I don't want you to be without a greeting from me when Christmas comes and when you, in the midst of the holiday, are bearing your solitude more heavily than usual. But when you notice that it is vast, you should be happy;
for what (you should ask yourself) would a solitude be that was not vast; there is only one solitude, and it is vast, heavy, difficult to bear, and almost everyone has hours when he would gladly exchange it for any kind of sociability, however trivial or cheap, for the tiniest outward agreement with the first person who comes along, the most unworthy.
But perhaps these are the very hours during which solitude grows; for its growing is painful as the growing of boys and sad as the beginning of spring. But that must not confuse you. What is necessary, after all, is only this: solitude, vast inner solitude.
To walk inside yourself and meet no one for hours - that is what you must be able to attain. To be solitary as you were when you were a child, when the grownups walked around involved with matters that seemed large and important because they looked so busy and because you didn't understand a thing about what they were doing. ..... ....
So you look for a path, going ahead and searching as if there could be a highway somewhere with a paved road laid out. And sure, there are many. So many paths. How do you choose? He says, 'It is not you who chooses. The Path chooses you'.
'He's a child,' she says. 'You don't choose a path, and a path doesn't choose you. Its a courtship. You look around, you flirt, something catches your eye. Suitors come and go, some obviously wrong for you, some that appear too perfect, some that you've perhaps experienced before. Your path is never your path, it has its own whims. Your path is your mate for life, and
when you are together you won't have to die alone.'
the breathing sound, incomplete sentences, dystopian future love-drama visuals, eerie tones, a fascinating late night voyage into involuntary solitude. Hey, you.
"There is only one kind of loneliness, and that is greatness"
The term makyo(魔境makyō) means “ghost cave” or “devil’s cave.” It is employed in Zen as figurative reference to the kind of self-delusion that results from clinging to an experience and making a conceptual “nest” out of it for oneself.
I did not come to this blog looking for some Hindu lullabies! Give me some fucking Womp! Sure thing, socially-normative-conformity guy. Enjoy your dubstep.
No one was ever sure whether the spites with which Debussy armed his volatile sensibilities were activated by a savage insensitivity, or by the holy egoism of genius.
...I used to have a pseudonormal taste in music. But even that confused high-school kid on the verge of imagining some fuzzy inkling of love had some issues with regular lyrics.
This song brought to you by the silhouette of memory of a childhood infatuation.
Few artists have the absurd grasp over just the correct sonic strings to puppeteer one's mind into the phantasmic states of consciousness that Ott does. I present to you Mir, Ott's most intensely complicated, almost disturbingly intricate collection of pseudo-melodies and aural adventures. Make sure you get to track 3.
If high-level musicians were Asgardian deities, Ott would be Loki.
I have been following all sorts of startups for a few months now. I went to one that seems to offer a service to create an 8-bit version of your avatar so you can be a cool kid (not sure though, as they are in closed beta) and one of Torley's songs was playing in the background.
There is a charity album out there... () and this song was on it. There are also a whole bunch of awesome glitch mob remixes on (so of course I bought it....it was like $10 for a ton of songs).
"It would make sense that people listen to music for the sheer pleasure of it, right? That's what we thought, but apparently there's a scientific reason for this. Scientists have discovered that when Earthlings listen to pleasurable music, one particular chemical is loosed in the gord. The study, conducted by Robert Zatorre and Valorie Salimpoor of McGill University in Montreal, concluded that when the participants tuned into instrumental pieces they were familiar with, their brains released dopamine into the striatum -- an area of the noggin linked with anticipation and predictions." more
So I received this email today about my passion pit remix post:
"Blogger has been notified, according to the terms of the Digital Millennium Copyright Act (DMCA), that certain content in your blog is alleged to infringe upon the copyrights of others. As a result, we have reset the post(s) to "draft" status. (If we did not do so, we would be subject to a claim of copyright infringement, regardless of its merits. The URL(s) of the allegedly infringing post(s) may be found at the end of this message.) This means your post - and any images, links or other content - is not gone. You may edit the post to remove the offending content and republish, at which point the post in question will be visible to your readers again."
The dreadlocked prophet you call Bassnectar is just the first of the harbingers of a sonic paradigm shift.
If you ever see Bassnectar live, remember that the reason you can't describe the phenomenon is because your brain shut down during the experience to protect your sanity.