Halcyon Mix For 08 03 12

http://soundcloud.com/thegoldendove/08-03-12

Irreversible

The other day, three people in separate conversations recommended a film to me that I've been meaning to watch for some time now, "Irreversible." I just watched it and it was one of the best films that I've ever seen. Much like the storyline of the film itself, I'm not sure if it would mean as much if I hadn't already seen so many other films. I read a few reviews before I saw the film and given that I watched it on a site that provides illegal streaming, most of the reviews were North American. The reviews were largely fixated on the graphic content of the film, the violence and rape, but I think that in our society we would tend to be fixated on these things, being incredulous and overwhelmed. But the violence and rape that exists in the film is what we hide in all of our films and television. It's what we're saying whenever anyone says, literally I mean, "the n word." It's all the opinion that we stow away in others behind the persons back. It's what's behind the gestures and conversation that we have with customers and family. The film is one of the most genuine and inspiring films that I've seen in awhile. For example, I recently went and saw Prometheus in theaters and not only was it trying, constantly, so hard at being thoughtful and to pack in what I call "pot philosophy," but it also felt, throughout the film, to be completely disingenuous. Even the sci-fi aspect of it was trying to be sci-fi, the thoughtful aspect of it was trying to be thoughtful, everything about it was trying to be. Most all I experience of people is disingenuous, and I hate it. I value, endlessly, true experience and interaction and what this film develops is more than I think most people in North America are able to reach. We are fixated on what we can find incredulous and spiteful, when there is so much more to what's happening.

Recorded

     The desire to be recorded is something that has become refined and specialized in the environment of our lust for personalization and our platforms and technologies that we've developed. Our desires for different ways to be recorded precedes the advent of their possibility and our insatiable categorization pulls us further and further into our desire to be recorded, enveloping how we understand the thing we record, namely our selves. I'm completely fascinated by how our actions are carried out in the pursuit of their being recorded, the majority of our experience being refined to the parameters of our ability to record. It's come to a point where the more varied and possible it is for us to be recorded, the more freedom we have in our experience. I'm also fascinated at what becomes recorded, the extent to which we record, perhaps so that we are able to experience the freedom of existing. Recording has become validation and reality. Not just broad, hype words like sex, violence, and personal information are recorded, but the intimacy of experience is becoming bound by the limits of recording. One can record and share the common, everyday sort of urinating and defecating that one does, rather than special urinating and defecating with hype and eroticism like on sites for golden showers and shock films like 2 girls 1 cup. Someone can record themselves calming placing two kittens in a plastic vacuum bag and sucking the air out, recording the kittens dying. People can feel a need to have what they experience be recorded because if it's not, then there is an anxiety, an anxiety of emptiness. Murder and waste are beginning to take place in the realm of the recorded more so than in reality. Our experience is more and more coming to take place within the realm of the recorded rather than in the realm of immanence.

07/27/12 Thoughtful.Meditative Mix

This is a thoughtful and meditative mix I recorded.

http://soundcloud.com/thegoldendove/07-27-12 

Honesty

     I find I have a difficult time believing in anything. And not just in religion, for religion is not the only thing requiring belief. It wasn't always this way with me. And it isn't new. I do wonder though, how often this occurs in others around me. I find that many people seem to be able to believe in all sorts of things. I also find them unable to believe in particular things, betraying their injuries and tendencies. I on the other hand simply process. I don't believe in anything, instead I place hope in my inclinations and ignorance. This isn't an ideal; it's simply what I've become, having broken down belief after belief throughout the years of my life. I destroy, but not like one might think. In Cormac McCarthy's "Blood Meridian," the devil carries around a journal and records each thing that he encounters on his travels, birds, pieces of armor, and so on. One night, a travel companion asks him why he does this. The devil replies that he is insulted by the freedom of birds, that they fly without his permission. By recording, by knowing, each thing that exists, he will be able to control all existence. Birds will no longer fly without his permission. For me, nothing is able to come before me without being understood. I don't see things for the sake of any ideals, they instead are seen for the ideals that they hold at the same time as they are seen for what they are within this world. I destroy, rather than control. I'm not insulted by the freedoms of the ignorant, I instead hold only to honesty. And in truth, I hope for things that I can't destroy. I'd like for things to come up against honesty and not be destroyed. And when I do discover things that aren't destroyed, I'm able to love them because I know they are something worth loving. I'm able to love them honestly, which isn't to adore them, but to know them, honestly. This is what I've become; belief has yet to endure honesty.

Piece

     ,Well, what is it?'

     ,I don't feel satisfied with the trees here. There really isn't any need to be in between these bodies. Their eyes are uncomfortable pillows and I'd quite like to sleep in the street.'

