The only time that I used Metaphysical Function, upon playing the first note began feeling odd and then the world started spinning around and around as I faded into darkness. Upon awakening on my right side on the hard parquet floor of my room saw that my entire right arm was a continuous tattoo of intertwined snakes...I had never ever gotten a skin illustration and was very confused to what I was seeing. I then noticed that the pain in my hip was like being burned and immense. I turned my head to the left and to my terror I saw a female version of myself who looked exactly like me but had sky blue dyed hair. She was gagged and bound, couldn't speak besides grunting and kept tilting her head and pointing with her eyes towards my hip. To my horror I saw that we has been surgically bound together. There was blood all over both of use and I started to freak out. All of a sudden the lights went out and there was no sound to be heard at all and it felt as if I was in an anechoic chamber. A few seconds later the lights came back on and I was back in my studio in front of my monitor which had Metaphysical running. I immediately shut down FL Studio, opened up Revo Uninstaller and got rid of any and all traces of Reaktor. What happened I have no idea, but I'll never install that fucking thing again...and neither should you. Use Absynth instead. Last edited: Aug 7, 2024
"Coincidentia opositorum" coincidentally, the very first time I discovered that damned, damned seductive creation woven from 'Matryoshka' houses, wires, and numbers, and realized that no sequencer serves as a slave when generating notes or a sound mutant from several continuously oscillating oscillators, I had consumed some wild Albanian weed. The tops of the weed, grown freely under the heat of the Albanian sun, which they say burns especially hot, can be wild. It can bestow the end user with special "The Fires of Orc" abilities through its transfer. I don't know if it was due to the sound of preset number three, six, or nine, the mixture of the special sound and equally special smoke, or perhaps entirely due to the abilities received by inhaling the weed, but as I reclined in the comfort of my cozy chair, dazed by that demonic device that speaks the language of metaphysical defectiveness, and with the third, sixth, or ninth deep breath of weed smoke, I was transported to an alternative reality. I am in a woman's body — "Balls have zero to me to me to me to me to me to me to me to me to." A body that seems incapable of speaking. I tried to mumble, I tried to cough up the weed smoke that had permeated my lungs, but every attempt seemed like a futility not worth wasting energy on. Looking down, I noticed that this body, not just unfamiliar but completely foreign to me, yet somehow still mine, was fused to some kind of creature. Searching for information in my memory about how and why this fusion process occurred, I found only a lack of memory. The fresh blood might suggest that we were recently fused, but it could not suggest by what reason or by whom we were fused earlier. The creature had eyes. They seemed capable of understanding. Without trying to speak, I attempted to suggest to the creature with my gaze a place of interest — the place where we were joined. Naturally, I miscalculated and acted too hastily. The creature, it turned out, was capable of nonverbal communication and managed to decipher where my gaze was directing it. Upon realizing this, the creature too noticed the previously unknown fusion. Naturally, intelligence is never present when you need it the most. After understanding the situation, instead of returning its gaze to mine so we could try to communicate not how, why, and by whom we were fused, but how to get out of what seemed to be a very unfavorable situation for both of us, it began to panic. Which wouldn’t be a problem, except that it started thrashing hysterically, trying to separate violently, which was, of course, impossible and extremely painful. Unnecessary pain, but what can you do, it is what it is. Thank God or thank whoever, the one responsible for the disappearance of the light — the lights went out. Complete darkness. Not just darkness, but absolute silence as well. And suddenly, the pain was no longer present. All bodily senses ceased to be available in an instant. It was as if existence itself became somehow bodiless or non-corporeal, in a vacuum or something similar. In something devoid of everything except nothing. Nil. Impossible for me to determine how, but more than ever, I was existing; existing somewhere where there is nothing to indicate what it means to exist, and I existed for a very long time. Eons, perhaps. Maybe even longer. Having long since come to terms with that place as my final abode, I had long forgotten — the madness of a memory which busies itself among forbidden things — who I was before my unfortunate inhalation of "The Fires of Orc," a potent Albanian weed, which crash-landed me into some abstract liminal space, surgically or somehow physically connected to something. An unknown type of connection, before my absolute disconnection from everything familiar or unfamiliar. And then, suddenly, out of nowhere, 'waking up' might not be the most accurate term, but I find myself sitting in a chair in front of a black 'monolith' monitor, on which, in rhythm with the throbbing sound from the speakers, a sound visualizer dances. "Wawaweewa!" — Borat would suggest excitement. For a brief moment, I pondered my journey and wondered what to do next, but received no answer to my questions. However, no matter; a clear answer emerged from somewhere in my gut. I took out a lighter and ignited the stick filled with Albanian weed. In exchange for potentially remaining forever in that "Sky Lounge" limbo where perhaps everyone ends up after life, I set out to find that something momentarily bonded to me. "I'm Famished!" — hungry for metaphysical flesh.
