REALICIDE YOUTH RECORDS

Robert Inhuman

 

 

I am currently interested in pornography, the human voice, and youth psychology. I am not interested in indulging entertainment or the glorification of humanity through skills or trades including (but not limited to) music, painting and visual media, poetry, film, dance, theatre. Skills, more often than not, distract and mislead away from any true importance. Skillful art is often done to pass large amounts of time in a feeble life thirsty for glory as a default sense of worth and purpose. Skillful art is a standard and a precedent with an absurd tradition to deceive and fall into vagueness through illusion – fuzzy and faint creating a mystique assumed to be brilliant and superior. Illusionary crafts are preferred largely because they are a set of rules which make it easy to say who is great and who sucks – simply at face value. They distract for such a time that there is none left to look past and evaluate content beyond aesthetic mastery (thanks, college). Art and music that serves to instill a vaporous vibe or atmosphere is usually, in a sense, cowardly and uncertain, implying that the artists rock so hard that they could say something more direct and legible but that would be beneath them; too easy and silly of course. Bullshit – I wonder how many people can look me in the eye and tell me anything at all. I fucking wonder about that. Lives whittled away through a hypothetical worth only – the possibility of message and substance – but you know dawg possibilities can suck it – we’re gonna die and soon – so get to the point. If there is a point, I hope and pray.

Spring 2005

 

 

Reflection on Hentai Gore Fall 2004 tour

 

My voice is gone.

 

My guts are bled dry.

 

I want to move towards nothing. I want to destroy everything I need in this life. My microphones need to break in order to progress. My amps need to be destroyed or I can’t progress. Stripped down - rubbed raw - acapella is the punk energy. Remove the veil of electricity and of the confinement to this year and its electric technology. But after that I will need to lose my voice - tethered to this body, material like a microphone. The body is another veil just like amplifiers. Strip away my body - rubbed raw. I want nothing left - no body. No one can understand me - filtttered through the dogma of a physicality. This frustration convinced me often that I have nothing to say or be. This reluctance to compromise for physicality questions the root ability to communicate or be. I have nothing to say. I don’t want anything. My body - you’ve seen it all before and I have nothing more. “Don’t do that; you’ll get hurt.” Tear the grill off a PA speaker and push it onto the ground. Microphones are feeding back shrill; throw two microphones into the holes of the tweeter and the pitch goes silent. Your ears can’t hear the frequency. This is the most intimate and climatic action experienced between the mics and tweeter and you can’t hear it. This is Slimer running up in a hentai prostitute and you are missing it. Your weak ears “only human” what a drag. I remember sex was kind of a let down. Hentai should surpass physicality. It should be abstract and even conceptual, because real sex runs out for real. I am only interested in media that can destroy limitation. I am only interested in throwing away anything that can be had.

January 2005

 

 

 

The only thing that could be equivalent to a girl’s love is a malicious death. Art, music, and all other media are insignificantly petty tiny stimuli in comparison to these and I find myself growing disinterested in all expressive media affiliated with recreation. I want to know someone truly and without disgust. If I cannot find this the only equivalent sensation is likely to be violent death. Neither are what I would classify as recreational, unlike music which at its very best is used to pass time before death. Music is a paper-thin communicative media. A parlour trick and vast web of illusion. I associate with music solely for the purpose of distraction from the targets of love and extremely violent death.

 April 2005

 

 

 

I don’t care if you’re fourteen, that only makes you better – to reach sexual excellence at the very advent of your life after childhood. Amazing. Unspeakable power, authority, and ability. Use it against testosterone and to live a life untouched by rape if you’re able. My most immaculate dream is your perfect dawning body impenetrable to testosterone – fucking poison – yet you hold the power to inspire the most vicious life-affirming vigor in everyone you meet or encounter. Amazing – to become aware and assert yourself yet successfully avoiding sickness, never become crippled by your own sexual power turned to destroy you with rape – never. I want you to cum and I would prefer it have nothing to do with a man.

 

I want you. I won’t touch you as you cum into my cupped hands. Fists clenched around the substance as tightly as I’m able to clench a fist. Eventually I fall asleep in a cold sweat, exhausted with a burning want.

