"Tor" is an interesting word. Apart from its digital designation as an anonymous computer network, it refers to a gateway, goal or door in German, which explains its use as a component of many place names. After having spent more than a week in the Netherlands, I've dicovered that the same word means "beetle" or "scarab" in Dutch. Not the close cognate one might expect, save perhaps in some metaphorical or mythological sense.

Sunflower being 向日葵存在

"The ground will move out from under you..." 

It certainly seems to have of late, Mr. Smith! In a way that is both unaccountable and likely to continue for the foreseeable future. Clearly the universe is a much stranger place than I could possibly have imagined, and much richer. Surely there are further wonders to be beheld elsewise and sideways on Sundays, down spiral stairs, rainbow-webbed parallelograms and squares squinting in the sun's sultry afternoon glare!

Some trick of the light, perhaps.

Betwixt joy and grief

Up to Bifurcations 3 now. 

I'm particularly proud of the artwork for this one, which I put together entirely on the spot using GIMP. 

On the road

Down and out in Amsterdam, I've become the dharma bum par excellence. Head full of hash, tripping balls on the ferry, no firm agenda, improvising the next move 24/7. Making up the plot from moment to moment, hour by hour. How did I get here, David Byrne? Is this now my beautiful house, with such throngs of people constantly passing through it? Bought a vintage gold blazer for 35 euro trying to fit in while crashing into all the tourists staring wide-eyed at this convict of the weird and visibly removed. This isn't a lifestyle, this is a life sentence! Bouncing like a billiard ball between hostels, getting bitched at for passing out in the communal areas after hours in front of the gear, dragging 40 kilos of metal in cases down angular cobbled streets for just minutes of rehearsal or recording time... it has become rather painfully obvious that I went into all of this without very much serious planning or preparation. Where exactly does all of this lead?

"Easy come, easy go, little high, little low, any way the wind blows..."

On the other hand, I'm also becoming aware (as is my increasingly beleagured, sore, warped but also rapidly recovering body) that I'm having an unforgettable experience that has indelibly altered my vision of the world and my place in it. Something is happening while it often appears that I'm doing almost nothing at all. I've discovered new limits and rearranged my life to an almost unrecognizeable extent while striving to maintain the core essence of my musical vision. I've carted an entire portable studio halfway around the world to find freedom, and sometimes I can't but feel that I have undoubtedly achieved this. But everywhere there are limits. Is it possible to carry on this way? For how much longer? How melodramatic in a way; a political refugee for reasons that likely do not align with my own personal views on any given subject, out on a limb because it's the only place left. Or is it? Is this just another illusion? It's the universal trip this time, realizing that maybe nowhere is ideal or truly safe and it really is just about the same shit everywhere, just playing out differently with a slightly different history leading up to the present moment, forever pregnant with possibility and the promise that the endless return of tomorrow will shuffle the cards anew.

Live in Berlin

A brief improvised performance recorded on the rear terrace of Industriepalast Hostel (yes, regrettably things are a just a little bit Spinal Tap at the moment, subject to some flash of inspiration in terms of living accomodations) is now available as digital download from my Bandcamp page. It's about as meditative as anything I've done since "...Echoes 3", and it's a proof of a principle I've been trying to expand on for a while both in technical and aesthtic terms. But... don't get too comfortable! 

The BPMs aren't likely to stay in the deep freezer forever. 

*Adapted*

The jet lag has subsided. The sacrificial power adapters have been blown. So have several people's minds, presumably. Have I come full circle, retracing the steps of my forebears in reverse back to the very continent whose penchant for ritualized violence initially drove them away: away and on into the wilderness of an as-yet unknown frontier; on into the bold experiment called democracy? What democracy remains now in that carefully manicured Disneyland theme park where only the power of money, fame and influence yet hold sway? 

One hopes for vague platitudes about the resilience of American democratic institutions, as if this solid fact had already been tested in the face of precisely this sort of conflagrant situation, the preconditions of which could in no way have been anticipated by the architects of our republic. A slippery slope whose angle of attack seems to get steeper with every new incident must give way, eventually, to a kind of free fall; a weightlessness that accompanies that creeping realization that the floor has indeed given out, and there is no bottom.

Can we, as it were, at this late stage of evolution, finally learn to spread our wings as a society, as a species and as a planet, learn to fly, and take to the air where we might at last review our triumphs and failures in the light of wisdom? Are we finally able to take the truth in stride as we take stock of our options, and choose the one that is really best for ourselves?

Elephant Talk