December 29th, 2013 — 1:33pm
Sadly, my long time collaborator Inchiki met his end over the Christmas period. We were on one of our walks when he had the accident. It was beside his favourite green pond, the one with the green rainbows, and he was looking in, reflecting on a reflection of the moon, feeling in his young sinews the very poetry of the air. How bathetic it was then, as he slid beneath the water, slightly disturbing the surface. He hardly needed any push and seemed to shrug as his body limply sank down to the rank muddy depths. As I watched, I noticed how his white face staring up to the sky from below the surface of the water seemed to have become a child in reflecting the lunar goddess above. My heart choked me at that moment and I wept, and later I laughed.
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December 26th, 2013 — 7:04pm
I have daydreamd through the year. Here we are at the end again.
i find accumulating knowledge only confuses things.
somehow there is a rock in the centre of my life which keeps us safe. but i dream of travel and madness again like old days.
a shaft of cold air in my throat. but life is so warm. so many mistakes.
I wish i had the strength to go on building my castle.
there is a plan..
The planet comes in the following colours:
Earth Wind Map
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December 16th, 2013 — 12:44pm
Exploring online, it is always exciting to come across a new habitat, or wilderness of ideas. I’d heard about microblogging and had stumbled through tumblr once or twice without paying much attention. But using twitter more than usual lately and have begun to escape the walled garden and clamber through the rugged terrains outside. Mired in blog after blog, clambering up feeds, splashing in thought pools and tumblring down landslides. Start to recognise memes, this is a great age of sorting memes. Clarifying, accentuating, drawing divisions, battle lines (the echochamber or amplifying effect of the net so noted these days). Music, images, candyfloss and heroin, bankrolls, loo rolls, pasta salad.
Google glass is worn by a few early cybernaughts.. the closing of the synapses.. our brains are only molecules away, the great interface is prescient in my mind.. (apart from in Australia where we are doomed to have copper for another 60 years) .. the brain eclipse of sweet perfumed miasma. A waterfall of words opend up to us, a display of impulse-firing thoughts.
There are barriers to this revolution. The principle barrier is an outdated approach to intellectual property and copyright. The idea of owning a thought, through its representation on paper or screen, even if it originated in your mind, is against the principle of innovation. Every thought is built on thousands which came before, others which gave freely of themselves. In fact, this principle has always operated even after copyright came into effect, the discrete borrowing of ideas continued uninhibited.. but now that we are online, and this borrowing is made public for the first time, now the law steps in. The marauding dragons of this quasi fantastic age are those who seek to claim rights to knowledge or creation simply because of a legal construct. There is no reality underpinning the idea of intellectual “property”. It does not exist. All that exists is a system that is purposefully anachronistic to invention and creativity, favouring the strong against the weak, parasitic and inhibitory. Its disservice is to humanity and the future of the combined-mind internet, an experience of joined up minds which I think with google glass is on the way.
Imagine we all share everything. .cutting and pasting at liberty.. there is no ownership of IP (i sound like john lennon.. nothing is truly original). Will authors and inventors disappear? They cannot. Will corporations disappear? Only insofar as they are currently parasitic. Constructive and creative work will continue, unhindered, it cannot be stopped in fact. Invention will instead take the most direct course from conception to reality. It will not be trapped in parasitic IP laguna. The world’s mind will be freed.
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December 16th, 2013 — 11:48am
After the Herculean task that is preparing for and sitting an Ancient Greek exam, my normal life seems easy and plain. But I am at last able to turn to other interests, things like tumblr, pieces of silver, marshmallows, and Brian Jonestown Massacre.
Lately, whenever I try to introduce the Brian Jonestown Massacre to my friends I am usually greeted by a slightly underwhelmed silence. But this only reduces the estimation I hold for my friends, it does not affect my love of the bjm. Who are they? ‘Just a 90’s garage group’ with drug problems that raided the back catalogues of their parent’s generation without inhibition? Yes. But there is an interesting social phenomenon at work with bjm, the underdog coming out on top against the industry megacorps, with a mixed multitude of home brewed albums, a shot of moonshine to wash away the fake glitter of establishment music. An undercurrent, that copy and pasted every genre including itself, a rag tag shermozzle of drone pop, self destroying but somehow surviving against the odds. A success story, a chance survivor of lady lucks’ play.
Anton Newcombe himself an ironic prophet, wearing his history on his sleeve, an exile to Europe and its cultural medicine, a truth seeker. He has embraced the internet and posts early mixes of his stuff on youtube – a two way communion with the audience continuing, it is direct, it is revolutionary.
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