King for a day, fool for a lifetime

Deerhoof - Apple O'
2003; American; Indie rock; Really sweet Japanese vocalist and 'cute' sounds. Whatever listen to it I've got more shit to post anyway
http://www.mediafire.com/?mz3yzzznvgj

Life is ridiculous. Okay, I know, obvious as hell. But my keyboard is sticky from a spill and I'm out of cigarettes. Do you realize the amount of annoyance I've allowed myself to indulge in? As if my cozy little home and 24/7 relaxation isn't enough! Ungrateful bastard I am. I'm completely unmotivated to do all of the small things I usually find fascinating and constructive while under various influences. I worry constantly about living a life where my career is not my passion and my passion is long dead. I worry that my friends and even myself will begin to lose value in art and music, and come to see life as a measurement of intoxication and material possession.

We're self aware as beings living pre-programmed lives, with this awareness itself being a path created by previously defined circumstances. At the end of the string there is a common rhyme and rhythm to the world. One scale on one beast, flaking off as it flaps its wings.

We live our lives with erratic, grand, and completely amorphous concepts rustling our subconscious, but invariably our endeavors as humans are irrelevant to the rigid interweaving dreamscape that invites meaninglessness to focus on and around more meaninglessness, allowing it to pander its evolution against an error of ego and self. This instinct has articulated over billions of years, and we continue to deny its error despite being surrounded with empty dolls called corpses. We beg and plead and substantiate our lives, hoping the universe will see things our way and save us. We call this God, and it's the hope that aware human beings need to cope with the realization that 75% of their organism is dying and the rest may well be cancer. There is no God, but there may well be a Judgment Day. When the spark hits the keg, the people that live will continue to be the lucky ones, the single sperm that hit the egg. The reason why we are human beings is because our most original strand of replication was an equation of luck; a frame-by-frame of chaos and madness. So when the strong, intelligent, kind, evil, rich, and impoverished alike, all die in one fell swoop, humanity will continue only to perpetuate its essence; Survival - luck, chaos, perfection. I wonder if we'll become angels, demons, or cockroaches. Perhaps all three or none at all, depending on what scope is set on us.

As I ride this fuckin dragon, I think to myself "real life is calmingly boring sometimes, but I consider it among my top five delusions." With so much outside of possible knowledge, and so, so much within it, one has to relax, take it all in, and become that much more content with the world.

I Put a Spell on You (Because You're Mine)

Cazumbi - Volume 1
1960s; African; Garage rock; Compilation of amazing and sadly obscure African bands
http://www.mediafire.com/?xniij2zjmwz

First love. The events around mine were influenced by both who she was, and my first reactions to romance. I was at that stage where, like a kid, my senses were overloaded with a cyclic fascination. A voice and scent came to pacify my unfolding realization that I was someone else before we met. This girl freed me of the kid I grew up being, and I did my best to never let that personality see the light of day. Forgetting who I was also defined who I would be, because, in a sense, I had given up free will for passion. She was as immature and uncertain a human being as I was, and that's why I think we bonded so quickly despite having nothing in common. She was gorgeous and I was inadequate to her smile. Yet she loved me as intensely.

Her parents were an oppressive force to be reckoned with, capable of DEFCON 1's from left field and nuclear meltdowns on her part. We didn't have a doubt in the world until they found out about us. Which was a damn shame, because our relationship was the stability I needed to maintain attendance and good grades. They let hell loose on the poor Catholic schoolgirl, and I received an S.O.S. the day before Christmas. She didn't have much to say, but her words were a barrage of mixed messages. "I can't see you. I won't see you. But I will." A few days later things cooled down and she started calling again. When we were done apologizing to each-other and reassuring our love, I felt extra sentimental and sent her a voicemail after she went to sleep. A harmless gesture of affection. That night her parents confiscated her phone, planning on getting her a new one for her birthday. Of course, for some reason, they decided to check her messages. And wake her up with shouts and threats... The day before her birthday. It was brutal, and her mom hand-cranked the girl's mind to think I was Satan. She sends me a long and elaborate message detailing how I've only been using her and how I'm the lowest thing on her priorities. Ouch... I felt completely responsible and at fault. Looking back, though, none of that makes sense because we were virgins and I basically treated her like a princess. Not that I'm bitching, heh. It's just another experience that tells me how warped and delusional I was as a person. The conflicts around this relationship stemmed a knot in my stomach that caused me physical pain everyday for the second quarter of my sophomore year. We were on and off and on and off but vaguely and emotionally exclusive. We had both gone off the deep-end from stress, and couldn't stop getting back together despite an immense toxicity in both of our lives. She spent the better half of that year destroying me. By the next year things had settled down. She was ready to give me everything again, and I ended up meeting her parents on better terms. Pops still didn't like me, but her mom more or less warmed up. And I did too! I was ready to spend the rest of my life in this environment. It was all I knew after four years of adolescence.

