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[VIDEO][/VIDEO] I kind of hate this song, but Astrud's version manages to be both terrible and endearing.

http://soundcloud.com/johnnyjewel/symmetry-themes-for-an

Symmetry - Themes For An Imaginary Film

Three years in the making, Symmetry - the project that began as a conceptual tangent between Glass Candy, Chromatics, Mirage, & Desire's more abstract sides - finally sees its release this month. Themes For An Imaginary Film is two hours of claustrophobic cinematic bliss compiled for Painters, Writers, Photographers, Designers, Cruisers, Night Walkers, & Dreamers. Adrenaline drips thick like syrup across a horizon where memories become blurred scenes behind the windshield & yesterday's faces fade as the road strobes to aggressive rhythms. Romantic melodies linger in the rearview mirror as chimera bells saturate the electric fog that's slowly rolling in.

Over the span of thirty seven tracks, Symmetry embraces the elegance of European noir cut with a lean & violent American razor. Directly in your face & breathing down your neck one minute, & escaping beyond the night sky the next. The attention given to color & detail on these recordings is more graphic than musical. More visual than aural. With no flashy virtuosity to clutter the mood, the album's pulse thrives on the empty pockets of space left in the wake of throbbing bass & the faint flicker of electro candlelight. Minimal, strict, & always in motion, there's an oppressive overtone throughout the record that winds itself tight as a clock. Johnny Jewel & Nat Walker (Chromatics & Desire) give us propulsive moments that are more rhythm based than Pop, & less reliant on a lyrical presence than their other projects. [more in link]

thank you mellowfellow

EDIT: FIXED LINK SORRY

The world has changed
and we all have become metal men.

The National World Metal Men Conference
is being held in New York this week
to examine the consequences.

We are heavy,
and can no longer sleep in our beds.
We sink in the ocean.
Our air planes will not work.
We no longer need to eat or drink.

“There is no explanation for this”
says Carl East Man,
leading biologist.
“No one will ever know what happened
or why.”

We spend our days sitting outside.
It is difficult to speak in our old languages.
We cannot harm ourselves.
Maybe it is no longer possible to die.

-c. cardigan

Haa this is great, I want to change my name to Carl East Man

driveslowk said:

http://soundcloud.com/johnnyjewel/symmetry-themes-for-an

Symmetry - Themes For An Imaginary Film

Click to expand...

Listend to the whole damn thing, enjoyed it. Wasn' t it rumored to be the Drive ost for a while (Glass Candy was featured in Bronson iirc) ?

[VIDEO][/VIDEO]


Bronson ftw

tween_spirit said:

The world has changed
and we all have become metal men.
Maybe it is no longer possible to die.

-c. cardigan

Click to expand...

Haha, this is just like a lost James Tate poem. Tween, are you the guy from the something awful forums?

indeed I am.

old username was snailrush, I only posted in FYAD but not so much anymore.

I'm mostly on here if anything

God help us all.

[VIDEO][/VIDEO]

The Ganzfeld effect is fascinating stuff, if you stare at an undiferentiated or monochromatic field the signals sent by the eyes to the brain will remain unchanged and the brain will simply shut off those signals after a while (you're blind) and it will start making **** up to compensate for the visual sensory deprivation by amplifying neural noises, which might lead to hallucinations etc.

Arctic explorers have been known to be particularily prone to this given the uniform and featureless nature of polar landscapes, especially in whiteout conditions where lines of horizon, shadows and contours completely disappear (see "white-out syndrome").


You can actually reproduce the Ganzfeld effect by lying down and taping a halved (uniformly colored) pingpong ball over each eye. I tried once but there was way too much noise where I was, impossible to let my mind go blank (some suggest to turn the radio on static to achieve complete blankness).

Anyone ever tried ?

I've tried it with my cousin in his dorm room. We did the white noise, the ping pong balls, the red light and everything. Very interesting experience. I would like ti try it again.

Tweester Spirington Presents: A Listless Jackass, or How I Learned to Stop Reading Glossies and Embrace #menswear.

The journey began early.

With the excitement of a Chili’s waitress in middle America grabbing her purse and getting ready to punch out for the night to meet her boyfriend behind Kohl’s for a makeout sesh, I grabbed my trusty Fuji X1000 and Apple iPhone 4sx Sapphire.

Shoot. Almost forgot my Made in America Red Wing Irish Setter boots. Good thing I always write down a packing list on my Field Notes notepads with my Swiss-made Caran d’Ache pen the night before.

Tossing the keys to the Ford F150 Super Duty to my dad, I ask what kind of tunes he wants for the ride up.

“Black Keys unreleased recording of their secret basement session on my Brooklyn rooftop? Phish live at La Bufadora, Feb 30, 1992?”

“Yeah, yeah, put it all on my veg tanned Billykirk USB drive, it’s a long trip!”

“Wow dad, this thing looks even better with age than Julia Louis Dreyfus”


With our jams on full blast and traffic as light as my Nike Frees, we made it to our first and only stop in record time.



A Mecca for fried sweets in this dingy blue collar Western Mass town off I-91. Donut Dip is one of those truly authentic spots, where each time you go they always have your favorites made fresh, and the good old boys sitting at the counter are still sipping on their coffee and discussing Fox News. It’s like they’ve never even traveled the country by #van and seen all it has to offer outside of their little bubble.


-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------


I find myself in a strange land.



Where some things seem familiar.



And others dramatically different.






I ventured forth through the New England Landscape, the occasional branch scratching at me, savagely reminding that this pain was nothing compared to the reblogs I would miss out on should I not endure.







Our neighbors to the East, the scent of fresh pine intoxicating me like so many nights of intoxication during my time spent in the Far East. That means Asia. I’m implying I was in Asia and got drunk, frequently. It means I party a lot and I’m a cool guy.





I spot some more changes to the landscape, these seemingly less recent. The potpourri of textures and colors and materials, all organic and natural, overwhelms me like a wave axing me at Big Sur, crashing down hard on my fit, but sensitive, body.



My bi-coastal lifestyle developed an affinity for water in me, and equipped with my Nigel Cabourn for Eddie Baur dowsing rod I quickly discovered that most essential of elements, flowing quietly beneath a sturdy layer of ice. If only I could protect myself from the harsh criticisms of the world in this way.



Making my way along the river I admire the course it has chosen to take. A strong willed flow of water, choosing only the nicest and most beautiful rocks to flow by…



…and crafting the most symbolic and lyrical flows of matter, it reminds me of someone I know dearly. That is, yours truly.





After an afternoon of seeing nature destroyed by man, I am as relieved as my Goldendoodle after being neglected by me for 8 hours while I edit photos with presets on my Macbook Gold is to go outside, to see that nature can grow around man’s waste, incorporating it into its upward and outward growth towards the Heavens.




My fellow traveler finds the man responsible. A man native to New Hampshire, with his well worn Levi’s and talks of “weath-uh” on the way. I can’t help but wonder if those logging chaps are RRL?




“Cut through he-uh to the access road, I’ll show ya wear the extra firewood is”





There she is. The beast that made all of this destruction possible. I walk over in awe, not of the power or utility of it all, but of the rich patina only years of service can provide. So authentic, a patina like this reminds me of all the aged goods I love to procure while spouting virtues of buying new and well crafted goods, destined for their own aging process I don’t have the patience for.



But even something this powerful as a soft side, and I admired the juxtaposition of what seemed like a beautiful growth out of the weathered steel provided, as if these fresh pines, clinging dearly to the cold metal, had no idea their brothers and sisters would soon again be at its mercy.




After seeing some remnants of the logging, put aside to warm the rural Connecticut home of my brother, I was struck with the stark realization of why it was we came here. Much of this wood had to be chopped and what we could fit loaded into our mighty blue chariot, and I was the one responsible. When all was said and done my back ached like my readers minds after suffering through my horribly contrived analogies, but thanks to my vintage Pendleton gloves my hands remained soft enough for the delicate touch required by my guyPad.





