We have all these snow flurries out today. Some smokeash tree outside of my bedroom had a limb that snapped down from wetter snow heft that happened a few days ago.
I'm enjoying the flurries and in an aim of hope that nothing happens like that the sort of shoddy phone lines around here don't come tumbling down again. Because some of the people that installed them a while back decided to kind of huck a day's ending to come sooner so they'd affixed them to trees by a creek rather than any actual posts.

I crushed my thumbnail into a piece of a garlic clove and broke around it. So it's whiffing the heck up into the room. I'm backtracking to stuff I did. And had to prepare to face the content and ideas that were thought up at those times. To sort of step into whatever it was I may have been thinking at the time. one thing I realized really quickly is that this was some email sent out volume of basically sounds I was working on at the time. For multiple projects.
So I can comment on each song and will. After having just gotten through wondering if I'd wanted to cherish the Tomorrow's Forever full length or maybe plummet it off a long-drop. It was hard to tell. It's iffy to drop back into things that had aleady been finished and then weigh in on them. Because so much passes and moves on and different ideas sort of come up.

(The artwork...)
If anything would come from this at all it's that at least the album artwork was going somewhere. And some lucky tinkerings of color gradient and visual choice at leaves for some happiness in what I can still edit up and tinker with even more.
Something going on between shlock art, folk art, unconscious influence from a record cover artist named Barney Bubble. Who did lots of really fun popart colored, bright, vibrant displays for bands like Hawk Wind, had taken a photo portrait for Devo's introductory Stiff Records record, some Ian Dury cover art also, in link to Stiff Records. Anyhow, some mixes between that, from 'Bubble,' obviously moreso Hawkwind, and some Ralph Bakshi, and whatever else came into senses from pamphlets and fliers and collectables that sort of went into and out of senses; skateboard graphics and crumpled up fun things found in markets...
the album art came to be. And went out with some thing I was clunkspamming people with called Mauling List. Which was like a little digital zine I sent out time to time.
This was all made for that. It was a fun thing to hone in on and kind of a creative exercise. Seems more appropriate and crafty ideas came, at times, arriving in samplers and zines than the albums they were previewing.
I did about 5 drafts and each their own complete finished version of the line art there with all the crazy characters. Some orgiastic kind of glomping. Very cariacturistic kinds of gore-out massive gush splashes of social critique. Vividly commentating on the phantasms of sub-culture mind health. Nothing being refined. Just a sort of degenerative pigout going on with epidemics of addictions and lust without sensuality. Super snarring and snarling levels of the gutteral and the bowel and disgust and that kind of thing. Obviously done so with the inverted pentagram too, to have shewn the 'inversion' of natural or harmonious order.
To use those lines or colors and such for a refined and orderly contrast-- I think one or several of those might exist. There's so much sketch and drawing wise just stored away and stored all in so many places-- but to have that art style adapted into different fixtures of different mental spaces, would be something I'd look back at and be happy with making.
Even if, revisiting the song material, I'd scowl or jarr at the actual audio, somehow having the right splashing together at the right time to get the album cover made as such does feel like something good happened. Now I just have to find some more of those gushy flowing ball point pens again that the track list was written down with.

(Pocket Moths:)

You know those cartoon scenes where you've got some character that pulls his hand into either pocket fishing for money or change and lifts both pockets out, and moths start flying up and beyond? It's lint and moths. because that's all they've got in there.
Couple of wing flapping dwellers abruptly interupted from their nesting place. They just take off and leave the scene.
I usually try to hop onto one of those moths on exit. If they can support my body weight. Kind of just jump onto the back of them and get a good seated position, and get comfortable.
Usually it gets hard to be certain what kind of reading material you want to bring with you when you pick a time and moment to coast off on a pocket moth.

