Day ThirtyTwo - La Fiebre de los Gatos

Van Morrison - T.B. Sheets
pressed in 1967


























now listen

julie baby it ain't natural for you to cry at midnight
it ain't natural for you to cry
when the midnight come
into the wee small hours
long 'fore the break of dawn
o lord

now julie there ain't nothing on my mind more further away than what you're looking for
i seen ya when you jumped at me
live from behind the door
and looked into my eyes
your little star struck innuendoes, inadequacies and
foreign bodies
and the sunlight shining through the crack in the windowpane
numbs my brain
and the sunlight shining through the crack in the windowpane
numbs my brain
o lord

i said open up the window
and let me breathe
i say open up the window
let me breathe

i lookin' down the street below, lord
i cried for ya
i cried
i cried for ya
o lord

the cool room
lord, is the fool's room
the cool room
lord, is a fool's room
and i can almost smell, your TB sheets
and i can almost smell, your TB sheets
on your sick bed
i gotta go
i gotta go
and he said please stay
i wanna
i wanna, i wanna drink of water, i wanna drink a water
go in the kitchen and get me a drink of water
i say, i gotta go, i gotta go baby
i said, i send, i send somebody around later
you know, we got jan comin' around here later with a bottle of wine for you baby
but i gotta go

the cool room
lord, is a fool's room
the cool room
lord, lord, is a fool's room (fool's room)
and i can almost smell
your TB sheets
i can almost smell your TB sheets
TB
i gotta go (i gotta go)
i'll send 'round, send 'round one of them numbers later on babe
i'll see what i can pick up for ya, you know, uh
yeah, i got a few things going or two
don't worry about it, don't worry about it, don't worry
go, go, go
gotta go, gotta go, gotta go, gotta go, gotta go
alright, alright

i turn on the radio
i wanna hear a few tunes, turn on the radio for ya
there you go, there you go
there ya go, baby
there ya go

you been alright too (haha, yeah)
i know, it ain't funny, it ain't funny at all, baby
you laying in the cool room, man (layin' in the cool room)

sweaty crease 30

Greener and grassier, play.

swcrease30.nfo

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


The Swiss Movement - The Grass is Greener
pressed in 1973


do, do, do, doo! doo!
do, do, do, doo! doo!

youève got a ring on your finger, but you watch the girls as they walk by
youève got a pocket full of money, but you want more so youère thinking youèll try
youève got a beautiful home to live in, but you want one thatès bigger out there
yes you do
youève got friends that care, but you donèt think about them, no, no, not you
no, no, no

and everyoneès grass is greener, on everyone elseès lawn
everyoneès grass looks nicer
but you donèt know till it is gooone

rings cars fancy clothes big planned home, everybody knows
bird in the hand is worth two in the bush
hey man
be thankful
for what youève got

you gotta a job that pays well, but you think that life is so tough
you look at the other man and you donèt think youève got it no no, no, no
you want more, (more) much more(more), not satisfied (more) with what youève got

but when you ever gonna realize
that what youève got is an awful lot
hey hey

everyoneès grass is greener, on everyone elseès lawn
everyoneès grass looks nicer
and you donèt know till it is gooone

everyoneès grass is greener, on everyone elseès lawn
(take the time to see)everyoneès grass looks nicer
on everyone elses lawn

(everything is everything)
everyoneès grass is greener, on everyone elseès lawn











The first time I actually spoke to Rema: she was again sitting right in front of me at the Hungarian Pastry Shop, and I had leaned forward toward that hair, and I actually tapped her shoulder, but then what was I going to say if she turned aroundÉ I had no plan.




She did indeed turn around in her chair, her profile showing off her long, gently fluted nose and the tendons on her neck.

I found myself asking her if she was Hungarian.

During the silence of indeterminate length that followed I fixed my gaze upon her forehead, since I couldnèt possibly look straight into her eyes, and what I eventually heard, in a lilting long-voweled accent, was: Why do you stare at meÉ Do you want anythingÉ
Over the sound of milk being steamed I asked, alarmed, ÈDo I stare at youÉÈ
ÈYou are from HungaryÉÈ came from her, now in a louder voice, to the sound of silverware being sorted.
ÈNo, no.È
ÈOh.È
ÈThough my mother. Actually.È
ÈOhÉÈ
ÈBut no. Not me. A mistake.È
ÈA mistake.È
ÈDo you make cakes hereÉÈ shouted a surprisingly tiny woman across the nearby counter.
And I remember it striking me then (as my mishearing had nearly become conversation) how in my line of work the fact that I sometimes canèt hear so well - I just have trouble disarticulating sounds - is almost a plus, since people give out so many clues about whatès ailing them that are so much more important than the actual words they say. But in all other aspects of my life this ÈqualityÈ left me crippled. - Rivka Galchen (cut)

