sunnuntai 10. huhtikuuta 2016

When The Bubble Bursts

This life of mine, words following one another, sentences breathing life into this hollow consciousness, a bubble that slowly grows into existence, fills up with air, breathes oxygen and thinks, perceives reality through this observant form that takes place within this concept of self. Slowly these syllables weave a web of thoughts that gradually become aware of themselves, start forming concepts within and turning towards itself.

What am "I" really?

Just a pile of words, lies, mostly, petrified in the face of any possibility I might have. Too afraid to move, too afraid to snuff it out. Stuck. Lifeless, living, but lifeless, bones, structures, stuck. Is my suffering real if I don't exist to perceive it? If I am not real, just structures of words, do I really suffer in the first place?

I am just pain, paining words that subside and coil around their own aching heart. My existence is just a matter of perspective. I am not real as far as reality consists of observable sensory input, but I , at this very moment, am real inside your head.

I am a concept, not a person, not a soul, not a mind, I am more "you", than I am "I".
I am a bubble that grows and grows, with each word more convincing, more real, until...

maanantai 21. maaliskuuta 2016

An Eyeball & A Spoon

"so you think you're tough?" he asked me. My eyes kept creeping around the floors, not knowing where to fix themselves, trying to grasp for something to hold on to. He repeated the question with his grizzly voice. It sounded like a shovelful of gravel on the coffin lid. I couldn't help shivering but I tried to keep it to myself. I took a deep breath and gathered the last remains of my self-worth an confidence and looked him straight in the eye. "No." I answered him finally. " I don't think I'm a tough guy.." I muttered. He laughed at me. I wanted to punch him in the mouth. I wanted to see his teeth fall off and wipe that grin off his face. But I knew it wouldn't take him too long to wipe the floors with my face if it came to that. He was the boss. The leading man. This was his story. I was just a static character, an aid for his agenda. He told me he thought I was stupid little brat. I wanted to stab him, but I had no knife. He turned his back on me. If only I had a knife, or a nail, anything sharp, anything! He grabbed the gun from the counter, hid it inside his jacket. The zipper went up.

I looked around the room. On my right side, on the table, there was a spoon. Without wasting a second I decided to claim my subjective right to become a human being. I was more than a mindless goon bidding His will. I was a savior, I would set this old piece of shit free from his stupidity. I grabbed the spoon from the table and grabbed his throat from behind. He was bigger than me, but I had the element of surprise. I thrust the spoon into his eye socket and with one slick motion his eye popped out. It took him a moment to understand what the hell was going on. For a fleeting moment I was curious about if the visual nerve was still functional and if he could see what the wildly swinging eyeball saw.

I knew if I gave him time he'd shoot me right there. I had to make sure he couldn't see me. I tried to push the spoon into his another eye socket, but I was too slow. He grabbed my throat and threw me off. "YOU FUCKING SHIT!" he yelled "WHO THE FUCK DO YOU THINK YOU ARE!? CLAWING MY FUCKING EYE OUT? YOU THINK YOU'RE IN SOME FUCKING FILM, HUH? YOU WANNA BE A HERO, TOUGH GUY?" I was out of breath, he kicked me in the ribs to make sure I stayed out of breath. I heard him open the zipper of his jacket and I knew this was it. I was done. Before I knew it, I was sobbing with a gun barrel between my teeth. His eye was hanging on his cheek, I could smell it. I couldn't see through my tears. "You thought you'd just off me like some fly and take my money, huh? You thought it would be easy, HUH!?"  I tried to say something, even I didn't know what it was, my last words probably. The last thing I heard was a huge, ripping, tearing crack and I never found out, what happened to him, to his money, or his eye...

torstai 25. helmikuuta 2016

Patreon page for those who seek to support a poor artist.

So. For years I have been making art. Music, visual arts, poetry. It all has the soul of concept art, dealing with life, death, human existence, psychological and philosophical aspects of our culture and social problems in the lives of people I know and have faced in my various works as a social and youth worker. This all has been done with practically no income. I am not afraid of talking about the money. I have never even licked the limit of poverty, I have never earned the 14 000 euros a year, which in Finland qualifies for being poor. I have never earned even 11 000 euros a year, most of my life I've earned something around 6 000 - 7 000 euros a year, which practically is 500 euros a month.  With this money I have been in at least two bands, paying for my rent, food, recording and pressing of records, playing shows, everything that a regular life of the poor requires, plus the band stuff. It's not much, but then again I don't need much. Now I get 700 euros per month, my rent is 600, but luckily I don't need to pay for all of it by myself. Still, I'm practically broke and in two years it'll get even worse. So I'm just trying to ready myself for the future times.

