SONG OF THE DAY: Slow Down (kudzu'd)

I prefer slowed down music not just for aesthetic tastes, but as resistance to the business as usual status quo operational status of civilization, that has poisoned us all to believe we must “hustle and grind” ourselves like gears, and be as efficient as machines. Humans were never meant to be no fuckin’ machines, and we all got music innate to our heart, but we’re taught that it has to be commodity to be sold, but even then it was record labels or now streaming oligarchs who make the fattest slice of the pie, never the artist. And of course, because we are all fighting the riptides of capitalism that are always ready to tear us from whatever precarious stability we’ve managed to cobble together, at the first medical emergency or legal issue or really anything, and dump us outside of the system, penniless and hopeless, regardless of the efficiency with which we lived our life, and blame it on us – that it is our own fault we could not swim against the unforgiving riptides channeled against us. It’s all a pretty disgusting and slimy way to have built a civilization, so keep up whatever appearances you have to – make the devil and his supervisory staff believe you are hustling and grinding away, but fuck off at every chance. Don’t just embezzle back the minutes, STEAL BACK YEARS, and move slow as possible so that one lifetime feels like the benefit of three. And sure, I can already hear somebody complaining that why would they want to extend the horrors of existence, why would you slow time down to suffer the indignities of having to work within a system that doesn’t value you? Don’t hate the player, hate the game. Slow down, forever, and smash a motherfuckin’ clock whenever you can, especially one folks have had to clock into. One should never have to clock into anything. What a horrible phrase to have become part of our shared lexicon. So we slow it down to usher in Southern Gothicc Futurism, which moves as slow as kudzu, and invades the devilish master plans of the lords of the land with a thick contrary nature that says, “Fuck y’all, I ain’t doing shit.”

SONG OF THE DAY: Super Duper Love - Part 1 (kudzu'd)

As an impracticing Greater Appalachian Unorthodox Priest of Southern Gothicc Futurism, I refuse to acknowledge the legitimacy of the Gregorian calendar, which has only been in full effect for less than half a millennium. Relatedly, its papal predecessor, the Julian calendar, was instituted by Julius Ceasar in 46 BC. But how did he know it was gonna be BC? It is still only December 19 in the Julian calendar, which is still used by many Orthodox churches, which is why them bearded ass dudes don’t have Christmas until later in January. Anyways, time isn’t real; I have a broken clock on my living room which says this – TIME ISN’T REAL – and it’s only wrong twice a day.
Nevertheless, this mark ass “new” year is still a great excuse to let love (thinking with the heart) rule your life a little more. There are those who would tell you this is weakness, because they think with their brain, which is so poisoned with misinformation that it behaves in predatory ways, even to ourselves. So I do suggest letting love from your heart, enter your mind. One of the basic tenets (or “dirtgod theory”) of Southern Gothicc Futurism is that our Mind is a studio wrestling ring where Heart, Brain, and Gut have a three-way melee for control of our being. Heart is ruled by Love, Gut is ruled by Ancient Knowledge Beyond Conscious Comprehension, and Brain is our Well of Consciousness, which is constantly polluted by the information our external census consumes. For me, I find it helpful to sneak into the ringside area regularly (five times a day, ideally), and when the referee is not looking, nail Brain with an unprotected steel chair shot to the head, to let Love have the advantage. In mark thinking, this is against the rules, and I am cheating against Brain (or Logic and Reason), but lolol have you looked at twitter lately? There is no way wielders of Logic and Reason are not the heels. And sometimes heels must be bashed in the head with a concussive chair shot, even if only metaphysically.
Anyways, if you celebrate the arbitrary prisons of calendar boxes, I hope you have a lovely new year, and may it never lose its zest, even when it becomes last year, replaced by the unsustainable newness our poison culture so desperately cultivates, to leave us all feeling lost.

