And I thought I was alone. I mean up in the penthouse. A gram here and there, or a star of David for one more love triangle. Anyway, I <3 Fever Ray <3 <3 <3. I am listening to a song with the following lines. “Raeppear in a flash/ There is more I’d like to know. A comment on someone’s page said just what I thought I come up with: “Reappear in a FLASH/ Cheers.” That is AWESOME. Because as I heard that I was doing this: Okay first another of many genius songs.
To which was commented: “... my streets are always empty...” which makes me want to love the world for a mo.
So this movie, my little gift. It is of a portion of the printable characters using quickview or (or TextEdit would be the same) the Flash file listed (possibly not .txt but that is just a way of lazily forcing the easy viewing of it). And this is just the localized strings (though there looks like a lot more than the localized strings, if you know what they are.) Let me say: nothing. Why? Just a matter of custom. What custom? One that I don’t know. Is it spoken? No. Does anyone learn it explicitly? No. How is it learned by anyone? By perpetual hint. One hint is many, or one word is many: In “Stairway to Heaven” we learn there are two paths we can by go by. That sounds, yeah, make choices. YES in many ways. But two paths, left and right. Very often we explicitly hear “right” as in “I’m trying to make things right around here” or Loquat, from “Need Air”: “If this was a race, who’d win or lose?/ It’s time we start, the letter part./ If you go left, then I guess, I’ll go right./ We’ll see what we come up with when we meet tonight.” (I won’t both to see if “letter” should be “latter.” I thought it was the latter. But it is irrelevant, because the letter works in any case, and, moreover, things are pronounced so as to impart this or that apart from that which is written, so cunning you could pin a tail on it and call it foxy or even inkorrekt. As for race. A specious word.) Or my spiel about I am David and rights of passage. Colonizing thought. What is left in this world, or should I say, who? Where are my peeps, my bros, or “bruhs” as they seem to say downunder these days.
Oh, and the following video is just a resource file. It is intentional blurred; with a Mac, you can reckon for yourself this one. You ought to see an actual FLV file. NO DIFFERENT! Or an MP3 of AIFF: why are there “phrases” in common between the two, outside of tags? Hmmmm. And with GIFs and JPGs, and even C programs in Unix or at least Darwin or Mach-O or OS X whatever they call it these days. It’s, like, random, or my biography, or yours, or more, or more-more, or perhaps on stereo files byte order has to be swapped (as demonstrated by the file name at the ends of mp3s). Or perhaps there are hash or cipher tables (d’uh) or enough staring to figure out it is layers, or is there a echo at ten characters (wild assertion time) because they might be the spectrographic text to be printed. Stereoscopic? Some misleading layers. Very hard to leave/learn. For a while—I have some of one of my compositions in spectro form from iZotope RX Advanced printed out after careful parametric settings taped to my bedroom floor (because there is much floor due to our bed being non-existent. I had a few stabs really hard practicing into the wall and backs of chairs, like, I mean writing ideas like stabs at solving a problem, and I read about my favorite parts of New Zealand only two people know about, and recently. And, true to my narcissism, which my second-to-last knock-out (technically speaking) of a girlfriend accused me very much of as I was suffering from a bad break-preposition, how touching, it helped a lot being held, accountable I was for s much of my own difficulteries it is very true, so I read about my implant (cf. Efterklang, not just cloning, ha) which is a strange looking thing and not some mystical MIT or government way of controlling thoughts (see appropriate YouTubes yourself or come to our show—a colleague/collaborator and I—at the Enormous Room Of Restless Rebuttal—are doing, just to beat some research and outdo ourselves in who-really-knows but if my nephew/niece—is there are collective term?—have bunks, and were I to sleep in that spare room of several at my parents’ house in Napier, I’d have to debed that messy lisp of a room), true to my narcissism not just the implant but a message among many about the military putting something in my head, perhaps just magnetic RELAY (she’d be so lucky) devices perhaps thin film magazinetism, which is developed as would films be near my temporary pseudo-office in all its debasing mention FORESKIN! Time for BrisFect of -Fess BUT BUT BUT (I am now listening to Azure Ray after Fever Ray, next it will be “Over the Ray nbow” sung by Barbra Streisand with some TV show host at the same time as “Chasing Rainbows” which is on a tune from Chopin). True to form I forget what I am writing about (true?) about what response I/it would have to loud sounds. Perhaps it feeds off certain frequencies. Perhaps all this, well, get this: at a concert last night, of Mantra and Marteau, the musical director at NEC of the C group for new music said, there is all that codedaphonic row like totally serial stuff (nod to Al Gore of the forever-hint) to talk about—and we are music theorist including Uncle_Monty—but