sweaty crease 44

Back, to play.

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1. play the music
2. look at photos
3. play again if music stops


Keith Mansfield - Crash Course
(waiwan Re-Edit)
pressed in 1977




















At night, however, I opened out, I began to grow again, I became a bat,


I left the university and wandered around Mexico City like a wraith (I can't in all honesty say like a fairy, although I would like to) and drank and talked and attended literary gatherings (I knew where to find them all) and counseled the young poets who came to see me even back then, though not as much as they would later on, and I had a kind word for each of them. What am I saying: a word! I had a hundred or a thousand words for every one of them; to me they were all grandsons of Lopez Velarde, great-grandsons of Salvador Diaz Miron, those brave, troubled boys, those downhearted boys adrift in the nights of Mexico City, those brave boys who turned up with their sheets of foolscap folded in two and their dog-eared volumes and their scruffy notebooks and sat in cafes that never close or in the most depressing bars in the world, where I was the only woman, except, occasionally, for the ghost of Lillian Serpas (but more about Lillian later), and they gave me their poems to read, their verses, their fuddled translations, and I took those sheets of foolscap and read them in silence, with my back to the table where they were raising their glasses desperately trying to be ingenious or ironic or cynical, poor angels, and I plunged into those words (I can't in all honesty say into that river of words, although I would like to, since it wasn't so much a river as an inchoate babble), letting them seep into my very marrow, I spent a moment alone with those words choked by the brilliance and sadness of youth,


















with those splinters of a shattered dime-store mirror, and I looked at myself or rather for myself in them, and there I was!


Auxilio Lacouture, or fragments of Auxilio Lacouture: blue eyes, blond hair going gray, cut in a bob, long, thin face, lined forehead, and the fact of my selfhood sent a shiver down my spine, plunged me into a sea of doubts, made me anxious about the future, the days approaching at the pace of a cruise ship, although the vision also proved that I was living in and with my time, the time I had chosen, the time all around me, tremulous, changeable, teeming, happy.
- Roberto Bolanos (cut)

Day FortyFive - Under The Water; Secrets

Chez - Everybody Wants To Rule The World
main mix
pressed in 2006







































welcome to your life
there's no turning back
even while we sleep
we will find you
acting on your best behavior
turn your back on mother nature
everybody wants to rule the world


the world (the world)
the world (the world)

it's my whole design
it's my whole remorse
help me to decide
help me make the most of freedom
and of pleasure
nothing ever lasts forever
everybody wants to rule the world

there's a room where the light won't find you
holding hands while the walls come tumbling down
when they do, i'll be right behind you
so glad we've almost made it
so sad they had to fade it
everybody wants to rule the world

the world (the world)
the world (the world)

no matter where you go
no matter what you do
no matter who you see
or who you try to be
everybody wants to rule the world

no matter what you do
no matter what you say
everybody wants to rule the world

whether it's you, whether it's me
or him, or her
we all want to rule the world
no matter who you be
no matter who you please
everybody wants to rule the world

the world (the world)
the world (the world)



"That is the language dragons speak, and the language Segoy spoke who made the islands of the world, and the language of our lays and songs, spells, enchantments, and invocations. Its words lie hidden and changed amoung our Hardic words. We call the foam on the waves sukien: that word is made from two words of the Old Speech, suk, feather, and inien, the sea. Feather of the sea is foam. But cannot charm the foam calling it sukien; you must use its own true name in the Old Speech, which is essa. But there are many more, and some have been lost over the ages, and some have been hidden, and some are known only to dragons and the Old Powers of Earth, and some are known to no living creature; and no man could learn them all. For there is no end to that language."











"Here is the reason. The sea's name is inien, well and good. But what we call the Inmost Sea has its own true name also in the Old Speech. Since no thing can have two true names, inien can mean only 'all the sea except the Inmost Sea.'





And of course it does not mean even that, for there are seas and bays and straits beyond counting that bear names of their own. So if some Mage-Seamaster were mad enough to try to lay a spell of storm or calm over the ocean, his spell must say not only that word inien, but the name of every stretch and bit and part of the sea through all the Archipelago and all the Outer Reaches and beyond to where names cease. A mage can control only what is near him, what he can name exactly and wholly. And this is well. If it were not so, the wickedness of the powerful or the folly of the wise would long ago have sought to change what cannot be changed, and Equilibrium would fail. The unbalanced sea would overwhelm the islands where we perilously dwell, and in the old silence all voices and all names would be lost." - Ursula K. Le Guin (cut)

sweaty crease 43

Clearly, click that play.

