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our virus is the sun.
our sublime slandering.
you are the opponent of the moral.
our love yawns.
selfish sin is dark, dissatisfied.
a parade of transcendental values.
our instinct for laughter.
our virus is virtue, infinite.
our brave chaos.
our gilded curiousity.
our bored metaphor.
secret selves grasped.
unspoken spiritualization suspended.
inner horizon of exultant multiplicity.
our glittering discipline.
our clumsy charm.
art school, the eternal facepalm, kind of makes me want to.
Swimmerman Hands are my favourite part.
Swimmerman was the result of a bizarre conversation btwn the late sarge and myself regarding olympic mythology. unable to sleep afterwards, i had to get the image of this hungarian water polo player out of my head.
here he is in his first manifestation ::
and now threatening guido van der werve in EVERYTHING IS GOING TO BE ALRIGHT
drawing critique next week. should i keep going with Swimmerman? or maybe just his hands.
also i’ve been entertaining the idea of recording a cover album because i have no idea why or how i would ever do such a thing.
i, obsidian
slice ably the throats of athenians [maybe]
oxygenized mainprize
was one once
viscous found shattering
blade forth versus steel
lava loved me
rejecting crystallization in favour of molecular scalpels
stoned and culled on sinister’s side
i, obsidian
silicon dioxide
too complex to contain single minerals
i tasted you like basalt
i found you in ethiopia
i feared myself like water
missed, taken
lunar volcanic eruptions
teased out and rhyolitic
flows and hiked
cardiac surgical self made tears.
variable light coloured the otherwise flat landscape.
this is coralhedronlandt,
an impossible compound
double entendre of elements
it doesn’t really matter where you go, you can’t stay here
home is when it has chosen you
there is no decay here. the worms will not eat your insides.
stroking the wrong cyan, turning back is an eyelid reversal
treason tried and failed by virtue of redun-dance.
trying to not combine close talking with loud talking
shaking like a small child
hyped up on caffeine and a fire drill
a spoken voyeur in my tiny glass tube
almost an internal colonel beckoning steady hands
a small breath in
hold
shoot
a mouth full of eggs
she pressed the wrong button
choking on sambal oelek
dancing to elephant stone
latex broken legs defined by the area of spotted monkshood
dyeing vertigo indigo
i’m holding you in
bad at being a student a lover a daughter a blogger an older woman.
sure i celebrated a birthday with the adopted fam, spent the rest of the week stressed out and agitated due to schizoaffective unaltarable behaviour. but in retrospect i am doing slightly better than i had originally thought.
this productivity of objections and ideals are propelled by school even though i have done little to pulse myselves forward in ~knowledge.
inspired by shamanism, subversive spirituality and our nu no age leaders i broke down in tears trying to explain why this day needed to be missed / mist. there is a smaller love inside – fuck2love
i was caught making this in class and got off it. for cheers and feers i am not kicked yet. yet.
smaller hearts made with handspun silk covered in raw fingers lusting to hide whatver i had to offer.
trading was the nature of the exercise but i still died inside as i surrendered the smallest kiss in the world. appreciation helps but never cures.
there’s a lot more where that came from – both product and experience.
snake making. my only method of present immortality. adding the weight with marbles with rocks.
maybe my present expressions are better backwards. it always ends up that way, i don’t know if i’ll ever get the hang of perfection freeform.
i am being hurried towards coerced celebrations of things i do not believe in, do not want.
how much longer can i stand this?
FIBREFEST 2009
in almonte / mississippi valley
proved to be most inspiring and fresh for the new school year
not only were there amazingly talented artists and artisans selling foblabulous goods [really though i could have easily bought 5 items from each vendor] but there were also reall live alpacas ! and cows !
i got almost 0 sleep last night after painting with Sergeant but majah called me bright and early and we were off. we started our fibrous journey at the north lanark agricultural hall where the 4H club were judging cows? or something equally remarkable. inside the farmhouse there were tonnns of vendors doing demos and [as i suspected and hoped desperately for] a little old lady working on an epic autumn quilt BY HERSELF being 1000 years old and owesome.
i bought $20 worth of sample fabrics from perth fabrics because i couldn’t not buy them for various reasons that anyone could know
the blue is actually much sparklier irl
then we went over to the mississippi valley textile museum for the second half of the exhibits / demos. the museum lives in the old rosamond woolen mill and holds some impressively ancient equipment and lace samples [one having taking 2200 hours to complete ! ] i was really really glad to have found a vendor selling drop spindles and fleece and had a great chat with them. really check these ladies out they are fantastic that is art by ana and heather of ottawa valley fiber arts who were immensely helpful and generous in many ways. thanks guys!
i think i started hyperventilating at this point and i really couldn’t wait to get home and get spinning! so that’s what we did which led to this
turquoise hexagon sun eyes with lavender trapezoid mouth and boards of canada coloured freshly spun yarn
FIRST OFFICIAL SPIN BY THE INDUSTRIES
it is 858 and i am exhausted but so energised to spin ! learning new techniques is my #1 thrill in life. it feels really good to be pumped about fibres again because this week i just felt so jaded and unenthusiastic to be back at school. vendors asked me what i was studying in mtl and they ALL open mouth gasped when i say fibres. which is most worthy of open mouthed gasps due to its strange and small nature. i also completely forgot that it was my goal to spin milkweed silk this fall – so now i have fleece enough to give me the time to get the hang of spinning before i go uber experimental on myself.