This starts with 'Loving Distance,' and mixes into a 'MIND SALE' instrumental song. Apparently now I realize that its a sample mix of songs I was still preparing and figuring into other albums. Seeing which ones would maybe compliment one another. "Half of It" begins in an uninished preview of the song. 2 of these so far landed onto A Leme Harot.
The snow plow outside ravages and bellows against the ground. And my socks and boots are soaked as I just rescued the unwanted mail from the mailbox outdoors. Huge hill plume right ontop of the mail box.
Listening back I had no clue Pocket Moths was a mixture of projects I was doing. I thought maybe it'd be a spoken word reading like the last song on this thing is, I know, and also the beginning of the last track on Boneclad Gizmos is.

So it's a surprise in a good way, because there's three 'samplers' on this whole thing. I don't think anyone on my email list even checked it out. Seemed more burdened by this whole damn thing! but it's fun and interesting to listen back to. Ordering songs together and seeing what moods lead them into each other is a form of composition I think. And its pretty easy to stifle and slog that sort of thing up. A lot of darn time goes into setting up transient ambitions of mood changes. And interludes. And re-referring certain subject matter. And maybe using sound cues and little repeats of a phrase to kind of deepen the atmosphere of the experience for a listener. Using, mind you, what you damnwell can. Pocket Moths is also an allusion to what I had to work with really: technologies of budget like you wouldn't believe.

That was the intent here very much, getting at some styles and ideas with music upcoming. Akin to a kind of radio preview. Ithaca fucken hates me though, ha good, honeyboney, nice, lovely. Still wonder if I sent these out, even if they're old, could get some stations to run these as creative projects at least. it's been a hard path with really getting and associating music into the media world. but I'd put a good deal into this already from what I can tell with fading the songs and trying to master and produce and level set what was going on.

Some percussion set in. Would find pianos and drumsets to visit. Sit down thankfully with the opportunity to reach instruments otherwise not able to access.
Fades into 6:13 song which is so sardonic in lyrics and socially critique

starts into spoken word about being handed the actual CD that I burned and gave out. Some more mind plorping. Imagine the funding going into doing that on larger scales. Ideas put to that kinda stuff. It was a fun idea. at 3 minutes in here. To holster in speaking to the listener right then and there. About how this itself is actual a product. Or is it?? Is it an experience!? Well now it is, and you can't help it being such, listening to that part. So its a catch 22. BAHAHA. And that's the key I wondered about, with this being spoken word. So I knew it must have been, and it kicks in right at that area of the song. It's nice to feel more upply and ambitious about it, then, listening back. Why nobody gave a fuckn shit, though, people close in my life and a little afar, at some of these ideas, or what I was aiming to do with these things, you know, locally, and online and wherever, I guess that set me to some of the moods I'd later gone into. Some of that really deep hastiness. And nonwillingness to really release anything with those intents and attempts again. Even if it took a really long while.
I can see now that even though I had little to work with, I was giving it what I had. That's bittersweet then isn't it.

(Manifest Sampler:)

I tell ya I tell ya I tell ya! I needed some time since the last writing there and this one. Undercooked some fish. That's sitting oddly in my bellows. Superhot sauce to smatter some onion rings into, too. If it's any concern of allusion, its still okay to say, that I might pour within into myself in any and all ways, some system of a gusset to clear myself entirely. And then going vomitose.
I don't care if I burn my fish next time. So to safe it being as fully cooked. And the legal authority of maintaining a new oven, so as to cook dutifully, is something of a wonderment to access here in this state. You see, ovens and freezers, washing and drying machines and so on, need special licensing in this wondrous county land of such freedom (and beautiful faces, too!)
So I'd done the diservice of waking up and then reading the local and then global news. Because sometimes you can't just not look. At this point, because of that, I will have to reload up on a motivating factor. To go about my being.
The good news is that I felt and witnessed a sense of the light or energy of manifestation. Unto the surrounding force in which is the human spirit. Why such a reflection chose to come after an amount of sleeplessness and stomach queasiness may only just be on par in that a steadied thought of the qabalistic cross entered into thought and vision. So an excitement that there is more to sees the eye in this world, and, also, more spirit or warmth and fortune, more propelling drive, than what we are programmed to accept, leads into the steadfast contentedness of having reason.

