After The Xaos

After The Xaos
Category: Dreams and the Supernatural

After The Xaos



So after the xaos, I'm back to work. Apparently work used to be a drag in granpa's day…nowadays, those that choose to work do so for the fun of it, not for an excess of privileges, though we do get quite a few; the real perk is to be the digressing dispenser of humanized translations and transliterations of a million possible mistaken entities – it opens up windows into worlds I would never have otherwise imagined on my journey towards mailing some poor Joe a whole terabyte of data, videos, text and photos.



I swim through the mail list built up since my last ran/hol and prioritise my way to the fun stuff. Obviously, on this scale, if someone mails me, it must be a request of some importance and require no small amount of work on my part but at this level a lot of them are as good as faqs; albeit high-bandwidth ones.



I suppose they call us googlers 'cause at the end of the day we'ze stoned immaculate, crying gaga like mama's bairns at the lengthy expense of all that shared data, most of which extraneous. So just when I'm about to come up for air, I spot a bandwidth related request from an EVP phreak. They want me to find a recording medium, archaic, analogue or otherwise, that has the closest bandwidth for recording EVP sessions with and now, I want to know as well. This turns out to be pretty simple to track down. Using simple reasoning, I quickly deduce that to record the ethereal in all their splendour, being ultra bandwidth microscopic waves in themselves, all I hafta do is find something that records really high frequencies in order to grab a voice so much smaller, wavy and gaseous, more xaotic than the human body, let alone it's voice. A simple, entry level early model digital Dictaphone would seem to be the safest bet so I dig out my old friend the collector and pass on the address of the enquirer so he can 'port her one.



Before I do this, partially in self interest in excess of a thirst for knowledge and reputation but largely to show my sum as it were, I research artists who used EVP in their work. That's where it gets interesting.



By the law of the googler, the best way to find the gnarliness in life is when mis-spellings cross over. Somehow, when I was looking for a collective called 'Ashtray Navigations' and literature on their use of EVP in their release 'Ultra', I was asked "Did you mean 'Ashtray Negotiations'?", finding a click away a weblog on someone looking for a hard-disk-drive (in the days before fractal drives) for a sound sampler only to discover that the company in question had made a shift from 'Ultra Fine Negotiations' to 'Ultra Wide Negotiations' and thus, the poor soul could not match his lust for technology with the ever changing pulse of the UWN of Moore's Law.



Seemed like kind of a metaphor for the changes our Terra must have gone through to go from massive slabs of silicon containing megabytes and gigabytes to the present where we deal in terabytes for data and zetabytes for needle-casting people, literally shitting them out through the eye of a needle.



We've gone from the ultra-fine high frequency phreakout we began as, as gnarly yet ethereal and infinite souls living the life of a complex amino acid gas to the low frequency bass undertow of finite data.

The human soul may be infinite in its reach, but nevertheless, we can be crunched, categorized and zipped down to ones and zeros just like the language centre of the brain.



Surely every time we step out of the power-reprod-shower we call 'porting, we should all remember the true depth we engage in when swimming around in slow motion as the milky, gnarly, sinuous forms we inhabit when traveling in slow motion on foot…



…but we seldom do.





~*    *~



So long ago, when Yamaha changed from UFN to UWN, it was in anticipation of the phreakfest that is the fractal lonely company of all shared data.



As a historian I recognize the power of free wideband commus to galvanise the world and eventually the universe…to sidestep and dubstep the ability or requirement to exist in the real world, the furthermore galvanistic treatment of thee data of life; thee life of data, thee death of real life at the expense of the interpolated nation that we all see or seem to breathe in then out in our still tiny minds as ones and zeroes; just like the machine code we transliterate daily into our own respective and disrespectful idioma – the map of thee ego, thee supersoul; to become one with thee data.





~*    *~



I find, on a personal level, when I offer my services as researcher and faqued historian, I can gently persuade the hand of chance, the thrum of the fate's strong throng and live long on the whimsy of those sadly occasional moments when the hyperealitylink folds over on itself and I'm forced to raise another octave octane notch of the soul – I could spend a lifetime searching and drowning in a sea of purposely assumed purpose, never attaining the true goal of the new soul; or I could dip my feet in the gentle rip of the water, perhaps catching my death or perhaps to take the influence of the ripple of shivers that run from the extremities to the thus positively charged positron and shake another piece into my puzzled beautiful train crash of a milky lifespan spun on.



On reflection, the light of the shock of the new shines in through my eyes and prisms out in the form of my fresh interactions…splitting the colour-atom into its constituents, dispensing the fractal fragments of the hypereal and bouncing back afresh in the shared neural neutron-bomb that is good conversation.



To study thee grass is to smoke it; stroke it.



Doncaster to Peterborough train*, The Ship, Soho, London** & The Intrepid Fox 2, Tottenham Court Road, London**,



21st* & 22nd** February 2007


Currently Listening to: mixtape of recently bought 7"s on my MP3 player & random Dubstep 10"s in Sister Ray, Berwick St., Soho, London