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Wednesday, July 28th, 2010
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I am a fan of Brian Wood¨s comics. "Demo", "Local", "Supermarket" , "Northlanders"... are amazing works of art. Still looking for some of his old material.
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Comments: Add Your Own.
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Wednesday, May 19th, 2010
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Harold Budd explains: "I'll tell you why... There's a quote from Ralph Waldo Emerson, something to the effect of: 'if you can't be free, then be as free as you can be'. And I like the arbitrary restrictions that one places on oneself, so that you don't get scatterbrained and don't reach for everything that's available. Keep your focus very narrow: just this and nothing more, and make that absolutely exquisite and don't get sucked into distractions, don't listen to the siren chorus singing across the waves about this keyboard that has a billion sounds in it. I couldn't care less about things like that. They just get in the way. I'm not bragging, but the way I work is that I focus entirely on a small thing and try to milk that for all it's worth, to find everything in it that makes musical sense. A studio gives you the freedom to do that, but it also gives you the freedom to do everything, and to me everything is a tyranny. What's the point? So for me it's a conscious choice to work in a studio when I want and need to, but not to own a studio. It's the same with owning instruments. All I have is an old, worthless Casio 202, which I don't even use any more, and the shakers and bells. I don't even have a piano any more."
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Sunday, January 15th, 2006
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Inside the house, it was dark. As our eyes adjusted to the absence of light, the details of the room emerged, slowly advancing in the darkness like lost memories approaching through a fog. She stood in the center of the room and spun her body in a circle, reaching her fingers out for the air like a sorceress conjuring up a hidden world, sucking my essence into herself through mouths cut into her fingertips. Gradually my weakness without her revealed itself to both of us. The hollowed husks of the bodies that I'd shed hung from hooks secured in the joists of the ceiling, dripping down in rows throughout the house, melting in the trapped heat and darkness and saturating the air with their rotting, like lilies wilting in a suppurating garden.
My sister let her robe fall to the floor. Her flesh grew up out of the offal and blood iridescent, like a night flower straining towards the moon. She danced nude among the entrails and garbage and beer bottles as if she were wading joyously through a foaming red sea. The scent of her insides seeped out from beneath her skin into the closed air of the room, gradually augmenting and replacing the smell of my misery with the familiar balm of her glands, a perfume so close to the smell of my own body, I was drawn to it like a species of insect honing in on its queen. Her face radiated a submerged glow like a magical orb stealing stored light and heat from its surroundings. I flowed into her. The energy my body contained was sucked through a stream into her eyes. She held out her arms and enfolded me in a kiss that both drained me and simultaneously filled me with a warmth I recognized as her life seeping into me. Her tongue was a velvet slug that burrowed into my mouth, then wound down my throat into my intestines, where it prepared the nest where she would grow.
She loosened my pants, cooing the same song into my ear she'd sung to me when we were children, like a secret greeting-call, long forgotten. My exposed erection burned against the cold oily skin of her stomach. I was hardened by her strength. She'd reached into me and was flexing inside me. As the first spasms of hot white fluid jerked out of me, she cupped me in her hands and guided the flow across her belly, smearing it up onto her breasts and over her neck and face, sealing herself inside a second crust of skin, like a nascent cocoon standing upright in a sunless forest of pendulous flesh.
We nailed the doors of our house closed from the inside. She lives on the meat and blood growing everywhere around us. The sun filters through the closed curtains like urine. She probes and crawls through my guts, mining me. I'm an inert object, but I come alive with her touch. Each time she finishes fucking me, less of me remains in my body. Soon I'll be emptied -- a dead shell of loose skin, like the others. The sounds of the traffic and the airplanes passing overhead beat against the walls and soak the insides of this house with pleasure. We're coming, lodged in the bowels of the world as it screams. I'm moving into her, so I feel good. I'm vivid and flooded with love, dissolving like a breath steaming in the cold air, hovering. My sister is inhaling me into her body, digesting me.
