Beardyman

Darren Foreman (born 14 May 1982), better known as Beardyman, is a musician from London renowned for his beatboxing skills and use of live looping technology, and according to the BBC "King of Sound and Ruler of Beats".

http://www.beardyman.co.uk/

Dismay takes hold of your throat until the only thing real is the lack of conscious and it's persistence in ending the vitality of what was once a spectacular presence.

Waiting for a chance that things could change or spend another night among the dead. Cause I cursed my lonely memory with picture-perfect imagery. Maybe I'm not dying, I'm just living in decaying cities, but I'm still healthy, I'm still fine. I'll be spending my time readin' the obituaries.

 

Traveling: I always stop at exits wondering if I'll stay. Young and restless, living this way I stress less. Everyone noticed, everyone has seen the signs, I've always been known to cross lines. 'Jesus' don't love me, no one ever carried my load, I'm too young to feel this old. Skies they blink at me, I see a storm bubbling up from the sea.

And it's coming closer.

"I'm trying to get my brain right, trying to correct my brain chemistry with more chemistry," he says. Shocking but we're nothing. We're just moments, we're clever but we're clueless. I've been looking for a way out, something that isn't so cruel. Well I'm a little tired, you see, complacent and miserable. I think you're missing out, I think you're dumbing it down. You're past the point of holding up to your words, there's no getting it by us now. We're just human, amusing and confusing. Talking to myself all the way to the station, pictures in my head of the final destination, all lined up are the ones that aren't allowed to stay. Try to save myself but myself keeps slipping away.

Burning bridges doesn't mean that you can't return where you came from. Perserve and rear your head, just to let someone know you're here.You've got the answer to the question you've been wondering for years. But you just don't want to hear it. That type of news could set you back for years. I'm interested in what people do with the chaos in their lives and how they respond to it, and simultaneously what they do with what they feel like are limitations. If they push against these limitations, will they wind up in the realm of chaos, or will they push against limitations and wind up in the world of freedom? 

Father abuses son, son abuses his son and it is passed on and on. I hate what it is in me, that is in you, and a child is cut. Year after year it continues to consume all it touches, bitterness and denial consuming and causing hate that gets passed on like a sickness until it is disarmed with a smile by someone who understands it. I see the rage and know what it is and I smile and it cannot touch me because I choose to make it so. I pass the smile over to my son, my love, and the killer in me kills no more. I choose t o live my own life and teach my son to fear no more. I keep feeling that people are becoming less human and more animalistic. They seem to think less and feel less so that everyone is operating on a very primitive level. I wonder what you and I will see in our lifetimes. It seems so hopeless yet we must keep on trying ... I guess we can't escape being a product of times, can we?

To be clear headed rather than confused; lucid rather than obscure; rational rather than otherwise; and to be neither more, nor less, sure of things than is justifiable by argument or evidence. That is worth trying for. Don't we remember all the moments we remember the best, framed in poems and in pictures, sang aloud in refrains? Does this cycle of pain and disdain for the past not work exactly the same? Maybe it's just as much about what comes our way as it is how we react. Just as much about the things that we've still got as it is about the things we lack. I know we won't always keep around those we feel we need. Some will fade in the frames, some were born to leave. But if we're still here and we still breathe, at least we've still got time. Stay with me, lets just breathe.

Contrast and compare between the busy ones and the ones that don't care, until there is no one that you really know. So I drift through these days of appointments and promises made, they will all end up broken and quickly replaced. Weeks are slow, days drag on, even practice and parties seem long. When the routine bites hard and ambitions are low and the resentment rides high but emotions won't grow, and we're changing our ways, taking different roads. Then love, love will tears us apart again.

Mark Sandman (Morphine)

"The word 'Morphine' comes from the word 'Morpheus,' who is the god of dreams, and that kind appealed to us as a concept...I've heard there's a drug called 'morphine' but that's not where we're coming from...we were dreaming, Morpheus comes into our dreams...and we woke up and started this band...we're all wrapped up in these dream messages, and we were compelled to start this band."

''Someday there'll be a cure for pain and that's the day I throw my drugs away...''

So what if you did something wrong? Find someone who hasn't. I've got so many places that I wanna see. And I've got so many faces that I wanna be. I believe I can see the future cause I repeat the same routine. I think I used to have a purpose but then again that might have been a dream. I think I used to have a voice, now I never make a sound. I just do what I've been told, I really don't want them to come around.

