i have been utterly obsessed with the following song (and the album whence it comes) by massachusetts-based emo/post-hardcore/whatever the fuck band kolya. it's off their only full-length, the self-titled released in 2001~

kolya, 2001


oh man. the riff that begins right at 2:30 is fast becoming one of my most favorites in the whole entire universe of music. especially at 2:40 exactly when the bass starts in again, soaring, simultaneously lifting the track up by miles and sinking it deep into the core of the earth. i keep re-playing this part over and over again. the bass line throughout the entire song - shifting in register from mid-range to octaves lower - is part of the wonder.

what really gets me about the style of this music, this particular brand of sound, is the juxtaposition of disjointedness and rhythmic displacement, mostly tonal/melodic harmonies (characteristic of a lot of emo - it's "emotional" which is what "romanticism" in music is, basically) with desperate lyrics, poetic and philosophical, similar to word painting but more like thought or phrase painting ("perfection is forever all around us, AND NOT MEANT TO BE HUMAN"). or what about "UNCERTAINTY IS NOT TOO EASILY SHAKEN." i mean, his delivery! the words and the mouth which speaks them layered on top of all this volcanic gorgeousity; it utterly thrills me.

i just feel so alive and filled with life energy listening to this, bursting sun and human and sky and language and music energies all intertwined. the entire album is full of such gems like this but for many years now (and not again until quite recently) THIS track, "horizons," has continually left me awestruck. i'm not sure what it is. the skilled and delicate use of harmonics? the sweeping gestures, the vivid colors ("IN THE ORANGE LINE THERE IS NO MOVEMENT")?

the best answer would be: all of it.

ever since i was little i loved to stare up at the sky. i would lay in my yard or on the driveway and stare up into space. it didn't matter what time of day it was, but in the evening around sunset the light shining through the clouds would be of an extra lovely gradient of slowly-shifting shades.

even now it's one of my favorite things to do, but when i do it i quickly become almost mesmerized; my thoughts no longer dart around but become still, focused. it's a form of meditation for me that doesn't take a conscious effort to initiate. i am absorbed into the ever-changing tapestry, the shapes and textures which exude softness, delicacy, perfection beyond our control or wildest dreams.

charles bukowski says that the majority of people murder the minutes that they are given by traveling, going to the movies, or whatever - "to fight for each minute is to fight for what's possible inside yourself." i find this inspiring, extraordinarily so (in his later years bukowski seemed to have attained a certain taste of truth which lights my days' way a thousandfold), but it is also one of the most incredible challenges asked of us.

to operate this body with the self inside and to habitually make good use of the gift of life.

have you ever found yourself swimming down the stream of someone else's memory?

it seems like some of the most lovely images i can recall are not actually of my own life, but were born of the nostalgia shared with me by others. the story of their childhood, the landscape of their homeland, the long forgotten rituals. stories of the early world, that which dawned and set before the rising of my own. i can almost taste the fruit of that far-off place, smell the wind through the grasses.

perhaps film is one way to preserve the dream, but for the most part it can be only two-dimensional. memories don't seem to abide by the laws of any dimension; they are flashes of light and sense, seemingly disconnected yet in an unbroken stream are bound tighter to the heart with each recall, reflect more of paradise or hell now that they have been lost to time.


there is much more to talk about, but my body begs for sleep.


field recording of summer sounds, like cicadas and storms and frogs
finding pure silence, deep listening to non-synthetic soundscapes
the sky over the ocean at night, that vast dark sea under a vast dark sky and bright, bright moon
oceans and freshwater lakes - seashells and river rocks, their respective symmetry and asymmetry
cave formations
rocks not as beings but as physical manifestations of natural processes, what energies do they contain?
cave drawings, hieroglyphs and symbols that slowly became written language
what the fuck is modernism in visual art? a lot of scribbly, messy lines; thick blocks of color, smudges - reverting to simple outlines of the human figure, large-scale as opposed to fine, accurate detail
bird song, light, and the rising mist on the mountains at dawn
drawing with lead a mountain side (from) (of) memory, gray on white
sunsets that make the entire landscape bright orange, like from a streetlight
recalling and revering the depth of primordial consciousness
universally-interconnected mythologies
poems dedicated to nature
poems speaking to the ancient human
the ancient American human
the ones here before us
all of their stories

i've known rivers:
i've known rivers ancient as the world and 
older than the flow of human blood in human veins.


i've known rivers:
ancient, dusky rivers.

my soul has grown deep like the rivers.


sleepy, golden storm

flecked with glee,
flecked with light

an impersonal passion
crushes this

like stars
blocked from our

separately, in
fields take

in this realm of night there is strength. upon this fallow land i pick myself up and after sowing lay me down to sleep.

i do not ask of the universe, "why have you forsaken me?"

what worlds shared, what light discovered (as behind hidden doors opened one by one, some requiring the strength of us two apes, hand over hand) still burns in every corner and in every shivering leaf aloft the branch.

my mind is alight with you, my heart aflame.

your indefinite absence is hardly a death, but, its physicality does leave an intense impression. it ages me, weakens me, creates illusions before me which would breed distrust toward my own heart.



i take heart in the words of a poet. to say ever more clearly until the end what i truly believe is right.

even if it turns out to be wrong.

so each second is spent gaining and gathering. a lot of wandering, too. and resting in, almost sinking back into, this body of mine. there is also much reflection, with a care to avoid becoming stuck in harmful patterns.

