Who speaks through you?

It is as difficult to appropriate the thoughts of others as it is to invent. Today's notion of creativity and originality are configured by velocity: vectors play host to the agent, the agent within the vector animal (thought vector, sound vector, vector of a sound of motion), the vector has a fixed property, vectors are capable of transmitting the disease of the vector that moves through an architectonic environment. The future will leak through a fax to yourself of sonic debris and the copies will transcend the originals.

Poetry is nothing but a machine made of words, double movement, binary stratification, transience of meaning - text and textuality switch place with blinding speed. Creating seamless interpolations between objects of thought to fabricate a zone of representation in which the interplay of the one and the many, the original and its double all come under question.

In the binary world of place, is sampling the digital equivalent of Feng Shui? Technology is a collective hallucination. What would happen if place, memory, exponential aspects of perception just vanished into our collective dreams? Why do I want to write? Because I grew up with the want to communicate with fellow human beings. Any you can be you. Art and the imagination transform individual creation into a kit of interchangeable parts. Art and the ideological work transform individual creation into a kit of interchangeable parts. Of interchangeable parts.

By being a flaneur, I push writing, or music or art through a cycle of extreme flux, catchphrases and real contexts reconfigured. There is a ruthless logic of selection to create a sense of order, to be a flaneur, to look at an image or listen to a sound. The millions of bits of information streaming through two million fiber bundles of nerves is like writing history with lightning. Sampling is a new way of creating overexposure to the transparency of the world. And that's a good start.

It would be like living some kind of death if too many people continue looking backward: One hundred years ago, 1687, the ancients, 1875, sixth century Ireland, Emerson, Edison and Gould. What differentiates today from yesterday is Emerson could write. It's not just boring, it's against everything.

Parallel soundscapes are more willing to create psychological collage space. Stories disappear and evaporate and there's so much shit that your memory will never remember anything exactly the way it happened. Memories become dematerialized sculpture.

There is no such thing as an immaculate perception. We inherit ancient syntaxes, basic primal languages and rhythm scientists operate under a recombinant aesthetic with roots that were planted over a century and half ago. Filling space in becomes a dance with emptiness, there's always something to think through when you create a mix. We do not even know what we want. Why not? It all depends on your perspective, but as I like to say, let it be like a record spinning.