Some action and excitement and adventure would be good enough on my itinerary. That's about what I need. The present state of circumstances on this earth plane pretty much are leaving me wanting more. But it's up to the each of us for what we make of it. Goading on some process of self-amusement, then, if the collective's idea of 'fun' isn't so much my idea of 'fun,' may at the very least exercise imagination. Otherwise I'll just stand around or sit around endlessly tinkering with things. Then I will have to reflect and possibly ruminate into my situations of what can be given the reference of having "seen too much," and also "having seen too damned! much" and all that sort of thing.

and stare at song titles right before me which say "She puked on her way out," and "Disaster Town." The latter which includes bunny shaped clouds just heaving and heaving upon their communal bellows. Which if I were a rabbit shaped cloud I would undeniably find a liking and possibly a continuing hobby of doing. At least if it were above this county. Spefically this county.

It seems like an appropriate time now to comment on the "Manifest" sampler which was included into the 2nd track of this whole POCKET MOTHS ordeal. It was as bit as much of an encouragement to get me to finished out the album these songs go onto as it was an intent to get other people interested in it. It was a damn fine technique in the myspace days, of an image+link+description posting combination onto other's profiles when the attention span and mutual enjoyment would arrive between creative types sharing their free stuff.

This has, I kid you not, been referred to as the genre of 'New Age' music. And while I had to blovulate my senses away from that entirely in a sheer disagreement about that, I do guess that some portions of sound for 'Manifest' can't surge into anything else other than that category. But I want nothing to do with 'NEW AGE' music, man. Maaaaaan. MaaaaAAAAaaaaan. It would seem more so to be experimental sound. Or avante Garge or atmospheric of film and soundtrack and movie score, that kind of thing. New Age seems a bit balanced or boring or hazy and that kind of thing but to be fair I had never listened a real deal of an amount to anything in that genre. But I was stuck with it being in that genre when for a while some of my creations were being held captive by a streaming service rather not to say the name of.
Also, some of what is created really just came to be by playing, and that is all. Just playing when guitars weren't around. Or having more access to digital instruments, and mixing this or that in, whether sound samples I'd snatch from wanderings via my camera and sampling in some of my other song projects and so on. Anyhow none of it is New Age even if there isn't, for some interludes, or sequences, anything really else to pair it up into label-wise.
And that entire album that in a chesire humor and seriousness going on at once, which was called Triangle, was called this at first, Manifest. It also was going to be called Strange, and Travel, in that some lettering I had written out could look at an interpretation of several words going on at once.

Now anyhow I decided to not note anything about any of these songs in the sampler track being discussed right now, because that will be done for a write up on the album itself. And to do that I'll need several mules, some camping gear including a set of binoculars and to have no electronics on me whatsoever. And obviously an accomodating landscape of pure and valley-engulfed applible getaway.

(Through These Cellar Doors:)

In the hylic overtake of the primordial world you'll see a lot of glimpses at the crude being passed off as normal. It's not the funnest incarnation to live when you commentate on that divide in the world between soul euphoria, limitless spirit and on the other side, some kind of brooding into material worship and the marching on of the living insane.
I write in times where I wish I didn't have to report on such, yet withstanding upon a nation's collapse is not an easy task. And most of the populace appears to be dwelling within a true madhouse of their own minds.
Should be there any lessons learned in this material rut that collective consciousness had gotten itself into, I hope it would arrive soon and fast as these dark ages seem deep and troublesome upon those who wish and steer for the pursuit of guidance and a brighter kind of habitat.