Ah yes! A mouse! I had checked those out during my diggings, I downloaded what interested me and have stored them for later. DRON-E being one of them. Auralis I am sure deserves some attention as well, and there are mods for that too. I just do not have any time right now, it is hard to manage everything for me. I will try to share more soon. I have mainly played with MF and TG-8H. MF goes deep, it looks very nonchalant for what it is and what it does. There is more to it than meets the eye, you have to read in between the lines. When I first used it a long time ago, none of it made sense, but this time I was a different person and everything came naturally, after reading the manual and watching a tutorial. The best thing to do with these tools is just to record from the beginning until you reach a point of saturation, as you had said previously. I have had some fun but have yet to incorporate a sample or a chop into a grid-based composition. These tools are so free-form that it gets hard to fit them within the lines. I can really appreciate your composition style though. That one recent snippet with Bespoke synth was crazy, I really liked what you did there... Piecing everything together and messing with it. Feels like you are light years ahead of me, running circles around my head in your tiny spaceship.
I have to show some love for the AudioSEX Creative Writers Club. & the Albanian wee + MF + The Fires of Ork - Sky Lounge. The brain is indeed a ____.
Fresh Project. On a whim or based on the feel of the day, he, she or they, opens empty template. They add this and that, adjust this and that, and after a few minutes or maybe tens of minutes, they might unintentionally stumble upon something that sounds pleasant to them. Pleasant noise. If not, they close the "DAW" program, and the matter is resolved. They are free to go ahead and do flips. It’s not a day for creating interesting noise. If they do find something, they don’t even have to save the project. They can just record the block that interests them. They might keep recording until they fill up a terabyte or a few terabytes of disk space, and then they need another drive, and another one, and... there's never enough storage. The next time they want to play with sound, they don’t have to torture a synth. A sampler is enough — a sound collage or "plunderphonics" something like that. For the sake of play, for the sake of enjoying the game. The other day, someone from a "grab and run" site reminded me of "Bespoke." There’s nothing like discreetly connecting wires in a modular playground. I had uninstalled "Bespoke" because it crashed too often. But being reminded that it exists, and knowing that in that modular form ("Energy XT," "FL Patcher"), as far as I know, there isn’t anything similar (though "Element" is close, it’s not quite the same), I decided to give it another try. The last few days, it has served as a solid playground. The "fubble" modulator, parameter recorder and player, follows the same principle as my CC10, with which you can play around using (rat) the mouse. Just like "notecanvas;" several versions of varying lengths allow you to record MIDI and parameter changes, potentially creating ("syncopation") "a more organic sound." They can be "grid-based" and synchronized with other instances, but they don’t have to be. That’s what interests me. Actually, that’s what intrigued me when I first noticed MF. Sounds that are the same but not the same, because each repetitive block has its own logic. A living organism. Anyway... for some reason, yellow ducks were on my mind the other day. Did anyone notice yellow plastic ducks somewhere recently? In a realm that hovered between dream and reality, existed a room. A nauseating space where the walls oozed with a thick, dark substance that pulsed and throbbed as if alive. The air was thick, heavy with the scent of decay, a fetid aroma that clung to the nostrils and lingered like a bad memory. In the center of this grotesque chamber was an ancient, rusted bathtub. The tub was filled to the brim with a viscous, crimson liquid — thicker than blood, almost syrupy, and disturbingly vibrant. It moved as though it had a life of its own, slowly rippling and bubbling as if something beneath its surface was struggling to break free. Sitting in this foul concoction was a creature, something that resembled a human but was unmistakably otherworldly. Its skin was slick and gray, stretched taut over a misshapen body. The creature’s face was a grotesque mask of malformed features, with eyes that were too large and too dark, reflecting nothing but the void. It was both pitiful and terrifying, as if it had been crafted from nightmares themselves. The creature’s long, bony fingers were occupied with a strange object — a synthesizer shaped like a bright yellow rubber duck. This toy-like instrument was out of place in the horrific setting, a jarring contrast to the macabre scene. Yet, as the creature pressed the keys, it produced sounds that were far from playful. The notes were dissonant, unnatural, each one vibrating through the room like a scream from a parallel dimension. With each touch of the synthesizer, the room seemed to warp and twist. The walls undulated as though they were breathing, the red liquid in the tub surged with new life, and the light in the room flickered violently, as if it could be extinguished at any moment. The creature seemed to find joy in this chaos, its malformed mouth stretching into a grim semblance of a smile as it played. The yellow duck, with its cheerful appearance, continued to emit these haunting sounds, filling the room with an eerie symphony that resonated deep within the bones. It was a melody of madness, a tune that defied the boundaries of music and sanity alike. As the red liquid began to overflow from the tub, slowly creeping across the floor and swallowing the room inch by inch, the creature remained unfazed. It continued to play its disjointed tune, immersed in a world of its own creation. The liquid reached the edges of the room, climbing the walls, devouring everything in its path until the entire space was submerged in the crimson sea. Finally, the sounds ceased, and there was silence. The room was gone, dissolved into the red abyss, leaving nothing behind but the yellow rubber duck, bobbing gently on the surface, untouched by the horrors that had unfolded around it. Last edited: Aug 11, 2024