Here's a Patreon-page. If you want to support this completely DIY-grindcore-droneambient-blues-jazz-whatever-music filled life of mine, or enjoy all the visual disturbance I emit on almost daily basis or just like to read something I write, you can help. But you don't have to. I am honestly begging for your dimes, but I am not cashing out. Any of this won't stop if you won't give me all your money. I just figured usually people feel more included if they are somehow involved. Although I make all of this by myself, I like to think that what I do reaches out and touches people. From what I heard from people I have encountered "on my many endeavors" this is a somewhat correct assumption.

One side of this is the fact that I arrange shows. I'd like to bring all kinds of awesome bands to my hometown and to help and support smaller local bands, but it takes some serious dough to pay the bands. I just hope that I can make this all work out the best possible way. I just have shitloads of medical bills and other completely stupid shit to take care of. I know this is all something that is part of every people's lives. But usually those people have a job or rich parents to support their lives. I survive with my current situation, but if there's hundred euro bill I was not prepared for, it kinda wrecks my groove for the rest of the month. But anyhow, I'll survive. Any help, no matter how small, is welcomed with humbled gratitude and eternal salute till we greet each other at the gates of Valhalla. But if you just can't afford it, I understand. Neither could I.

tiistai 23. helmikuuta 2016

This ended up meaning more than I first intended. In conversation with a friend.

You can always make changes in your own life and it always help, because there has not been a single human being in the history of mankind whose personal change (good or bad is just a matter of perspective and we can never have objectivity on that) didn't inspire a wave of change in others around him. I have seen this change happen in myself, and I have inspired change in other people too. Many of my friends have quit drinking or drugs, and I am not saying it's all because of me, but I know I have helped in actually making that sort of change and figuring out what to do when you are not intoxicated all the time.

Of course it may seem now that the multinational corporations are all in for oil, coal and raping of nature. But even they understand that to have business, you have to have human beings. Right now they are just figuring a way to cash out on the renewable energy, since it's so easy to just provide for yourself. But the future is in renewable energy and open source, it does not matter if they want it or not, because.....

....human beings are not disgusting. We are slowly improving, with our generation, and the one that follows. We are not just by-products of this compose heap society are father's are trying to leave for us, we are the first generation to actually stand up and say "fuck no." We will invent all this cool shit that will clean the ocean, we will provide the way to fix all this shit we have caused in the past 200 years. We will fix it, but we must start with ourselves. If I may seem nihilist at times, that does not cover intelligent human beings, capable of kindness and compassion. It reaches out and smacks the fuck out of people who try to sustain mentally lazy clichés and dead world ideals, such as chauvinism, stupidity, and the ready given ideas for capitalism/socialism/evil/good-dualism. My aggression is pointed towards stupidity and towards the will to active pursuit to maintain stupidity, to actually AVOID information and the chance of being educated. My hate and my love are, as everything else, a matter of perspective. It may not matter in the large scale of things, but I am a human being, not living this life in the large scale. I am merely experiencing this life here and now, trying to do whatever I find to be right thing to do, given the information that I have.
mic drop.

maanantai 22. helmikuuta 2016

Three new records.

I wanted to try something. It got out of hand, as usual, but here's what I came up with. I had three 90 minute cassettes lying around, unused and useless. So I hooked a mic on my cassette-vinyl-playing monster and tried to record my guitar amplifier through that, straight to the cassette. Well, it sounded fucking amazing considering what I was using and doing. So I ended up hooking up my gear and just recording 90 minutes of music on one take, without a single pause, just improvising with guitar, delay, one distortion, two loop pedals and interchanging loops in between them. Recording, overdubbing, reversing, re-recording loops on the other loop pedal and fading them out.. It just flows from one emotion and one set-up to another, it becomes just a long, continuous drone. I loved it.