Day ThirtyOne - Games and Thangs

Mayer Hawthorne & The Country - Maybe So, Maybe No
pressed in 2009

























maybe so
































maybe no

could it be that your love was meant for me
maybe so, maybe no
could it be that your love is meant for me
maybe so, maybe no

i don't know what led me to your love
was it fate? or destiny?
or was it angels from above
smiling down
on you and me
lalalalalalalalalalala
like birds of a feather
here we are together

could it be that your love is meant for me
maybe so, maybe no
could it be that your love was meant for me
maybe so, maybe no

why does time go by so fast now?
when i'm here with you
don't know why minutes seem like hours
when i'm away from you
lalalalalalalalalalala

i'm not sure if it's really real now
is it a dream or maybe a game
all i know is since i lost you girl
my life, hasn't been the same

now everyday we grow
closer together






South of the Rio Grande, once you have crossed the US frontier, the curse begins. The entire South American continent is still living out the moment of the immolation of the empires which collapsed with the arrival of the Spaniards and the Portuguese and which forever will be collapsing.

On the predators' side, the depredation continues - if it isn't the colonials, it's the international mafias. But a corruption and an attendant depravation have set in, as they did among the Indians as early as the sixteeth century, in the joyous and renewed acceptance of the spectacle of a colossal failure.






Just as in North America the primal scene of the 'frontier', of freedom, energy and go-getting endures, so here the opposite primal scene of immolation goes on forever, the scene of the absolute despair of conquest, which has passed into the veins of an entire people, from the veins of the Indians to those of the half-castes and, in the end, of the whole population, including the white race, which seems to accept that there is no hope for this continent and it is doomed to the scandal of extermination. Home of the planet's reserves of chlorophyll and cocaine, of oxygen and of the total corruption of resources and minds.





No one has any real hope of getting out of this. Perhaps there never has been any desire to extricate themselves away from the primal scene, except among a tiny, epiphenomenal intellectual and political stratum. And even their behavior is problematic. Everything is planned in terms of modern norms (plans, programmes, organization), but then, at the psychological moment, there's a loss of interest in the outcome. As thought they proved what had to be done, but then had no will to carry it through. Things then go pretty badly, of course, but don't think this makes them unhappy, since it merely confirms the impossibility of getting out of the mire.

It is the same with personal relations: a generosity, a moving affection and, at the same time, casualness, carelessness - perhaps as affected as the demonstrations of warmth? But no: the point is that nothing must be made certain, in order that play remains possible. The relation to time is the very same as the relation to money and the relation to others: dates, appointments, rates of exchange are all deliberately left in the air. It is a game, it is a destiny. All economic plans are doomed to failure here with such certainty that what happens isn't even a failure; it is a spectacle, and, as such, competes with football, the samba, the cults, the jogo de bicho. This is real Brazil, as Muniz Sodre says, not the simulated Brasil, the one they want to make run on the same lines as the Western techno-democracies. As it really is, the country is no doubt doomed joyously to perpetuate the sacrifice, the immolation, the ritual cannibalizing of all its wealth. And why not?

This profound indifference to one's undertakings, this syncope in one's performance (echoing the syncopation in the rhythm of the samba) comes perhaps from the short-circuit between a primitive, ritualistic world of slowness, in which the cycle completes itself spontaneously, and a modern world of speed and acceleration. The result is incoherent: they go forward, forge ahead determinedly, then fall back suddenly, fatally, into the cycle of slowness and are once again overcome by the lethargic virus of indolence. This is not because of a lack of determination or energy, but because a part of that energy remains caught in the earlier cycle, to which they are still faithful. Hence the serenity with which Brazilians take the failure of their projects or programmes. Nothing is destined to go straight to its target, no one can expect to take an operation through to its conclusion. The end, the remainder, the denouement have to be left to chance, to the devil, to fatality. To claim to control that part du feu, that accursed share, to take responsibility for it is strictly absurd and sacrilegious. It is the cycle which commands and the cycle is like the curvature of the earth. And the indolence, the casualness is merely the silent acceptance in people's heart of that enigmatic element which thwarts every project and ordains that everything be accorded its chance of not succeeding.