     ,Speak up. Out with it.'

     ,I rather like these spaces though. I push my finger into them and fill them, inflate them. I move into these spaces in between things and in things and it changes them. Nothing really is against me then; nothing is without me when I fill their spaces.'

     ,If you're not going to say anything, then why are you here?'

     ,I'd really like to be my own father. I've tried to revolve myself through death and birth by myself in my own blood, but I'm not really sure how that's going.'

     ,Look, you're really starting to piss me off. If you're going to simply sit there silently, then fuck off.'

     ,I don't believe in freedom and so I don't value it. I find it unfortunate that Americans prize it more than almost anything. They see the alternative as a Nazi regime or men from the Middle East stoning a woman in the street for being raped, but that's a false dichotomy. What people want isn't freedom. It's security and truth that they want, safety in in being and existing as what they are, what they could potentially be. Well, there are things I'm against people being, like being intolerant of people I find to be innocent. I also don't want people believing that they're free, that freedom is something we have, because it harvests a people without position, though they believe that they have position. They simply become infinitely manipulable.'

     ,If you don't say something or leave, you'll regret it.'

     ,I wish I could believe in God sometimes.'

     ,Fine. Choose to be silent and motionless.'

     And he struck him. He grabbed a limb from off the shelf and with both arms he slammed it into the side of his face. He was lying against the ground in a fit of apprehension, in ecstasy and fear, and all was boundless, limitless. There were no walls, simply terror and resolve. These two filled the room like lovers. And he beat him. And the firecracker popped. And the child giggled.

     The water rushed over the stone. It was lodged into a crack between things, but the water didn't mind so much. And the rock didn't mind very much either, as it was prone to indifference. What did happen though, each time water passed across the rock, which was continuous, each time accumulating into a desert, long and indifferent, was a production of friction, long and indifferent. And it went like that for quite some time.

     And he became a radiator. When he spoke, it didn't feel warm, but it reminded people that they were. And you would think that the man was still striking him with the limb, but the blows rattling him were in fact happening deep underground. And you couldn't see the eyes peering out, but you felt the discomfort all the same. And all around them, people didn't touch one another. They in fact denied the inclination three times each at least, and then kept going until it dissolved completely and evenly. And they all lay on the ground in fits of apprehension, without ecstasy or fear, and all was bound. And the water rushed over them, accumulating into a desert, long and indifferent, for quite some time.

     Stretching out a hand in a fashion that never goes out of style. From time immemorial, did you know that you should be thankful? He reaches out from behind bulletproof glass near a dumpster. Put yourself in this box, didn't you know that you should be thankful? And he beat him. And he didn't touch him.

     They're in their boxes looking far away. Still, don't get too close; they are on display. We have your childhood, hold still. Stay. For quite some time, we'll let you be kept here and afterward you can remember where we let you look far away. Right here; but don't get too close. Do not touch. We'll keep you here safely on display. You can have images to remind you where you lay. And he beat him. And he didn't touch him.

     I can measure my life in coffee spoons. Zero is immense. A diamond is forever. Accept loss forever. Hold it there, that spot in your metaphysic. Remain nowhere. Let the friction shape you, lodged between things, for quite some time. And he beat him. And he didn't touch him.

     Let yourself feel it momentarily, as the image burns by. It felt warm, but not because of what it said. You had to keep warm, regardless of what it said. And everything remained still, for a very long time. And he beat him. And he didn't touch him.

     And there was cheap gold imitation framing every view. Wind blew through the trees in the backgrounds and it was crisp, but each view was framed in cheap, faux-Victorian, golden-delicious, flaking imitation. And it tasted like dust. And he remained. And he didn't touch him.

     Every space was filled, except for the lines. The lines were white on a white wall. Everything that filled all else was accumulated, like a desert, for the lines, so that there were lines, so that there could be lines. Each time a water passed over, a moment accumulated on this wall, accumulated for the sake of white lines on white walls. And he remained. And he didn't touch him.

     And she was ornate and still. All that was built around her was designed to move without moving. And there were colors and designs and textures and messages, but what they said only reminded you that you should be warm. And you couldn't see the eyes peering out, but you felt the discomfort all the same. And he tasted dust. And nobody touched.

07/23/12 A&C Mix

     New mix. This isn't like the previous mixes that I've posted recently. I categorize those as "Halcyon" mixes. This mix is what I categorize as an "Anorexia & Cigarettes" mix. It's essentially coldwave and minimal electronic. And this mix in particular is somewhat personal. Let's just say, I've had an inclination to reread 'The Myth of Sisyphus' by Camus lately.

http://soundcloud.com/thegoldendove/07-23-12