But something was off. I voluntarily stopped visiting her for weeks at a time. I'd dodge phonecalls, and I wasn't fuzzy or affectionate anymore. She was making the effort for past mistakes, but at the time I couldn't find the source of my resentment. It turns out, long ago, when things were really heating up and I was at the peak of anxiety, I told myself to feel hatred. To let go and feel the slightest bit of anger toward her. Which, at the time, eased the physical pain. But everyday I had to further reduce her as a person in my mind to cope. She caught me in the middle of this healthy break-up healing and reopened the floodgates of attention and love. I was hollow and none of it could reach me. Attempting to love her again melted away the hate but brought back the pain. It was suffocation, and by the end, she drowned me. One day she ended things. For two months we played our game of on-and-off, and I appealed to her with every shred of who I was when she fell in love. But it was fruitless. I couldn't make up for the time spent ignoring her. In the end, we were two completely different people who lost the innocent qualities that captivated the other so early on.

A year ago, I spiraled into a coma of misery. On days like these I look back and can't even remember when exactly I woke up from it. But, anywho, this is the lightweight version of my story. Weird kid tries to be normal but that makes him weirder. Thanks for reading, humility reduces my stress. ^^;

Realize a Dream

The Action - Rolled Gold
1968; English; Psychedelic rock; Dreamy folk and soul elements
http://www.mediafire.com/?9memlyxgywx

My introduction to the marijuanas:

My friend, whom had so graciously introduced me to tripping bawls, was kind enough to tell me that a certain highschool acquaintance of ours was a frequent ignitiator of marijuana. A small curvy gal with long blond hair, contritionally bleached in what I assume is a loathing for brunette stereotypes. I had many ties to this lass through highschool, though she wasn't someone I mindlessly loitered with. Nonetheless the chance to try weed was too good to pass up! I was even excited to make a new friend. Friends were the only thing decelerating my inevitable mental illness. Note: that's a joke, it was craftily avoided. I contacted her and inquired about the pot, expecting to be panned. Hohum! She was surprisingly helpful and even seemed somewhat genuinely interested in helping me out. We set up a day to meet, and I waited patiently.

After a few days, she picked me up from my house, and we went on to find a discrete place to test my herb. The first puff felt like a hole in my heart was mended. A rush of familiar smells and childhood feelings overcame me, and my senses were intimately receptive to the world around me. Not just the car I was in or the music that was playing, but the sound vibrations of wind, rippling off the trees like still water disturbed. I was lost, and my words of conversation poured out automatically. And I liked it that way; When I'm too focused, I have this habit of abstractly probing peoples' personalities by asking them inane questions. My neuroticism is an internal cycle that is crucial to the rest of my sanity, rest assure.

SO. The madam decided it was time to move the car, maybe get some coffee. It was December, I think, and the first flakes of snow were hitting the windshield. My mind was exploding like it was reprogrammed to do so. Every turn and stop was oddly reorienting. I no longer felt like I was in a car; My senses were so deeply saturated in what was going on that I felt my own presence being intercepted by the presence of the terrain. The backs of my eyelids were painted in hallucinations of echolocation. We arrived at a gas station and perused the isles, becoming the proverbial kids in a candy store. Vividly imagining the taste of each and every pastry, chocolate, candy, cashew, jerky, and chip. I ended up buying Combos. Delicious pizza and peanut butter pretzel... Omnomnom! Unfortunately I was borderline incapacitated on the ride home and ended up spilling the Combos, which were not discovered for another six months. Whoops. She drove me around a lot back in those days, and I return the favor whenever possible. Another friend of mine from highschool was also a good friend of hers, and through this coincidence I was reintroduced to an old buddy! The three of us are like con artist superheroes now. Existence too profound to be jugged.