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1. play the music
2. look at photos
3. play again if music stops


Jamiroquai - Do You Know Where You're Coming From?
pressed in 1996



















ohh! do you know where you're coming from?
nothing is as clear...


imagine in your mind
oasis
far and wide beyond our living
sure enough i'm tired of tryna
hang on when this world is spinning
i was left down
there was no light
there was no sound
here in the dark
fishin' around for meaning
i had to ask
someone i knew
not so far away from where i was
she said,

"hey, do you know (mmmm) where you're comin' from?
hey, do you know now where you're going to?"
she said,
"hey, have you been, somewhere you've never ever been before?"
i said,
"well, nothing is as clear"

nothing is as clear without a
holding hand to gently guide you
once that disappeared
but it's so close, now that i'm here beside you

i was left down
there was no light
there was no sound
here in the dark
fishin' around for meaning
i had to ask someone i knew
not so far away from where i was
she said,

"hey, do you know, where you're comin' from?
hey, do you know now where you're going to?"
she said,
"hey, have you been somewhere you've never been before?"
now nothing is as clear

ohh! do you know, now where you're going to?
she said,
"hey, do you know, now where you're coming from?
hey, have you been somewhere you've never ever been before?"
nothing is as clear...

i was left down

imagine in your mind
oasis
far and wide beyond our living
sure enough i'm tired of tryna
hang on when this world is spinning
i was left down
there was no light
there was no sound
here in the dark
fishin' around for meaning
i had to ask
someone i knew
not so far away from where i was
she said,

"oh! do you know where you're comin' from?
hey! do you know where you're going to?
hey! have you been, somewhere you've never ever been before?"
ohh, now nothing
can ever be so clear...
la la la la la la la la la la la







Sure we shadowed him:
Tuesday we sit outside his house all day, but he no home. Wednesday we went to the ball game, he fool us and no show up. Thursday he go to the ball game, but we fool him and we no show up. Friday it was a double header, nobody show up, so we stay home and listened to it on the radio.
- Chico Marx (cut)

Day FortyFour - Strategic Mimesis♠

DJ Yellow/King Britt - Tranzylvania
pressed in 2007










The possessed person, who no longer speaks, really is asked, in the course of the trance, to name the spirit and malefic power that haunts him. But in what form?




















In the form of mimetic speech in which the possessed person vaticinates, as Plato said of the poet-mimetician, "under the name of another." Hence, this speech is not a speech of dia-logue (with the spirit, with others in general); rather, it is a matter of "inspired" speech in which the "self" is indistinguishable from the "other" (even if, from the doctor's point of view and from that of the assembled spectators, it serves to put an end to that pathetic identification). By privileging the roll of speech in the trance, we consequently risk forgetting its very particular character, which is to indicate an experience that is lived outside of representation, and which by this very fact, can be communicated, in language, only in the form of the mimetic indistinction between "self" and "other." Speech is efficacious only if it is, first and foremost, speech of the trance, a speech enacted, heart and soul.



















In any case, the fact remains that the shaman himself is a formerly possessed person who has victoriously traversed the experience of the trance, or who at least has simulated it by the ingestion of toxic substances such as tobacco juice. The shaman cures all illnesses only because he has cured the illness par excellence, and thus, as 'technician of ecstacy' (Mircea Eliade), he can master the paradoxical operation of the trance.





















Hence it seems to me that it is rather the confidence accorded the power of the symbol which is largely archaic. As for the trance, which upset traditional societies just as much as it does our modern anthropology, perhaps we are in a better position today to approach it without guilt or mythology, as the magnetizers had begun to do: no longer as our part maudite but as a sleep of reason that no longer engenders any monsters - in short, as just as banal and beneficent as our nightly sleep - no longer, therefore, as a terrifying and mysterious Other but as our true mirror.
- Mikkel Borch-Jacobsen (cut)

sweaty crease 42

Play, thematically.