(Loving Ghost:)

Had this album that was going to be 'Vanishing Human Suit' and had covers made up for it with that title. Was going to be a single cd release. With Astral Arcade Machine on it, as well as some that didn't even get transferred over to b-side projects like Chameleon Shelter. So there are some acoustic songs here and there or somewhere that were going to pair with this song. Started sounding sort of astringent. Like it was trying to be some pop ballad thing or who knows what. There were a few edits of this. On No World Order, even further back, there were some ghost instrumentals on each CD. Apparations; Phantoms; all of that. As an idea it leads into subjects like Tommy Langue's Fun World with the song and also novel story, which can connect to this creative process going on. Which is reaching in and seeing what's there to be made without minding the popularity of it or the idea of what is the "thing" at the moment which people may jump around to hot-thing to hot-thing. In that way you are in a kind of "phantom-zone" at times. Well not just at times. All of the time, pretty much. As well as for song creations, and in ways of living, and sentience and feeling more in the areas of watery elements. It's abstract and using a resonance of trying to resource fluidity and symbol and sort of an interchangeable processing to speak and say and outreach. Give that to the idea of what just happens when letting some expression out. Some want tight rhythms locked down and all that sort of thing. There's this abstraction for percussion of line work and all of that that I try to self understand, and so it kind of ripples more so than not, and definitely doesn't 'lock in' to strictness.
With all of that, letting things "be" and improvising most of the time is one way to do it. Which trusts the moment, and moves through lots of unused takes sometimes. Or can recycle or edit up and collage any of the unused takes. Until finding a subject matter than hones in. Like being a medium for the music.
So being a medium for the music, song, subject or style, and also when intending to do so, having a kind of percussion of subject matter that can "dance around" or "be anywhere at once" is something I've thought about when figuring this out. It'd be feign to say it isn't considered at all. Even if at times if misunderstood or drank-in too fast and immediate by someone else, it sure might seem as something a bit ippity, clashy, riding on a hoppity foot, maybe raw or even concerning. That's ok and I get that. I decided pretty well however that I'm not into locking down tight grooves. And being more soundtrack oriented, and in a way of a fable or some living idea of how it feels when I'm reading a book, is what I'd very much intend to pulse back out.
This song was getting a bit more comfortable into what that is. Just like "Through These Cellar Doors" is, lyrically, something going into that route as well.

Obviously it didn't come to fruition of being "Vanishing Human Suit" as the album, but the would-be release of that, rather than A Leme Harot, is saved and stored someplace. With, I think, whatever other tracks are present. More bare, and acoustic, and maybe sparse, too than what A Leme Harot has with attempts to be really more so involved with layering some dream scape kind of lucid intent.

It's coming to me right now, also, to wonder if I have the right to explain some of the interactions between spirited pursuit and how to place it into a medium of sorts. When you are a 'phantom' yourself in the music 'world' then if you do not even know about your own place where contemparies may be, you judge success by what elicits in sound and feeling later on. Like "Did I acheive this?" I mean, monetarily, and listener wise, and what makes someone sort of tangibly say "yes," I'm more in the realm of "do I even exist in this earth plane realm? What is important to me--" and having to ask--- "is it even important to other people in the subject matter of making something?"
Because it's all homemade as hell, and I know that. I'd had tons of people too say I wasnt ever doing it the 'right way,' also, and in some way for sure that means to me that I am doing it all just as it should be. I want it a bit misconstrued and with this collage-like feel to it. It's journalling and collage art and testing and feeling the waters all the way through. This era for independent artists, too, is a real bitch. It's so competetive rather than kinly. Artists dont really help artists out anymore at this point and its a blood on blood sort of fiending-fest, which is pretty unfortunate.
So I do my own thing really, which turns out into A Leme Harot, and all of that. Interlinking stories and "rooms" for feelings to live in. Characters and interactive points, hopefully one day fusing into a final piece. Where you can see the rooms when listening to the ideas and mini-paintings. Ethereal is the word for it in a way. Antero Alli is the closest, author-wise, likely, I think, to explain what feels the closes when the passion moves through it. Just if I deliver it out or not is on me really. These days, you know, 01/26/2023 being today, I'd think to maybe 'tune in' the best I can to reproduce moving a feeling outward if some idea comes along.

