Jun 2006
why the map of the universe for the Kino album name?
25/06/06 20:01
Why map of the
universe? I would like to put humanity on a map, so
that all the matters relating to us would exist on a
concrete and concise form, leaving the abstraction of
history, which haplessly fades in the dimensional
linearity of time and under the bulk of everything. A
neutral platform is needed in order to open up to a
clear view of the conscience so that the mind can
fathom all in the immediacy of images.
Obviously, this album is not about astrophysics, at all. The term is developed precisely to create a bed for the reflection of humanity, by which I am able to pinpoint to existential and subexistential events that govern our lives.
Obviously, this album is not about astrophysics, at all. The term is developed precisely to create a bed for the reflection of humanity, by which I am able to pinpoint to existential and subexistential events that govern our lives.
"Those who control
the image rules the world", on this note, my image
here does not add to the mood, but rather gain over
the eyes which are becoming familiar and
subconsciously recognising the attributions of its
beauty in the formation of desire. A little game
Hollywood invented in order to master the people of
the 20th century into the new millennium of
marketable members of capitalised human
culture.
black listed
21/06/06 18:46
Enrico
Fermi
invented atomic
bomb
Find and liquidate,
or bring back alive.
the illusion has a future.
15/06/06 02:39
the illusion has a
future and 4 new poems added to the reserves of
marvelous poetry in srrlsm.
you may find it here.
i will try, till the last drop of my blood, to encourage
the flourishing of personality,
and discourage moulds and ghoulish replicates.
you may find it here.
i will try, till the last drop of my blood, to encourage
the flourishing of personality,
and discourage moulds and ghoulish replicates.
Renouncement of talent, skill and occupation.
14/06/06 15:16
I detest musicians,
artisans, parrots, and their like,
imbeciles who learn and pose,
there are very few spirits who are capable of reinforcing the elements that trigger imagination, characteristics of brilliance,
everyone else who make music are worthless copycats, who learn it as a trade and follow fashion and attitude of the ones who genuinely were creative forces and expressed themselves with their instruments, may it be a full orchestra or a guitar.
Living in New York for a short while, clearly exhibits the sort of these miserable parasites who clutter the stages and form the current fabric of music. Music, that whore who has been raped without payment. The rest has become a poorly theater of the buffoon. First thing they forget, or never realise is to become a man who is capable of anything, anything outside of music.
I renounce all relations that I may have with these scumbags, and prepared to slap anyone who calls me a fucking musician, because I wrote the Map of the Universe in music. It's in a language that simply can carry the heavy weight of its enigma in a conspicuous manner, that can be fathomed upon lending ears, which are hauled regardless of their colour, creed, in the immediacy of the beautiful melodies which I am capable of creating.
I renounce the relationship of those legends with music, who happened to convey their spirits in the raw form of sound coming through whatever they chose suitable for manifesting their stronghold; from John Coltrane to Anouar Brahem, Léo Ferré to Syd Barrett, Stravinsky to Lennon, as I am absolutely certain that they were primarily strong sensitive human beings and were more forceful outside their music, so that the music effectively represent the same force. Everything is evident in the music, their imprint. It is easily comparable to the average, non-existent drill of common fuck-faced vermin who call themselves musicians. As far as I am concerned, they are merely bankers and butchers.
In hindsight, all of my efforts has been focused on the liberation of spirit from the sticky claws of mediocrity; the bourgeoisie, with their academy of music, film and literature… [plastic arts don't exist even to be mentioned.] The learners, working off their talent to make their hobbies their raison d'etre... well, you don't exist my dear brothers and sisters, it may take a second to disempower you for someone like
me to hold the mirror to your face and say, "here this is what you are saying"...
9
imbeciles who learn and pose,
there are very few spirits who are capable of reinforcing the elements that trigger imagination, characteristics of brilliance,
everyone else who make music are worthless copycats, who learn it as a trade and follow fashion and attitude of the ones who genuinely were creative forces and expressed themselves with their instruments, may it be a full orchestra or a guitar.
Living in New York for a short while, clearly exhibits the sort of these miserable parasites who clutter the stages and form the current fabric of music. Music, that whore who has been raped without payment. The rest has become a poorly theater of the buffoon. First thing they forget, or never realise is to become a man who is capable of anything, anything outside of music.
I renounce all relations that I may have with these scumbags, and prepared to slap anyone who calls me a fucking musician, because I wrote the Map of the Universe in music. It's in a language that simply can carry the heavy weight of its enigma in a conspicuous manner, that can be fathomed upon lending ears, which are hauled regardless of their colour, creed, in the immediacy of the beautiful melodies which I am capable of creating.
I renounce the relationship of those legends with music, who happened to convey their spirits in the raw form of sound coming through whatever they chose suitable for manifesting their stronghold; from John Coltrane to Anouar Brahem, Léo Ferré to Syd Barrett, Stravinsky to Lennon, as I am absolutely certain that they were primarily strong sensitive human beings and were more forceful outside their music, so that the music effectively represent the same force. Everything is evident in the music, their imprint. It is easily comparable to the average, non-existent drill of common fuck-faced vermin who call themselves musicians. As far as I am concerned, they are merely bankers and butchers.
In hindsight, all of my efforts has been focused on the liberation of spirit from the sticky claws of mediocrity; the bourgeoisie, with their academy of music, film and literature… [plastic arts don't exist even to be mentioned.] The learners, working off their talent to make their hobbies their raison d'etre... well, you don't exist my dear brothers and sisters, it may take a second to disempower you for someone like
me to hold the mirror to your face and say, "here this is what you are saying"...
9
poet vs. philosopher
09/06/06 14:58
that inveterate
dreamer;
muscled invention of wisdom
arch-angel of chaos
and gusting with breath from a different life
I shit all the theories designed for the future
by the blind mouths who like to blind eyes
fucking useless philosophers
of the modern library
your words in print are dry semen stains from your masturbation with the truth, you treat like a whore...
which is a drop in the infinite glory of the deluge
which doesn't fall at all
and has no direction, nevertheless is wet.
I own no theory non-what-so-ever
than the contradiction of my inherent shape,
as a human
and once again i am under dictation
that these words don't belong to me
but i belong to them.
A poet needs no theories.
It's whom you should be afraid of
because his occupation is not to mingle and adore language like you,
it's to destroy and pull down the curtain which sits before your
eyes which belong to others...
so perfectly sustained at a correct point in history
a philosopher is the epitome of the cancerous state
the gnawing chin,
the incompetent personage who is not a proper man
who cries at the inception of beauty
and moreover he is a fucking wanker
as far as I am concerned
and I concern myself with everything
by the way of awakening.
muscled invention of wisdom
arch-angel of chaos
and gusting with breath from a different life
I shit all the theories designed for the future
by the blind mouths who like to blind eyes
fucking useless philosophers
of the modern library
your words in print are dry semen stains from your masturbation with the truth, you treat like a whore...
which is a drop in the infinite glory of the deluge
which doesn't fall at all
and has no direction, nevertheless is wet.
I own no theory non-what-so-ever
than the contradiction of my inherent shape,
as a human
and once again i am under dictation
that these words don't belong to me
but i belong to them.
A poet needs no theories.
It's whom you should be afraid of
because his occupation is not to mingle and adore language like you,
it's to destroy and pull down the curtain which sits before your
eyes which belong to others...
so perfectly sustained at a correct point in history
a philosopher is the epitome of the cancerous state
the gnawing chin,
the incompetent personage who is not a proper man
who cries at the inception of beauty
and moreover he is a fucking wanker
as far as I am concerned
and I concern myself with everything
by the way of awakening.