'suppose I had been forbidden to write...' (in annihilation's waste)

'suppose I had been forbidden to write in an absolutely literal sense - not a word, not a single letter of the alphabet - I wonder what I would have done?...' - andrei sinyavsky, near the end of his six year sentence (if you'll pardon the pun). 

'I dreamed of the paper I am now writing on as an open field or a forest: oh to be able to lose myself in it, to take-off and run breathlessly and, without reaching the end or even the middle, put down somewhere at the edge or in a corner just a few rapid lines.'

a friend is thinking of doing an actual zine. another friend does poetry chap books. various friends still release music on vinyl and on CD (maybe even cassette) in addition to their live gigs. howard had taken, for a while, to actually writing and posting letters. horsemouth is thinking about the production of material items as opposed to the kind of digital froth you see here. 

horsemouth had forgotten to mention howard's experiments with actual (film) cameras. 

of course merely because something is made does not mean it has any better chance of survival than the 1s and zeroes residing on servers somewhere that you are currently looking at. 

archeology is a handful of items rescued from annihilations waste. 

yesterday afternoon and evening (and unexpectedly) great music from alice coltrane (her influences and her influencees) over on NTS radio (thank you NTS radio) in honour of her new exhibit at the hammer museum in los angeles.  horsemouth listened and snoozed and got up again, watched other things and listened again. wow it ran through til 2am horsemouth has just discovered. soon it should be in the archive (horsemouth will post a link then). 

we are in a strange moment of digital scarcity when it is not available between its performance and its archiving, a gap in the digital abundance of modern times. 

here's another alice themed show of theirs while we wait. 

as a break from proceedings he watched outlaw bookseller's appreciation of the lesser novels of philip k. dick; 'I have never ever  felt I've wasted my time reading anything that philip k. dick ever wrote...'. 

it looks initially like he's going to badmouth and neg the god-like PKD, but no such thing occurs instead there's an appreciation of his weaker work and of the work that is less him (and weaker for it). 

in the morning horsemouth went for his usual walk on the common.