What is being destroyed more quickly than the ozone layer is the subtle layer of irony that protects us from the radiation of stupidity. But, conversely, we may also say that the subtle film of stupidity, which protects us from the lethal radiation of intelligence, is also disappearing. We are secreting information at such rate that it is polluting the higher layers of the mental atmosphere with its non-degradable waste, gradually destroying the kind of atmosphere girdle which protects us from our secrets being totally dispersed into artificial intelligence (the way molecules are prevented from totally disappearing into space).
- Jean Baudrillard (cut)

sweaty crease 29

free play.

swcrease29.nfo

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


Adult. - Nausea
pressed in 2000
























nausea.


nnnausea, nausea, nausea.
nausea.

you don't even know how i feel-a
you don't even know how i feel-a
you don't even know how i feel-a
you don't even know how i feel-a

nnnausea, nausea, nausea.
nausea. nausea. nausea, nausea.

you don't even know how i feel-a
you don't even know how i feel-a
you don't even know how i feel-a

you don't even know, you don't even know, you don't even know how i feel-a
you don't even know how i feel-a
nausea.
you don't even know how i feel-a
nausea.
you don't even know how i feel-a
nausea.
you don't even know how i feel-a

nauseaaa.

























Franz Marc - Der Stier

'I see that that declaration amazes you. Have you never suddenly needed understanding, help, friendship? Yes, of course. I have learned to be satisfied with understanding. It is found more readily and, besides, it's not binding. "I beg you to believe in my sympathetic understanding" in the inner discourse always precedes immediately "and now, let's turn to other matters." It's a board chairman's emotion; it comes cheap, after catastrophes. Friendship is less simple. It is long and hard to obtain, but when one has it there's no getting rid of it; one simply has to cope with it. Don't think for a minute that your friends will telephone you every evening, as they ought to, in order to find out if this doesn't happen to be the evening when you are deciding to commit suicide, or simply whether you don't need company, whether you are not in a mood to go out. No, don't worry, they'll ring up the evening you are not alone, when life is beautiful. As for suicide, they would be more likely to push you into it, by virtue of what you owe to yourself, according to them. May heaven protect us, cher monsieur, from being set on a pedestal by our friends! Those whose duty is to love us - I mean relatives and connections (what an expression!) - are another matter. They find the right word, all right, and it hits the bull's-eye; they telephone as if shooting a rifle. And they know how to aim. Oh, the Bazaines!' - Albert Camus (cut)

Day Thirty - Infinitely, Dustily, Endlessly

Cloud One - Dust to Dust
pressed in 1979



























'What you do is you hide your deep need to hide, and you do this out of the need to appear to other people as if you have the strength not to care how you appear to others. You stick your hideous face right there into the wine-tasting crowd's visual meatgrinder, you smile so wide it hurts and put out your hand and are extra gregarious and outgoing, and exert yourself to appear totally unaware of the facial struggles of people who are trying not to wince or stare or give away the fact that they can see that you're hideously, improbably deformed. You feign acceptance of your deformity. You take your desire to hide and conceal it under a mask of acceptance.'
'Use less words.'
'In other words you hide your hiding. And you do this out of shame, Don: you're ashamed of your uncontrolled craving for shadow. U.H.I.D.'s First step is admission of powerlessness over the need to hide. U.H.I.D. allows members to be open about their essential need for concealment. In other words we don the veil. We don the veil and wear the veil proudly and stand very straight and walk briskly wherever we wish, veiled and hidden, and but now completely up-front and unashamed about the fact that we want to be shielded from all sight. U.H.I.D. supports us in our decision to hide openly.'





















