Party’s end…This is the rainy season, with the underground rivers of Chile on the move drilling the delicate troughs of volcanoes, piercing the quartz and the gold, moving the silences. This is the mighty arcana of water barely known to us here; though we speak of the sea and name it by name: Cape Horn: the stain of mortality never mars its dominion, we can never implant our transactions, the mines, motors, flags, of our species. Open-ended, the water shakes itself free: it moves while it cleanses and cleanses: it cleanses the stone and the sane, our wounds and utensils. It is never used up, like the bleeding away of the fire, it does not turn to cinder and ash.
Composer, producer, sound engineer, troublemaker, ATLien, and trainwreck in human form. You will find here: visual art inspiration, beers I'm trying, the occasional inarguably beautiful woman, music of all kinds, and KITTENS. Also, dinosaurs with lasers.