February 26 2014
On Wednesday night, following a gigantic turn-down from the part-time career as a disk jockey, Dominique rebelled against herself. The workers of Munchhawk textile were too exhausted and manipulated to be patient through her set. The turntable was a train crash. Dominique started out with sheer optimism clearing their heads out with Talking Head’s “Road to Nowhere” to get them warmed up. A neutral response was all she received, this was going to be a tough one knowing the look on the workers faces was a perfect hybrid of a dull day aftermath and a lackluster cheer. She could have worked harder on the intro. Therefore she grew more restless. An “Only Love Can Break Your Heart” or an M People mix could save her night. The crowd was definitely not a Modern Lovers type. Not even young and bloodful enough for a Yazoo nostalgia. She somehow immediately lost her sense of direction, rhythm and attention-seeking. From the middle of the set on, Dominique was no longer herself. The presence of a torrent of shrieking iron from the very morning gave birth to a massive disturbance focal point.
Few hours later, the abandoned set, a new chaotic pattern of chairs passed out on each other, a haunted front yard anticipating a mass-return of half-life underpaid overworked jaded assembly line workers and warehouse patrols. And what do they know about the new Burial selfie and new promises? Have any of their children ever heard of Kieran Hebden, Steven Ellison or Barry Lynn? What dragged Dominique into this agonizing submission?
The dire ramification of Dominique’s loveless audience plunged her into carpentry. She did not enjoy that. May the loveless live the hardest endless limbo! This is the sound of the tunnel she had to swim through that Wednesday night. A lengthy tunnel of norepinephrine, agomelatine and tricyclic antidepressants.
I hope Frank Bretschneider does not mind whispering this liquid wordless ode to Dominique’s relentless past. May she come back to her turntable again but it’s very unlikely. I wish her good luck in all she does.
Death to Munchhawk textile!
February 18 2014
Every tick on your wristwatch and every drip sound of a leaking ceiling in the cabin can nurture my brain. In this horrendous cold forest of isolation, even the absence of an event is an event per se. And there goes me relating a term called kankeiteki-shu-kansei (or relative subjectivity from this article by Brian Taylor Slingsby) to a quote I somewhere heard from Christopher Hitchens.Owners of dogs will have noticed that, if you provide them with food and water and shelter and affection, they will think you are god. Whereas owners of cats are compelled to realize that, if you provide them with food and water and shelter and affection, they draw the conclusion that they are gods.
And there goes SANMI taking all the blame for mentioning the term in his release notes for Dx_f.
And that being said, I take everything I said above back for sticking to principles and papers and what humans have accomplished in this lifespan is dangerously prone to errors and malfunctions. So I’m going to get some water from the well. It’s getting colder out here and there is no warmth in mundane hypothetical. I need more wood fuel, too.