and as the sea must be swam, the elementals remain in their flux forms enmotioned ,and lava still flows betweenst hammers and anvils. Works are worked and the wares are piling up, with new projects underway, current projects wrapping themselves up, and recent ones collecting their share of premature dust on the shelf in wait of proper barter. The recently repaved 2900th blocks of the MMz's pending Karaoke Crate City State have stacked taller with the roots of last season and the layered foliage of this week's crop yields taped of midi under a voice cracked by a sudden change in weather. A tall eared anticipation resides next door in Mikey Z'\s City State neighboring pueblo of soloed midi and"no input mixer" bits, with plans leaning the shacks involved towards a communal tape release. Off the same bend in the road the Roy Shakes' Viejo Bajo del Sud has begun setting up his new Blasteria and beats off salvaged skins are slow cooking in consideration of Saturday night's lunar eclipse and star pentacle party (no joke in Venice, under the pentacular alignment of the aforementioned.) A bandit harvest season in sly of a Cali pre-frost is weighting the voulenteered burros with so many plans, but mainly with the considerate hand craftings already abundant and siloed. The barter table is fair and open, and as bakers don't pull pumpkins and the painter might not dry tea leaves or batch brews, it is to be rembered that most of us have a fortuned bill fold of skilled currency to spend on each other's ,and so on this tip I note the patient latelies that are up for grabs...
trade trade trade from wherever made to wherever played:
K-DAWG DES-ASTYR- "Anarchy EP" album/ K's first solo work to ninja its way aloof to his prided pack of obscuring black, an autonomous world mindfully constructed through abstractionate blasts and the aestete vocabulary of the pathing self aware. Of course if you have any trouble finding your way around this zone en route, I trust his well arted booklet of visual translations will help spot landmarks along the way. Talk to K-Dawg about it.
COBRADOS1DAVICECHAMP- "At the Devil's Teat" minikin 25 cdr-card run/ from the LO s and HIs of a romancefully midied flask, two saxaphones are once again celebrated in a tiding crash on the 110, dragged out to and under the lava beds of Neptune's forked sea between L.A. and Japan, with notes of the crash are sounded as salted milk bubbles pass through their valves. Only 25 are around to be worn by thumbs and lasers so lets easily enough out of stock this one in effort of a ledger transacted of 25 first names.
MMz- "Metrotage" ep/ and so THAT world ended and was reborn with the previously dialed past and future of the "800 999" ep, but THIS moment remains unkept in a Shaminstrel's superimpositon over bizarre appreciation for the intricacies of treeless concrete shapes balanced accordingly in cemented spaces dwelt in as Metrotages . If the soil is bad, sometimes crop must be drawn elsewhere than the ground below. Figure the plot's address through me, MMz.
GIMME UM-"Cromaticum/Umtitled"/ Two 3-dimensionals luxuriously slaving to one disc, in the ideal world of the private dub tape mixxos of Gimme and Meanstreetz' own boom boxes, these rocks beyond gems are coupled with the mutual EPs of MMz' "800 999" and "Metrotage" on spray paint yellow tapes. Creationist in their charcoal cool inconcession to newspaperland's less than obviously obvious, both works characterize enough enough of a critical bite to leave a tooth embedded for any unwatchful passerby. In the contemporary, there is the eternal. As promoting poets are often business course conceived, to obtain one of these releases you may have to settle for digital's clean dub's dub, with cover's copied by an appreciator's hand. But first talk to Gimme.
nov 16-17th
And before, in by the way of visits week ending in warm reception by friends again gathered at an obscure Garage Galleried local snuggly tucked under the Westside, we light candles for you good King Hami, on that night of the 24th of Sami.
With the recently accomplished yarn spun of Ali Son's vocal dance now being appreciated, but not quite yet laid in stitch of the Karaoke Crate State City State, still a landscaped vision begins to thaw beneath another layer worn. And in listening it is seen and heard ...
"an in oracle
soon memory is caught by its swinging wrist
an event in celebration of what's day through night
in method round after round into karaoke unrehearsed on F or AM
still the whimful take turn,
and MCs grip mic with crafty hands capable of pushing gears were the lights to go out,
but again it's night
and too late at that
an uncooptable fuck familiarized CPX brags beats spun minstrel
on suspiciously exaggerate untrued spokes
full spun, irregularly lit textures reflect various dimension of gas lamp
and as orange peaks on all gathered,
exposed seams glow contrast in complement of the cool darks of a recently handled party dressed this moment's Alister Overlock
with translucent shades drawn,
she stirs podiumed booth in masquerade from its altering sunlit posture
considering the magics artful of wardrobe in trade
with her sewing machine still powered and aloof at this late hour
Alister ducks under applause,
and unmeters unmonitored illyrical rubric of song popular by nature
off trail from the succulents' wild thick she sings to and from,
and as bird she perches on the piece meal guirders squared green of the Karaoke Crate City State
replacing in inpermanence city's sooted forrest,
but left its caves unexcavated for dim walks deeper down"
On the other side on an alternately colonized Pacific resolutely floats the unfolding internationum um Gimme Um, for now unresolved in mid island hop with wits sharp enough to mince his hotel room slept sheets. From where the speaks are spoke in Japanese and Romanji decodable emailed writes are satallited via cell-fone-fun-cam, soon will be here posted a cut and paste glimpser of a scene report where there is one found, a beautifully framed tragic romance of life in the worldly island naivete.
and with winds puffed tobacco again filling his sails, Chateau Behemian's late whimsied shack in the back fulfills its fate and lays vacant but for stacks of painted premeditations of Sir Charlos' next island hop. With none but a last minute (pre-shower before the 24 hour greyhound ride) call and his lasting paintings on my walls, he's off to bag a little of his own free, soggy, yet lush as it may be. What more could recomend than Portland the Sympathetic to streamline neccessity down to rollies and black refills, with in wait local grown fresh enough with glamour of morning's dew divvied fairly amongst other racoons, and the City's heart bled to feed the latest moves. The downtown's currency may still be spread as thin as federals, but in romance and in passing may still I reserve a summer day's spot in a tree hidden square to trade a loaf for an extra rum bottle paid a full moon ago for a song I played there. As minstrels wish wander, cast as spell...
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