Audioccult Vol. 52: Blackest Ever Gold
audioccult-vol-52-blackest-ever-gold
April 25, 2013
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# Audioccult Vol. 52: Blackest Ever Gold
*Light a candle. Draw the required sigils. Now, raise your arms above
your head and slowly, gently, exhale your soul. You won't need it here.
This is Audioccult, and it's time to get low.
Illustration: [SHALTMIRA][1]{: target="_blank"}*
DJing when you're feeling depressed is a weird thing. Of course your
mood affects what you play, but also how you respond to the crowd. You
can allow yourself transcendence by their presence, or you can remove
yourself from them, wrapped in yourself, erecting new constructs around
yourself to escape the old forms you had erected before, building and
building in a continuous loop---MC Escher working the crowd. Only when
you're faced with the horrible photos afterward do you realize the
mistake. It's this overly thoughtful sort of regret, that thousand-mile
mental stare---vacant, stagnant, and even as you recognize it you know
it's the end result of the evening unless you *strike* quickly. In
desperation, you grab the nearest human escape available: "Hey baby, how
about we go to your place after so I can use your internet?"
*The Quietus*' track-by-track preview of the last few months of my life
reveals a pattern: too many [false smiles][2]{: target="_blank"}.
Choosing click *->Share* and paddling along the surface too often. A
declining shift of thought, humor lessened by a need to
[self-destroy][3]{: target="_blank"} even as I worry about Matthew
Lindsay's [writing][4]{: target="_blank"} pushing mine down and calling
it little baby scribbles that will never be a grown man's writing. A
bomb-ass editorial sails through the window and calls me Sissyphus
before punching me like it thinks Goku would and taking my freelance
money. The entropic pounding of [Robedoor][5]{: target="_blank"} and
[Oake][6]{: target="_blank"} form the soundtrack for this tearjerker
scene, the musical equivalent of the mocking handclap from God himself.
The symmetry is off, Escher askew. Eschew. Gesundheit.
What consumes me is music; it chews me up and silences all else like a
Hubba Bubba gag. The divinity is in the details, and through close
examination I am Saved. No longer comfy in Nihil, I discard the enormous
sweatshirt with the "I Have Given Up" block print (Arial Bold, *NOT*
Helvetica) and I've blingee'd my soul to add that diamond sparkle to my
eye. There's a line in the second Terminator movie about *NO FATE* and
if you pause it at just the right time---when you're utterly obliterated
on narcotics---it looks like *NO FART*. Long past the boredom of the
skinny jeans holding in all the horrible stench of my personal pains, I
redress my soul with increased personal emphasis on looseness in a
post-JNCO world. Take a moment to revel in this rather obtuse mental
image. In the URL we're bombarded with and even perpetuate a false
representation of our true selves. Some would consider this a negative,
but I've found it a useful platform to build off of... that loop again,
which *can* be a good thing. Remember, however, to keep your IRL as
healthy as your URL, lest you find your soul eventually consigned to an
enormous virtual warehouse filled with dusty links to the "Whip My Hair"
video, unclicked since February 2011.~
[1]: http://shaltmira.weebly.com/
[2]: http://www.nytimes.com/2011/02/22/health/22really.html?_r=0
[3]: http://www.mixcloud.com/KALTBLUTMagazine/blackblackgolds-destroy-me-guest-mix-for-kaltblut/
[4]: http://thequietus.com/articles/11094-nico-the-marble-index-trilogy
[5]: http://robedoor.tumblr.com
[6]: https://www.facebook.com/OakeMusic
---
id: 969e22e9-2871-4008-abc3-27fc086cb7cd
blueprint: article
title: 'Audioccult Vol. 52: Blackest Ever Gold'
date: 2013-04-26T00:01:10+02:00
wp_id: '48062'
slug: audioccult-vol-52-blackest-ever-gold
teaser_image: legacy/audioccult-vol-52-blackest-ever-gold/Electronic-Beats-Audioccult-Black-black-gold_Shaltmira_.png
contents:
-
type: text