here are some animule photos to keep you going keep you going good
Hello Again, Freddy Ruppert ::
This man will haunt you. Finding the power to distance myself from the art in order to write this is increasingly difficult – even more painful than being sucked into the creative mind behind the now defunct This Song Is A Mess But So Am I [TSIAM]. There is a strange fevered energy not unlike the reason of movement of the pelagic shark – wherein physical stasis induces asphyxiation – so does the song. From the end of the project in 2007, the seemingly inexhaustible Freddy Ruppert has found himself drained completely. He can now be found expressing love from all its extreme points with Former Ghosts. Redemption evolution has mellowed out enough this with the forthcoming release on Upset the Rhythm this fall – an album that hopefully won’t induce as many nightmares..
Ruppert has crafted his own unique sound drawing autobiographically. In the beginning, TSIAM was the physical accumulation of emotion and the catharsis of his mother’s cancer and death. The sounds of Church Point, LA [2004], Marble Mouth [2006] and Satan Be Here Sessions [unreleased] are and vocals that grate the scalp and induces existential exsanguination. The circumstances surrounding this music were unfortunately necessary – TSIAM could not have existed without the unfolding of real life events. The anguished laments of Church Point, LA are riddled with references coinciding with Freddy’s formal connection with Religious Studies
‘ God and Cancer’, ‘Parting Sea’, and ‘Psalm 88’ are particularly critical of ; Though a self-declared atheist, affirms this is common with anyone who has experienced a spiritual crisis. The need for physical unleashing of pain came organically with the performative side to music.
In taking the stage, Ruppert had successfully crafted his own world in which to lose control, to ‘be taken to where the song is’. These singular moments of raw energy were the obsessive pulls. Performing music changes the experience in as many ways as music exists. If it means pissing off the sound guy – so be it. Deafening sound is incomparable to the loss of hearing [remember kids! bring your earplugs] of Metatron is transferring his opus of loss. The convulsions, the screaming equipment, the pedals, and the sweat – YouTube does no justice to the multisensory exhibit that is Freddy Ruppert in his own world.
After the release of Marble Mouth, the documentation of life after the fact and touring extensively – the process had ceased to be therapeutic or useful in the healing process. Satan Be Here [unreleased – maybe because it is a harrowing self-introspection of the negative, a need to push to the edge in order to have come back renewed. The desire to continue to create had run out completely, and so TSIAM was put to rest in 2007 – as explosive as it began – it ended.
After a 2 year hiatus, Freddy has all but given up convulsive mechanics for a haunting dream pop sound glorifying life instead of questioning it. How does one approach the maker of the music? The transition from covering Ministry’s ‘Burning Inside’ to posting the pre-Former Ghosts ‘Unfolding’ as a gift was indeed a drastic one.
Ruppert claims were many false starts in to making music again, any attempt felt contrived, out of place and was ultimate abandoned to rot on a hard drive. That is until a singular event of love completed the task of fruitful connection. Songs were posted online and people seemed to relate and respond, and it evolved into Former Ghosts. Ruppert, teaming up with Jamie Stewart of Xiu Xiu and Nika Roza of Zola Jesus have begun a very mysterious inquiry into love.
The creative circumstances behind the ‘why’ have changed courses just as life usually does and the external event as inspiration for the music has remained the same. While Ruppert has had no formal education in music production or industry, and has no concrete plans in making a living off his music – the craft will always be there. ‘I make things because i have to make them whether there is an audience for it or not’. Without that sort of physically engaging outlet of concentrated emotional, albeit traumatic, events, madness would reign – that is the only sense of satisfaction granted to the creator.
Attempting to classify Freddy Ruppert at this stage in his career would be futile – the man has proven to his listeners his ability to wrench both carnal and soothing noises from any source he can get his hands on. Despite the individuality of each song, and the strength it took to invoke it to stand, in autobiographical music, the tracks are grouped together harmoniously in albums. In looking back over these stages, Ruppert knows the movements and the path, even if their functions differ.
When not making music, freddy is known to be sleeping and working out. He has no bizarre compulsions, collections, or alter egoes. This is one totally normal guy.
find him here
http://freddyruppert.blogspot.com/
http://www.myspace.com/formerghostssleep
http://www.myspace.com/thissongisamessisdead
Daily Routine makes nests
for all the devils i’ve named
my selves sowing these weeds evil
deeper roots maidened sacredly
in patterned seeds
Who made you?
Master of one
Champion of Trailblazers
Volunteer Pioneer
[bring water for the trip]
Destroyer, Destroyer
THE ONLY ONE OF US
LUCKY ENOUGH
to have an empty
attic.
May he forever lay
in smuts of sweet clover.
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and i know
whenever i write ‘selves’
you read ‘sleeves’
DEEP LAKE DIVING DRIVING MY THUMBS NUMB
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MIND/BODY/LIGHT/SOUND 