SOUND MIX: TIMECRAWL LIVING

‘Think that you are not yet begotten, think that you are in the womb, that you are young, that you are old, that you are dead, that you are in the world beyond the grave, grasp all that in your thought at once, all times and places.’ – Hermetica.

‘The formless moves to the realm of form; the formed moves back to the realm of formlessness. This all people alike understand. But it is not something to be reached by striving. People everywhere debate how to reach it. But those who have reached it do not debate, and those who debate have not reached it.’ – Chuang Tzu, Taoist sage.

I’d like to pour a substance over the earth. It’d be an oozing, halting sap, as sweet as raw honey, and drawn from a secret and incredibly ancient tree embedded deep in the heart of a mist-drenched Japanese forest. I would mix this mystic sap in a cauldron with the clear and soothing goo of aloe vera, and then I would warm it to the temperature of freshly baked bread by infusing it with the superheated vapor of salvia divinorum. I would then add some magic crystals to ensure that the substance was highly absorbent and extremely colorful. After this I would place the giant bubbling cauldron of magic sap in an echo chamber and let it resonate with an array of sounds like the ones mixed above, gently simmering it together for twelve years straight. By then the substance would be fully imbued with an energy of raw healing slowness, and I would proceed to pour it over the planet. Clocks everywhere would melt into a highly nutritious and organic paste. Jobs everywhere would crumble into gardening and caring for cats. People everywhere would start thanking the sun. Kids everywhere would breathe a sigh of relief, and roads everywhere would give way to their living inner jungle. Cities would become playground skatepark canvasses, and offices would become homes. People would try and thank me, but I would wave my hand and say, “No, thank you for believing in the power of the sap!” 

Then we would all play a game of chinlone.

- Sneeks

01. WYLD WYZRDS - Forest Light (Free Magick, 2011)
02. Colleen - The Happy Sea (The Golden Morning Breaks, 2005)
03. Growing - Primitive Associations / Great Mass Above (The Soul of the Rainbow and the Harmony of Light, 2004)
04. Function - Shards (The Secret Miracle Fountain, 2006)
05. Brightblack Morning Light - Friend of Time (Self-titled, 2006)
06. Mountains - Add Infinity (Choral, 2009)
07. Animal Collective - Daffy Duck (Feels, 2005)

WATCH: FULL OF LIFE

Utterly unabashed, how else to show it? Fish swimming in an eye-reflected ocean, true text full of life materialising; droplet piano keys, oceanic feelings, symbiosis in a thumb;

‘Life… stretches out before them,’ guided by the Earth Mother from the height of a stainless plaza; clouds drift, ocean revealed, smile child in pondering thought, new tears in a still lake: ‘This is their story.’ 

‘Be ready.’

No meaning veiled, no need. The early cultivation of an empathetic heart is the story; to imagine the self within the other, to see the rabbit in the moon. Who coupled sentimentality with foolishness? To feel grateful for what is given was once called wisdom. Listen, as the lyrics request, to ‘the seashell’s tale’;

Toshiro Kanamuri cools me out. In fifty minutes, four key lessons, helping kids swim the inner river, the guide, free passage to all who let go. Kanamuri is Education Walking, hence the meaning, e-ducere, “to lead or draw forth” – not a mere one-way authority but a releaser, an unraveller. Every inch of every simple truth closely examined, written about, spoken, understood. 

“Grandma was dead. She seemed to be asleep. But she was dead. When it was time for her to go, we put flowers in her coffin. Tears were pouring down my face, everyone was crying. We went by bus to the crematorium. In about one hour, Grandma was turned into bones. Grandma was gone. I was sad.”

In how many classrooms do such words resound? Death recurs in Full of Life, not shunned or swept away, but discussed. Through this event an even greater secret is revealed, and catharsis ensues. 

 “Of [the] two attitudes toward death, one views death as something to scurry away from and the other as something that will just take care of itself. How far they both are from understanding death's true significance!” - Sogyal Rinpoche, The Tibetan Book of Living and Dying.

After this, new lessons: bullying confronted, picked apart, resolved through ownership and empathy. Then: a chattering student banned from rafting, yet rescued as friends rise to his defence: “Yuto shouldn’t have been talking so much in class. But it’s partly our fault, too. We can’t just leave him behind. That’s not fair. If he stays behind, I will, too.”

‘A perfect victory,’ states Kanamuri. Friendship is viable, worth nurturing, and a realizable virtue.