(Identity Consumption:)

Can I address an idea that might elicit this, right here:
Do you know how you'd feel mad, in a world of madness, where each and all motions are undeniably mad and even more deeply astonishingly maddening?
What's going on here is I'm listening back to this song, and the MIND-SALE stuff is passing this bluntly and stern right through the hemisphere. That MIND-SALE sound is how maddening your world seems to me. Your fake sun tan and complicated tenure of all this fads of controversy. All the collective sort of spiels of what the next tension is to the world frame, and simultaneously what it's numbness will be. By numbness, I mean whatever method of escapism will come along and save the public from the latest kind of obsession they start to cannibalistically just pour down their gullets.
I think that fuses right, with it's intent, when I hear how damned loopy and cartoony and much of a head trip it is trying to move to. This happens again in Parads Sce Live with the "Cartoon Effigies" song. But for this MIND-SALE song Identity Consumption, it is more than fair enough to say the 'Puzzling Evidence Show' from the Subgenius Foundation absolutely takes a reigning influence there. And that show is amazing. And having some glint or short write up of the show that has been on the air for so, so long-- well it wouldn't do it a bit of homage. That show had saved my arse and also brought so many kinds of paintings just into my ears and through my brain. It's clever and fun and bonkers, and very, very bohemian. So MIND-SALE really was my up-to-date and budget interpretation and inner-expression of the whole Discordianism, Subgenius and Puzzling Evidence show world of cut-ups, bonkers music and mind disintegrating scopes of what I'd tried to put into words above: You know how your world feels to me, with advertisement agencies and everything marginalized into some product? This is what your normalcy sounds like exactly to me. So here's you right back at yourself.

Yeah I mean, the MIND-SALE Vol I. which this was a preview to, definitely was bare bones for an audio foundation. There weren't a lot of dazzling things really going on as to editing it down and all of that. It's just quirky and a little head trip and charting the waters, though. Kind of just placing some sounds over this collage art I'd been doing which was super "Culture Jamming." And I have to say again, that in the present timeline, you know, I'm absolutely off the surface in knowing if satire can even be done now. It's all so murky and maddened by this point of collective chaos that satirism is seriousness and the things that aren't giant put-ons are things people expect you to not only take serious every step of the way, but try to make it a ground-down law that if you even smirk at it, then it's heretical... in the church of the heretical, or anti-heretical, or the non-subversive subversive seriousness satrical put-on---- see... that's why "Operation Mind Fuck; and discordianism, and the MIND-SALE thing are charting some territory going on about "What am I to take seriously? You expect me to take all of this seriously, and have no humor, right, and at the same time play by all your rules of what is a giant joke?"
And again, the MIND-SALE stuff starting out as visual art-- later on it needed time to breathe between serious stuff. When laid down into the Chameleon Shelter mind trip of a project it feels a little more at come. This MIND-SALE Vol. I was an entry level into it becoming that. There it lives at little glipse and advertisements between my own serious material, and stuff I was trying! to you know, get good and proper at, or represent as film scenes and more "spaces" and tangible locations hopefully stirred up by sound.
MIND-SALE being commercials between the other stuff is like having this "regular" reality of the daily world:
World news, sports, celebrity worship, tension, stress, bills, all the damned strife... those were the little daydreams between, in Chameleon Shelter, or any other album, the present "reality" of all the fantasies, weird characters, fables, and those expressions. They're like little pieces of the regular world shouting through via a dream, pulling the listener back in.. but then some other song fades back in and maybe you're like "I'd rather be in this experience for a bit more.. I'll go back to having to deal with the MIND-SALE reality and all of that later.. with people's judgements, the creative 'competetions' and those rankings amongst everything else.