 All the money in the fucking world couldn't buy me one second of trust or one ounce of faith in anything you're about. Fuck you all, nothing is worth the sleep that I've lost. Apologies unacceptable now. I guess the only thing cheap is your friends. You can always make new friends. But it's not always worth as much. I've got a big fat fuckin' bone to pick with you, my darling. In case you haven't heard, I'm sick and tired of trying. I wish you would take my radio to bathe with you, plugged in and ready to fall.

Srle

Our new tattoo artist in Sarajevo:

 Tattoos <3-<3... 'nuff said.

My soon-to-be-done sleeve. :)

Mire (Defence - Baga Sound)

I saw this guy on TV about 10 years ago and thought: ''Cool dude, cool voice, I wanna see him play one day...''. :)

The first time I saw him (in a duet with Frenkie):


and this is my fave from his group (Defence):


Some of their links:
http://www.myspace.com/defencebosnia
http://www.facebook.com/profile.php?id=1149252574#!/pages/Defence/175703410134  

Vedo, Mire and me:

:)

MinjaP

  Archaii aka Rawtekk - Anywhere by Rawtekk

MinjaC

Azot (RE)COLLECTING MOSTAR (12.03.2011.)

Azot je elektroakusticni kvartet iz Zagreba koji izvodi eksperimentalnu, improviziranu glazbu upotrebljavajuci razlicita porijekla instrumenata, slobodno ih kombinirajuci. Raspon izrazavanja je velik i nije iskljucujuci; od kontroliranog minimalnog zvuka (onkyo), do prostorno kontinuiranog dronea uz elemente buke.

Osim niza koncerata u sklopu festivala Zedno uho i programa Explicit music gdje su podijelili pozornicu s umjetnicima poput Tetsuo Furudatea, No Neck Blues Banda, Jgrzinicha ili Kontakt der Junglinge, te nastupa u Zadru i Osijeku, clanovi Azota su i osnivaci jedinog zagrebackog festivala drone, minimalisticke i elektronske glazbe - Sine Linea. Od posljednjih nastupa izdvajaju se koncert u Grazu s obradom Rozart-mixa Johna Cagea, sudjelovanje u performanceima u organizaciji Muzeja suvremene umjetnosti Zagreb - inspiranim radovima Vjenceslava Richtera i Ivana Picelja, clanova grupe Exat 51 (Richter, Unutar strukture) te nastup na izlozbi 26 miliona minuta kasnije – Nove tendencije u Mariboru.
Ciklus zvucnog istrazivanja tekstova Bogdana Bogdanovica zapocet je dramsko-glazbenim performanceom Knjiga snova ukletog neimara uz suradnju glumaca Vilima Matule i Zorana Josica.

 Links: http://www.myspace.com/azotana

            http://www.bojangagic.com/ 

            http://abart.ba/ 

 

Ksenija

- Cassiel -

Song of Childhood
By Peter Handke

When the child was a child
It walked with its arms swinging,
wanted the brook to be a river,
the river to be a torrent,
and this puddle to be the sea.

When the child was a child,
it didn’t know that it was a child,
everything was soulful,
and all souls were one.

When the child was a child,
it had no opinion about anything,
had no habits,
it often sat cross-legged,
took off running,
had a cowlick in its hair,
and made no faces when photographed.

When the child was a child,
It was the time for these questions:
Why am I me, and why not you?
Why am I here, and why not there?
When did time begin, and where does space end?
Is life under the sun not just a dream?
Is what I see and hear and smell
not just an illusion of a world before the world?
Given the facts of evil and people.
does evil really exist?
How can it be that I, who I am,
didn’t exist before I came to be,
and that, someday, I, who I am,
will no longer be who I am?

When the child was a child,
It choked on spinach, on peas, on rice pudding,
and on steamed cauliflower,
and eats all of those now, and not just because it has to.

When the child was a child,
it awoke once in a strange bed,
and now does so again and again.
Many people, then, seemed beautiful,
and now only a few do, by sheer luck.

It had visualized a clear image of Paradise,
and now can at most guess,
could not conceive of nothingness,
and shudders today at the thought.

When the child was a child,
It played with enthusiasm,
and, now, has just as much excitement as then,
but only when it concerns its work.

When the child was a child,
It was enough for it to eat an apple, … bread,
And so it is even now.

When the child was a child,
Berries filled its hand as only berries do,
and do even now,
Fresh walnuts made its tongue raw,
and do even now,
it had, on every mountaintop,
the longing for a higher mountain yet,
and in every city,
the longing for an even greater city,
and that is still so,
It reached for cherries in topmost branches of trees
with an elation it still has today,
has a shyness in front of strangers,
and has that even now.
 

It awaited the first snow,
And waits that way even now.

When the child was a child,
It threw a stick like a lance against a tree,
And it quivers there still today.