dub-L headid whirled re:chord of K9 re:creation + LL re:/cursive surf (mod 8)


12/5/19> Ain't gunna log our intake no mo hear, ain't no rhyme ore reason as 2 watt cauzes hour ear woes + dizzy spells... perty randumb, a confluenze of factors, probly atmostfearic presshore (on the rise this a.m.). Ain't nada we can due a bout her xcept live in a bathysphere as Smog sung (then his gf Cat Power stole). Udderwise hit's ∀ll about moderation, moderation, moderation... finding a good daily habit + sticking 2 her. Weave bin listening w/ headphones the last few dayz, sumtimes loud, in giving 3.3 x 3.3 = S.S. a final go-thru + also making these last 2 videos witch we's gunna post hear b-lo, sew maybee loud music (specially w/ ear-covering headphones) cauzes her... or maybee dares resinant freakwindseas in our toons riflective of hour state of mined when we recordid witch in turn cd imprint mineareyes d-zzz into yo noggin if u listen... consider yo self warned, ox! We gunna uplode the album in the next day or 2 (even tho our anniversary ain't for 19 days... needs sum time to trickle into iTunes, Spotify, etc...). In the meantime wheel reveil the last 2 songs hear on The Daily Noose...

> Track #7—«B9 x K9 4 Re:creation»—is our bedder-½'s (the voix) least favorite off the album, but cd bee 1 of our faves ... knot shore why, we just dig the melodea + vibe, reminds us of Romeo Void or sumping. At the time we was listening to Rosalia a lot, tho not shore dat influenze shows. We originully set out to rite a non-repeating progression (case u din't notiss we rarely ripeat a verse or chorus in our songs). The originul version was probly 2x as long w/out ever ripeating, 1 continuous progression. We don't ℝeely no how to reed ore rite music, tho we due jot down nodes to oregonize our thawts ore in case ever we need to go back + recreate watt we did. As unknown artist 22/11/66 we din't usually rite down what we was doing (or lost the notes if we did) so we can't go back + replay those (+ often they had unconventional tunings + cords so ain't e-z to figger out «by ear»). We did however figger out how to play 6-yr now (the 3rd part of the 3rd song) by ear, tho don't think she's the same as when we 1st recordid her 30 years ago. So now we keep nodes for the sake of recreation.


... + she goes on 4 a few more pgs. We used conventional tuning on this song + the next bud on utter tracks we use open G, blues (D-G-D-G-B-D), Malian (G-A-D-G-B-E) ore make up our one, like on V-dubbed we use E-A-E-A-C-E.... knot dat we god inny idea watt we're duing or why, just sounds good to us. As we've menshunned before we seam to gravitate twards pentatonic miner scales/cords. We always lay down the music 1st + figger out liarics after, usually whatever pops into our noggin, mo for how she sounds then watt she means. As w/ sum of the utter songs on 3.3 x 3.3 = S.S., we was into the IDea of the letter as morpheme (if spoken out loud, in agronames). The inspiration for «B9 x K9 4 Re:creation» dates back to 1 of our earliest childhood memaries when we was in kindergarten + had a colouring book + each page had a letter + we member the letter Q had a pitcher of a queen + we colured in her robe w/ a green crayon + our teacher aksed why we chose green + not blue... perhaps the 1st time we tripped out on the concept of colour, how they was these discrete concepts we agreed upon, like letters. We also member how in dat «Town Carousel» they gave us cookies + kool-aid + then told us to take naps on cots laid out in a big open circular room + we cd never sleep when they aksed us 2, we just looked round the room at the sleeping kids thinking it was downrite creepy. Dat + we also thought the «pledge of allegiance» was wierd + got in trubble for aksing why we had to recite dat every day w/ our rite hand ova our heart. Watt Ls? «F.I.U.T.T.» (fuck it use the tree) is an inside joke dat onelie climbers in Tucson wd get. We also think the word recreation is funny, how she means duing sumping 4 fun bud has creation in her, like procreation, but just for kicks, like recreational drugs. Speaking uv, the utter day our bedder-½ said folks listening to our music is gunna think we due drugs (knot dat we care) + our videos might come off as an acid trip bud—4 the rechord—we don't due no drugs except weed on occassion, 1x a month at best + don't think ever weave a'tempted to make music stoned, we usually just wanna exorcise or sit + due nada. We're failed stoners + never even tried inny udder drugs, not dat we's against them... weed try mushrooms or LSD if cd get our hands on sum + was in the rite place + mindframe. For now music is our drug, wavelengths that induze altered states of mined. W/o further ado, here's track #7—w/liarics to follow.

B9 x K9 4 Re:creation

P.S. a wireless guess (E.S.P.)
wild signal fire, to fan flowered flames
fuck-it use the tree

short-sheet, to cheat their sleep,
sheep count R.S.V.P. (use the tree)

2 by 2, 3 times 3
Fibbing nacho colony (Fibonacci)
5 by 5, marching to the hive
Royal Jell-o bleeds R.V.s

(seenk ruoy no nwod, peew me' daer)
read 'em weep, down on your knees, get naked for The Bee
bow down, reweave her gown, behold her majesty (behold the letter Q)
the letter Q, page 17, colored Navy blue + green
crowned in golden boughs, fleeced by unreal vows, i.e…

connect the ants, a galaxy, curtsy clockwise for waxy queens (B9 x K9, knight 2 bishop 3)
a carousel of napping tots inside the T.P.’ed tree
cookies cut w/ carbone rings + iced with anti-freeze (laced...)
Kool-aid punch or spiked hi-C kept at 98° d-grease
moldy orange in DK, bleeding green in courtyard shade, to say… (decays in the shade)

the gravity, of afternoon tea, kindergarten nation (gravity of genes)
seeped in blue genes
stripped down to the bone + garter belts
from the coloring book, the letters spilled

D.O.A., ship the coffin home on the Reading R.R. line,
RADAR from S.S. Archimedes leaves a ring by design
scribbled woes on Pee Chee toes (peachy toes)
take hold the baton as mine
shake the rattle to bake (in a papal state), rook to bishop 9 to 5, check mate (shake dog shake to mate)

from S.P.Q.R. to D.C.
ships freight our longings on high seas
no-holds-barred secrecy
for the bedder good of humanity (honing in on sleep...)

