Its all about to change

"As a long-time friend and collaborator with Deerhunter’s Bradford Cox, Lockett Pundt’s lean towards melancholic guitar mood pieces is totally understandable. Indeed, that guitar work is what comes across as the strongest feature of ‘Spooky Action At A Distance’ – tricky arpeggios and impeccably crafted feedback combine to create bleary, Kurt-Vile-esque smokescapes. Inherently, there is an anthemic quality to much of Pundt’s writing, too, though he cleverly filters it; partly with his dreamily opaque guitar work, and partly with his innate sense for when to check short of a boisterous crescendo. An impressive lesson in subtlety, class and restraint."

Moving past the feeling...

...again.

Letter to the gods

What is this?

The cleaning process as begun.

All my selfishness is brought out to the open wide and it's there in my landscape were I cannot avoid to see it. But I did thank to all the gods for that. For what I’ve become, for all the superficial mud I had to get rid off for my own sake. And here I am, standing beneath my own cross, ready for my crucifixion, and saying my praises to the gods for this wonderful chance they've decided to give me once again.

There's a time for everything in life. And maybe there is a life for every time and everything. 

My own conception of happiness deludes me as my joy ends up living somewhere else. It's a win-win situation, my visions can be nothing more than the tool, one that keeps pushing me forward and concentrating all my thoughts and feelings in one large dense light. What astonish me is that it keeps growing and how humble, and at the same time, proud, I can feel for that. How grateful I am for my own naivety and childishness! I'm getting close to myself and my conscience vibrates, it becomes lightweight although its carrying the world on its back.

I'm becoming what matters.

It's becoming easier and easier to put myself to bleed as it became easy to laugh and dive straight head-first into joy.

It's time to condensate again.

I've always wanted to know, I was thirsty all my life. Every inch of me has struggle to get deeper and higher.

I'm fearless. There is something powerful inside myself. And it has no regard for my own life. Existence wont matter without it so I've surrender.  I'm driven by it and I let myself go even if I have no idea where it leads.

Purification or death. There was no lost time. Whatever my mission is, whatever comes, it doesn't matters anymore as long as I keep letting myself be driven by this invisible hand. I reckon it's your hand.

For I am you and you are everything.

The Monkey, the crying Forest and the Sea

A very rainy day came to the village. The Mothers were mad, consumed by the fear of seeing the rotting flesh. Humidity was felt, it had the same smell of death. Coffins slide down in those days and no one would deviate from them: some were frightened and stared intently to its downward movement, while others only notice their coffin when it ran over them, and inside them they followed their path. They went down over the wet purple grass. They would reach such speeds (some believe that death has higher gravitational acceleration) that when they finally arrived to their grave, the echo was heard throughout the Forest. Then, the oldest tell, the Monkey would say: 
   "Someone broke into the Sea" 
and the Forest would cry. The Sea wasn't happy about it and would fill itself with rage: he had a volatile temper. And many rainy days came until the sun showed up again. When the rain stopped, the Mothers decided to go after the Monkey. This one, realizing his fate, tore the liver through his mouth and sewed it in his ear, full of hope. The Mothers were very touched by his gesture so they rose up the stumps where they stood and ate out his liver. 

Each coffin came for his Mother, and the Monkey went into the Sea.

 

Skepticism

[in imitation of life]

Happiness comes in the form of a clear night sky & warm concrete.

Gotta find and kill my shadow self

gotta dig up every secret seashell.

[found it, killed it, dig it.]

He Poos Clouds | Final Fantasy | 2006

Long term convictions

[Someone found Björk vids to be quite suitable. They are indeed.]

Got Blinded | Toro Y Moi | 2011

A man of long term convictions is a dead man. We ought to seek new ways and new perspectives as we are far from anything that can really be called "truth". Ignorance is the most common form of certainty. Ultimately, the love for truth and beauty is the only thing I can see who's capable of providing the leap between the animal man and humanity. Mutual respect between living organisms and mutual respect in mankind. A Lion won't hunt with his stomach full, why should we? We should feed our brains they're the ones starving to death and with them the whole planet. Seeking truth and enjoying every simple pleasure our mother earth provides to it's full extent is the only happiness I foresee. Defy any establish idea. If nothing grows out of it, you'll prove its rightness. If you find something, then mankind is one step closer. Consciousness is everything. The word "emotion" has been used out of its true context to seduce people. Critical thought is essential and must be taught to children & adults. Every human hear and every human neuron must be open and ready to process. Everyone needs to be open  enough to share. As they say, "sharing is caring" - very valid thought - I have myself questioned it over and over again. It still stands.

A Dream About Mankind

we should all be together by now.

No One Asked to Dance | Deerhoof | 2011

A Dream About RBE

A Dream Of Water

A Dream of Water | Colin Stetson | 2011

relatório de sonhos I

Estava a ver uma prova de ciclismo como se observasse primeiro na televisão e depois entrasse na estrada. De repente dois ciclistas começam a agredirem-se mutuamente enquanto todos pedalam e tentam acalmar um e outro. A situação acalma. Um deles aproveita para pegar no bebedouro e atirar com este na cabeça do outro. O pelotão já não dá muita importância à questão. O outro para se vingar vai até ao carro de apoio e tira uma roda que arremessa contra o outro. Este cai violentamente e parte-se em dois. Ninguém sabe das pernas. Ele grita desalmadamente. Está coberto de sangue e deitado no passeio. Alguém vem ajudar, é um médico que assistia à prova. Eu estou a uns três metros e observo tudo sem fazer nada. Estou em transe. A primeira coisa que o médico faz é observar-lhe a boca e ver-lhe os dentes. Fico boquiaberto com isso. Consigo ver-lhe as coxas agora apesar de se ter partido em dois. Estão negras do deslizar no asfalto. Os gritos param. O ciclista deixa a cabeça cair para o lado e fecha os olhos em silêncio. Ficou em tons de amarelo acastanhado ou um laranja esbatido e escuro, algo parecido com caril. Acordei sobressaltado.