IEB
I remember reading Arthur C. Clarke’s 2001: A Space Odyssey in a span of three nights stoned and stupefied by the imaginative possibilities of our mind.
Words by me. Poster by James Whíte. (via )
Billy Collins would stand at my window all the time reminding me that the best way to write a poem was to stand there staring out through a pane of glass looking at the world passing by and I would join him at the window and say to him, “Hey Billy, I can’t see anything outside of the frame of the window.” He’d just sigh.
Words by me. Photography by Nicholas Lorden.
Brendan Murray - Tangerine Tree [mp3]
A story about repeating, set to Brendan Murray. Click through to read the entire story! (via such loud noise, an MP3 story blog written by me)
An abandoned sentence lingers on the page, erased and scratched out it echoes in the repeating motif of a Brendan Murray guitar riff. A fractal repeating, each second growing larger and larger until a moment later, the sentence deletes. The sentence is lost for the time being but it repeats.
Play count: 72
The skyline of a city rapidly approaching is ominous.
Words by me. Photograph by barrelvault. (via ulo)
Today they found Mayan pyramids larger than any in the entire world, by volume. I listened to the CNN anchor describe how it was more voluminous than all other pyramids in the world and how that was impressive. The Mayans ruled by intelligence and volume. Their massive volume enabled massive intelligence and she talked so more about how great it was that CNN was the first news team to get video footage of this high volume pyramid. She had an annoying voice and eventually I muted the volume and just watched pictures of the pyramid and wished that I could be a Mayan for a few days.
Words by me. Art by Olaf Hajek.
A story about bad English accents, set to Scratch Acid. Click through to read the entire story! (via such loud noise, an MP3 story blog written by me)
Enoch had just started smoking when a man approached. The man said in an English accent some things about cigarette smoking and drugs. Enoch thought the man funny and enjoyed using an English accent himself so he responded to the man with an atrocious attempt at sounding English.
Play count: 47
A tender tentacle tickles
the telltale signs of falling through space.
Spasms of spatial reasoning
resound in this space.
Reverberations riveting
running rampant through space
and you sit still
your body still
you are there still
in space.
Words by me. Illustration by Andrew Breen.
A story about oscillopism, set to sadsic. Click through to read the entire story! (via such loud noise, an MP3 story blog written by me)
We would together take on aesthetic arrears that I owed to the world, my fingers could craft curatorial audio & curious texts thinking thoughts thereafter thought & always before until on this particular humid Bangkok night, I had an idea.
Play count: 14
an idea bright like mind my idea too to do a level of justice to the shadows of the night
Words by me. Photograph by Florian Maier-Aichen. More photographs by Florian Maier-Aichen can be found at the 303 Gallery, Blum & Poe and The Saatchi Gallery. (via but does it float)
A few nights ago, we went to a pumpkin carving party. Our arrival was expected and the presence of pumpkins did not surprise. I guess there were more pumpkins than I thought there might be, but I wasn’t surprised. There were also more people than I thought there might be, but that made me happy. All the night you carved an octopus into the galaxy on our pumpkin and I ate chips and salsa because I had forgot to eat dinner. Then we and everyone else went to the backyard to stare at our fifteen candlelit pumpkins.
Words by me. Music by Memory Cassette. Video directed by Sebastian Rozenberg. (via bright stupid confetti)
There is certainly a certain satisfaction
in a seamless transition
transforming a transformation
into a transition
transitioning
to a transformer transforming
into a transition
which in turn speaks
to transistor radios
and transformative politics,
an electrical transformer
appearing at first sight like a garbage pail
with transistors made for transforming
a traversing of electricity
and a transforming electorate
electing instead
for transitional powers.
We can all celebrate these things
happily today and tomorrow.
Words by me. Music by Black Mold. Video directed by Chad VanGaalen (via bright stupid confetti)
stare closely at the space hovering all around you, i always say. i always look closely at the space hovering all around me, i always think. i always think that it will end that way. it seems likely that it will end that way and begin again that way. it will begin again in the space hovering all around you. i will be hovering in the space all around you. my hands and my face will contain the space all around you.
Words by me. Photograph by sharkvsbear. (via ideaslinger)
evidently, a picture frame
frames pre-cognitive thought
regarding your captured space,
to capture air breathed
in and out of a frame,
a picture frame
framing thoughts
and oxygen until
outside of the frame,
outside of the bubble,
the air rushes outside of your lungs
and you are left gasping
at the frame
Words by me. Photograph by Yann Arthus-Bertrand. (via but does it float)
A story about a journey, set to Michael O’Shea. Click through to read the entire story! (via such loud noise, an MP3 story blog written by me)
It began by a lake. Failed attempts skipping briefly until sinking into the murk, we withstood only three lurches before finding chain link success. This day was sunny and bright, a filterless sky casting it’s gaze on our forgotten, unprotected cells. Orion had brought along a gift for our adventures and we discussed in surprising detail the journey laid out before us. This particular journey was thanks to an oblong disc and the stumbling hills of blissed out Jones Park.
Play count: 50
we used to sail the flying saucer
across the sea
into the gusting wind,
it was gusting the wind,
the wind gusted shoreside
and we would throw our frisbee
into the gust
our frisbee would fight
the gust briefly
before gusting back onto the beach
and you would watch,
a head perched
upon the surface of the sea
Words by me. ostsee by Barbara Fabbri. Song by Washed Out. (via yvynyl)
Play count: 153