The AI pictures were a great addition to this recording. This one, kwak, was a fun listen. Very organic to the ears and enjoyable. I would say your description did not fit my own interpretations. I am assuming you are describing the recording, yes? One of the great beauties is how different listeners can have different interpretations to what is shown to them. I get in a very meditative state, sometimes a good one, sometimes a bad one. Would love to hear more. Video or no video. Video has the visual and/or nerd/technological appeal. Magic. and I did not forget Sammy Jankis either. I think this new Bespoke is really taking things up a notch in your work, and it was already crazy before. The internet can be a bit of a Ghost Town sometimes. At least these corners. Last edited: Aug 14, 2024
Don't suggest that to someone like Edmund Kemper. As a kid, music was my drug. A drug before I even knew what a drug was. Walkman and headphones on, and there I was in a "dream state," an alternate dimension. Later on, when I was still a kid but a bit less innocent and naive, when I got to know drugs, music was still one of my favorite drugs, but not as potent as it once was. Several decades later, I listen to what I used to listen to, the sounds that once got me high as a kite — and nothing. Somewhere along the way, the "dream state" ability to immerse myself in sound got lost, or rather, the inability not to immerse in sound. If I knew then what I know now, if I had the toys I have today, I think I would have been the happiest kid in the world. Not headphones on, but a fine position between the monitors, the toys doing their thing, and maybe a light drug doing its thing. Who needs anything more in life? Maybe anyone who isn’t a romantic kid. Those so-called adults have no clue. If they ever knew, they might have forgotten, and if they didn’t find out in time, they might never know, just like Sammy Jankis. Yes, this "Bespoke" toy is fun. Everything is somehow faster, the flow is uninterrupted. Of course, as the creation of a single developer, it has a bunch of flaws, shortcomings, illogicalities, unnecessary things... but aside from perfection, which perhaps no one has ever encountered, nothing is truly perfect. Yes, the internet can be a "dead internet theory" dead. Before it was noticeable how it would swallow everything and turn everything into a commercial product, it once felt endless. Now it seems very flat and meager. Times change. Only change is constant. Blablabla...wubaluba... Last edited: Aug 28, 2024
Life is unfair. I watch the big father spider and his little son spider, or perhaps the big mother spider and her little daughter, or whatever combination it may be, as they prepare their evening meal in the late afternoon. Much like humans preparing stuffed cabbage rolls, only different — wrapping up some unfortunate winged insect, a species unknown to me. It could fly away, but it cannot. It might resign itself to the cruel fate imposed upon it, realizing, with great difficulty, that everything it once knew no longer matters to anyone or anything. What was once its essential being, now hysterically fighting back, despite perhaps knowing that the battle is futile, is nothing more than dinner for the father and son, mother and daughter, or maybe the whole family of spiders. Diligent little spiders, who, through their daily work, free themselves from the threat of starvation — a weakness that could easily turn them into someone else’s dinner, lunch, or even a healthy breakfast, which they say is the most important meal of the day. Life is not unfair. Life simply is, while it lasts. Sooner or later, one way or another, as circumstances dictate, dying is part of living. It is not just the nullification of something temporarily existing, but of any lasting importance that once existed. In this being, which creates life in order to sustain itself, existence itself might die from boredom, needing somehow — through something, creatively — to kill the time waiting for everything that must pass. Time is not a friend. Perhaps. I thought about how amusing — or perhaps cruel — it would be to steal the result of the spiders' diligent effort after their laborious work. But I didn’t rob them of their pitiful victim. I’m not heartless either. I don’t know why, but I named the big spider Adolf, and the little one, smaller than the big-little one, Heinrich Hermann Reinhard. I packed them both into a clear jar, along with the poor, helpless winged insect. Now, I wait. I wait for the big-little one to eat the smaller one, or maybe, by some miracle, the reverse. And then, the last one standing, alone with itself — perhaps through some method of self-cannibalism, as a way of coming to terms with its soon-to-be nonexistent existence — will bear witness to the unfairness of this 'La vita è bella' life.
it's saying all your links are down. is this temporary, or is the archive problem as bad as i feared?