...P.B.R. streets
read ‘em weep, down on your knees, get naked for The B
a royal flush trumps a full house of Jacks + Queens
the letter P, page 16, textiled Navy blue + green
O-varies cut from cloth of phylogenie
informs ontogenie (cut from genie’s genes)
from flawed genies

> Dare's 2-3 voix parts in tandumb so kinda hard to get the liarics down in a linear format (we put the dueling harmony in italics when she differs). So dat's track #7... track #8—«LL Re:/cursive surf»—starts w/ an acoustic reprise of the 2nd song, «LL». We originully rote dat song on a coustic guitar but our bilt in mike wasn't working so while she was being fixed we laid down «LL» using electric gtr + keyboreds + she came out way diffrent then originully we intendid... more of a gamelan # than a coustic ballad. So once we got our acoustic back we recorded 1 refrain dat we figgered weed halve resurface later in the album. Hear's the originul nodes for dis toon, the 1st we rote in our new home on Swann St:


> «LL re:» onelie ripeats the biginning, bud in case u want to go back + recreate «LL» these nodes mite help (any 1 Ls is free to re-rechord these songs, long as they stay copyleft). We already x-planed the liarics, she's about Shelley Duvall, Beethoven + clanging disorder. «LL re:» segues into «re:cursive surf» witch is a song we recordid last year in Rome bud din't inkloot on our 2018 album, un... knot shore why, guess she took a while to grow on us. We can't find no notes on dis track in our notebook. The liarics are sort uv about vertigo... both the movie + the sensation/sindrome. Or not the film so much as a re-occurring dream we've had (since 1989) dat seams inspired by the movie (see «The Inertial Weight of Our Internal Lake» in Poste Restante). Maybe we was fascinated by the noshun of vertigo way back in 1989 cuz we was expressing early sines of mineareyes d-zzz? The puzzling thing about Vertigo (1958) is dat the syndrome afflicting Jimmy Stewart ain't vertigo, but acrophobia, fear of heights (oops! guess dat was b4 movie-makers had fact-checkers), witch we also use to halve (our most commun nitemare as a kid was falling off a building or cliff) until we took up rock-climbing in the early 90s. But we still often have this re-occuring dream, w/ all the elements of the belltower scene at mission SJB, bodies falling + us struggling to move our sand-bagged body up the spirel stairs. Sew off coarse we figgered we needid to inkloot dat footedge in the video (tho maid her merehorror imedge so no copyright infringement gits detected + also since weed already used sound-bytes from 39 Steps (1935), witch we always thought was in the public domain, but when we wint to upload the video youtube said the copyright owner was «LDS» (speaking of LSD) witch sorta freaked us out + we startid googling to see if Hitchcock was a mormon (tho the church of LSD probly erased every instance of the word «mormon» from Inurnet... don't underestimate 'em, they sumhow manedge to keep dare secret underwear off Inurnet) + seams in his last movie (Family Plot (1979)) Hitchcock cites a bunch of scripture from the book of mormon... but guess dat was an inside joke to Bruce Dern (in the film) cuz his father (Laura Dern's grandfather) was governor of Utah (tho he wasn't a mormon, err, Latter Say Daint). The song ended up being more about the trickster ghost we had in our palatial attic in Rome, who we called Cenci (after Beatrice Cenci), but sumtimes we'd mis-pronounce Circe so she wouldn't know we was tocking about her + then eventually referred to her as Ceci (or «chick-pea», pronouced in Italian: che-chee). Quindi eccoti ... ora conosci tutti i nostri segreti, caro Inurnet.

LL Re:/

baited hook still in our cheek
tongue fishing Für Elise
clanging landgauge bangs inside our head
12 bells ring for whom?
the deaf
not dumb

127 takes will bake it’s toil
witch came 1st, the olive or the oil?
for your trubbles we eggknowledge yo coil

/cursive surf

a Fresnel lens sighs + shifts a ship,
to account for drift she slips what's left in her evening purse,
for coriolis force, the stairs dead end where she hides the C-horse
from that Pulitzer photo to Vertigo,
breathing beings reduced to decaying ghosts
out on the fire escape, rusted down to the bone,
the potted plants overgrown in rhizome
all hands, no veils... keep bailing to set sail

moving images of mission bells,
triple entendre, no word for hell,
all that's left, a lone unmanned drone,
a bee honing in on a home unknown,
the skeleton key hid under a bed of rock,
rusted boxspring hot-wired to a rotary dock
go fly a kite, in a lightning storm, from where u were born

says the voice on the other end of twisted line,
adorned in debris, a dirtbomb of grime
the cast iron tub on the 2nd floor,
all that still stands b-sides the frame of door
primordial goo oozes sex wax + sand,
gives birth to the raft where u happened to land
on your hands, feet 1st, to surf Sur-sea’s curse

in cursive surf

687 <(current)>  689 > Humping the discourse of autovampiric humanesis to a bottomless blackfoot birdcage along Colorado
[  (ɔ)om.Postd 2019  anon I'm us  |  calamari archive   ]