Then, I did it again. After the second one I felt emotionally drained, anxious, somewhat empty but not in the good way I am used to feeling after a grindcore gig. It was just a void. But still, when I looked at the two cassettes I had made, it made me feel somesort of empty sensation of accomplishment. Like just plain "it is done." So, being the self-destructive, self-annihilating fly splitter that I am, I could not wait to record the last one today.  So, now, 4 and a half hours of making and recording new, improvised music on the fly, I feel somehow happy. I have three albums, all running ninety minutes. They are the only copies in the world. There will never be more. They are 10 euros each, and I am completely satisfied if no one ever wants to buy them. I like them, and I might even listen to them by myself. I am tempted by the idea of maybe keeping them for myself, and then just playing them to other people who happen to come by. Maybe I'll just do that. Maybe not.

To me, this sort of music is the REAL music. I have played in bands for years, made hundreds of songs already and played around 200  or more shows I think. Still, during the last year I have understood that what really speaks to me is improvisation, either alone or with other people. That is the reason Cut To Fit does not have setlists and we decide the songs were going to play on the fly, it gives you a complete freedom. No one is in control. It's all created in the moment. That's the best part of it. Now I've got to improvise music with other people, and it is just so satisfying to do live. But this thing I have by myself, this is my own secret garden, my nocturnal delights, my own sweet drones, solitude speaking through my fingers, singing songs of death and longing, silence and compassion, maybe some of love too. It is just raw, unfiltered emotion as noise. So its practically emo noise? I don't know. There's only this one clip which features a small clip of the music, this one is from I'll Grow My Hair Long So I Don't Need A Rope When I Decide To Go.

One Grasps The Earth, The Other Pulls The Sky
Inside The Temples Of The Mind Even The Wise Go Blind

I'll Grow My Hair Long So I Don't Need A Rope When I Decide To Go

perjantai 19. helmikuuta 2016

Don't fuck up.

Long time no see. Long story short, all existence is suffering, and though we may have some brief moments of elation, they are just elevating elaborations of this carbon-based, oxygen induced hallucination that haunts us for this short period that is our lives. We will all be dirt, we will all be dead bodies, ash or dirt, but not just yet. So rejoice, all the living, sentient beings in this world of death and suffering, join hands and become one, destroy oppression with compassion, never revenge, just do not justify their actions with your silent approval. We can and we will fix this world, we will clean the Ocean, we will say no to all the bullshit we people have come up with in the last 200 years, we will take back what belongs to us. We can do it in our everyday lives, since it is nothing but us. There are no big problems, there are small problems in a big scale. If YOU decide to take another path, you can. Don't pity yourself, don't praise yourself, just do what you think this world needs, do your own part without any sort of attachment to it.

Life is great in its own, crushing way. It can be depressing, most of the time it really fucking is. Most of my life I've spent in solitaire confinement, inside the gloomy visions of my mind. Still I think this world is great. It is nothing but a reflection of my mind, just as it is. All the possible explanations, agendas or whathaveyous exist only in my own mind. They are my humane thoughts and aspirations, that stand in the way of truth and overshadow the truth with their own existence. To let go of these cardboard cut outs is to find some sort of sense of purpose in this madness. Not easy, mind you..

I am a Zen buddhist to some extent. I believe that when I die, I do not come back to life, firewood is firewood and ash is ash, as Dogen said. Ash does not become firewood, but then again, firewood does not become ash. They are different things. So, to die is not to be born again. Death is different from birth, and after death I shall be "beyond death". I will not return. That is essential in my worldview. I have no hope of heavens or afterlives that might bring me any sort of crown for being such a martyr and sacrificing this life to benefit some other life. There is no other life. Whatever happens beyond death, albeit I think it will be just nothingness, is different and beyond our reach. We have only this life. No other lives, no other worlds. We can't fuck up with this world. We need to do it right, for the sake of the existence of future beings. We have a responsibility towards time-space, to make sure we preserve conscious life for as long as possible. We can not fuck this up. There is no other place for us, no redemption beyond this planet. Just try to do whatever you think from your mere human perspective might be the right thing to do, and fucking go for it. Don't give a fuck about what the people around you might call you or if they try to put you in a box. It is just a safe way for a narrow mind to perceive the world though keyholes, although the doors would be flung wide open.

I hope we all find some sort of peace and love some day, but for now, let's just settle for toleration.