Key lessons for every school, and with what is taught now, which subjects enrich our capacity for love? The question is one of emphasis. To strengthen bonds, Kanamuri encourages vulnerability, and guides each day with letters as a voice for inner thoughts. Death is a shared experience, and friendship the highest ideal. 

Kanamuri’s final words leave an imprint: “All the things we did together in the last two years. We were all doing what we can to understanding the meaning of life. We can all be proud of it.”

Can every stretch of school end on this note? 

Watch it here.

- Sneeks

SOUNDS: LEAFY SUBURBS / SACRED FLOWER UNION SPLIT CASSETTE

What? A cassette/digital release, stream it here

Where? Western Australia, via Future Past Records.

Listenthru Count? Probably about ten to fifteen times.

Best when and where? Cycling around at night.

In the haze of “Glow Bugs / Pool” the fluorescent altershaping light ledges encrusting Council House are slowly awakening. The usually turbulent lawnmowers are being drawn down through the soil by the rippling tendrils of grass they once manicured. Cars rust, trees writhe, pavement cracks. Unraveling vines of synth bubble and summon the first patter of drums. The night is young and the lights on Council House, now alert, are gathering energy. They fire slow, highly-concentrated neon rays at whatever seems most resistant. Traffic lights melt under the pressure, their steel beams bending over like dank bits of licorice on an intense summer’s day. Human beings are transformed into whirling fireflies, and a bright array of steel drums chatter away in celebration. As the rays soak the streetscape a cloud of creatures burst from the ground, little nocturnal-eyed reptilian-monkeys interlocking in a saliva-drenched kicks and yelps. About 13 minutes and 15 seconds into all of this and the chaos of initial transformation eventually subsides, yielding to the feeding habits of a newly formed array of creatures with capes of liquid steel and lawnmower blades for teeth.

“Strange Eden” is the still-bubbling residue of “Glow Bugs” licked clean by a bus-sized, metallic panther. It slinks through the city preying on a stray car, diamond teeth puncturing tire and axle in an effortless crunch. “Sumertime” warps forward another few hundred years. Little remains of Council House save for a single undulating miasma of light, the coagulated remainder of a hundred years of oozing neon packed into a 3 x 3 cube. Everything within a ten mile radius of this cube is just quivering dust. You walk over this inert outstretched mass, towards the light… the twanging guitar and rigid, inwardly-collapsing percussion should be warning enough, yet you venture on. You are somewhere in the sleepy borderland of a confused and blurry-eyed dream; grey clouds roll together to form a nebulous halo around the emergent moon and from the west a raven-feathered embroidery of nightfall drowns out everything else. Your subterranean imagination unravels, accompanied by piercing stabs of Mediterranean synth. Everything fades to black.

You awaken to the clamorous chimes and stop-start guitar of “Up, Enenra,” feeling dazed yet at peace. You are in an enormous chamber, its ancient stone walls are the colour of fading sunlight and they stretch as far as you can comprehend. A youthful chorus of human voices echoes in from somewhere above and they guide your mind’s eye to a dimensional rift opening just ten meters from where you’re standing. The widening rift spits out reams of trailing and gurgling synth-lines whose energy is tangible and coils around your wrists and ankles, pulling you in. You don’t care. Your blood is warming. It’s very peaceful.

- Sneeks

SNAX: KORNER CAFE

There is a hair salon in Inglewood called Klassy Kuts. It's right next door to Leonard Cohen's legal service. For some reason, those Ks-where-Cs-should-be have always amused me. My dad (who lives near Inglewood and is a big Leonard Cohen fan) always said 'small minds are easily amused'. Usually he would say this when my brother and I were teasing him from the backseat about a conspiracy we made up, the crux of which was that Dad was actually a cat who morphed into a human whenever anyone was looking. We would taunt him about it until he would give up and say 'yes kids, I'm a cat', in the hope that we'd get bored, at which point we'd erupt into cries of 'HE ADMITS IT!'.

There is a cafe in Perth called Korner Cafe. It's right near Dada records, but on Hay Street. For some reason, only the 'Korner' in Korner Cafe has swapped it's traditional C for a K. It's still amusing enough. They also do really really great Veggie Pad Thai for $8.95. Strongly recommended. 

- Tine

KORNER CAFE

546 HAY ST, PERTH

93253787

ADDENDUM: It has recently come to my attention that Korner Cafe have forsaken their klassy ways and opted for a curvy old C. Fortunately it has had no obvious effect on the quality of the Pad Thai.

For archaeological purposes, I present the following picture:

GOOD AFTERNOON

Welcome to Obstacle Illusion. 

YEP!