Sunday, March 19, 2006

what is your blogging residue?


Your blog is just a shadow of you. Floating meaninglessly in the digital effluvium. Waste material of the mind. Composed of physical pain, sorrow, hostility, tenderness, intelligence, ignorance, radiant elevation, and glum ceremonials.

Your blog means less than even your fully spiritualized, self-actualized personal insignificance, which is less than a millionth of a billionth of a second itch on a speck of dust under a slab of frozen methane on the last vestiges of the furthest edge of the universe.

When you meditated to the Shasta Plane, and glimpsed what comes after, you wore an aghast ghost of your former, firmer sylph.

Eating all the electro-ectoplasm you could shovel into the mouth of your dream, you saluted no one, and despised the kissed apart ground you walked on. The yawning (from boredom) chasms and gaping (at the accident) clefts, they all belong to you, blogger!

Every red time you annoyed, bored, or bothered a reader, it all is heaped like rank, skanky garbage, all over your upheads and facelifts. You blogger, you caused this new dimension of cyber outlandishness: Blogosphere 4.0 under construction and coming soon!

We made up ridiculous two banana split tangerine rules: NEVER use all caps, AVOID exclamation points, ALWAYS write short posts, PRETEND your blog and you are one metallic digitized flesh!

Less than a single ant, your blog just sits there like an idiot, worthless and morose.

Sloth, you slink through the immaterialisms like a wafting wand without charm. So slight, so recalitrant in rebus and rebuttal, sloshing around ingloriously in its dismal, abysmal imperfections, it offends even the bratwurst of us.

So now I ask you: what is the residue, the residuum of all your frantic, underwhelming blogging activity? Think. What have you gained? What has the planet Earth gained from any of it?

When you're finally all burned up, consumed to final, terminal exhaustion?

When you're so palsied and carpel tunneled, you cannot type a single character, even with your nose, or through metaphysical mental concentration, when your senile mind can no longer move matter, nor communicate electro-telepathically? When thought has flown, circuits are blown, and you've finally succeeded unheroically to blog your bad self to death?

Huh?

I didn't hear that, could you please speak up so everyone here can hear? What? That's what I thought. You haven't thought about it much, if at all, right? Okay. Neither have I.

ADVERTISEMENT
INTERRUPTION

<> crass commercial for defunkt band<>

"stick your fingers in my mouth, pull my lips back and watch me smile"

-- "Home", PAVEMENT from Westing.

most cravenly rotten, addictive, distroyah! post-punk trash music ever recorded...coming dangerously close to some Caroliner/Swirlies/Sonic Youth mash up conundrum. That guy plays bad guitar almost as bad as I used to...

PAVEMENT: "Westing (by musket and sextant)"
Copyright 1993 Drag City Records, Chicago

The PAVEMENT CD they don't want you to know exists...

This is a horrible, endearing mess of crap guitar string tinglings that hook like a summer b----breeze, a vivid can do this, outrageous portrayal of maximum punk void violence, the Pixies fighting the Angry Samoans as Johnny Thunders, Blue Gene Tyranny, Mitch Easter, Thurston Moore, Boris Policeband, Rockets Red Glare, Wreckless Eric, Super Wimp Poorboy Blair Miller, Kevin Dunn & the Regiment of Women look on.

Like "Great Rock and Roll Swindle" for the now ancient 1990s, but minus the art and opera posings, and with rusty ragged industrial edges of Pure Noise Joy as in "Recorder Grot", and plenty of charmingly rotten singing failures, melodic disaster, and everything thermally threatening to sack apart any moment!!!

A compilation of best forgotten, astonishing gems from Slay Tracks (1933-1969...yes, that's what the CD insert says!), Demolition Plot J-7, Perfect Sound Forever, and Summer Babe Threat single: flexidiscs & overnight failures. "Copyright by Music Grinders 1850, 1858, 1859."

It cannot get much uglier musically than this, and still have some guitar chord attempts and shower hummers with real repeititions and melodic fragmentation insubstantialities galore! Hard to beat, from any deconstruction viewpoint you could possibly muster. The instrumentals e.g., "Heckler Spray", generally less than a minute, are beautiful, in a grotesque way, of course.

Such angelic voices these lads had! The songs like kind of jump all over you, in a not very nice manner, of course.

"Box Elder", "Price Yeah!", "Forklift", "Perfect Depth", "From Now On", "Angel Carver Blues/Mellow Jazz Docent", "Debris Slide", "Home", "Summer Baby", "Mercy: the Laundromat", and "My First Mine" are the explosively stand-out tracks.

END OF
PSYCHO-CAPITALIST
ADVERTISEMENT


What will be your residue, the sticky substance that remains after every trace of your presence has been washed away? in a "Debris Slide" as PAVEMENT "sings"?

What does all your blogging activity amount to? A bag of potato chips, or less?

If a true Tsumani, Hurricane Katrina of cyber attack wiped out all internets, ipods, PCs, mainframes, mobiles, VPNs, wi-fis throughout the trackable universe, then what?

With no blog, no computer, no ipod, no X box, no satellite radio, no softsynth, no electricity, no machines....

with none of these things...ever again....

...what are you?

That's your residue.

No comments: