December 28th 2003
Frigid gone livid by this region's contemporarily toxic freeze, the smaller boxes and slimmer tomes fill with phantoms of fireplaced balconies and considerate company kept in league with barrel chested water heaters resounding in the resettling of a tall old hut's masonry. Continent across from holiday homes sat, sings Ali-Songstress from dutch oven toasted marsh perch with prose in proof by picture...
a piece of a day
at our beloved marsh
where a single tree
split into two by lightning
grows naked & grey
in the winter
alone
at the edge of a penninsula
where the grass is now
painted gold
like rust
we fell
-Aliblaster
Fresh days ago in parcel skipped Maine to Estonia, Boston to a post show'd AM living room circle gathered L.A. appreciators, arrived tidings and guildings of cdr and xerox from the eastern continental cauldren watching likes of the Wizards of Dr. Electro and friends. Spun partaken in batteried boomboxes and betweenst the ears of initiates has been an unofficial copy of the latest individual gesture of a prolific Travis Fuller, stacking taller on the shelves of my treasured more character sounds acted out upon a personal library of works sonically dampening to the point of electrical conductivity. If in cold Boston and the white of snow is not quite noise enough for you, I suggest climbing aboard Travis' email show list and checking out the accessably live works of T-Black within cahooted conspiracy of his winter mask bundled clan. In inspired excitement also mail landed was a Matty Gravitron copy-free print inciting "blood on the streetz" pictured here, an arted territory of a leaflet hiding a cave in poem on last page, and Travis' print ready contributions for the West Coast's most classy upcoming zine.
Briefed are the times in excerpts from a yet to post return letter from MMz to be shared passage with Boston's bartered reception of Cobrados1Davicechamp's "At the Devil's Teat" and an unnofficially Karaoke Crate City State mix for the moment at rest:
"In the silt of dim sounds spellt my tent (mappable only in trace) stands pitched in foundation of 1st hand knowledge of what may be, in particular, where being the fictional Boston. In short story New England tells mine and as if in fact, Poe's raven may have been my favorite bird to teach you to sing. Although cold's cages' may stick sting to tongued beak, hibernatuarlly forced treasury deams appreciation for last sun's seed. Hunting and pecking weaves quilts of patterns on the floors of indoors and next door's Alister Overlock's sewing-machine hums of the region's transplant sung. In experience and appreciation these tales too in first, I lay under quilt longer into day fathomed in depth of craters of the late finally apoliticized Karaoke Crate City State, undemocratically represented -in some spooked- individual expression. At dance in candle warmed celebration of 3 fought for morning next and for next's 15 Alister once and for now forgets FM's right to lyricism and hallows sounding whim ethereally into resounding shell. And along she sings sync to a CPX post DJ'd enough to push last's worn gears in hand, collecting the brights of rust rubbed inoften enough off Monarchs' wings. Used hands rougher that bit nails find motion in the seams of 45s long let go of an MMz three dashed periods before a practicing Viejo Bajo, and in speed CPX transposes this low up date and timeless in tempo of Alister's match karaoke danced song. Ahead of the bar, under tent circles a round to the stage this time on the mistrel paid nightly in the same. To friends on woven mat floors crashed from early till when, are the barters of minstrel saved bottles in the blackness of bread smeared dates and coffee to pepper boot with Earth's ground for navigation of day's flight."
A battery tired camera deprives this little land a pic of the dogged scrawl 5 feet up'd and parked car fleet across welcoming my early morning framed living room window. "...Midcity... dripped black on white", jewelled to the right by Perro Caquero's red Probe afloat in the No-Zone. The sun then moved and thendisappeared in a convening of original's North Eastern allied axis,wherein outspoken thoughts eclipsed an obscure season boxed 2 years 'fore in shadow of three tapes new. Packed on one back and rode city crossed was a newly marched to the finished volume of Viejo Bajo's "Karaoke Crate City State", and reasonably absent of Perro Caquero's two wheeled tow was the decidedly fragile novel sound board of keys soon to wander across their side of the cassette split "2900 Blocks", opted for the day out of a half subteranean jam both half beneath and half accomplished at the Al-hambra hq of CPX. With Aliblaster's tape anoLogged for post JFK airport departures back, Gimme's "Cromaticum", "umtitled", the new Rager, and "DJY Video" (cdr'd to last night's last ale back)soon to be recording tape compliled for handling in and out of the light, and "2900 Blocks" on the way, contempoRarity shelves may be raised for a good stretch on Christmas Morn.
December 15th 2003
It is only the 15th in the top ten before someones' Christmas and the Curiosities have dressed St. Valentine's year of 2 00[1]4th as eagerly confounded oracle. And as such all looks existainable outside of the inward now's face to the fore in herald of words passed of new sounds hosting situations in remix of places, pure in source as fuel pushing news to break across the front. Ali-Blaster's holi-debut is busied in a standing crop of this year's temperately climatized harvest, picked and barreled before being set to REST in the boom boxes of appetited loves, while she claims HERs back around Cape Cod's hearth. While abreak from chasms grown of the mineraled mortar setting the last bricks in the welcome walkway of the Karaoke Crate City State, I have wandered next door with knocks ignored by depthed headphones set atop the sprawl of a living room rugged lab lost in presence of absence. Sounds leak of somewhere around fifteen minutes to walk away with in covet of a tape possessed of the shining blondes and matte blacks grown naturally from Alister Overlock's head. I pass the entry way back home to resume...
a march into parted brush
Clang of old as young steps over dusty rubbles,
wet down by weight of efforts alone
brittle wire bend if not snap
A chorus dances contest over the other arm at length
In such quick arrival pace suprises,
as tents pitch in brief inevitability breaking stride of their hail
clounds swiftly stormed away to reveal the hills
On K-Desastyr's other side of L.A., tentative palaces cup Saturday evening AM to the top, romancing procured lug-lug and gourmet point-point spilt next to K's courtyard tall mixxes casting pale glows on the party's VIP hideouts. Good mixxo. Present were tribal haunts Junior and Gimme, recovering from the rocking night before's Pinata Lazer staged Anubis Rising atop Thai Massage on a fourth floor up in Echo Park. Also in brief visiting realization was the Genrificatior as always in the moment, shortly later to be stolen by Next's Holidays with Fish and Game's daddy from Vermont. Missed till the next night a big happy birthday a Perro Caquero...
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