text: '<p><em>Light a candle. Draw the required sigils. Now, raise your arms above your head and slowly, gently, exhale your soul. You won’t need it here. This is Audioccult, and it’s time to get low. Illustration: <a href="http://shaltmira.weebly.com/" target="_blank">SHALTMIRA</a></em></p><p>DJing when you’re feeling depressed is a weird thing. Of course your mood affects what you play, but also how you respond to the crowd. You can allow yourself transcendence by their presence, or you can remove yourself from them, wrapped in yourself, erecting new constructs around yourself to escape the old forms you had erected before, building and building in a continuous loop—MC Escher working the crowd. Only when you’re faced with the horrible photos afterward do you realize the mistake. It’s this overly thoughtful sort of regret, that thousand-mile mental stare—vacant, stagnant, and even as you recognize it you know it’s the end result of the evening unless you <em>strike</em> quickly. In desperation, you grab the nearest human escape available: “Hey baby, how about we go to your place after so I can use your internet?”</p><p><em>The Quietus</em>‘ track-by-track preview of the last few months of my life reveals a pattern: too many <a href="http://www.nytimes.com/2011/02/22/health/22really.html?_r=0" target="_blank">false smiles</a>. Choosing click <em>->Share</em> and paddling along the surface too often. A declining shift of thought, humor lessened by a need to <a href="http://www.mixcloud.com/KALTBLUTMagazine/blackblackgolds-destroy-me-guest-mix-for-kaltblut/" target="_blank">self-destroy</a> even as I worry about Matthew Lindsay’s <a href="http://thequietus.com/articles/11094-nico-the-marble-index-trilogy" target="_blank">writing</a> pushing mine down and calling it little baby scribbles that will never be a grown man’s writing. A bomb-ass editorial sails through the window and calls me Sissyphus before punching me like it thinks Goku would and taking my freelance money. The entropic pounding of <a href="http://robedoor.tumblr.com" target="_blank">Robedoor</a> and <a href="https://www.facebook.com/OakeMusic" target="_blank">Oake</a> form the soundtrack for this tearjerker scene, the musical equivalent of the mocking handclap from God himself. The symmetry is off, Escher askew. Eschew. Gesundheit.</p><p>What consumes me is music; it chews me up and silences all else like a Hubba Bubba gag. The divinity is in the details, and through close examination I am Saved. No longer comfy in Nihil, I discard the enormous sweatshirt with the “I Have Given Up” block print (Arial Bold, <em>NOT</em> Helvetica) and I’ve blingee’d my soul to add that diamond sparkle to my eye. There’s a line in the second Terminator movie about <em>NO FATE</em> and if you pause it at just the right time—when you’re utterly obliterated on narcotics—it looks like <em>NO FART</em>. Long past the boredom of the skinny jeans holding in all the horrible stench of my personal pains, I redress my soul with increased personal emphasis on looseness in a post-JNCO world. Take a moment to revel in this rather obtuse mental image. In the URL we’re bombarded with and even perpetuate a false representation of our true selves. Some would consider this a negative, but I’ve found it a useful platform to build off of… that loop again, which <em>can</em> be a good thing. Remember, however, to keep your IRL as healthy as your URL, lest you find your soul eventually consigned to an enormous virtual warehouse filled with dusty links to the “Whip My Hair” video, unclicked since February 2011.~</p>'
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Chunk #1 (Position: 0)
# Audioccult Vol. 52: Blackest Ever Gold *Light a candle. Draw the required sigils. Now, raise your arms above your head and slowly, gently, exhale your soul. You won't need it here. This is Audioccult, and it's time to get low. Illustration: [SHALTMIRA][1]{: target="_blank"}* DJing when y...
Chunk #2 (Position: 1)
It's this overly thoughtful sort of regret, that thousand-mile mental stare---vacant, stagnant, and even as you recognize it you know it's the end result of the evening unless you *strike* quickly. In desperation, you grab the nearest human escape available: "Hey baby, how about we go to your pla...
Chunk #3 (Position: 2)
Eschew. Gesundheit. What consumes me is music; it chews me up and silences all else like a Hubba Bubba gag. The divinity is in the details, and through close examination I am Saved. No longer comfy in Nihil, I discard the enormous sweatshirt with the "I Have Given Up" block print (Arial Bold...
Chunk #4 (Position: 3)
that loop again, which *can* be a good thing. Remember, however, to keep your IRL as healthy as your URL, lest you find your soul eventually consigned to an enormous virtual warehouse filled with dusty links to the "Whip My Hair" video, unclicked since February 2011.~ . [1]: http://shaltmira.wee...