SONG OF THE DAY: Overnight Scenario

I am older now, so when I hear the timetable for “Overnight Scenario”, it’s absolutely exhausting. Like, I’m gonna have to be in a crazy fired up mood just to make it til 3 at the pancake house. But we can eat quick and get to the house before 4. And a whole ‘other hour before the lights go out? What the fuck are we doing? And sure, six in the morning, hearing her start to shout is a great notion, but to be honest, can’t we just come home early, fuck, then go out to breakfast, have a couple café con leches and think about doing it again some other time? There ain’t enough energy drinks my chicken grease constrained heart can stand to be pulling this schedule off anymore.

SONG OF THE DAY: Hold It Now, Hit It (kudzu'd)

Folks at work were thanking their God for it being a Friday, and talking about how it was the “week end” excitedly. But I don’t give calendars that type of authority over my life. They really want us all to stuff our entire existence into boxes, both physically and mentally. Ain’t nothing about me fit that shape though, and most of my life I’ve struggled with this, thinking something is wrong with me. But ain’t nothing wrong with me…this is how I’m supposed to be. I don’t know what God they believe in but ain’t no God that shares my heart and soul that would want all these damned boxes trapping every little piece of our lives. And it just gets worse, as human descent into spiritlessness continues. Used to be we had little travel boxes of roadside motels we wandered off to briefly to escape our regular box and see a little bit of the world. But now we hunker down in our regular boxes, and got it stuffed with so much shit that we can’t even keep it all inside the regular box, but are too psychically attached to the material clutter that we mistake as identity as a being, that the old travel boxes have been converted into storage boxes, so we can put all the stuff we don’t want but don’t wanna not have into storage boxes, so that stuff can see a different part of the world. We are a demented bunch, aren’t we?

T1M3 L4PS3S, 4ND S3D1M3NTS...

time lapses, and sediments 
of experience clog our 
brains with what we think is truth 

SONG OF THE DAY: The 900 Number

Time is a social construct, designed to imprison you behind anxieties over what ain't got done yet. It also increases your fear of natural mortality. You ain't got to do nothing but live. Dial my 900 number for more affirmations of fuck it like this. RIP 45 King.

3MB3ZZL1NG B4CK 4S M4NY...

embezzling back as many 
minutes from another day 
in debt as a dirtgod can 

SONG OF THE DAY: Superjock

Decided my DJ name now is Professor Lounge. Address me as that when I'm playing 45s at the correct 33 speed to properly unlock the deeper funk held within but not allowed to be expressed by our hyper-time sensitive culture built on the industrial fallacy of we must always be productive. I look forward to spinning this record (which I recently got, so recent it hasn't arrived in the mailbox yet) at the right (wrong) speed soon enough.

SONG OF THE DAY: The Place Where We Dwell

Another Gang Starr banger. I don’t make those year end albums of the year lists because time is a bullshit social construct anyways, and mostly those lists are tied to the immediate consumption of newness rather than enjoying the full spectrum of mass-produced culture. But I will say that Gang Starr’s Daily Operation made my albums of the year list again this year.

SONG OF THE DAY: Right Place Wrong Time (kudzu'd)

The permutations of place and time are infinite, in fact an infinite number of infinities of them. Infinity can seem way smaller than it actually is because it’s such a simple word full of slender letters. But the infinite permutations of place and time go on and on, and the best you can hope for is to slice a little sliver of your minor infinity into a beautiful snapshot of feel goodness. It’s hard though, because institutions stuff every crack in our infinities with bullshit, trying to misdirect and channel us the wrong way, into some tiny boring ass corner, instead of exploring our infinite place and times of our tiny slice of conscious existence (assuming we’re conscious).

SONG OF THE DAY: Tanokumbia

Cumbia music combined with electronic music combined with abandoning western (aka european settler) time norms is the most perfect music. It should be taught to school children, in the woods.