April 2005

 

 

 

One of the few things I’ve learned, romance is wrong. Nothing right would need to be so forced or insisted upon – like pulling teeth for me to inspire feeling in a person. Even when I die it’ll be analyzed and people will go through the customs of mentioning their grief, but even that will be false and cold. My ability to inspire is accidental or deceptive self-serving maybe. My body has nothing to do with the lust of any other. My body is similar to nonexistence – it affects not and must be destroyed as excess and ineffective materials. When I die I will be stereotyped thoroughly as in the every moment of this life, by people I have not met and by those I’ve struggled to please and keep sacred just the same. My persona – corrupted files in a sense – if you have a love for me you either do not know my name or you have mistaken me for someone else. I will not correct this but I will not deny my awareness of it. More likely and standard you will imply the potential of inspiration or affection within me or yourself, but it will suspiciously remain potential beyond all days and nights we spend near each other, or course not together, simply near each other. The hypothetical romance durating on into the days when we revert to passing strangers – coldness reverted as if never ever else. You will offer yourself to another with the popular charisma of a rapist. One thing certain in my favor, in my own mind at least it is a good quality, I am not a rapist. Maybe you don’t appreciate that – yes, I am well aware that the rapist persona inspires romantic qualities in many of you. I’m not interested in compromising into that sort of thing though. I could not live under the crushing knowledge that a love acquired was bullied or masculinely forced in any way.

 

I’ve been thinking of you every day more so recently. Not necessarily dreaming like in past episodes of near-death mania, but definitely thinking anyway. It’s got me in a different sort of thought process because you are very clearly more alert and intelligent and beautiful than other people I’ve been into, yet without the expected shit that leads a person on hopelessly just for the sake of attention. And even though some of the people you’ve allowed to be with you in the past could be considered scum in one way or another, you’ve never qualified as thoughtless or whorish. Strange in this world that is something very uncommon. You’re smart enough and insanely attractive enough to live that way but you choose otherwise. Although it’s a quieter way to spend time it is also an alternative to being horrible, which I admire. I want to tell you everything I can – drunk for my own exit – anything there is to know I want to offer, a blistering contradiction to the zero information I’m asked for every day because as mentioned earlier I am unable to inspire or raise interest. Hence nobody knows much about me; I notice this every time I am spoken to. I would say anything I am able to say, hold your hands and look directly at you regardless of permanence or the questionable actuality of communication. Writing this doesn’t mean shit – I’d make you cum every day for as long as you want. The end.

04/28/05

 

 

 

I was fortunate enough critically to have a chance to touch you and be near you for a period of time. That has happened to me about 4 times in my life at this point. I’m 23 now. The reason I lost my contact with you last year was primarily a matter of what I thought was self-respect. What I mean is I didn’t want to continue feeling like a minimum concern and wait up all night over and over for you to see me very late or not at all. I knew it wasn’t helping my sense of self respect and also that it was being implied and made clear that we weren’t really together but simply near each other on occasion. This was something I couldn’t ignore and it was what would get me real down when I’d see you close to the point when I’d stop calling or trying to see you. Still, looking back from the circumstances I’ve got today, after going everywhere I could and trying significantly to appeal, I regret not finding a way to maintain a sense of importance last year. When I started talking to you more again this year I noticed right away that things were different. You aren’t as overly avoidant of confrontation now and you’re willing to be uncomfortable and unsafe more than before. These things are awesome. You’re better conversation than a lot of people I know – sharp as fuck to the point where I feel really slow actually. Your body – I will very possibly never be close to someone as beautiful again in this place. It is unlikely and I have no idea how I didn’t realize that earlier. It was a mistake or act of chance that I was given the opportunity to be near you. It was one of the greatest errors I have happened upon in this life. I have no idea why I let that pass – because I again assumed that my future has more to offer or some other fictitious hang-up. There is nothing of substance around the corner. There is not an around the corner. I want to be closer to someone than a friend or a stranger because I need to feel compatible with another person somewhere in this world and I need some attempt to prove it. I need to know without an array of justified doubts that I am noticed and valued and even as far as needed by another. I want to feel an identity that is irreplaceable and not a substitute for some more true form of worth socially or emotionally or whatever. I just want a mutual feeling instead of charity or shunning or of being ignored. I need somebody to focus on and lose track of my own gender, somebody who has a better, or just better somehow, perspective as female. To be noticed, to be desired above other shit people, to be in contact with a better gender and romantically superior sexuality. That’s the thing I need but which evades me and equates my 99% waiting life. That is the reason I move a single muscle at any moment and it is the reason I will die violently by use of these exact muscles.

