I do not think I have ever listened to this album before, though it has come up often in forums I have read, and even perhaps in one or two conversations. The title is to the point: **I Advance Masked**. It is, as some may know, by *Robert Fripp and Andy Summers*, and I am not sure why it is on the hard drive at the moment. It was staring at me from the top part of the Amarok artist listing, sandwiched between *Alvin Curran* and *Bearded Seals*. I stared back, so it is now the soundtrack of these words. I ...
I don't know what I felt. I wanted to destroy everything around me. I remembered when Zuzana and I were sitting at the park near the Divadlo and she said to me 'what if someone rapes me?' i could not answer that question because I really did not care. Does Prague consume me or berate me? ...
> **Christopher**: There are lots of intangible benefits to being in one > place over others. Christopher is perhaps stating the obvious, but his statement is nevertheless very poignant to me. The peace I feel in Prague as opposed to anywhere in Texas is tangible. I felt the weight lift when I entered the country (and completely, of course, when I was let through passport control *heh*). The bulky black shawl which covered me and collected soot over two years and a month has been tossed aside and the crust...
For a week now, Praha has been a welcoming force. I sit in the office which was once mine and is mine once again. There is an air of greetings in everything I encounter. Yes, a portion of this is nostalgia, but my uplifted spirits (*perpetually*) have not fluttered yet even close to the dusty floor. I trust they will at some point, but again waft upwards, for there is always that which brings simpers to my lips in the city I call home. ...
#### And now for some stochastic composition. w a v e c a s o m o r p h i n s o r b o d y t h e t a n s s i m p l i c i u s u n c h a i n e d u p t h e c i t y y o u r t i m e s t a r t s n o w c o l l i d e r h e a v e n h e a t h c r o w h m z e l e c t r i c c o u n t e r p o i n t t w o s l o w o n t h e r o a d t o j o l i e t f a l l i n g s n o w s h e s g o t a b o y f r i e n d c o r p o r a l c l e g g p a t c h e n p o l y k a c k a n o z u h i g h l y s t r u...
The *Dorian Spanky Mode* is the normal *Dorian* with an added flat 6th. Therefore: d e f g a bes b c It is, obviously an eight note scale. Now, it is your task to write a melody using it. Ready? **GO**. ...
I am affected by a grave state of lethargy today. In this state, I wander aimlessly second by second towards my grave. I feel every missed moment is a tragedy, yet I cannot lift a hand to create. *Well, besides this drivel.* My mind stirred a few minutes ago whilst listening to **The Only Unforgivable Thing** by *Marillion* and urged me to awaken from my malaise, fire up *Ardour* and dredge from my right brain at least a sound collage. Instead, for whatever reason, the result is this collage of words, ins...
I'm in *bed*. Yes, in *bed* in Seminole, Texas, at my parents' place. Austin is no more. It is the ex-Austin. I fled it Sunday -- two days prior to now. And now I am in *bed*. The snaky feeling which tingles in the backs of the thighs is less tangible during my middle-aged languor. It used to excite to the extent that I had to defecate four times daily. The bowels were very stimulated by that feeling. Now, however, it is fleeting. I wish it were again as strong as it used to be. I called it **Sweet Entro...
I have just come across this in the book I am currently reading: > This, I have come to think, is a very American reaction, rewarding eccentric effort with scorn and violence. The book is one that **Christopher** got me for *X*mas, titled *Fresh Air Fiend* by **Paul Theroux**. I agree with him that it is a typical American reaction. But I'll go even further. It is the reaction of any *peasant* to unknown or unintelligible behaviour. I have been greeted, as has many a human I have known, by such upon nume...
I dare not spill the Sweet Leaf tea onto the blankets where I shall later sleep. I create enough wet spots as it is with my voluminous drooling. Tonight is the night that I shall attempt to record all of **my** parts of the piece I have mentioned several times in this blog: *Reduction*. Instead of the synthesized bassoon, an acoustic guitar shall play the eternal melody first sketched in *Intersection*, which begins the still unnamed album**\***. The melody is this: > *c d bes c g a bes g f* It is playi...
> The invented reminiscence of "the way that guy or gal used to be in the good ol' days" has a cozy quaintness and seems harmless enough, but the element of self-deception in it can lead one badly astray. I am reminded of Lee. Yes, *Lee*, the guy who no longer exists and the fact that he no longer exists is most likely a fortunate thing for all who knew him and would have otherwise known him. I say this not out of bitterness, but from the result of much contemplation of the topic. His self-destructive beha...