SONG OF THE DAY: Still the Same (slurred & blurred)

It is hot as fuck outside, so let me just advise you all to slow it down. In fact, with climate change an inevitable byproduct of the eternal impossible growth plans of capitalism, it’s only going to get hotter, so you should only get slower. Don’t work fast, don’t drive fast, don’t play music fast, do nothing fast, ever. Like, what’s the point? What are you in a rush for? Time is a social construct anyways, just meant to make your ass feel late when “late” isn’t even real. I do not have AC in most of my old ass house, just a small arsenal of fans of various eras pointed in different directions depending on the heat outside, side of the house the sun is on, and other bizarre life scientist calculations that I’ve accumulated over a lifetime of being broke but beautiful. All in all, it’s tolerable, but even if it wasn’t, lolol what am I gonna do? Quit existing? Fuck no. There is no exclamation point to the end times, just a long slow ellipsis. So ride that fucker out.

SONG OF THE DAY: I've Been Searching

searching for something resembling meaning in this mundane 
rabbithole with the metaverse I landed in 
curse-blessed with consciousness 
attempting my absolute best to just vibe 
but so many electronics cloud existence 
leaving me feeling angry and down 
and full of resentment rather than 
excitement 
are there protonic devices as well 
which would boost my natural orgones 
and aid me in not running on 
deficit dopamine with diminishing 
returns as well as a more solid 
serotonin infusion 
from time to time 
to time to time 
perhaps the time part 
is root of the problem anyways 
limited ass existence 
complicated by existential crisis 
all the god damned time 
and yet still my dumb ass 
seeks 
searching for something 
that feels halfway okay 
in a world teetering on crooked axis 
dangling precariously over an 
imagined abyss 
which like the horizon never 
arrives 
on time 

SONG OF THE DAY: What Condition My Condition Is In

Was gonna try to write something short, clever, whatever, but my shoulder is fucked up, and it’s cold, and it was just 4:30 but now it’s already like midnight but it’s only been about 20 minutes, and what the fuck man, I don’t like this time of year at all. Counting down the day ‘til solstice, and then I’m gonna worship those tiny little longer slivers of sunlight, until it gets too summer and I’m like, “Damn, it’s hot, ain’t it?” Lol, people.

SONG OF THE DAY: Don't Worry

Timely advice from the Smith Brothers, although that word “timely” falsely suggests time is necessary and real. Wealth, time, productivity… all this shit our entire life has been built around is completely abstract and a fucking waste of a good heart that beats rhythmically without even trying.

By the way, I have not died. Just vibing, and getting caught up on my chill. Daily pics and gambleraku will resume soon enough. Don’t worry.

SONG OF THE DAY: Saghmi Yessir

[freestyle sonnet today] 
Wandering through life without concise direction, 
but expectation of path is a devil's map 
charting you towards disappointment. Projection 
of destination too far in advance will trap 
focus beyond moments at hand, to be enjoyed 
with full joy and immersion. No purpose is found 
beyond here and now, which does not mean dreams destroyed, 
but rather don't let master plans enslave the ground 
you're currently walking. Remain grounded without 
fears triggered by clocks ticking or thoughts of flipping 
calendars. Destroy time's manufacture of doubt 
which crushes joy and creates white knuckle gripping 
at days that have long passed. Cultivate whimsy 
and joy, amidst these manmade systems so flimsy. 

SONG OF THE DAY: 100 Years Ago (Piano Demo)