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1. play the music
2. look at photos
3. play again if music stops


Abacothozi - Theme Maboneng
pressed in 2008
























I read the first line, re-read it and stopped.












I had to admit, I could not have introduced that article with any words but those. I closed my eyes, thought I could guess the following sentence, and there it was, word for word. I covered the text with my hands and went along removing my fingers inch by inch, opening words letter by letter like a poker player squeezing his cards, and they were precisely the words I was expecting. I then tried the most unexpected words, neologisms, archaisms, a fucking hell out of the blue, brilliant metaphors that I came up with on the spot, and whatever else I conceived of was already printed there under my hands. It was harrowing, it was like having an interlocutor that continuously took words from my mouth, it was agony. It was like having a plagiariser who preceded me, a spy in my skull, a leak of the imagination.













I began to look askance at the lad and thought of challenging him face to face, pressing him against the wall, but soon another lad was hired, and another, and Alvaro succeeded in imposing my style on all of them, almost leading me to believe that my own style, back at the beginning, had also been the result of his manipulation. - Chico Buarque (cut)

Day FortyThree - Slumber Soul

Al Green - Full Of Fire
pressed in 1976













i'm full of fire (full of fire, full of fire)
you're my one desire
baby, i'm full of fire (full of fire, full of fire)
you can make me cry
i can dance, to the music
i can sing, all night long
i can play, with the band
until you hear my song

















'cause i'm full of fire (full of fire, full of fire)
i see the party lights
baby, i'm full of fire (full of fire, full of fire)
and they're red and white

i can dance with the fire
burnin', burnin' low
i can stay until the party
is all over


baby, i
baby, i love

hey, I'm full of fire (full of fire, full of fire)
and i'm over twenty one
baby, i'm full of fire (full of fire, full of fire)
and my life has just begun

ooo ooo, I can dance to the music
and I can under
understand that there must be another power
that is holding my hand

dance
dance, dance
oh I understand
young lady, young man
i say i understand

i can
baby, i
baby, i love

hey, i'm full of fire (full of fire, full of fire)
and i'm over twenty one
baby, i'm full of fire (full of fire, full of fire)
and my life has just begun

ooo ooo i can dance to the music
and i can under
understand that there must be another power
that is holding my hand

dance
dance...dance
oh i understand
young lady, young man
i say i understand

i can dance
dance, dance, dance, dance
hey, hey
i understand
understand, understand, understand

hey, hey
there's some things you may not know
but i want the horns to blow
hey, hey
there's some thangs you may not know
but i want the horns to blow
hey, hey
and i can dance
dance, dance, dance, dance
hey, hey
i understand
understand, understand, understand
hey, hey
there's some things you may not know
but i want the horns to blow
hey, hey
there's some thangs you may not know
but i want the horns to blow
hey, hey
and i can dance
let me say that i can dance




























"As a DJ you try to tell a story? Achieve a certain linearity, no?"
"No, I just play what I feel like hearing."
"No, you don't. You play what you think we should hear."
One day I'm going to call those folks at the Berlitz School of Language, tell them I want my money back, that there is no such thing as conversational German, only argumentative German. She had a beautiful voice. The timbre of the German female voice is pitch-perfect. Every time I go to kiss one I'm afraid I'm going to catch something. They all sound like Marlene Dietrich with a head cold. The rasp denotes a woman who's able to take care of herself and, if need be, me too (in a film noir, femme fatale sense). I've come to realize that the high-pitched American-female "Oh My God!" squeal is a ploy for attention. A soprano subterfuge for a weakness sometimes feigned, sometimes ingrained, but always annoying.
"But you tell a story with what you play."
"What story is that?"
"A love story."
"It's soul music. It's like new-wave French cinema, it's always about love." - Paul Beatty (cut)

sweaty crease 41

Play all night.

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1. play the music
2. look at photos
3. play again if music stops


Blaze - #6 Hubert St.
klubhead style mix
pressed in 1994



















anything goes...
at the party
anything goes...
at the party





Vodka
Tomato Juice
Tabasco
Worcestershire
Lemon juice
Salt/Pepper
Ice
Wedge of Lime
Celery Stick
etc...

