation and Colometry in the Hebrew Bible. Oudewater, The Netherlands. https://ift.tt/2SELAby.

DeCaen, Vincent. 2005. On the distribution of Major and Minor Pause in Tiberian Hebrew in the Light of the Variants of the Second Person Independent Pronouns. Journal of Semitic Studies L/2.

Dotan, A. 1967. The Diqduqé Hatt’amim of Aharon ben Moshe ben Asher. Jerusalem, Masorah, EJ 16, 1401-82.

Dresher, Bezalel Elan. 1994. The Prosodic Basis of the Tiberian Hebrew System of Accents, Linguistic Society of America, Language, Vol. 70, No. 1.

General synod of the Anglican Church of Canada. 1963. The Canadian Psalter.

Gesenius, Kautzsch, Cowley. 1909. Hebrew Grammar.

Haïk-Vantoura, Suzanne. 1976. The Music of the Bible Revealed: The Deciphering of a Millenary Notation (in French).

– 1991. The Music of the Bible Revealed: The Deciphering of a Millenary Notation. John Wheeler (Editor), Denis Weber (Translator).

Heller, Charles. 2006. What to Listen for in Jewish Music. Ecanthus Press.

Jacobson, Joshua R. 2002. Chanting the Hebrew Bible, The Complete Guide to the Art of Cantillation, The Jewish Publication Society.

Kugel, James L. 1981. The Idea of Biblical Poetry, Parallelism and its history. Yale University Press.

Levin, Saul. 1994. The מתג according to the practice of the early vocalizers. State University of New York at Binghampton.

– 1998. The Masoretic Chant of the Hebrew Bible. AJS Review 23 (1). [Cambridge University Press, Association for Jewish Studies]: 112–16. https://ift.tt/2QzjXy4.

Levy, Elizabeth and Robinson, David. 2002. The Masoretes and the Punctuation of Biblical Hebrew, British and Foreign Bible Society. https://ift.tt/1YteuWj

MacDonald, Bob. 2013. Seeing the Psalter, Patterns of Recurrence in the Poetry of the Psalms, Energion Publications.

– 2014. “Using Software to Analyse Patterns of Recurrence in the Poetry of the Psalms”, Journal of Religion, Media and Digital Culture 3(3), pp.129-148. [online] Available at: https://ift.tt/39kxgLc 2014/.

Margolis, Max L. 1911. The Place of the Word-Accent in Hebrew, Journal of Biblical Literature, Vol. 30, No. 1. https://ift.tt/2Q9R0d2.

Martín-Contreras, Elvira and Miralles-Maciá, Lorena. 2014. The text of the Hebrew Bible: From the Rabbis to the Masoretes, Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht.

Mitchell, David. 2012. https://ift.tt/2QLvvhV, published in the Journal for the Study of the Old Testament 36/3.

– 2013. How can we sing the Lord’s Song? Deciphering the Masoretic Cantillation in Jewish and Christian Approaches to the Psalms: Conflict and Convergence, ed. Susan Gillingham, OUP.

– 2015. The Songs of Ascents: Psalms 120 to 134 in the Worship of Jerusalem's Temples, Campbell Publications.

Mulder, Martin Jan and Sysling, Harry (ed.). 2004. Mikra, Text, Translation, Reading and Interpretation of the Hebrew Bible in Ancient Judaism and Early Christianity. Hendrickson.

Reuchlin, Johann. 1518. De accentibus, et orthographia, lingua Hebraicae, à Iohanne Reuchlin Phorcensi … libri tres cardinali Adriano dicati, https://ift.tt/37yqsrV.

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