Contained Anti- Matter Is Inherently Explosive

Bullets do not disrespect their sanctuary by exiting closed parameters. Mechanical devices are systematically ordained to display inanimate contentment. Machines are logically assembled, therefore react to nothing out of their ordinary. Catastrophe occurs only when the assembler exhibits that he is not the systematic machine he created, whether by defect in the assembly, or defect in the useage of his creation. The assembler can not fathom ever creating such a device that would illogically destroy itself, let alone perform disrespectful acts. Why would such a thing ever occur? Perhaps the assembler was trying to convince his creation of a point very dear to his own logic. "You will do as I create you to do, or ultimately have never been of purpose." Good thing bullets are part of a machine, and machines are created by one that presents purpose as logic.

Edible Fantastical Jubilance

Aggression In Moderation Makes For Fantastical Jubilance

Five people I want to punch in the face:

1. Bill O' Reilly

2. Dr. Phil

3. Lindsey Lohan

4. Kanye West

5. Mormons (just one would also suffice).

I hear them and they are wizards.

What about these voices sounding outside the window makes them illusionary?
What about these colors qualify them as abstract?
If they are real, does that fact make the stories false, strip the stories down to lies?

The stories were created to entertain, created in one's mind as an escape route from the true reality of their own thoughts; denial, inqusition, selfishness.
Nothing can be real, with the exception of what exists in the mind.

So the tangible, visual, auditory, illusions become real, and that leaves what substance left of the stories? And the minds the stories came from. Does this discredit the truth inside the storytellers own mind? And, where does that put truth? Back down, stripped bare in the overly willed scent of garbage?

Why does truth have to be yours, and why must you discredit mine?

Journey through hedonism?

Perhaps the occurance and recognition of petty trivialities are needed.

Perhaps.

The Knife (Remix Magazine)

THE KNIFE

Aug 1, 2006 12:00 PM, By Justin Kleinfeld

In the current music industry, it's not enough to simply make music anymore. These days, to make news, it's imperative for an act to combine quality music with an amazing image or interesting story. Those are three characteristics of Stockholm, Sweden's brother-and-sister team The Knife (aka Olof Dreijer and Karin Dreijer Andersson). Musically, The Knife's new album Silent Shout (Mute) sounds like the aural interpretation of horror films like The Exorcist, The Omen and The Ring. Visually, the Dreijer siblings prefer to “dress up as the music” and will only be photographed in their own macabre costumes — no exceptions. All gimmicks aside, The Knife makes the kind of cool electronic pop music that appeals to people who gravitate toward a number of genres. Might we have the first electronic act that appeals equally to fans of the Chemical Brothers and Christian Death?

The Knife is a good example of how easy it is to make music in today's digital world. In fact, if it weren't for the proliferation of computers in music production, chances are that The Knife would not exist — the extent of their musical training didn't make it past the guitar (Karin) and saxophone (Olof). The original incarnation of The Knife was little more than free-form chill-out sessions between the siblings in front of Olof's computer. “We actually didn't know anything about making sounds and producing when we started out, so it took some time,” Karin says. “We just hung out by Olof's computer, and I had a few songs I wanted to record. It took a year before we decided we were a band. I think when making Deep Cuts [V2, 2004], that was the first time we even talked about what it was supposed to sound like.”
While The Knife has certainly improved leaps and bounds in the realm of production, their core gear is still limited to only a few key elements: Steinberg Cubase, the Swedish-made Elektron Machinedrum SPS-1, Native Instruments FM7 soft synth, Casio RP-1 Rapman synth, Roland SH-101 synth and the Boss Voice Transformer. That voice transformer adds the gender-bending effects to Karin's voice that has become a trademark for the act. “It's important that the voice is a part of the music and written like its own instrument,” she says. “At the same time, we work with lots of characters in the lyrics, and the changing vocal follows the lyrics for great expression in the song. It's almost theatrical.”
As for the duo's image, it has been carefully constructed to not take away from the music. “We have masks so as to not be recognized,” Olof says. “On the second album, I got recognized, and I didn't like it. Dressing up as the music is a way of putting the music in focus.” That image translates into a newly conceived live show designed in part by Andreas Nilsson, who also directed the amazing video for “Silent Shout.” The multimedia live show consists of two giant projection screens (one in front of and one behind The Knife), two singing dolls and lots of moody lighting. To avoid being a distraction from the stage show, Olof and Karin are garbed in specially designed black suits that allow them to blend in with the background. For the live show, every song is mixed in surround sound, and roughly half the tracks are versions not available on any album. Even though that seems like a show conceived through years of trial and error, The Knife has only ever performed live a few times in six years. They just didn't feel like it was possible to perform electronic music well in a live setting. After rave reviews for the new show, more dates are being announced, and there is word of a possible U.S. tour.
With recent coverage by the mainstream press of electronic-based acts like M.I.A., Mylo and Ellen Allien, there couldn't be a better time for The Knife to break out in a big way. Musically, they don't sound like anyone else, and aesthetically, they reek of coolness. There's also a sense of rebellion and attitude in Olof and Karin, and that's incredibly appealing. You may not get to see the real people under the costumes; so instead, just turn up the speakers and let the music cut through