Day FortyTwo - We Are You Are We

Crazy Penis - You Are We
pressed in 2003

you
you
you
you
you
you
you are we
you
you are we



















Have you seen all these faces?

Have you noticed that, in some strange way, they all look alike? Is there not something that makes them all resemble each other, an invisible thread that joins their souls? When you look into the faces of these quiet creatures who don't know how to tell stories - who are mute, who can't make themselves heard, who fade into the woodwork, who only think of the perfect answer after the fact, after they're back home, who can never think of a story that anyone else will find interesting - is there not more depth and more meaning in them? You can see every letter of every untold story swimming on their faces, and all the signs of silence, dejection, and even defeat. You can even imagine your own face in those faces, can't you?



How many we are, how much anguish we all carry, and how helpless most of us are in the face of the world!
- Orhan Pamuk (cut)

sweaty crease 40

Black, Yellow and Play.

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1. play the music
2. look at photos
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Bernard Herrmann - Taxi Driver
pressed in 1976
































I have made a pact with prostitution in order to sow disorder among families.


I remember the night that preceded this dangerous alliance. I saw before me a tomb. I heard a glowworm, large as a house, saying to me: "I will be your light. Read the inscription. It is not from me whence comes this supreme command." A vast bloodred radiance at the appearance of which my jaws chattered and my arms fell powerless to my sides, spread out through the air to the horizon. I leaned against a ruined wall, for I felt myself falling, and I read:

"Here lies a child who died consumptive. You know why. Pray not for him."

Many men perhaps would not have had my courage. Meanwhile a naked and beautiful woman came and lay down at my feet. Sad-faced, I said to her: "You may arise." I offered her the hand with which a fratricide disembowels his sister.
The glowworm said to me: "You: take a stone and kill her."

"Why?" I asked.

"Beware," he said to me, "you are the weaker for I am the stronger. This woman is called Prostitution."

Tears rushed to my eyes, rage to my heart, and I felt an unknown power born within me. I seized a great rock and after a struggle raised it barely to the level of my breast. I balanced it upon my shoulder. I climbed to the summit of a mountain: thence, I crushed the glowworm. Its head was forced into the earth to the height of a man; the stone bounded into the air as high as six churches and fell into a lake the waters of which momentarily sank, whirling, hollowing into an immense inverted cone. Then the confusion subsided, the bloody glare was no more. "Alas, alas!" shrieked the naked and beautiful woman, "what have you done?"

"I prefer you to him," I replied, "because I pity the unfortunate. It is not your fault that eternal justice created you."

"Some day," she said, "men will render me justice. I will say no more. Let me go and conceal my infinite sorrow at the bottom of the sea. Only you, and the loathsome monsters that haunt those murky depths, do not despise me. You are good. Farewell, you who have loved me!"

And I: "Farewell, again farewell! I shall love you always. From today I abandon virtue!"

It is for this reason, O peoples of the earth, that when you shall hear the winter wind sighing over the sea and along its shores, or across the great cities which long ago were decked in mourning for me, or through the icy polar regions, you shall say: "That is not the spirit of God passing. It is only the bitter sigh of Prostitution mingled with the solemn groans of the Montevidean."














Children, it is I who tell you this. And so, full of pity, fall upon your knees; and let mankind, more numerous than lice, offer up long prayers.
- Isidore Ducasse, le Comte de Lautréamont (cut)

Day FortyOne - Lushes in TechneColor

John Coltrane & Johnny Hartman - Lush Life
pressed in 1963





















































i used to visit all the very gay places
those come-what-may places


where one relaxes on the axis of the wheel of life
to get the feel of life
from jazz and cocktails

the girls i knew had sad and sullen gray faces
with distingue hair traces
that used to be there you could see where they'd been washed away
by too many through the day
twelve o'clock tales

then you came along with your siren song
to tempt me to madness
i thought for awhile that your poignant smile
was tinged with the sadness of a great love for me
ah yes, i was wrong
again, i was wrong

life is lonely again
and only last year everything seemed so sure
Now life is awful again
a trough full of hearts
could only be a bore

a week in Paris would ease the bite of it
all I care is to smile in spite of it

i'll forget you
i will while yet you are still
burning inside my brain
romance is mush, stifling those who strive