With the work completed, I followed my father back to the house the rest and reflect on the wraparound porch of the getaway cape we built together all those summers ago.








As we stood on the porch, taking it all in and sipping on some simple black Folgers from a pot, I’m reminded why I’m so drawn to places like this:

Not a big Chuck Palahniuk fan, but I found this interesting. From a Men's Health article titled Live Like You're Dying. I cut out some of the boring stuff.

Self-euthanasia is major trend in the making. Each year in the United States, some 26,000 men die by their own hand, including some smarter, braver men than you and me. Hunter S. Thompson. Kurt Cobain. Spalding Gray. David Foster Wallace. These were men of infinite accomplishment, finances, and talent, and we will miss them. But if you're going to check out, you must first promise to take on a more difficult task. You'll have to wait 7 days, and in that last week of your life, you'll have to perform what I glibly refer to as the Three C's. Don't worry, the time will fly by. Like the final week at a job you hate, every moment will be gilded with nostalgia and sweetened with the knowledge that you're a dead man walking. The Ultimate Temp. The game's almost over, and you're just running out the clock.

The first C stands for Clean. Clean your bathroom. Clean your car. Do the laundry and scrub the grout. Pull out the refrigerator and wipe behind it. Wash the windows. Do everything. The second C stands for Cull. Ransack your files and discard everything except your most important papers. The same goes for your closets and memorabilia -- really, all your possessions. If you haven't looked at it recently, toss it. Donate it. Destroy it. Throw all your history and secrets into the garbage. Do the same with the aged contents of your medicine cabinet and kitchen. Also, spring for a really good haircut. Despite popular superstition, human hair does not grow beyond death, so you might as well look good. Treat yourself. Pamper, pamper, pamper; you have my permission.

Any man will tell you that it's not the big disasters that finish you. No, given an invasion by hostile space aliens or an attack of flesh-eating zombies, most guys will grab their coats and hats and run out to join the fray. Even a run-of-the-mill earthquake or forest fire constitutes a nice change of pace. Instead, what grinds us down are the parking tickets. The spoiled food in the back of the fridge. The dirty clothes at the bottom of the hamper that haven't seen daylight since 1995. Once you allow a critical mass of these petty annoyances to collect, you're sunk.

Regarding Culling, my point is: If you can shave, you can live.

The third C stands for Connect. This means contacting everyone you've known and saying something nice. No matter how much you hate them, let go of that bitterness. Identify some aspect of each person, something you've secretly admired or envied or coveted, and praise that something. Say how jealous you were of his career or happy marriage or a particular merino wool mock-turtleneck sweater.

Yes, this process feels like a huge humiliation, but what do you have to lose? Forget your self-pity. Forget your anger and defensiveness. Forgive everybody and forgive yourself. In another week they'll be gazing down into your casket, feeling just awful. So for now, throw them a bone. Give them a break.

Beyond that, fully imagine your death: the cozy warmth, the pleasant wooziness. The sound of your favorite film or music playing in the background. Envision your sparkling bathroom and empty filing cabinets. Then imagine the world without you. The same traffic jams and famines. The same political crap fights and your team never making the playoffs. People will forget you. Everyone will forget you. You're no Kurt Cobain, so just light your barbecue and toast a marshmallow. . . .

But if you've completed the Three C's, chances are good that you won't bother. Because by then you'll be surrounded by friends who now recognize you as a valuable, sensitive guy. Your oven will be clean, your car vacuumed. In the same way you procrastinated on your taxes, you can procrastinate on your death. And, at least for the moment, your hair looks . . . really great.

^^ That's a terrible idea, if friends and a clean house and a haircut and a 7 day wait are enough to stop you from killing yourself, you weren't going to anyway.

What a cop out.

Palahnuick tends to sound very profound without actually saying anything of substance.

I think that also describes Don Delillo and Cormac McCarthy.