Sleep Cycle

MAR Vista II -Aurora Borealis

MAR Vista II - Magna Natura

Depths (close eyes, then play)

Waves On Plastic

We must address the situation of the oncoming bubbles

I demand an audience with Admiral Flutterkick

http://naviarlab.tumblr.com/

https://soundcloud.com/groups/naviar-laboratory

Voicicle (Naviarhaiku064 - Give me an icicle)

Someone promised to wait.
To wait beyond.
Beyond the hourglasses and the mounds of swollen flesh.
Beyond the cuneiform codices, the spiral labyrinths, the bone flutes of extinct birds.
Past the pyramids of time and the colossal granite dolmens slumbering beneath Antarctic glaciers.
But no one came back.

The song is the lament of those who still hope to say goodbye.
To say goodbye fiercely—with their eyes, with their hands, with everything that exists beyond the body.
To part with such violence that reality thins, and the blazing ground of grass takes on the texture of dragonfly wings.
The voice of the one still waiting calls out, demands, roars through the wound that a heavy slab carved with the word “LOVE” can barely cauterize.
The slab of a forgotten grave, in a windswept cemetery on the Atlantic coast.
At the edge of a cliff where—warmed by magma beating to the phases of the moon—earth, ocean, and sky fuse together: into amber, into lead, into cobalt.

When those who wait begin to sing, their voices pierce the unyielding concrete of nuclear reactors, the crust of the earth, the frozen core of the gas giants in the solar system.
Their voices rattle dead loudspeakers, tear through the white noise of radios lost in the ether, whisper in the echoes of abandoned cathedrals, and sigh in crackling exhaustion through the worn-out waiting rooms of hospitals.

You can’t stop their voices from rearing up inside your eardrum, nesting forever in the synapses of your auditory nerve—so you can carry them far.
Perhaps all the way to the one who never received the goodbye.

Pictures: Lht
----
Alguien prometió esperar. Esperar más allà. Más allá de los relojes de arena y de los montículos de carne tumefacta. Más allá de los códices cuneiformes, de los laberintos en espiral, de las flautas de hueso de pájaros extintos. Allende las pirámides del tiempo y los colosales dólmenes de granito que dormitan bajo glaciares antárticos. Pero nadie volvió.

La canción es el lamento de los que esperan poder despedirse. Despedirse intensamente. Con los ojos, con las manos, con todo lo que hay más allá del cuerpo, despedirse con tal violencia que la realidad se adelgace y el suelo fulgurante de hierba adquiera consistencia de alas de libélula. La voz de quien aún espera reclama, inquiere, brama a través de la herida que una pesada losa con la palabra "AMOR" apenas logra cauterizar. La losa de una tumba olvidada, en un remoto cementerio azotado por el viento del Atlántico. Al borde de un acantilado donde, calentados por un magma que late siguiendo las fases de la luna, tierra, océano y cielo se fusionan; en ámbar, en plomo, en cobalto.

Cuando cantan los que esperan, sus voces atraviesan el hormigón implacable de los reactores nucleares, la corteza de la tierra, el núcleo congelado de los gigantes gaseosos del sistema solar. Sus voces sacuden altavoces desconectados, rasgan el ruido blanco de las radios perdidas en el éter, susurran en las reverberaciones de catedrales abandonadas, y suspiran crepitantes en las extenuadas salas de espera de los hospitales.

No puedes evitar que sus voces se te enjirafen al tímpano y aniden eternamente en las sinapsis de tu nervio auditivo, para que las lleves bien lejos. Tal vez hasta quien no pudo recibir el adiós.

Llévame lejos

Mahan Mahan is responible for the orchestration and mix(coverart)
TexMex Shaman on electric guitar and Mastering(coverart)
the poem and voice by stonerjazz(coverart)
 
the nature of their being by jeff gardiner 

 ponder and ponder if you wanna
speculations bout meanings and measures and structure
of time and the present
and yet it remains completely unknown
made no dent in the fabric
of monstrous illusion
collusion of unseen forces
nibbling away with whispers
while meekly we, perish, never knowing
what we're feeding
believers believing bleeding rivers of remorse
and of course, the horses don;t ponder for a moment
the nature of their being--

The Nature of their Being-with TexMex Shaman and Mahan💀Mahan

Computer Data Discharge

method: all the sounds you hear, apart from the voice, stem from a piano that is more than moderately out of tune, most of them morphed by audacity and samplitude
image: copyright jo richter

wunderbar geborgen / copyright jo richter

am wunderstumpfen ende
einer zweispur-einbahnstraße
senkt sich eines planers wendeplatte
zwischen steile bordsteingrate
in deren runden schenkels wölbung
die allerletzte eiderente ein
einzelei ausbrütet - solch memento
prospektiver nostalgie lädt
karrussellgenau zum grübelkreisen
ein, zum rasend innehalten

wunderbar geborgen

Edge of Town (Remix)

Song from the rock opera Five Thousand Sasquatch

The Phenomena Of Triangulation

Ken (K2 and the Three) asked if I could remix this Eclectic Collective song from last year. I tried to bring out the individual performances more and added the rather lovely J.J. keyboards ambient intro. Hope you enjoy 😎

Happy Ever After - Llanpsych mix

An atonal, twelve-tone composition, taking some inspiration from the Webern approach to atonal music and just making it very compact. To me that approach legitimately does make the atonal "sound" easier to digest. Bite-sized pieces. Hope you enjoy!

Verde

24 6 8

Underwater Bachelor

Stranger To You/Written,Performed by Uwe Lauterbach

Stranger To You (new version)

hey! I totally listen to your stuff - small world 

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
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

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...

Voicicle (Naviarhaiku064 - Give me an icicle)

Tuonela

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