The bitch of this thing is that you have to want to. If you don't want to do as you're told - I mean as it's suggested you do - it means that your own personal will is still in control, and Eugenio Martinez over at Ennet House never tires of pointing out that your personal will is the web your Disease sits and spins in, still. The will you call your own ceased to be yours as of who knows how many Substance-drenched years ago. It's now shot through with the spidered fibrosis of your Disease. His own experience's term for the Disease is: The Spider. You have to Starve The Spider: you have to surrender your will. This is why most people will Come In and Hang In only after their own entangled will has just about killed them. You have to want to surrender your will to people who know how to Starve The Spider. You have to want to take the suggestions, want to abide by the traditions of anonymity, humility, surrender to the Group conscience. If you don't obey, nobody will kick you out. They won't have to. You'll end up kicking yourself out, if you steer by your own sick will. This is maybe why just about everybody in the White Flag Group tries so hard to be so disgustingly humble, kind, helpful, tactful, cheerful, nonjudgmental, tidy, energetic, sanguine, modest, generous, fair, orderly, patient, tolerant, attentive, truthful. It isn't like the Group makes them do it. It's more like that the only people who end up able to hang for serious time in AA are the ones who willingly try to be these things. This is why, to the cynical newcomer or fresh Ennet House resident, serious AA's look like those weird combinations of Gandhi and Mr. Rogers with tattoos and enlarged livers and no teeth who used to beat wives and diddle daughters and now rhapsodize about their bowel movements. It's all optional; do it or die.

























(cut)

sweaty crease 28

|aUtO pLaYmAtIc|

swcrease28.nfo

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


Chateau Flight - Auto-Power
pressed in 2000




















"Quite an original:" A phrase we fancy, rather oftener used by the young, or the unlearned, or the untraveled, than by the old, or the well-read, or the man who has made the grand tour.

Certainly, the sense of originality exists at its highest in an infant, and probably at its lowest in him who has completed the circle of the sciences.

As for original characters in fiction, a grateful reader will, on meeting with one, keep the anniversary of that day, True, we sometimes hear of an author who, at one creation, produces some two or three score such characters; it may be possible. But they can hardly be original in the sense that Hamlet is, or Don Quixote, or Milton's Satan. That is to say, they are not, in a thorough sense, original at all. They are novel, or singular, or striking, or captivating, or all four at once.
More likely, they are what are called odd characters; but for that, are no more original, than what is called an odd genius, in his way, is. But, if original, whence came they? Or where did the novelist pick them up?









Where does any novelist pick up any character? For the most part, in town, to be sure. Every great town is a kind of man-show, where the novelist goes for his stock, just as the agriculturist goes to the cattle-show for his. But in the one fair, new species of quadrupeds are hardly more rare, than in the other are new species of characters - that is, original ones. Their rarity may still the more appear from this, that, while characters, merely singular, imply but singular forms so to speak, original ones, truly so, imply original instincts. - Herman Melville (cut)

Day TwentyNine - Second Contact

I found some shoes in the ice.

But, to no avail. My right foot's shot below the ankle. Crunching through the ice froze it stiff and now I cannot twist or bend it to any capacity. If I try to put any pressure or weight on it my achilles tendon creaks and a sharp pain shoots through the arch. I have resigned the use of it and merely drag it along as I explore this frozen wasteland.

Using whatever resources I had, I managed to figure out some things. You see, here in the frozen expanse, the winds whisper many secrets. I've had to develop a crude sense of echo location to make my way to what sounds like a low hum out in the distant horizon.

Often, while I tear pieces of the old tome to use as fodder for a fire, I hear strange and wonderful things in this vast and empty city of ice. It is said that when confronted with the bleakness or nothingness of a place, one's mind can begin to imagine things that aren't really there. In a sense, the mind fills in for lack of external stimuli. This might be an explanation for the sounds I hear at the edges and blind corners of this tundra. But, hardly an adequate one. Or a satisfying one, either.

But, I tire and so head slowly towards the low and distant hum. I can also make out some mountains up ahead where I hope to find some caves where I can escape from this hideous and beastly wind.

sweaty crease 27

play amid the dark.

swcrease27.nfo

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


Jovonn & DJ Deep - Back in the Dark
pressed in 2000





























i'm in the dark
where the real underground is
dark room, smoky atmosphere, crowded dance floor
tsh, that's what we talking about
everybody eyes is closed
just see the crowd hoopin' to a fat jam
they just lose they mind
Jovonn's back
aw yeah-he
revelation of dance music
or shall i say revelation of the real underground
like i said
i'm back

and it's on
check it out
you think my kicks was hard back then?
*tsk* the future's ahead of you
that's right, it's on
let's bring it back to the real underground sound
when underground was real deep
we're gonna bring it back into the 90's
1999 is coming y'all
or shall i say is here
the year 2000, tch, watch out, it's all about to blow
hahahahaha, i'm baack
yeah
you never thought i'd come back, huh?

the gritty
the hard kicks
the fat basslines
the jazz chords
is back

some people say,
'jovonn, you gotta get back man. there's nothing else left. there's no more underground music goin' on. what's up, what's up?'
i was like,
'well you know, i'm doing other things at the moment, but, ay, i can't let my peeps down. so i thought i'd come back, eh?'

