Sunday, February 03, 2013
STATION IDENT 020313
Pulling the pieces together
one by one
flavor of the text is the skin of the thing, surface tension, what keeps the spider journeying along the surface of the piece rather than plunging downward into a fluid of broken metaphors drowned in apathy
the core succeeds, against all odds
the next phase is design. Should it be design? there is a certain amount of magic visible in the creation of something raw and unbeautiful, unstructured and free to wander, captured as it was at the moment of rude explosion onto the page. For some people that is the wonder of the creative act. You cut it off from that generative wonder and maybe it dies, maybe the polished and pretty texts are just so much glossy cadaver and weren't anything more, while we spend another year digging in the guts of the thing, embalming a smile, applying tweezers, clamps and electrodes to get it to dance a little jig, smell it burn, feel we learned. Is there a point to that? Is that the point itself?
Little gods making little lives, in many little ways.
this has been ehaema acoustic, live and uncensored, and a little bit weird
now returning to your regularly scheduled programming