#356

Yeah, I'll get in here. I'm hot now, I guess. They say to strike while the iron is hot, and I want to, but I'm the iron. Right? I'm the hot one. So indeed, it is my own body, my own spirit that I must strike, like a great tongueless iron bell, with a mighty iron hammer, to bring forth the deep ringing iron tones that let a motherfucker know what time it is and that time is time for

FACTUALLY MUSICAL 2023

BRINGING THE HEAT

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My preference is largely to work things out for myself. It's much more laborious and uncertain for me to play well with others, agree with them, take part in joint endeavors. I do my best, when the season for an attempt is ripe, and these have borne important fruits, but I prefer to read and think and develop on my own, perhaps reasoning aloud into a liminal yet public space. 

Factually Pointless is for public consumption, free to all though partly (fundamentally) owned by Alphabet, doubtlessly scraped by algorithms and programs in order to teach themselves how to accelerate global decay--and all are welcome to these materials in their own way, I suppose, since I think of them as a gift and a service which may be utilized or refused by the recipient with full respect to their agency. For all that, it is also a tool I use whose mechanism is, for most people, private: to grapple with my secrets and how the world impacts me emotionally. It is a messy place, especially for those trained to believe that we are the gleaming, perfect surfaces we present to the world and use to sell products and services, rather than hairy meaty bags of blood and shit that think they think.

Also, to sharpen my knives before I use them on the True Work, That Which One Paywalls.

Suppose my most concentrated point with all this is to state that my views do not represent those of my associates, friends, etc. Just me. 

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Oh, music! Well, today I'm going to actually play instruments with my friend that I wrote about maybe doing a band with. The show, very predictably, fell through. I said it probably would and it did, and good riddance. But now that I'm hot again, rather than unbearably depressed, injured, ill, or a variable combination of the three, we can at least get together and make some horrible noises. He's got a youtube channel on which I have already featured; today we shall generate more such voyages through the land of...whatever it is we call what we make. It's a complicated string of terms, the kind of thing where Len offers up exhaustive lists of equipment used and how it was modified and the way it was hooked up just so in order to create the sound of a a billion trillion shards of glass blowing in an unchanging titanic wind across the surface of a dead and blasted, totally carbonized world. Somewhere there is a throne, a great scorched twisted thing lashed together with filthy bones and ichor-splattered carapaces that defy human description, and seated on that throne, Moloch Angrenach, who has defied every death that can kill a god, whose empty, gnawing hunger is as endless and immeasurable as the depths of lightlessness before the world was thought of.

I'll put up a link to Len's channel tomorrow. It'll go better with what I'm thinking for that post. 

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What else about music? Sticking with the personal and literal situations of music, my bass, Stray Dog, is still missing his E string, and this week I realized the strings on him are older than my marriage. Ezra might get me some for Christmas, apparently. That'll be revolutionary. Maybe I'll have Len fix the E peg and have a fully-strung bass for the first time in at least seven years. Whoa! I better fuckin watch it. Gonna get too fancy and let the devil in my house.

--JL