Thursday, 3 September 2015

This is the summer of our incontinence.

Virtually every news outlet on this continent has had the same picture of a dead Syrian child beached upon the tourist sands of would-be Europe. A local outlet poses the question, "If this doesn't get us to act, what will?" An American version remarks on the failure of Europe to have a unified policy.

It makes perfect sense that this poor kid came from where he did. War creates refugees. More war creates more.

You cannot insist that a war against an enemy abroad is critical for peace & security at home and at the same time say that you have nothing to worry about when you accept hundreds of refugees from that very war zone every day. If either of these two messages taken alone is irrational, combined they are incomprehensible when it's maintained that there is a constant insidious threat from those who would slip through the fingers of state security and do untold harm to its citizens. Basically, the absurd unstated whole is: We are flooding our continent with terrorists.

Make no mistake. People are being asked by the same ruling governments throughout Europe and the US to accept the implications of all three messages simultaneously. Recapping, they are:

1)  Terrorists want to infiltrate your country and kill you.
2)  The war on terror is necessary to your way of life.
3)  This summer's taking in of hundreds of thousands of asylum seekers is a challenge, but those who say it is anything else are scare mongers.

If such consensus is plausible, the dissension it breeds is even more so.

There are a couple of necessary distinctions: To the extent that is has, Europe bears the brunt of this immigration, but it also has established parliamentary parties who, quite rationally, accept the increased immigration and reject the war on terror.

In the US, on the other hand, of the two parties firmly rooted, the governing party from the president & his current and former state secretaries to deviant-candidate Bernie Sanders ask you to believe all three, while the opposition most notoriously mocked for being know-nothing reactionaries displays a consistency of reactionary belief: They publicly reject a lenient immigration policy. You can bet if you replaced the numbers of Mexicans with Syrians or Kurds seeking asylum, they'd reject them outright.

So who is rational?

Apparently, when you consistently aggregate & feed these three messages, not only can you expect a stronger irrational response to them, you can count on it.

Tuesday, 1 September 2015


Not for any of these concerts, as they are general admission, but for this space to write about them later.

Additionally, they'll be three installations, including one by Brian Eno entitled "For Achim" which "combines rays of light with Roedelius sounds to pay homage to his longstanding musical ally."

Lifelines #4: Roedelius

Wednesday, 19 August 2015

₫-mar-kr-€-C$-¥ has its way.

"Love? Equality? Reconstruction? Acceptance? Those are the excuses of the losers, to persuade themselves that they choose their condition and weren't beaten down into it."
—Drake, Leviathan

"Ohne Scheiß. Ich brauch ein Geigerzähler."
—this morn's crazy lady,
to no one in particular


"I wonder what the world would be like had they not funneled crack into southern Los Angeles," me musing, watching a clip from the late seventies of the Soul Train dance line. "Would we not have a Black American president ordering international hits, who'd instead gone forth to remain a uni prof of relative obscurity in a world deprived of some of its more creative gangsta rap straight outta the end of the rock coke supply chain?"

I'm asking me if Ted Bundy had let two of his admitted thirty victims live, would one of them have developed into a loveless marriage contemplating suicide.

When you choose to choose to let somebody else choose because constantly making choices is so painfully tedious that no matter how many bricks of bureaucracy get stacked with each new choice you'd rather not be bothered with details, there's only one choice when witnessing an assault, and that's mustering the courage to ask a fellow witness if anyone's called the cops.

Your conscience would seem to let you off easy but that doesn't stop seismic radiation from leaking truth through the psychic fissures, shining its glow upon the most unconscious choice of all — which flavor of insanity: the simultaneous denial & acceptance of having malignant narcissists representing your values, or... the sneaking paranoia that you'll either hide from yourself and/or others, or spend your life in defense of.

The presentation of the dead-ed journalist Gary Webb as a flawed truth seeker who turned out to be completely correct, hounded like a nutter until he blew his brains out because there was something not quite right about him is quite simply the presentation of a tale about an intelligence apparatus in service of peaceful freedom that turned out to be in the wrong, but as if it has something right about it. Any choice that leaves that notion in tact lies in the first form of insanity, is a pact with the bureaucratic brick wall whose solution is to steer the apparatus down the path of least resistance, which, as it turns out, is the resistance of leaving that choice to someone else. Witnessing an assault? Somebody 'll call a cop.


Go on and smoke that cigarette. Eat that sausage while you're at it. I'm not judging. It would be nice if the fatalistic admission were out in the open: that each puff & swallow's a spin of the roulette wheel, a slow suicide pact the likes of which you can pretend is not a death you're praying for because everyone else is doing it, or because such a brutal admission wouldn't be kind to your children, even if what you do now results in a much less than congenial treatment of many others.