05/06/05

 

 

 

I will not cross your mind. Strangers and friends alike you have no interest in my name or identity. Bypassed life.

 

I was fucking crazed with the closest thing identifiable as “love” as I’d ever known. I would steal your clothes and wear them in my sleep. I dropped to the floor and kissed your bare feet only to see you recoil in confusion and disapproval. I bought you shoes from a mall which were never worn. I let you sleep in my bed for days and I would drive you home at dawn after I was awake all night every night in your mere presence. I recorded a collection of songs as a reaction and wrote more than I was able to materialize. Likewise while I acted as an artist – assembling the documentary of a wretchedly inescapable adoration for you – and I would even paint these on buildings, bridges, anything I could in the world. What a waste and how humiliating. I have never held your hand and I have never kissed your face. All you want is rape. Anything to avoid an identity. You want an endless confining dogma to define your identity for you. You want only rape; effortless, automatic, and defining rape; the prime reason I had no role in your life outside of casual observer. Cos I’m not a rapist, so I’m not what you want and act as if you need.

05/18/05

 

 

 

Choose your name. This is mandatory. Words should obviously be powerful representation of any concept. To dismiss a human name as trivial detail is to dismiss the initial power and influence of spoken/written language. Words matter – there are important differences among words and titles. A human name is a primary representation for the being in its physical absence. To accept a title arbitrarily upon birth is not only a gamble, it is permission for representational and psychological slavery via biological parents, people you have choice to submit to or accept influence from in the usual origin of a human’s life on earth. In coordination with your life on earth you choose the part of the newspaper headline that summarizes your existence, your name, when you end up in the newspaper for doing something drastic. If your current life is caught up in the vices of laws in the earth throw down a few dollars and get your name fixed legal-wise in a court. Don’t settle for disrespect and implied endorsement of slavery when you go to a job, accept and sign a paycheck, take role in fucking school, or any of that shit! Choose your name and do not compromise the way words can summarize your life and identity.

12/22/04

 

 

 

for ULTRA//VIRES “you want some?”

 

Despite my decision to portray the ULTRA//VIRES project as a pair of hoop-dreaming badass bullies who are aching to kick your noise-nerd ass way beyond next week, the interest in their work is much more rooted in reality. ULTRA//VIRES is one of the most consistently powerful noise performances to emerge from southern Ohio in the years I’ve been active and aware of an Ohio music community. Whether with a devastating volume or just the vibe that they are not in any way fucking around during the execution of a piece, they always maintain my attention and stand out from the surplus of artists and humans who for one reason or another just lack passion and focus. When I see this band playing I am always punched directly in the face in knowing that something is successfully being said to everybody. Sometimes it’s lyrics about a fucking doom slavedriver work schedule, sometimes it’s more of a vaporous emotion with bass frequencies threatening the exact guts in your body that enable a living emotion, but yeah whatever it is each time you know that they are not fucking around, not carelessly tossing away minutes of your life with no regard. When I find an act that can do this I try to keep in contact, keep coming to experience it again. The other aspect of ULTRA//VIRES that appeals to me is within a noise style their reference to other genres and prior cultures. Common to the live performances are elements of doom and sludge metal, early industrial and electroacoustic music. The limits are malleable while retaining a unified consistent identity. I’ve been taping their live pieces starting fairly early in their appearance at shows, probably recorded the fourth U//V performance and forward. There are a few unrecorded pieces I really wish could have been included here… the first couple shows before they blew all the cabinets from that wicked bass feedback, and the one they did in that tunnel for the Brutal Cincinnati Damage event... I wish the recording quality was a lot better – cheap taperecorder, video sound, laptop with a mic. This is a vague rubbing of the shows; a very minimum accuracy. But regardless of an accurate archive, I want to throw in an effort to raise awareness of the sort of noise band that really matters to me, bands that I want to think have the ability to change lives and experiences for the better. Fucking “beyond strength” like noise ought to be.

09/18/05

 

 

 

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