Sunday, February 19, 2006

Quick word on music, more prose.

Enough Politics and wishy washy emotional crap, eh? Today's issues are: the local electro scene, skateboarding and those cool clappy-noises.

Faq, si t'es pas encore convaincu, cette track (hyper groovy, puis hot aux clubs en plus) va etre le troisieme, et dernier, coup de la scene elektro d'Allemagne, avec Matty Safer de Rapture. Voici: Warning Siren par Tiefschwartz. Holy Fuck it's good! Wait for the 'walking disaster' part with all the SHAKE d-d-d-d-d-d-down. Then imagine it with a Zillion Watts of bass and 600 raging plateau-ites buzzing down. One thing I'm really sold on these days is all the gratuitous, too-fast-to-make-sense clappy-noises that have creeped into all the remixes of everything. Cowbells are making a formidable stab at the freaky-DJ-beats award, too.

So, it's Sunday night, and as I reflect on the week's worth of debauchery, I'll sing the praises of unemployment. In my full two weeks off, I started and continued and finished a gazoodle of personal projects, including getting this blog bologna on the blocks. Here's some -oh no!- poetry(not much) and a blast of prose I wrote in an attempt to describe what it feels like to skateboard in a big, smooth, concrete bowl-park. It's called:

Get On It:

unnatural- to instinctual
muscle memory
stomped it
the gritty clacks and
growls of my skateboard
as it battles
the urban promiscuity

gravity and motion physics

are the
of this inertial
to make them your ally
not your enemy

is to win the battle

I'm careening around that skatepark almost deleriously. Beer, coffee, marijuana, and adrenaline fuel this frenzy. I'm grinding and flowing like a bleary-eyed maniac. I focus on it like a marial art. Is the concrete any less deadly than a skilled fighter? More? I stave off the blows by using the momentum of the oncoming planet to my advantage. Roll. Surf. Get Rad. Here I am whole. In control. Hear the howls and grunts of the other skaters. The sweat is falling. Time is slowing down. As I reach the top of the ramp, the coping is my slow-motion button. The second expands into a graceful conversation between my reflexes, my imagination, and the universe.

But see, I'm not the sole director of this moment, so therefore I'm not the only varible of input. This is how I came to realize that reality hinges on more than will and some arbitrarily established rules of conduct. I'm not talking about god here. That guy can fuck off. Mystical has nothing to do with this. I'm talking about the whole not being a sum of parts, but an expression of them, right? Monet's not the paint and the painting's not Monet, dig? Okay, let's get back to the easy-to-swallow, 'cuz I can tell you're looking back up at the poem and the line about the intoxicants and wondering about quantity. Just to put that to rest: I can still do frontside crails on a bad-ass 8' concrete quarter, so I can sure as hell wax smart without going hippy.

So now that no one's getting creeped out by unindented paragraphs and drug consumption, feel me: think about those moments when you're on it. When it's all locked down, see? Whether you're a dancer or a fantastic conversationalist or a mad, zen-master dude, you're totally on it sometimes. You read the line about time slowing down and thought, Yeah. Or you don't get out enough, and this monologue is so not up your alley. Anyways, sometimes we can see the fluency of interactions more clearly. In these moments(as I have ascertained through a really good chat with this super-chill yoga guy while hitching up from Vancouver one time) we are all connected to, like, the universe. And when you're connected you can see that if the only will involved in any action was the will of the living, then there would be no mystery to things.

You could gain complete control. But when you get there, and you're on point, you always know that there's more to it all than just a few laws of physics. There's some mad quantum probability shit on the go, and when you start interacting with the moment, there's a combined, reciprocle expression that springs forth. Serendipity, dig? Like another person on top of the moment, who is a total figment of coinciding actions. And there, you've got your art, your kickflips, and your successes at the bar.

And so you've got this huge amount of cultural and genetic syntax in your brain and muscles that is having a, like, mad subliminal effect on your day. So there's another variable. You've got yourself, the physical universe(with all it's probabilities), and, like i said, your subconsious heritage. And then you've got everyone else in the mix, too. The chick who smiled at you in the supermarket this morning, the guy who designed the skateboard or the park; what's his bedroom shaped like, and how big are his feet? All factors.

And the loopy part is that there's a theme to all this shit. It's not just random, because it's all in the context of a mass of human activity. A history. A tendancy for things to work a certain way, cuz' of every other thing going on simultaneously and in the past. And, Holy Fuck! there's a crazy pile of shit happening right now. Computers and communication, and you know all that shit gets right in your boardslides. Know why? CUZ' IT'S ALL FUCKING CONNECTED, SEE? And, when you're on point, your ass is in control of your corner of the ring. So you've got a stake in the flow of things, when you're on it. So here's the meat of it, man: forget the mundane. Go out there and do them fuckin' yogas, or synchronised diving, or whatever, and communicate with the world. Cuz' you've got one life; one chance to be a thread in the universal tapestry. Get on it, man!