A glimpse of the mongrel god

1111 divergence

Robot

Crystal hammers

A danced and sonic exploration of boundedness.
Created during the deathbed of 2024 and performed in the postpatum of 2025.

perivita imaging

Elegia

Made for Naviar Records' 620th Haiku Challenge.

Sparing starlight [naviarhaiku620]

By far

Somewhere I came across an AI-generated track called 'Martini On Mars' which was okay. I did this to it.


Image: Lexica.art

Martian martini madness

Continued...

The Lighthouse was a deep-space station made up of huge, linked structures and located about ten billion kilometres from Earth. As a result of wars and economic collapse it serviced fewer ships than it had been designed for, so few these days that most of its two-hundred strong crew were kept comatose in several deep sleep facilities. They were revived periodically, ostensibly in order to check systems and maintain physical condition, but more important was the prevention of deep psychosis that could occur during extended coma-sleep. The whole crew was only woken when a ship was due to arrive.

The section of the vast structure that Jamilah and Rob needed to reach was one that held several crew quarters and the huge, humming structure that housed the systems and servers that made up CyDar. Spinning slowly to create life-giving gravity, the structure was honeycombed by a series of mag-lev platforms that transported them to the designated area of damage in just under five minutes. The door was secure and the view through the doorscreen showed nothing.

“Cydar, please pressurise sections forty-three A through forty-three D.”

There was a long pause.

“I am unable to comply, Captain Hurford. That section is offline.”

They cut their comms and made faceplate contact.

“What the hell, Rob? How much damage would that take? We’d see something, surely?”

“Maybe. CyDar would have responded differently. She’s being deliberately vague, buying time perhaps. Let’s go in.”

They entered the suspect section, sealing the door behind them. To their left was a long row of general storage bays, built onto the interior wall of the hull. They had only travelled about forty metres along the corridor when the reason for the damage report became apparent. The door to area forty-three nineteen was warped, scorched and hanging from one hinge.

“CyDar, you seeing this?”

“Affirmative, Captain McCullen. It appears to have been burst open from the inside. There is apparent heat damage. Not a meteorite, that would have penetrated further.”

“Agreed. It would probably have gone right through the station.”

They reached the door and looked into the bay. A blackened, scored tubular object about two metres long was buried in the deck at an angle. A ring of extendable spokes had stopped it penetrating any further, bending the plates into a shallow crater. Half way up, a section of the tube was hanging open.

Jamilah pointed up, past the tube.

“Look at that. It punched through the hull and then stopped dead. Definitely not space debris.”

“No, it’s some sort of drone. Not one I’ve seen before, either. And it had a cargo.”

“An armed passenger, by the look of that door.” She inspected the tube interior and the floor below it. “There appear to be connecting points inside… No organic matter anywhere. I think it must be robotic.”

“CyDar, some form of AI has invaded The Lighthouse. We are unsure of its nature, but it may be capable of deadly force.” There was silence. “CyDar, can you hear me?”

“I have located the intruder, Captains.” There was a long pause. “It has invaded my central core. It is with me.” 


to be continued......

(c) iamacamera 2022

Image: Lexica.art

Incident On Deck Forty-Three: Part 2

Jume is an interdisciplinary artist from Germany whose work moves between sound, voice, word, movement and community art. Rooted in improvisation-  in music, dance, theatre, hosting, and performance- Jume’s practice is driven by presence, resonance and curiousity. Using voice, instruments and field recordings, Jume creates sonic spaces that invite listeners to soften, to feel, and to remember- a gentle artistic activism where care, stillness, and collective imagination can breathe.

UK creatives should listen to this: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yK4wBWiozyM

You must hear this: https://vimeo.com/52766051

*****

Ed Brunsden was kind and patient enough to interview me for  his blog Desert... Mountain... Dust...  - you can read it at https://desertmountaindust.blogspot.com.au/2017/02/tuonela-primitive-progressive.html

After silence, that which comes nearest to expressing the inexpressible is music. ~ Aldous Huxley

All good music resembles something. Good music stirs by its mysterious resemblance to the objects and feelings which motivated it. ~ Jean Cocteau

All music is beautiful. ~ Billy Strayhorn
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I've become addicted to drone. Again. I was the kid with his head on the piano, listening to the overtones die away, or pressing his ear to the steel hull of the ferry, enthralled by the sounds it created. I was the kid who formed wordless songs to accompany the sound of train wheels on a long journey, or hummed along with the fan on a hot day.

In the 60s I used to play my 45s on 16, or backwards, or by hand using razor blades as stylii.

I made cut-up tapes on a cheap cassette recorder in the 70s and experimented with reel-to-reel in the 80s. 

Thank you Subotnick, Lygeti, Coltrane, Jimi, Mimaroglu, Eno, Cluster, Tangerine Dream, Klaus Schulze, Frank Zappa, Pink Floyd, Kraftwerk, Throbbing Gristle...

I am not a musician. I am a scavenger of sounds. I use the most basic software to process those sounds, stretching and filtering until something emerges that makes a joyful noise. Or not...

New tracks tagged #Imaginary