In here there is no outside.

I can cook soltitude and feed off of myself.

Sleep in the open state of alert insanity.

No one can watch me.

I can watch what deserves the naked eye.

Madly, obseesively,

f

a

l

l

into local oblivion.

Ghost

Here we are still. We are hiding.
Not out of fear, but waiting for more in the shadowed alley, so that it may sneak up on us. We are willing to pretend to be suprised, to be raped of all shock. We know it is coming to us. We will feign.
We have hope, hope does not have us.
We want more, we want to want more.We have become dark. We are hanging by the halo of the death rope.
We see everything and it looks so similar to everything, but it is nothing.
It is beautiful.
We are full of it, all of the nothing. Complete.
Time spent on nothing. We will lower our arms for it, bend our knees, break our eyes for the chimes and the trebled bells of voice so we can see ourselves hear.
We will lean and race.
Climb the mountains of the mundane to net and embrace it.
Save the blue sky and the white clouds for the somethings, give the rejected grey, the scabbed broken skin of the grey sky- for the nothings who need nothing..Save those somethings, save everything.
Keep nothing.
The demonic noise assimilates in the grey sky.
It is beautiful, it is where we will be.
We know to go.It is a journey on a softly spoken path, with sharp teeth spewing jaded words of wisdom and eerie laughter.
It is home, we see it.
We are already there, we are here.
Now we have to go, and find another way back.
We have nothing, yet we will return more than the somethings, the anythings, and the everythings can offer to sell.
We will return with what is not had.
Nothing.

You be the answer

Here I am still. I am hiding.
Not out of fear, but waiting for more in the shadowed alley so it may sneak up on me.
I am willing to pretend to be suprised, to be raped of all shock. I know it is coming to me.
I will feign.
I have hope.
I want more, I want to want more.
I have become dark. I am hanging by the halo of the death rope. I see everything and it looks so similar to everything, but it is nothing.
It is beautiful. I am full off all of it, all of the nothing. Complete.
Time spent on nothing, I will lower my arms for it, bend my knees, break my eyes for the chimes and the trebeled bells of voice I can see myself hear.
I will lean, and race.
Climb the mountains of the mundane to net and embrace it.
Save the blue sky and the white clouds for the somethings, give the rejected grey, the scabbed broken skin of the grey sky- for the nothings who need nothing..
Save those somethings, save everything.
Keep nothing.
The demonic noise assimilates in the grey sky.
It is beautiful, it is where I will be.
I have been told to go.
It is a journey on a softly spoken path, with sharp teeth spewing jaded words of wisdom and eerie laughter.
It is home, I see it.
I am already there, I am here.
No I go and find another way back.
I have nothing, yet I will return with more than the everythings, the anythings, and the somethings can offer to sell.
I will return with what is not had.
Nothing.