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He hated the computer screen.
His eyes had swivelled, swirled, aching across an endless swish, swish.
A car rolling backwards, with the dreamer gently chafing her fanny against my shoulder.
His forefinger was stiff from taking parallel tracks, front gates and porches, horns and squealing brakes, doorbells, pneumatic doors, hissing, oil, asphalt, old weeds, rags.
Something just nudged.
Dreams too, dreams speak to him.
In fairy tales and parables, theirs is a language of symbol and analogy.
Dark and slick, almost too dark to see.
But people seem addicted to retail.
Throbbing basslines, just a good noise.
Wouldn't that be fab?
What's all this?
Better by far to put it down
While others lag behind in a slow lane.
It was used by priests in ancient times.
It was known to most Neolithic people.
It was the human voice.
It matters in his life.
It protects against negative thoughts, can yield a cure.
But pick it up, turn up the volume another few centimetres.
Do it, develop a glitch, do not waste it.
Express inner forces and prompt a change in habits as well.
There was a long silence.
The hum of the generators.
A cluster of carbon dancers.
Then a naughty little hand teased my prick again.
Oh my gosh.
With glowing photocopied and printed eyes.
The armoured television, black with grease.
Strung out on carbon.
The leads, wires and cabling.
The black dot at its tip powdering into tiny crystals.
The name of the programme, said Jackman, is Whore, Blow, Minorities.
When an even layer of grease had been applied to a set of studios, offices interlinked by closed circuit TV, a supporting timber is removed from under each end of the lovely 48-track desk.
I turned up the volume again.
Remember, it is gas volume.
And I mean gas, not gasoline in the mixing room.
Nocturnal Emissions' Nigel Ayers has continued to work with a strong underground of cult support, avoiding music industry fashions, and following his own creative path he concentrated on creating a strong sense of a wilderness identity through sound.
Pure enjoyment of sound, never knowing what will happen next except for the fact that it will be even better than what you just heard. I love this one, thanks. saimonix
This ambient pop album from Chute Records label head Jan the Man captures melancholy, contemplative moods simply, and without words. Bandcamp New & Notable Jun 15, 2021