Yesterday while taking a break from writing, I went through my Apple and accidentally erased the entirety of my iTunes collection, some 83 gigabytes worth of music which is just under 15,000 songs. That shock was exaggerated by the misunderstanding I was just horribly figuring out. See, I was originally trying to free some of my available memory by deleted unnecessary files. I freed up over a hundred gigs, the bulk of it unknown to me then was my entire digital collection and a respectable one at that. When I maneuvered the cursor over a new song (it had been strangely silent for some time!) and double clicked a song I was particularly excited about hearing right then. A strange window appears on the screen?! The song cannot be played because iTunes can't find the root file?! What is this foolishness?! A single bead of sweat forms atop my brow. "Oh...no", I whisper inside the echo chamber of hard skull and soft gray. Menopause, as heat creeps and the heart starts to race the rising degrees, a mild anxiety rushes over me, with sweat membranes choked to flood I experience a flash of "damn damn damn", (yes) he slurred in a whisper, sober, but now toxic with organic stresses...A deep breath and "fuck attachment" realization begin to wash over me. I bootlegged gigs before and I can do it again. It was an adventure. And the Cult is all about that if nothing else...So today we get back to it with a wide open memory and a record of what I lost- forget about it. Today, 17 John Coltrane disks, Sonic Youth, Pixies, 1000 top hip-hop songs, Flying Lotus...ya, the fly shtuff.
The Cult of LA is never separate from connection to the Source, of cool, of cutting edge, of cool, of all holy fervor, of cool and what is cool and dope and new, fresh, even if it's old. What's e word anyway without direction, spin, acceleration? Gotta finish the architecture, the self, the World...before the dawn comes. I'm hurrying as coolly as possible...
Ouch! I know!
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