he won’t/can’t because it is music and that is all he is interested in. Well, at least he pointed out loud and clear with suitable pauses that there are those things to investigate, which many of us would have, as contemporary composers/theorists—how else was the modern North American discipline of Music Theory invented, as a breakaway from the Musicology as practiced in the old German tradition, though perhaps headed more toward notationless stuff now, and perhaps not because of John Cage’s Notations (I bought my copy for $6 of something and it is worth hundreds now, not that I could do without it—I am stealing someone’s blog post taken from Notations as the copy of the book was mine; extremely pertinent as I am impertinent)—as approaches to the pre-composition of serial works, reminds me of trifid...-ciphers. But the music was beamed in from Saturn, we were told. I BET it was said for my benefit to lead me astray (I don’t even smoke) once again about the whole Saturnalia rag. But I am Scott Jopling. Who do vodou. (No inslut to vodou, but to pretenders to it and abusers of it, same for Wiccan faiths and practices: I truly believe these things should NOT be insulted. Just like using an obituary for some secret message or doing cocaine from a church altar.) So. My new piano piece. No, back to Charlier and Shinier matters more Guarded than most. EVERY entry is covered my modesty beads, Rubik, D, man, Saturn, Brain, I will not go on because I will be reproducing the article and comments (it is a CIF—comment is free or foment is creem or fascist suck anything strapped on to intelligence like the C-extension to the E-string of a contrabass) so no comment and sue the pants off me please because I will have to do my laundry because I am terrible at showering and doing the laundry and sleeping and get me arrested or naked-ish in the laundromat so I can clean my act up or I had an ex-girlfriend who got naked a lot semi-pubically but once in a high rise (yeah, personal geometry is none of your bidness) the modesty beads came out, or clothes, don’t want the Scientologists, our neighbors, or employers across the river in 5-4-5(to the-)4 to know or see the task at hand. But that was years ago. Here is the movie, if I can get it on Youtube. Read on! Pretend it is yours, write a cunning application to the American Academy in Rome (where I spent a lot of time with Cammy and other friends and colleagues—some of who went on to Villa I Tatti and Dumb-art-on Oaks) and be an artist, sleep with an old poet or two, whatever, we all bossa [some description of novelty or explosion].
Yup yip yip Open Sesame RADIO! Just visible, but an invitation to your own computer. I don’t know what PCs are like, but this is either open source-ish from sourceFORGE-ish or academic agent-006 because -007 is HOT and I am straight, and Macs are kind of more lectrocratic than PCs.
Keep the Streets Empty for Me
Memory comes when memory’s old
I am never the first to know
Following this stream up north
Where do people like us float?
There is room in my lap
For bruises, asses, handclaps
I will never disappear
For forever, I’ll be here
Whispering
Morning keep the streets empty for me
Morning keep the streets empty for me
I learned to not eat the snow
My fur is hot, my tongue is cold
On a bed of spider web
I think about to change myself
A lot of hope in one man tent
There’s no room for innocence
So take me home before the storm
Velvet mites will keep us warm
Whispering
Morning keep the streets empty for me
Morning keep the streets empty for me
x2
Uncover our heads and reveal our souls
We were hungry before we were born
x4
To which was commented: “... my streets are always empty...” which makes me want to love the world for a mo.
So this movie, my little gift. It is of a portion of the printable characters using quickview or (or TextEdit would be the same) the Flash file listed (possibly not .txt but that is just a way of lazily forcing the easy viewing of it). And this is just the localized strings (though there looks like a lot more than the localized strings, if you know what they are.) Let me say: nothing. Why? Just a matter of custom. What custom? One that I don’t know. Is it spoken? No. Does anyone learn it explicitly? No. How is it learned by anyone? By perpetual hint. One hint is many, or one word is many: In “Stairway to Heaven” we learn there are two paths we can by go by. That sounds, yeah, make choices. YES in many ways. But two paths, left and right. Very often we explicitly hear “right” as in “I’m trying to make things right around here” or Loquat, from “Need Air”: “If this was a race, who’d win or lose?/ It’s time we start, the letter part./ If you go left, then I guess, I’ll go right./ We’ll see what we come up with when we meet tonight.” (I won’t both to see if “letter” should be “latter.” I thought it was the latter. But it is irrelevant, because the letter works in any case, and, moreover, things are pronounced so as to impart this or that apart from that which is written, so cunning you could pin a tail on it and call it foxy or even inkorrekt. As for race. A specious word.) Or my spiel about I am David and rights of passage. Colonizing thought. What is left in this world, or should I say, who? Where are my peeps, my bros, or “bruhs” as they seem to say downunder these days.