(Copyright) Pedigo's Pot Prose

Lucid Baking

Waft away in TOKiMONSTA - Midnight Menu
2010; American; Electronic instrumental hip-hop; Cute and soft, good for the morning after binging
http://www.mediafire.com/?n28ldhc88tew3ln

I wish my room had the gloom and echo of a dungeon, but the comfort and articulation of an editing studio. I would have a long cozy low to the ground sofa for the guests of honor and the main characters, and two large and awkwardly angled chairs for those of lower social rank and/or sitting priority. A party is but a thinly veiled feud of mockery. The walls would be nothing but shelves cascading and forming into more shelves. Upon these shelves I shall place worldly possessions stripped of their cultural context. Intricate thoroughly painted thousand-piece Gundam model kits. Glass structures of fantastic figures with discrete passageways for smoking. Premier records worthy of showcase. A shelf showcasing different mythologies and ritual artifacts, and a hollowed out bible containing tarot cards. The elite level of trolling going here is ridiculous. I would have a mini-fridge under the loud vibrating speakers, so when people retreat for a tasty beverage, they shall be drenched in carbonated fluid. But aside from the novelties, I need large cathedral drapes, to guard a large and equally preposterous window. The folds of the curtain fully withdrawn create a shadowy silhouette of a clocktower. And my PC would be set to find the exact moment, every day, when the sun is glimmering off the hills from my window, to play a clocktower's bell. Which is actually very possible since the sun's patterns are extremely well documented. The ceiling would have to be barraged with small LED lights, to create vivid shifting star patterns when the lights are out. The stars are almost purely white, but fringed with deep pulsing colors that shift hue in a glimmering rhythm.

There is no television. Instead, a wall-mounted projector that creates a picture on the opposite wall. I would essentially have to not own a car to afford this. In the middle of this contraption is an amazing, wonderful, immaculate steel desk. Indestructible in nature, elaborate in design. It folds out into compartments and shelves. God I love shelves. It will generally contain all of the essentials for relaxing; bowls, bags, wraps, remote, Tupperware bag filled to the brim with lighters, huge slugs of the time-tested best incense, a flask of extremely rich scotch, an assortment of notebooks, and a tasty collection of pens, sharpies, and pencils. It would have a dispenser for those little ties you get from bread bags. And another one for paperclips.

My fantasy room would be a place where small children go insane, but would otherwise be an interesting place to get lost. I once had a room I liked. ._. It was the spacey master bedroom, and I was so vicious about the space being left open that I only used a small corner of the room. I slept and computed from that corner. It was glorious. There was a massive (and somewhat intruding!) window that, for a while, peered into the forest. This room did not have a conventional closet. The closet was actually a massive storage tunnel that branched all the way back into the room on the other side of the complex. I essentially dominated the entire upper floor mwahahaha. Living on lower floors is the best, though. The sun peeks through the morning mist and gazes at you for a while, eventually moving on to offend the rest of the floors in higher intensities.

There are days when the sun isn't shining, but everything is oddly bright and pale. The air is peaceful but heavy from exhaustion. The kind of day where you drive without music, and find balance with old problems. I like those kinds of days.

and the music stopped~

Birthday

The Sugarcubes - Life's Too Good
1988; Icelandic; Alternative rock; Björk and her first band
http://www.mediafire.com/?bnwwn3hmfjd

I know a lot of people who smoke pot. I really like my toking buddies. Really unique people, with experiences and ideas and personality. Aspiration and curiosity drips from their words. Curiosity is a word I like, because it's a word symbolizing untapped innovation and insight. I've had the misfortune recently of dealing with a relatively nice, but uninterested fellow. He's easily entertained, I guess, at the price of his own entertainment being a segment of our gatherings. His humor consists of monotonous ass flash animations. Musical variety: Christian post-grunge, or "Radio U." Interests include videogames and trivial inaccuracies. What it boils down to, is that stoned or not you're still seeing a side of the person. They're not going to magically become bearable or fun. In my experience.

My inconsistencies as a person include wearing nice jackets with shitty clothes, dressing for warmth in warmth, dressing for comfort in cold, and generally not paying attention to where or who I am. I treat my ego as a metaphorical idol that I defend passive aggressively. Passive because I don't care to acknowledge who I am and who I seem to be as being reflective. Aggressive in the sense that I am negatively analyzing you in ways you are not expecting. My body mindlessly flails as if someone is painting me in the moment. When dealing with others my thoughts are carefully juggled.