it's been a mystery back in the days (mystery)
when mystery was the garage
like i once said, you smoke, you drink and you do a whole lot of things
universal dance music is back
let's talk about something that used to be a bit recent
zanzibar
ha, crazy memories was in there boy, i tell ya
the vibe, you can't imagine
the atmosphere, started all with us newbies
i'm gonna pay homage to tony humphries
he started me, i, jovonn, kerri chandler, the shirelles, the dd braids, the blades
he put a lot of people out there on the map, so don't y'all forget
now i wanna move this one along
let's take it to ha, new york city
shelter
kerri chaos with the shelter
yeah, freddie sanders, timmy regisford, the merlin bomb, yeah boy, the vibe is still there
i wanna go to another place where underground was like, The place
underground network, ye-yeah
lot of history in that place too
MAW, you put a lot of people on the map
yeah, soundfactory bar, that's what we talkin' about
lotta shows been happening over there, up and down stairs, hehe
we can't forget the man that used to kick it downstairs, dj camacho, yeheah
we wanna bring the same fat vibe that each and three of one of them clubs used to have
the real underground
is back









To the Etruscan all was alive; the whole universe lived; and the business of man was himself to live amid it all. He had to draw life into himself, out of the wandering huge vitalities of the world. The cosmos was alive, like a vast creature. The whole thing breathed and stirred. Evaporation went up like breath from the nostrils of a whale, steaming up. The sky received it in its blue bosom, breathed in it and pondered on it and transmuted it, before breathing it out again. Inside the earth were fire like the heat in the hot red liver of a beast. Out of the fissures of the earth came breaths of other breathing, vapours direct from the living physical underearth, exhalations carrying inspirations. The whole thing was alive, and had a great soul, or anima: and in spite of one great soul, there were myriad roving lesser souls; every man, every creature and tree and lake and mountain and stream, was animate, had its own peculiar consciousness. And has it to-day.
- D.H. Lawrence (cut)

Day TwentyEight - Cat & Maths (Math & Cats)

Adele Sebastian - Daydreamer
pressed in 1978

i got some time
skipping through my mind
i've gone, no work
and i'm feeling fine
i'm looking back
on my yesterdays
i've made brand new plans just to fit my ways

a lazy afternoon in the sunshine
dreaming of a world - - - and birds are singing
music in the air is on my mind
wondering what
a world of love and laughter would be into
got no worries
i've got a song i'm singing
to-day there is no hurry
taking my time daydreaming

why don't you come with me and we'll see
what it's like to be free...






















Curiosity will only you get you so far, yet coupled with intrepidness, patterns begin to form. Plot out the products of nine and you will see distinct shapes emerge. These shapes appear as slopes and dips or peaks and valleys, so to speak and appear in line and according to multiplication. The first products that line, apex and mirror are 45 and 54. The line then valleys at 90, apexes again at 144 dips to 180 picks up and crests at 189, 198 and slowly builds to 234, 243. The strange thing is that the last two numbers of every product mirror each other up and down every slope. So, 648 going up is 684 coming down. Looking ahead, 909 starts up the line which whirlpools at 990 with 999 being the first to climb out to 1044 which slides down to 1062 which is a mirror of 1026. The line of number nine is nostalgic.
















Following the multiplied trail of the life of nines, one will never see an actual decrease in total slope but always an ever increasing movement of elation. Albeit elatedly with a few dips, when the numbers decide to reminisce and look back to where they've been to remind and affirm themselves that yes, it has always been for the best. Numbers are tricky things. Cats know this secret and slide in joyful step to the amor fati of the number 9.














'But a cat can't eat a bone or any solid food on a polished surface. When a cat takes a bone off a plate and puts it down on the carpet before eating it, she's told she's dirty. But the cat needs to hold it down with her paw while she crunches and tears it and she can only do it on bare earth or on a carpet. People don't know that.'
Amazed, Camille broke in: 'And how do you know?'
He had never asked himself that and got out of it by a joke: 'Hush! It's because I'm extremely intelligent. Don't tell a soul. M. Veuillet hasn't a notion of it.'
He taught her all the ways and habits of the cat, like a foreign language over-rich in subtle shades of meaning. In spite of himself, he spoke with emphatic authority as he taught. Camille observed him narrowly and asked him any number of questions which he answered unreservedly.
- Colette (cut)