There's this point where there's so much company in psychic sado-maso misery that the individual members of the group begin to pretend it doesn't exist, some going so far as to say that one who strays from the aisle of denial is the one who's sick, and claim this untruthful observation for brutal honesty. The most vicious variety of this is the channeled bleed of that malignant narcissism the electors are so proud of, with their balloons and styrofoam hats.

Friday, 7 August 2015

Acrostic Gospel

Glorify the blinding glow;
Others may not make it so.

Expand your waste to verdant 'nam
A figure'd pale those commies bomb.
Spare no coast to keep your piece,
Then rake it clear, extend a lease.

Lend a boot where prophets bloom 
Inside the just desserts consume.
Torture talk, what right might make
To mask the fact the war's ground's fake.
Leave out the parts that drag the tail:
Enormous blast of wind for sale!

Break the bank where rivers run
On golden rays of rising sun...

Wednesday, 29 July 2015

In Ewigkeit

Last week, the death of Dieter Moebius was copied two days later by Don Joyce of Negativland, who copped their name from a song by Neu!, which features Moebius colleague Michael Rother. Both were 71.

These are coincidences, as is the fact that Kate had already wanted to do our show last night with distilled collections of things we know or are familiar with, like, so many slaps in One Life to Live, or Columbo going on about something his wife says or does.

The following embed has Lenny Bruce refining what it means to come, and the many "man"s in Cheech & Chong's drive-inn sketch. For good measure, included are the infamous f-words & "dude"s from the Big Lebowski on top of that piece that gave Negativland their name. Plus, Kate reads a story in Harmonia & more Cluster..

Wednesday, 22 July 2015

Moebius endgültig aufgenommen !-(

I count myself quite fortunate to have resided in Chicago during Cluster's only tour of the states and likewise to've been in situ for Harmonia's reunion in Berlin.

I prefer not to delve too deep into the aspect of those venues' environs as it relates to an audient's optimal uptake for the duration of a live performance. Anyone familiar with Cluster's quieter ambient passages may know the potential treachery when aural surroundings of the commercial or communicative kind overwhelm non-definable electronic sound emanating from the house PA system.

Being able to observe so near the unbreakable interpersonal acuity with which Joachim Roedelius and Dieter Moebius of Cluster generated their style of fragile silence upon the Metro stage was to witness an act of affirmation, an experience extended to those presently present, the likes of which only come so often.

Sunday, 19 July 2015

The Sundae Conspiracy:
In Which I Strawman with the Best of 'Em

"Put it on a plate, son. You'll enjoy it more."
—Otto Mom


It is possible to observe transgressive media obsessions as an outsider, in spite of the boundaries having been all but blown away. I don't mean to belittle anyone's local concerns with this aspersion, as there are no doubt always real local concerns. Viewed through the lens of an international network, however, seeing how specific things breach the regional threshold to make them matter nationally, or pan-ethnically, could lead others to preoccupy themselves, with the unawares airs that they're above it all.

Wednesday, 15 July 2015

Short Secretary Tells Tall Tales

This is tedious but I'm gonna do it anyway.

Former Secretary to the Bubbya administration Robert Reich has written two pieces for AriannaOnLine recently, both of them demonstrating the shallow depth of discernment that even the most intelligent American voters are able to go to, and how it shades their understanding of the political process.

First the latter piece, which guilts at a ghost: The Glass-Steagall Act of 1933.

Tuesday, 30 June 2015

Fasc. of the Titans: a barely bilingual crossover zwischen The Image Nation und Der Parkbank Pinkler

Where the composite term Realitätenhändler (realtors) does not exist as a standard in Germany as it does in Austria, its two nouns, Realitäten (realities) and Händler (dealers) do.

This is submitted to bring to the attention of the reader that the very lost phoneme that distinguishes realty from reality does dually endure in the tongue of a once great cousin once removed. Consequently, characterized exclusively contextually are her variant arts of immovable properties.

Monday, 29 June 2015

The Implausible Plausibility of Harry Mudd

This article from The New Yorker is a good example of comparatively good reportage gone flawed in how, even with an unsavory presentation of its host country's affairs, it implicitly frames its motives in a better light than it deserves, demonstrating the ways of the unwitting accomplice in the manufacture of plausible consent.

This is more than a fair assessment, maybe too fair. For one, calling the reportage comparatively good entirely ignores the opening sentence wherein it is claimed that there is "historic nuclear diplomacy taking place in Vienna’s elegant Coburg Palace". But for now I would like to avoid close-reading the party-line that underlies establishment media.