A blog in essence is a mural that tempts you to decorate it in your pride. Some people acknowledge this and refuse to have one. Others flat out ignore this concept and write objectively and impersonally. I don't know what I'm doing!

Life is too good, and it's weird how good it is. We have all the potential we need to spur off and become something at any moment, if we only had the confidence to take the jump, the patience to drudge through, and the ability to sever ties and break our environments. Our aches and shortcomings are just thoughts, colored sour. Color your thoughts with your favorite shades and hues. A blinding red rage could be offset by a smoldering violet sunset.

Hiding Knives & Hiding Behind Knives

Insect Guide - Dark Days & Nights
2010; British; Noise pop; Dark and spacey atmosphere
http://www.mediafire.com/?zm2xmqdt2tj

Good music reminds me of sitting in a window-seat on a bus. Losing yourself to the visual shift of the world, while the audio interferences are washed out by the sound of tires grinding the pavement. A car could do just as well, but I can't remember the last time I had to put up with the monotonous freeway scenery while riding a bus. The feeling of sitting in a coffee shop late at night with no one around, when the fuzzed echos of the manager's radio are drowned by drops of rain hitting the windows. Mind always wandering back to the same unresolved questions and circumstances, despite a mountain of work that calls for your undivided attention. It's funny how we're all people with the same fundamental problems, and yet the nuances of these problems, ie our outlook and how we're conditioned to deal, are what make us truly different people, almost incapable of understanding one another. No matter how uptight and narrowminded someone seems, there is an underlying chain of events as equally complex as your own which has shaped them so uniquely.

I don't like politics and the government scares me.

Growing up I felt like we were conditioned to be ruled. As if the government is the primary aspect of America, and its people are crops to be harvested for all of their attention and money. People actually cry whenever a new president is put in office. What a government should be, to me, is an agency dedicated to upholding peoples' rights; only occasionally flexing its muscles to punish those who infringe on others rights. Managing public conveniences like schools, jails, and roadways is secondary. It's downright disturbing that their intention of protecting their authority is played off as a catalyst for protecting the best interest of the citizens. The fact that "victimless crimes" still exist is a testament to the idea that, despite exponential growth in technology and communication, we're still stuck in the same era of darkness as the civilizations before us. The worst part is, we're raised to accept and even uphold this standard!

Politicians are monsters. Elections remind me of professional wrestling promotional clips. Multiple parties deifying themselves (or falsely humbling themselves to win your favor) while demonizing the opposition. The fact that campaigns are so fucking expensive tells me three things: People are too complacent to find the candidate that's right for them; Politics are given way too much significance considering their output (overrated much?); And that politicians are rotten-minded little children with overstuffed piggy banks.

Or maybe this is just one little pothead's way of venting his legalization frustration... I don't know and you're free to argue; The music stopped a while ago.

A, B, C, D, E, F, G. My Loving English Alphabet

Kim Jung Mi - Now
1973; Korea; Psychedelic Folk; Godly female vocalist
http://www.mediafire.com/?gzd3m0mzdwm

I wasn't someone with a lot of friends growing up. It was never any specific hatred or animosity toward others that kept me at bay. My leash was a content state of mind. I had more fun sitting under trees and rolling down grass hills than I did keeping up with people. To this day my words are stifled by my own thought process. Speaking coherently is hard for me, as I am very much trapped inside my own head. I'm sort of bubbly; in the sense that I'm drowning at the bottom of the ocean and the only proof of my existence is my breath's oxygen rustling the tide. The most beautiful days of the year are an amalgamation of the elements. Only after rainfall can the trees bear sunshine so beautifully; When pavement is so drenched that it captures the sky with its reflection. This beauty engulfs us in ways our eyes fail to read. The pungent scent of wet oak fills me with happiness. I like knowing trees are nourished. : ] They're a testament of survival over intellect. They will never need us and we will always need them. They have no quarrels because they put every ounce of strength into living, whether it's to bask in sunlight or survive in snow. Not that I'm opposed to cutting them down for practical use, but I do become exceedingly irate when their presence is completely replaced with buildings. Maybe it's a yearning to forever live in my childhood? Pleasant little community with flowers in every yard, and trees as high as the homes. An illusion of peace and isolation created by hills that hid the neighbors. My hippy-dippy parents listening to their hippy-dippy music. A family who could give you twice as much love for every penny they couldn't spend.

Well, the album finished before I could say much at all. One mindset, one sound, one try. That's how I'd like to post these. ^_^