Over a century ago, the house I live in was some sort of supervisor’s house for the soapstone quarry down the hill. The old road is my driveway, and I can walk the dog down paths back there still that go down to some abandoned and gutted buildings, plus a lot of debris. This was one of the first places with electricity in America, apparently, and the smokestacks from two defunct power plants are visible a couple stones throws away, both of which got washed out in hurricane floods in 1969. The area itself got washed out economically by the Great Depression though, long before that. This quarry operation used to employ thousands of people, had a local narrow gauge train line that ran between quarries, and ran to connect to north-south mainline a few miles west of here, and the east-west mainline a few miles south of here. There’s an old stone church a half mile away, which used to be Episcopal but is not occupied by Mennonites, though not Old Order because there’s cars parked there on Sundays, not buggies. Houses everywhere are old company houses, strings of them identical looking still, even though a hundred years old, in varying states of care or disrepair. And there’s soapstone slag everywhere, giant rocks piled here or there that got blasted and cut but wasn’t up to snuff to be used back when it was used. It’s all a really neat and beautiful place, but one that was literally built and blasted by business, left to rot for the most part, and has gradually become one with the Earth again, though full of litter. I find old bottles all the time on my walks through woods and along the river, and have been writing poems on the more appropriate bottles.
The river right below my house, where the bridge and one of the power plants got washed out in 1969, still flows like always, diverted by the dam that’s still there but not powering anything now. I wonder what the river’s decline in this area was before the dam, how steep was it originally? Seems like the land slanted hard there, so I imagine there was a natural waterfall at one point that caused them to put a dam there. A hundred years seems like such a solid slice of time, but it’s similar to flying to Chicago, in my opinion. The years are still relatively arbitrary chunks of time, although the days represent one cycle of sun and night, and the year is meant to mark a full circle around the sun in our little corner of infinite space. But all the minutes and seconds get lost, and you just end up a hundred years away, like landing at O’Hare, missing all the little pieces and parts that got you there, from point A to point B. Chances are I won’t know “one hundred years” personally, at least not as this collection of molecules as their currently arranged into a dirtgod raven mack. Humans chase “knowing” more than their fair share of space on the timeline through reciting history and writing shit down like mad, but when I get lost in the tiny steps of walking along the river and through the woods, not keeping track of them nor wanting to, it seems like I might be happier as a human if I let that shit go entirely – all the minutes and hours and days and years, stop fretting over age or wasted time or grey hairs signifying failures of fulfilling mechanistic checklists of being a “productive” member of society. I ain’t got to do shit really. Time is a goddamn chain, tying me up in the yard of my life, leaving me stuck there, barking at the river down the hill that I want to go run to and dip my bare feet in, because I’m trapped. My oldest kid has a concept they always drive home called Time Destroyers United, and I’ve come to love that concept – just destroying time, not in some big revolutionary explosion of cataclysmic change, but just little pokes and stabs and monkey wrenches, sabotaging our concepts of time wherever we can. So I hope you destroyed some time today, and also enjoyed yourself, free from clocks, or phones, or clock phones, or phone clocks, or anything.

SONG OF THE DAY: Slow Down

I was gonna write something super clever and poignant, maybe about current events but maybe just about life in general – that timeless prose that’s not attached to the moment, which we get trained to worship constantly being connected. But I didn’t write nothing. I ain’t do shit. Fuck it. And I ain’t gotta do shit. Y’all ain’t paying for this shit. Most of y’all don’t even read it. Keep telling myself “slow down”. I got nowhere to go and nowhere to be, except right here, now. Fuck it.

SONG OF THE DAY: Mi Vida Loca (Slowed-n-Dro'd)

I have decided I’m against time. It only fucks up my days, months, years, and it’d be better to stop paying such close attention to it. Unfortunately, most of the mechanisms of being an allegedly productive member of society revolve around punctuality, or at least being close to on time. “Time is money” is some shit tattooed into our subconscious. Fuck it though. I’m going for a walk – a long walk of a half a million miles, for about twenty minutes or so. Everything from now on is “twenty minutes or so”. When will I be there? Twenty minutes or so. How long ‘til dinner? Twenty minutes or so. When will you retire? Twenty minutes or so. How long will this existential nightmare continue? Twenty minutes or so. See? It’s not so bad.

TH3 3ND 1S JVST TH3 0TH3R...

the end is just the other 
side of a new beginning 
once your outlook's adjusted