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Deep Music

01-Jan-09

Its music about adolescent issues made by grown men.

And Its not music as much as a CD with ~6-12 adverts targeting youth and their most trite of issues, and at the same time telling those kids its ok to be a regressive, emotionally disfunctional tards.

Its music thats not on par with anything else, from some bedroom NSBM fools to The Shags to Sun Ra or fucking Sibelius. Its more on par with breakfast cereals or pop tarts

(And just to highlight the contradictory-ness of ME posting this; this weeks SOTW is Desekrator - Metal For Demons :P hurrr)

NEEDS MORE COW BELL!!! (Unsure about the walken tho…)

30-Dec-08
  Make your own at MoreCowbell.dj  

Church of Real Metal

26-Dec-08

I’ve been waiting to see someone else say something like this .So much "true" children have commented on these guys, and their new material, and until you get out of living in a ridiculous cave of wank, and holding your ridiculous "scene" fort, I dont thinks any of them have the forsight or hindsight to comment….I like the below comment though, sums it up nicely.

"Transylvanian Hunger is some life changing, next level shit. But once you have defined a genre and not died(a la Euronymous or the Big Bopper) what do you do? It would be equally as lame (as the doubters seem to think recent Darkthrone is…) if the Throne kept pumping out Under a Funeral Moon copies or tried to polish it up to Satryicon levels. So given the choice of A.No Darkthrone, B.Transylvanian Hunger Redux, or C.Whatever they come up with. I will go with C "

~Hog @ What We Do Is Secret blog

http://hogspeak.blogspot.com/2008/11/darkthrone-darkthrones-and-black-flags.html

Burning Witch - Stillborn (Live 1997)

24-Dec-08

Global Communication - 14:31

15-Dec-08

Ubuntu + Dell = The Shits?

14-Dec-08

Dell was giving me the shits with Ubuntu, I dont think its Ubuntu’s fault.I dont really know….

(An install fucked up and I had to do a hard reboot…after that it was never the same ie:nothing loading at all…still unsure what the issue really was, and unsure if it will repeat; if it is something hardware/BIOS related, which it may be…It all began with wanting to remove media Direct…)

look at that li’l fella

Eventually I got a Live CD to work, OpenSuse 11.0 , and installed the 64bit version of that.

Its not too bad so far, I just have to get used to YaST and installing, getting comfortable with a new way of doing stuff, etc…I guess the benefit is taking part of the “gloss” away (easy root access, lots of pre-installed stuff etc…) and having to use console a little bit more for some things.

Clock DVA - The Hacker [1988]

13-Dec-08

FireFox 3 Starts in Full Screen mode!!

05-Dec-08

This is a Ubuntu (Intrepid specific?) issue it seems, and may be linked to Compiz.

Regardless, I found this to be a fix for the problem:

Press F11 twice to make the window normal size

Un-maximize the window and then close it. The window may go outside of your Toolbar/Panel borders, therefore the Close button will be hidden, so you may have to Right-Click on it where it appears in the toolbar and close it that way, or Right-Click and select Move to bring the Close button out from under the panel.

Restart FF , Maximize it and the problem should be solved.

This worked for me. It isn’t a fix , but should remove the problem.

I haven’t restarted my PC since, but have restarted FF a few times and it seems persistent.

LOL

25-Nov-08

In the first two weeks since the election, President-elect Barack Obama has broken with a tradition established over the past eight years through his controversial use of complete sentences, political observers say.

Millions of Americans whowatched Mr. Obama’s appearance on CBS’ “Sixty Minutes” on Sunday witnessed the president-elect’s unorthodox verbal tick, which had Mr. Obama employing grammatically correct sentences virtually every time he opened his mouth.

But Mr. Obama’s decision to use complete sentences in his public pronouncements carries with it certain risks, since after the last eight years many Americans may find his odd speaking style jarring.

According to presidential historian Davis Logsdon of the University of Minnesota , some Americans might find it “alienating” to have a President who speaks English as if it were his first language. “Every time Obama opens his mouth, his subjects and verbs are in agreement,” says Mr. Logsdon. “If he keeps it up, he is running the risk of sounding like an elitist.”

The historian said that if Mr. Obama insists on using complete sentences in his speeches, the public may find itself saying, “Okay, subject, predicate, subject predicate - we get it, stop showing off.”

The President-elect’s stubborn insistence on using complete sentences has already attracted a rebuke from one of his harshest critics, Gov. Sarah Palin of Alaska . “Talking with complete sentences there and also too talking in a way that ordinary Americans like Joe the Plumber and Tito the Builder can’t really do there, I think needing to do that isn’t tapping into what Americans are needing also,” she said.

STATEMENT

21-Nov-08

By Claes Oldenburg
(aka; I Am For An Art…Manifesto)

I am for an art that is political-erotical-mystical, that does something other than sit oil its ass in a museum.

I am for an art that grows up not knowing it is art at all, an art given the chance of having a starting point of zero.

I am for an art that embroils itself with the everyday crap & still comes out on top.

I am for all art that imitates the human, that is comic, if necessary. or violent, or whatever is necessary.

I am for all art that takes its form from the lilies of life itself, that twists and extends and accumulates and spits and drips, and is heavy and coarse and blunt and sweet and stupid as life itself.

I am for all artist who vanishes, turning up in a white cap painting signs or hallways.