(extracto de Empathy (1994), relato corto de Michael Gira, ex-cantante de Swans, incluido en su libro The Consumer).
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Comments: Read 2 or Add Your Own.
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Sunday, October 30th, 2005
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been too low
in a too high floor
is dangerous
no shame, or lust
no holidays, wasted days
burnt out like cigarettes
but i still climb
another wall
upside down
mesmerize me
then hold me
or break me
it´s the same
been too late
too many times
been too soon
abandonned
no fame, or trust
no way of saying
how i tried to get to you
but still stay quiet
another mouth
bleeding inside
take me down
where the dogs sleeps
where nobody knows the sound i make
when i break
you learn from the leaves of the trees
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Saturday, October 1st, 2005
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monologues - royal festival hall live intro
this is the monologue which opened the gybe! live show at the royal festival hall, london, on april 3rd 2000.
there is a devil in this world
and no angel will save us
our relations are sickened and damaged as this upside down world
they're turning our neighbourhoods into disneylands
they're building more prisons and doubling their patrols
at the same time miss celine dion sings love songs while our cities burn
in these times, when everything is denied us
anything is possible
but everyday stubborn clumsy beautiful ideas rot on the withering vine
all dreams fall down
failure leads to irony,
and irony smothers us with all the pastel colours of the newest retail superstores
we call for an end to this state of affairs
long live a little bit of autonomy
long live all quiet roof easels
a sort of culture can be built here
all sorts of things can happen
when and if we finally begin to refuse
we dedicate tonight's performance to quiet refusals
loud refusals and sad refusals
we dedicate it to the imminent market collapse
we dedicate it to carpenters
waitresses and drug addicts
we dedicate it to secretaries, alcoholics and schizophrenics
we dedicate it to the boys kissing boys
girls kissing girls
girls kissing boys
and everything in between
we dedicate it to anxiety attacks, hangovers, worried depression
and all the other necessary by-products of trying to live free
we dedicate it to any endeavour who's ultimate unreasonable goal is autonomy
self-determination or joy
we dedicate it to every prisoner in the world
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take a ride
grab my hand as i´ve always wanted
the last minute exhales its last breath
borrowed fields from a dissapointed past
my life as it has always been
as i´ve always known it will become
a broken arrow in a desert of air
waiting to fall
with no signs of sin over their faces
watching eternally
all dirty and pale
watching the leaves as they bleed
catch them in our mouths
then spit them kindly on the floor
a monument of trust
your words, oh, they´re so charming
a monument of nothing
wrapped inside
let the liquid drip till drowning
swallowing our malcontent
remembrance of dismembered bodies
into separate pieces
then hold them as the babies we´ll never have
then kiss them goodbye
and embrace them in our minds
oh, so quietly
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Comments: Read 3 or Add Your Own.
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don´t have any money. all day spent in my room listening to the smiths and the housemartins. i can´t even send a fucking mobile message. i can´t do any plans. i don´t know what she wants. she doesn´t know what she wants, and she told me so. the only thing i know is she´s leaving soon. and all i do is wasting my time. and all i have is time. and time is running out. and all i do is watching the walls of my flat and feeling numb and useless.
it´s not the lyrics of a bad song.
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Comments: Read 6 or Add Your Own.
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It was a bad year. Frogs used to fall from the sky and everyone died but me. I learned to say goodbye, but now I need some practice.
Foggy days, I want to catch some air and breath and watch an aircraft in the sky and die in a car´s accident. I think that´s going to be the way. I am very proud of you, calling stars. I know you´re gonna get it, I feel how strong and weak you are at the same time. That´s so amazing. Do you remember... We stand still, we stand like whores, we are alone.
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Comments: Read 15 or Add Your Own.
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Tuesday, March 29th, 2005
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(Well, this is an email I recently wrote to a friend...)
It has been a long time since the last time I wrote, I
know, sorry for that. Anyway, I have a lot of things
to tell!.
