17 August 2001
stolen wishes -|-
lost wishes -|-
musings of señor prod. -|-
the tunguska catastrophe, first iteration
5-3-1 Ginza, Chuo-ko.
To Whom It May Concern:
The enclosed audio compact disc (entitled Tungusskaya Katastrofa ex Nihilo) is encoded according to the Red Book specification, PCM audio, 44.1 KHz sampling rate. It is the audio response of UNCOATED 282 to the recent release by Sam Hill from ANODE Music and Verdilak Productions.
Tungusskaya Katastrofa ex Nihilo was recorded with exactly twenty-three Alesis ADAT XT digital audio recorders in series. Between each ADAT recorder was placed a random down-sample digital converter which replicated the electromagnetic resonance, Theremin-style, of the musicians of UNCOATED 282 in the recording studio with variously placed antennae.
The audio on this disc is the output of the final, twenty-third recorder.
There are 2 instruments used on this album, the first is a modified 1977 Moog synthesizer, and the second is an acoustic violin.
The violinist used 3 years of her own hair clippings to make her violin bow.
The keyboard was methodically deconstructed, many fuses and transistors having been replaced with pennies we have gathered from the base of a wishing well in Seattle.
Tungusskaya Katastrofa ex Nihilo is the sound of the wishes we have stolen from their owners.
UNCOATED 282, Verdilak Productions, and ANODE Music.
i believe in beauty
She says that the measure of a relationship is not its length, but its depth. And she's right.
As much as I wish that we could be together, as much as I believe she wishes we could be together (impedance
mismatch, the stars aligned against us, a mute thing which will not budge), I cherish the memory
of the last few weeks: a place where my mind found a beautiful mind to communicate with; a place
where my soul found a beautiful soul to caress and be caressed by; a place where my heart found
a beautiful heart to fall to love and fall in love with, if only in love for a time
which was predetermined, a time defined by the length between a greeting under the
shadow of a telescope and one last tearful kiss.
When we held hands, her hand was so soft that I couldn't breathe; when we embraced, the
curve of her shoulder was custom fit for my weary head; when I wept, as bitterly and hard as
ever I have wept, she spoke quiet truths against the weakness I felt, the ugliness I felt,
the loneliness which threatened to crush me, truths which made me stronger. She was a place I
simply belonged, if only for that time.
Our relationship's length was brief, but the canyon offshore Monterey cannot contain its depth.
musings of señor prod.
The Revolution keeps, um, revolving.
Visit the Spider-Man
Site. Tell 'em Tim the Producer sent ya.