I am for art that comes out of a chimney like black hair and scatters in the sky.

I am for art that spills out of an old mail’s purse when he is bounced off a passing fender.

I am for an art that joggles like everyones knees, when the bus traverses an excavation.

I am for art that is smoked, like a cigarette, smells, like a pair of shoes.

I am for art that flaps like a flag, or helps blow noses, like a handkerchief.

I am for art that is put on and taken off, like pants, which develops holes, like socks, which is eaten, like a piece of pie, or abandoned with great contempt, like a piece of shit.

I am for art covered with bandages. I am for art that limps and rolls and runs and jumps.

I am for art that comes in a can or washes up on the shore.

I am for art that coils and grunts like a wrestler. I am for art that sheds hair.

I am for art you can sit on. I am for art you can pick your nose with or stub your toes on.

I am for art from a pocket, from deep channels of the ear, from the edge of a knife, from the corners of the mouth, stuck in the eye or worn on the wrist.

I am for art under the skirts, and the art of pinching cockroaches.
off with a switch.

I am for art that unfolds like a map, that you can squeeze, like your sweetys arm, or kiss, like a pet dog. Which expands and squeaks, like an accordion, which you can spill your dinner on, like an old tablecloth.

I am for an art that you can hammer with, stitch with, sew with, paste with, file with.

I am for an art that tells you the time of day, or where such and such a street is.

I am for an art that helps old ladies across the street.

I am for the art of the washing machine. I am for the art of a government check. I am for the art of last wars raincoat.

I am for the art that comes up in fogs from sewer-holes in winter. I am for the art that splits when you step on a frozen puddle. I am for the worms art inside the apple. I am for the art of sweat that develops between crossed legs.

I am for the art of neck-hair and caked tea-cups, for the art between the tines of restaurant forks, for the odor of boiling dishwater.

I am for the art of sailing on Sunday, and the art of red and white gasoline pumps.

I am for the art of bright blue factory columns and blinking biscuit signs.

I am for the art of cheap plaster and enamel. I am for the art of worn marble and smashed slate. I am for the art of rolling cobblestones and sliding sand. I am for the art of slag and black coal. I am for the art of dead birds.

I am for the art of scratchings in the asphalt, daubing at the walls. I am for the art of bending and kicking metal and breaking glass, and pulling at things to make them fall down.

I am for the art of punching and skinned knees and sat-on bananas. I am for the art of kids’ smells. I am for the art of mama-babble.

I am for the art of bar-babble, tooth-picking, beerdrinking, egg-salting, in-sulting. I am for the art of falling off a barstool.

I am for the art of underwear and the art of taxicabs. I am for the art of ice-cream cones dropped on concrete. I am for the majestic art of dog-turds, rising like cathedrals.

I am for the blinking arts, lighting up the night. I am for art falling, splashing, wiggling, jumping, going on and off.

I am for the art of fat truck-tires and black eyes.

I am for Kool-art, 7-UP art, Pepsi-art, Sunshine art, 39 cents art, 15 cents art, Vatronol art, Dro-bomb art, Vam art, Menthol art, L & M art, Ex-lax art, Venida art, Heaven Hill art, Pamryl art, San-o-med art, Rx art, 9.99 art, Now art, New art, How art, Fire sale art, Last Chance art, Only art, Diamond art, Tomorrow art, Franks art, Ducks art, Meat-oram a art.

I am for the art of bread wet by rain. I am for the rats’ dance between floors. I am for the art of flies walking on a slick pear in the electric light. I am for the art of soggy onions and firm green shoots. I am for the art of clicking among the nuts when the roaches come and go. I am for the brown sad art of rotting apples.

I am for the art of meows and clatter of cats and for the art of their dumb electric eyes.

I am for the white art of refrigerators and their muscular openings and closings.

I am for the art of rust and mold. I am for the art of hearts, funeral hearts or sweetheart hearts, full of nougat. I am for the art of worn meathooks and singing barrels of red, white, blue and yellow meat.

I am for the art of things lost or thrown away, coming home from school. I am for the art of cock-and-ball trees and flying cows and the noise of rectangles and squares. I am for the art of crayons and weak grey pencil-lead, and grainy wash and sticky oil paint, and the art of windshield wipers and the art of the finger on a cold window, on dusty steel or in the bubbles on the sides of a bathtub.

I am for the art of teddy-bears and guns and decapitated rabbits, exploded umbrellas, raped beds, chairs with their brown bones broken, burning trees, firecracker ends, chicken bones, pigeon bones and boxes with men sleeping in them.

I am for the art of slightly rotten funeral flowers, hung bloody rabbits and wrinkly yellow chickens, bass drums & tambourines, and plastic phonographs.

I am for the art of abandoned boxes, tied like pharaohs. I am for an art of watertanks and speeding clouds and flapping shades.

I am for U.S. Government Inspected Art, Grade A art, Regular Price art, Yellow Ripe art, Extra Fancy art, Ready-to-eat art, Best-for-less art, Ready-to-cook art, Fully cleaned art, Spend Less art, Eat Better art, Ham art, pork art, chicken art, tomato art, banana art, apple art, turkey art, cake art, cookie art.

add:
I am for an art that is combed down, that is hung from each ear, that is laid on the lips and under the eyes, that is shaved from the legs, that is brushed on the teeth, that is fixed on the thighs, that is slipped on the foot. square which becomes blobby