i Cant hold on loVe

Somewhere in Paris, Sunday.
People used to take their children there to watch their departing emotions.
Nothing sorts out memories from ordinary moments.
Later, he knew he had seen a Memory die.
And sometime after came the Destruction.
The Destruction of his soul. Once again he found himself wasting his emotions on vanity demanding subjects. He thought that he might be one of those. The ones that led him to the wrong place. He felt like he was trapped in the belly of this horrible machine.

Riots.
He vanishes.

I m full of broken Memories, that I cant repair, she thinks.

She too seems tamed. She accepts as a natural phenomenon the ways of this visitor who comes and goes, who exists, talks, laughs with her, stops talking, listens to her, then disappears.

Human beings are not fully conscious of their real life...usually groping in the dark; overwhelmed by the consequences of their acts; at every moment groups and individuals find themselves confronted with results they have not wished.

One for my confusion, one for your illusion, he says.
(We’re listening to a strange mix of five satins’ in the still of the night and Suicide’s surrender.)

Now he is at Rue de Montage, at café Marrienbad.
Men can see nothing around them that is not in their own image; Everything speaks to them of themselves, he thinks.

The appearance of events that we have not made, that others have made against us, obliges us from now on to be aware of the passage of time, its results, the transformation of our own desires into events, he continues and he disappears again.

Ruins.
She appears.

She’s now at the Hu[e]rt Museum at Rue Le Mepris. Beneath the stains of time, feelings disappear, she thinks once again. Other images appear, merge, in that museum, which is perhaps that of her memory.

But she learned her lesson: because some memories had survived, she could not refuse their existence or the means of their survival.

One for your sorrow, one for my anger, she replied.
(We re listening to music, coming from a distant place, probably la dispute by 3rd eye foundation, mixed with I m a survivor from destiny’s child)

Then another wave of Time washes over her.
She’s gone.

Malfunction.
Heart and soul. One will burn.

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“i Cant hold on loVe” is a cut/up from various sources.
Scissored and glued by nova career movers

dumb type

some of our influences

towers open fire

muslimgauze

suicide

suicide: ghost rider

ten for the ear

phill niblock: touch 3
francisco lopez: ny buildings
belaska: vault
gardenbox: 2
bj nilsen: fade to white
thom yorke: analyse
3rd eye foundation: la dispute
throbbing gristle: hot on the wheels of love
elektroware: memories
steinbruchel: granulat_live_series

erased dreams

είναι κακό στην άμμο να κτίζεις παλάτια
ο βόριας θα τα κάνει συντρίμια κομματια

οτι αρχίζει ωραίο τελειώνει με πόνο
οι πικραμένες καρδιές το ξέρουνε μόνο

the march of the return

absence.

you grabbed my hand and we fell into it like a daydream or a fever
we woke up one morning and fell a little further down --

i open up my wallet and it's full of blood

Every word is like an unnecessary stain on silence and nothingness.

No good -- No bueno -- Departed have left no address -- It's all done with tape recorders.

la dispute

here

It felt like a hundred years.

emptyness