A first sketch Manifesto

I played a piano piece once upstairs a desolate hotel, where I walked down a corridor adorned with intricate abstract pieces of art and sat down late in one night to play a piece never played again. I am a person, a single soul roaming this single rock of earth accumulating knowledge and experiences…how will the world accept such a simple yet intricate process? Well it isn’t my problem- I am a person- an adolescent nonetheless who will always retain the heart of a child…and so I sat to play a soft song…and what was to say of its structure, of its tempo changes and many chord change progressions? Nothing! I can only describe to you its passion- I can describe to you the pain and passion it takes to forget all which I can fathom behind a fret board or piano bench… – all those processes which happen in the brain…and yet it is still captured… no not on paper of through notes written but through this distinct essence of the mind. How else could I have been inspired to commit this pen to paper, these fingers to type? As people we retain the ability to express and remember. Let our technological advances be responsible for retaining these experiences.

            I will expound upon this further dear reader. If we could revert back to the moonlit nights in Mozart’s den when he pounded away his passion on piano keys, or when Tchaikovsky became inspired with his symphonies then yes!, we can be grateful that their current technology and theory (parchment and music theory) allowed them to retain that essence…that essence of the mind that continues to exist to this day on youtube links and countless conductors in countless opera houses playing countless notes precisely as how they played hundreds of years ago…yes! Their legacy lives on! We live in the past!

            …But life? What is say of my piano played nights in dark desolate hotel bars? Lost. Lost to humanity but still held in my mind. But what if I held a recorder in my hand? Or a frequency reader on the keys?

            I fathom a future in which the moment…the music of the moment and the creation of a catharsis is of the utmost importance! We pertain to moment in time in which the peoples of this society are obsessed with documentation… take a picture!, record the speech!… Write it down! And yet with this emphasis of the moment we have, quite ironically, begun to live in the past through our emphasis of it.

 

 

                                    A  MANIFESTO  ON   MODERN   DAY MUSIC

                                      AND     OUR     CORPORATE     CULTURE

 

 

            We have banished the way of the Bard with pyrotechnics and high-class gimmicks. Men no longer place bets with beauty but rather gamble with greatness- they say, ¨Hey, lets place this much money on this such person and provide music for the masses.¨ We have fabricated emotions. Music is no longer a fantasy but a function. We have progressed into a time of corporate creations and the individual has been lost like stale statues which whither in the wind…One hit wonders and fashionable fads soon to be forgotten. And it is we who have progressed from futurists, to surrealists, to existentialists and post-modern man to vehemently say: Fuck that. This is our manifesto on modern music and our evolved…or rather devolved corporate culture; we have banished the way of the bard and bastardized all the expressive mediums.

            We must now begin to emphasis on the process of creation and revert to the roots of primordial man and discard the outcome: let it be known; it is not in our nature or necessity to declare any sort of document that declares our essence: our essence is of the only importance and it is our actions in the moment which matter most. We are not to be responsible for any results be it financial or formulaic. We must do away with recordings or any sort of capturings´- the importance and emphasis lays in the process and of creations. We must make a masterpiece and discard the canvas and acknowledge it for what it is: dust in the wind.

            We must live! We must expose our subconscious sentiments, the heart of our essence and merge our spiritual side of life to the mundane materials. We must act as a collective and consciously create for the mere purpose of creating and do what the peoples of earth have been granted; the gift of expression. We must revolt against the norms and release the accumulated angst that has been building within. It is time the proletarian and Bourgeois societies stand to their callings and rebel against the most obvious and arrogant leaders. We must cease being a silent majority allowing for corruption. I am speaking of battling politics with philosophy.

            Music must be improvised. Art sporadic and pertinent to the inner essence of man. Writing must be automatic being most accurate to ones state of mind. We must experiment and experience all that life has to offer. We must acknowledge that fact that life is a series of frequencies akin to strings and that we are as significant as we are insignificant. We are worms chewing on the corpses of men hoping to lay fertile ground for future generations. And greatness will only result in getting the fuck up and acting in accordance with our souls and singing, shouting if necessary to the music in our hearts. This is our manifesto and you have heard it. Do not apologize for your apathy- you are the only one responsible for your actions and you must act now.

Live. Love. Life. Create. Now

 

Forget   the  past, find  faith in the  now  and

Find         the       future      by      creating   it.

Insist on being inspired at all times wired to life.

 

 

 

Live        simply

And simply live.

 

A string of words that say: THIS IS LIFE.

And so a chorus of Angels could sing to my ears and never repeat again…

is there angst in this phrase or just a passionate truth that the youth of this contemporary culture must come to terms with?

From one moment to the next our perceptions are being constantly bombarded with thoughts…new and old experiances come to mind and everything becomes multiplied, manifested…

How does our sensory stimuli stand for such attacks? The radio instrudes on the ear as commercials cry thier bastard bargains to the streets…

Graffiti passes a quick message says: “Te Quiero”

and i’m left wondering, “Where is Love?”

Battling Angst and Apathy with Art

Battling angst and apathy with my Art

with my heart. 

-Become a hero?

A legend?

A liar?

A lover?

a dirty mother fucker

hijo de puta malparido y concha

de tu madre?

 

 

¡AY QUE SABROZO ES LA VIDA!

                                                

 

Another Comment written for a writer

Sounds like love,
Sounds like life,
Sounds like someone in spite-
Sounds like a spirit whispering in the distance
Sounds like a Dream
Sounds like an attempt for a bitter ob.scene
Sounds like emotion,
Sounds like a writers distortion
                      Of time.

Time, tell me your stories…
Time, tell me your truths…
Time, tell me “Joder, are you used to this?”
Time, tell me of spain and distant pains
Tell me!
I want to know!
I want to live!
NOW!

Knowledge is carnage- it is creation.
The process of creation neccesitates destruction.
Read: Alchemy.

-Alvaro III

A comment written

Oh Angst! Oh, Plato!
I am plagued with this angst of the unknown
                                                      in the cave
                                                      Shadows
                                                      The sun casts
                                                      Fear!, Faith!
                                                      I am Blind from
                                                     The light.
                                                     The truth.
I peer out the cave
On the ledge of life-

When do we walk out into wisdom?
         Is it with whiskey?
        With wet oceans, meditating?
        Is it with madness?

And need it all be so tragic?!
       Sing your songs!
             (to Shaekspere?)

                                          The greatest king of caves-
                                                                                      The Bard.