Oh, and the following video is just a resource file. It is intentional blurred; with a Mac, you can reckon for yourself this one. You ought to see an actual FLV file. NO DIFFERENT! Or an MP3 of AIFF: why are there “phrases” in common between the two, outside of tags? Hmmmm. And with GIFs and JPGs, and even C programs in Unix or at least Darwin or Mach-O or OS X whatever they call it these days. It’s, like, random, or my biography, or yours, or more, or more-more, or perhaps on stereo files byte order has to be swapped (as demonstrated by the file name at the ends of mp3s). Or perhaps there are hash or cipher tables (d’uh) or enough staring to figure out it is layers, or is there a echo at ten characters (wild assertion time) because they might be the spectrographic text to be printed. Stereoscopic? Some misleading layers. Very hard to leave/learn. For a while—I have some of one of my compositions in spectro form from iZotope RX Advanced printed out after careful parametric settings taped to my bedroom floor (because there is much floor due to our bed being non-existent. I had a few stabs really hard practicing into the wall and backs of chairs, like, I mean writing ideas like stabs at solving a problem, and I read about my favorite parts of New Zealand only two people know about, and recently. And, true to my narcissism, which my second-to-last knock-out (technically speaking) of a girlfriend accused me very much of as I was suffering from a bad break-preposition, how touching, it helped a lot being held, accountable I was for s much of my own difficulteries it is very true, so I read about my implant (cf. Efterklang, not just cloning, ha) which is a strange looking thing and not some mystical MIT or government way of controlling thoughts (see appropriate YouTubes yourself or come to our show—a colleague/collaborator and I—at the Enormous Room Of Restless Rebuttal—are doing, just to beat some research and outdo ourselves in who-really-knows but if my nephew/niece—is there are collective term?—have bunks, and were I to sleep in that spare room of several at my parents’ house in Napier, I’d have to debed that messy lisp of a room), true to my narcissism not just the implant but a message among many about the military putting something in my head, perhaps just magnetic RELAY (she’d be so lucky) devices perhaps thin film magazinetism, which is developed as would films be near my temporary pseudo-office in all its debasing mention FORESKIN! Time for BrisFect of -Fess BUT BUT BUT (I am now listening to Azure Ray after Fever Ray, next it will be “Over the Ray nbow” sung by Barbra Streisand with some TV show host at the same time as “Chasing Rainbows” which is on a tune from Chopin). True to form I forget what I am writing about (true?) about what response I/it would have to loud sounds. Perhaps it feeds off certain frequencies. Perhaps all this, well, get this: at a concert last night, of Mantra and Marteau, the musical director at NEC of the C group for new music said, there is all that codedaphonic row like totally serial stuff (nod to Al Gore of the forever-hint) to talk about—and we are music theorist including Uncle_Monty—but he won’t/can’t because it is music and that is all he is interested in. Well, at least he pointed out loud and clear with suitable pauses that there are those things to investigate, which many of us would have, as contemporary composers/theorists—how else was the modern North American discipline of Music Theory invented, as a breakaway from the Musicology as practiced in the old German tradition, though perhaps headed more toward notationless stuff now, and perhaps not because of John Cage’s Notations (I bought my copy for $6 of something and it is worth hundreds now, not that I could do without it—I am stealing someone’s blog post taken from Notations as the copy of the book was mine; extremely pertinent as I am impertinent)—as approaches to the pre-composition of serial works, reminds me of trifid...-ciphers. But the music was beamed in from Saturn, we were told. I BET it was said for my benefit to lead me astray (I don’t even smoke) once again about the whole Saturnalia rag. But I am Scott Jopling. Who do vodou. (No inslut to vodou, but to pretenders to it and abusers of it, same for Wiccan faiths and practices: I truly believe these things should NOT be insulted. Just like using an obituary for some secret message or doing cocaine from a church altar.) So. My new piano piece. No, back to Charlier and Shinier matters more Guarded than most. EVERY entry is covered my modesty beads, Rubik, D, man, Saturn, Brain, I will not go on because I will be reproducing the article and comments (it is a CIF—comment is free or foment is creem or fascist suck anything strapped on to intelligence like the C-extension to the E-string of a contrabass) so no comment and sue the pants off me please because I will have to do my laundry because I am terrible at showering and doing the laundry and sleeping and get me arrested or naked-ish in the laundromat so I can clean my act up or I had an ex-girlfriend who got naked a lot semi-pubically but once in a high rise (yeah, personal geometry is none of your bidness) the modesty beads came out, or clothes, don’t want the Scientologists, our neighbors, or employers across the river in 5-4-5(to the-)4 to know or see the task at hand. But that was years ago. Here is the movie, if I can get it on Youtube. Read on! Pretend it is yours, write a cunning application to the American Academy in Rome (where I spent a lot of time with Cammy and other friends and colleagues—some of who went on to Villa I Tatti and Dumb-art-on Oaks) and be an artist, sleep with an old poet or two, whatever, we all bossa [some description of novelty or explosion].
Yup yip yip Open Sesame RADIO! Just visible, but an invitation to your own computer. I don’t know what PCs are like, but this is either open source-ish from sourceFORGE-ish or academic agent-006 because -007 is HOT and I am straight, and Macs are kind of more lectrocratic than PCs.