i'll live a lush life in some small dive
and there I'll be
while I rot with the rest
of those whose lives are lonely too

romance is mush, stifling those who strive
i'll live a lush life in some small dive
and there I'll be
while I rot with the rest
of those whose lives are lonely too

sweaty crease 39

Para Jugar, Nubes y Lluvia

swcrease39.nfo

1. play the music
2. look at photos
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Batidos - Agua
pressed in 2001



















agua, agua
agua, agua
















ha caido la lluvia de amor en mi corazon
sobre lleva poema que lleva esta cancion
arcoides impulsivo llego
lluvia esta de mi vida callo


lluvia
agua pura

es cayo
ya lo obre
yo sone
lo que ya paso
cielo azul, como tu, comenze y movidar el fue

es cayo
ya lo obre
yo sone lo que ya paso
cielo azul, como tu, comenze y movidar el fue

yo requerdo onde dando pasando en mi soleda
sientimentos de ti paciencia continuara
caminando con las olas sin pa
por supuesto recuerdo el pasado

lluvia
agua pura
lluvia
pura lluvia

agua, agua
agua, agua






But Leo would not answer him. Leo had run a night cafe for fourteen years, and he held himself to be a critic of craziness. There were town characters and also transients who roamed in from the night. He knew the manias of all of them. But he did not want to satisfy the questions of the waiting child. He tightened his pale face and was silent.

So the boy pulled down the right flap of his helmut and as he turned to leave he made the only comment that seemed safe to him, the only remark that could not be laughed down and despised:

"He sure has done a lot of traveling."

- Carson McCullers (cut)

Day Forty - "We're Walking In Clouds Here"

Bachelors Of Science - The Beautiful Life
pressed in 2009
































This blog happens with the effort of many different people who through inspiration, concentration, and/or unknowing collaboration make swimming gritty possible. Thank you.

sweaty crease 38

Soju & play

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1. play the music
2. look at photos
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Bill Evans Trio - Sugar Plum
pressed in 1971












Several centuries ago, the Pope decreed that all the Jews had to leave Italy. There was, of course, a huge outcry from the Jewish community, so the Pope offered a deal. He would have a religious debate with a leader of the Jewish community. If the Jewish leader won the debate, the Jews would be permitted to stay in Italy. If the Pope won, the Jews would have to leave.

The Jewish community met and picked an aged rabbi, Moishe, to represent them in the debate. Rabbi Moishe, however, could not speak Latin, and the Pope could not speak Yiddish. So it was decided that this would be a 'silent' debate.

On the day of the great debate, the Pope and Rabbi Moishe sat opposite each other for a full minute before the Pope raised his hand and showed three fingers. Rabbi Moishe looked back and raised one finger. Next, the Pope waved his finger around his head. Rabbi Moishe pointed to the ground where he sat. The Pope then brought out a communion wafer and a chalice of wine. Rabbi Moishe pulled out an apple. With that, the Pope stood up and said, "I concede the debate. This man has bested me. The Jews can stay."

Later, the cardinals gathered around the Pope, asking him what had happened. The Pope said, "First I held up three fingers to represent the Trinity. He responded by holding up one finger to remind me that there was still one God common to both our religions. Then I waved my finger around me to show him that God was all around us. He responded by pointing to the ground to show that God was also right here with us. I pulled out the wine and the wafer to show that God absolves us of our sin. He pulled out an apple to remind me of original sin. He had an answer for everything. What could I do?

Meanwhile, the Jewish community crowded around Rabbi Moishe, asking what happened. "Well," said Moishe, "first he said to me, 'You Jews have three days to get out of here.' So I said to him, 'Not one of us is going to leave.' Then he tells me the whole city would be cleared out of Jews. So I said to him, 'Listen here, Mr. Pope, the Jews....we stay right here!'"