like a shepherd guiding the flock. i must provide gentle guidance and never give in to weakness or negativity.

i know there is much to be learned from skimming off the top, as it were, the summary of my past - the paraphrased and abbreviated version of what happened, what could have been done differently, and how to become better.

it's not even a question of which memories remain, which are lost to time -

everything is lost all the time and that is the transitory nature of life, of this tapestry of Creation as you've called it (channeling words from ancestors).

we are sons and daughters. what more can we learn from ourselves?

i dig deep.

and it often feels futile.

ten thousand times a day and then some do i endeavor to find reasons for giving up.

but i haven't yet; not once, not for real, not in totality.

nothing is worth the loss of even the opportunity to lose everything while it is still in your possession.

truth must be made clear in blunt and stark terms as many times as it takes to find a fucking crack in the wall and drown my heart in its rays.

even in burning is the One Truth fragrant, soft, and beautiful.

my latest experimental work:

take care, little one

i know you will thrive 
now that you can be sure you
(and always have been)


dragon dream


i had the best dream i have ever had in my entire life last night.

in it i met a dragon named glean (as in, to glean) who was the pet of a very old man with long white hair. i think he might have been a mystic or sage from the east. the dragon was very golden, shiny, smooth and cool to the touch with scales like that of a snake, and flecked with green and red all over.

so i have decided that the old man was me, in a way. there was another presence seated beside the man but i still am not sure who or what it was.

i met one of the many me's that exist in my psyche, and i'm pretty sure that this one was my absolute, the truest and deepest and warmest which exists at the core underneath all the layers. the reason i know this is because the smile he had for me was the most tender and loving of all smiles, his presence the most soothing. i felt home in the stillness of his gaze.

when i knelt down to pet the dragon i wept with joy. i remember the feeling very well - i had just come in from being outside, which for some reason was starry deep space, and was not expecting any visitors. i think i was in a bad mood. but when i saw this dragon and the old man, seemingly old friends that i had not seen for a long time, the overwhelming hope i felt was tremendously arresting.

the hope i felt in that moment was basically born of a rich well of memory, perhaps very deeply hidden from a past life, like flashes of life that somehow slipped through the cracks; what shocked me was the remembrance of all the teachings i had received from or through or alongside the old man. teachings about happiness, love, compassion, humility, gentleness, bravery.

bravery is perhaps the most important one out of all, besides love. to be brave is to triumph over darkness, the darkness all humans face. this darkness is not a "devil" figure, nor is it evil; it is fear. fear of meaninglessness, fear of death, fear of sadness, fear of being alone.

i remembered that along with the old man, the knower of all my desires and capabilities and wishes and dreams, i have already won the battle. i have won it countless times, and will continue to win as the war wages on. we war with it daily, and i'm sure you can help me attest to this.

to be able to see beauty once is a victory. to have laid your senses on light and soaked it in, even once, is a blessing worth remembering always, in every lifetime. to find a joy, a masterpiece, a puzzle, something broken that you can fix, someone you can help... victories.

one last thing: after i began crying a bit the old man told me it was time to go. i was a little upset that he wouldn't let me just cry. i must have started to become sad again, and my old habits require me to steep in sadness and treat it as a cure, a cocoon. but my true self didn't want anything to hinder my flight onward and upward.

so the deep stillness of my self is like a primordial parent, my guardian and ultimate benefactor. what i have been attributing to "depression" is a spectre which can be turned off, like a television, with the proper commanding tone born of uncompromising self-assurance.

my daily practice, and maybe yours too, if you wish, is to embrace the uncarved block of wood.

love what you already are, admire all that you already have.


cвітлана hяньо - "bilalis"
music the world does not see, 2014

svitlana nianio | experimental musician from the ukraine

i also highly recommend her solo album kитиці, or kytytsi

this track is from a compilation in which the likes of
psychic TV members make an appearance, along with
other industrial and obscure (yet incredible!) musical acts


p'o - "blind tim"
whilst climbing thieves vie for attention, 1983

now THIS is something weird, almost puzzlingly so...

perhaps you'll be interested to know that the members
of this band began in wire. 


john fahey - "stomping tonight on the pennsylania/alabama border"
death chants, breakdowns and military waltzes, 1963

"this record is for those who remember" (p. 3/liner notes)

i was reminded to re-visit john fahey when i came across this piece on the hum's blog
(really interesting and diverse content there, actually)

this album, after also hearing the amazing and transcendental requia,
is a rich tapestry of influences and pure musical genius.

fahey's playing glitters and soars.

regarding the following track (in jf's words):

"the opening chords are from the last movement of 
vaughan williams' sixth symphony. it goes from there to 
a skip james motif. following that it moves to a 
gregorian chant, 'dies irae'".


hoover - "electrolux"
the lurid traversal of route 7, 1994
i have been quite enthralled by this DC-based post-hardcore band as of late,
namely their 1998 reunion self-titled album

but then there's this track from the debut...

tell me how you like this deep cutting bliss, will ya?

radio flyer - "ice cream cheater"
in their strange white armor
, 1997

more 90s pre-emo post-hardcore

to be honest i never know what to call this stuff, it can be seen
as having influenced/being influenced by a plethora of
the most important thing to ask yourself, really, is simply: 
do you like the way it tastes in your ears?

cuando te cierro
abro la vida