Marcelo came to Málaga!. Yeah, he called me telling
that he was in Cádiz (near to my town) and I invited
him to come. We walked around Málaga, which he liked a
lot, and planned to meet again later in Tenerife,
where he has been working as steward since then. It
was funny remembering the Benugo´s times as you use to
say, and telling the affairs we had and never told to
each other... Cheers from him, I told him about you
and your wedding and all the rest. Ferdi is back in
Spain, he split up with his girlfriend, the iragi guy
(Sadam? I don´t remember his name) quitted Benugo, and
lots of news of people I´ve never seen again. jeje,
Natalia is in Madrid working, I would like to see her
again.
More, more... Well, recently I came back from
Barcelona where I stayed for 5 days. It was great.
Gigs: WILCO (excellent american rock) and DEAD CAN
DANCE (medieval-ethnic). I don´t have words to
describe these concerts. Me and my cousin met a polish
band playing in the beautiful streets of the gotic
area in BCN. They were playing nice medieval music, it
was magic, so I throwed them some money. My cousin had
not money, so he throwed a small ball of hash. During
a break we started to talk, they were very friendly, I
always will remember their faces when I said I was
from Málaga. They told me they were playing there the
last winter and "it was the best place". They made my
day, really. They have a webpage, but it´s not very
good, you can take a look: www.rivendell.art.pl
I keep on learning German, at the end of May I will
have my Goethe Institut Exam. Then I´m planning to
live this summer in Berlin 2-3 months, but right now I
don´t know how. My teacher have a contact in Berlin
but the price is expensive: 700 euros only for a room
and a german school per month. I want to work there
but they can´t offer me a job. I dont know what to do,
but I really wanna go, I want to travel this summer
and see different things. If I finally go don´t be
surprised if I decide to visit you in Poland!. I would
really love to go, and Sweden as well, where I have a
good girl-friend.
I will go to Primavera Sound Festival this year again,
in Barcelona. It will be at the end of May, as well,
just the same day I got my exam the festival starts.
There will be some very exciting days!.
That´s all for now. I´m working actually, but it´s
nothing really interesting, so I won´t tell details
about it.
More the next time!
take care, my friend
Emilio
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Comments: Read 9 or Add Your Own.
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Thursday, March 17th, 2005
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Tomorrow early I got my flight to Barcelona. I´m gonna see live:
sunday night
and
thursday night
too good to be true
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Comments: Read 6 or Add Your Own.
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yesterday.
morning.
desinfection of my room. two hours cleaning. now everything shines and i even look like a person in an artificial environment.
afternoon.
bored. the wedding present´s take fountain saved the day. it´s amazing, it´s the kind of music makes me want to be in a band. i hope they´ll play always the quiet one in the may´s gig.
night.
i got a ride till the center of my city in a mercedes compressor spk. i´ve never been inside of such a car. it´s all an experience feel the eyes of everyone in the streets follow you. my friends came late at 1:00 and absolutely drunk and with 3 bottles of whiskey more to drink. i let the only girl i liked go. we ended drunk as usual, eating kebabs and then i came back home with one friend talking bullshit about girls. i thought he was going to cry talking about her but, thanks god, he didn´t. i ended the night in my shiny shiny room doing what i promised i will never do it again: looking at old pictures of her and me. i thought i was so drunk i will not remember it in the morning, but in fact now i remember it too well.
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Comments: Read 11 or Add Your Own.
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Saturday, March 12th, 2005
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i never cry
i use to smile when i don´t know what to say
but it doesn´t mean anything
i like to be kind, but sometimes i can´t control it
i thought i was happy until i met her
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everything become twisted
everyone is ocuppied
i am so full of myself
i want to give you a little bit of me
i am not being generous
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no fear
no end
no meaning
this is the secret place we were told
the moment i came i knew i would run away
feel at home
regret.
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Tuesday, January 25th, 2005
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disappearhere__'s journal