"And then?" asked a woman.
"Who knows?" said Rabbi Moishe. "We broke for lunch." - Zadie Smith (cut)

Day ThirtyNine - Plastic Logo(s)

The Timewriter - Words
pressed in 2000






















hold on tight
to the words of the evolution
hold on right
i have the solution


"The way they live in the shadows, live willingly with death. The way they hate many things you hate. Their discipline and cunning. The coherence of their lives. The way they excite, they excite admiration. In societies reduced to blur and glut, terror is the only meaningful act. There's too much everything, more things and messages and meanings than we can use in ten thousand lifetimes. Inertia-hysteria. Is history possible? Is anyone serious? Who do we take seriously? Only the lethal believer, the person who kills and dies for faith. Everything else is absorbed and processed and incorporated. Give him a dollar, put him in a TV commercial. Only the terrorist stands outside. The culture hasn't figured out how to assimilate him. It's confusing when they kill the innocent. But this is precisely the language of being noticed, the only language the West understands. The way they determine how we see them. The way they dominate the rush of endless streaming images. I said in London, Bill. It's the novelist who understands the secret life, the rage that underlies all obscurity and neglect. You're half-murderers, most of you." - Don DeLillo (cut)

sweaty crease 37

Play, Ivy

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1. play the music
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Club Ice - Manhasset
pressed in 1992


















we'll be
will be work, will will be work, we'll be

will be work, will will be work, we'll be
will be work, will will be work, we'll be
will be work, will will be work, we'll be
will be work, will will be work, we'll be
will be work, will will be work, we'll be

aw baby, yea, aw baby, yeah
aw baby, yea, aw baby, yeah
aw baby, yea, aw baby, yeah

there is a place where i wanna take you in my spare time
and this place will rock you and really blow, blow your mind
i don't know about you, but i really, really, really, really want to go
the repetition is strong and the bassistic can on and on

aw baby, yea, aw baby, yeah (don't you wanna go)
(dont you wanna go)
aw baby, yea, aw baby, yeah
aw baby, yea, aw baby, yeah

to a place, to a place called Manhasset
to a place, to a place called Manhasset
to a place called Manhasset

aw baby, yea, aw baby, yeah
aw baby, yea, aw baby, yeah
aw baby, yea, aw baby, yeah
aw baby, yea, aw baby, yeah

open your hands and let the sound come in
you will find in your mind that you like and you love it
oohhh, i'm talkin' bout the music
i'm talkin' bout the music, woah, yeah

aw baby, yea, aw baby (don't you wanna go)
(don't you wanna go)

sure you do
(work it) (work it)












don't want to go with me (work it)
i'll take you there (work it)
don't you want to go with me (work it)
i'll take you there with me, oh yea,ee,ee,yeah (work it)
don't you wanna go (work it)

the party people will be work, will will be work
will be working you
(will be work, will will be work, we'll be)
like they're working me
don't you wanna go, go with me
to a place, to a place, called Manhasset
to a place, to a place called Manhasset
to a place called Manhasset


will be work, will will be work, we'll be
will be work, will will be work, we'll be
will be work, will will be work, we'll be
will be work, will will be work, we'll be
aw baby, yea, aw baby, yeah
will be work, will will be work, we'll be
will be work, will will be work, we'll be

Day ThirtyEight - Marketing BS; Management

Potential BadBoy & Yush - You're Mine
remix by DJ Hype
pressed in 2004









dj hype
he'll never let you go
oh no

wha!!!
wake the talentened people
'bout to bein' disco'n be your way
don't you bother bein' no far away

dj hype
he'll never let you go
oh no



wake the talentened people
'bout to bein' disco'n be your way
don't you bother bein' no far away

wha!!!
dj hype
he'll never let you go
oh no
i never could let you go
oh no
oh no
dj hype
he'll never let you go
oh no
oh no
oh no
dj hype
he'll never let you go
oh no
no mercy tonight!
dj hype
he'll never let you go
oh no
dj hype
he'll never let you go
you're mine
wake the talentened people
'bout to bein' disco'n be your way
don't you bother bein' no far away
no mercy tonight!
come again and do't right
dj hype
he'll never let you go
oh no
you're mine
i'll never let you go
you're mine
dj hype
he'll never let you go
oh no
dj hype
dj hype




















Hungarian Language:

savage it may be but of a beauty that has nothing human about it, with sonorities of another universe, powerful and corrosive, appropriate to prayer, to groans and to tears, risen out of hell to perpetuate its accent and its aura…words of nectar and cyanide. - Emile Cioran (cut)