music-killer... q'est que ce?

by Anonymous

If "variety is the spice of life" is a natural truth, then playing five songs this past year—approximately 1000 times—is the same banalizing behavior and routine again and again. It expresses a dysfunctional tolerance of and warped need for redundancy. It exposes a program and the uncritical surrender to that programming. It is the replacement of the music of one's life-potential with noise of something else's lifestyle, the dissonance of cultural vampirism, of self-disappearance, the redunciful noise made by dunces. The umbilical cord from where one might be to a demographic manufactured in a testtube. It is the sound of social maggots slurping up imagination and substituting it with a self-mining behavior.

Turning the volume up, that is, turning more on, as if that is a form of rebellion, is moronic. Whether done belligerently or not, it is belligerent. Whether done without memory or not, it is mindless. Whether played loudly on purpose or not, it is invasive.

Creating a life, directly-based in one's own music, rather than of merely regurgitating the redundance-manufacturing cultural backdrop to self-pollution, conspicuous consumption, and a daily surrender is no music to anyone's ears, but those seeking its end, just a metered epitaph, a drone played in a march to mass slaughter. Noise is codependent tolerance: doing it and being done to. Time to break the loop!

Today's fetishisms are packaged as lifestyle. Roles of redundancy fit all complicit hosts. A poor substitute for living—inverted and inverting, denatured and denaturing—they fictitiously satisify the need to feel, sense, and know for all those selling their life time to virulent hierarchy, who feed their time to a global pyramid scheme, in a parasitically-diminished exchange for a right to exist.

This social relation, between people—served up as things, for commodities served up as life-giving, as life itself—despoils each communication, singer, listener, song, note... leaving a sum of flat and flattening noise exhibitionisms assaulting all consciousness, and exhibits an anti-social conscience as the national anthem. It blares over all notions which the now-silenced USA may once have suggested of liberty and freedom.

Every redundancy digs us a deeper and self-[ful]filling grave. Revolutionary change, beyond the political-economy of noise—covering up the 24/7 of puncturing, sucking, and slurping fangs—is the the only music left. We are both the means to noise and to music. There is no double-tracking, rewind, replay, or "just being quiet". There is only the evolutionary reinvention, that is, the revolutionary invention, of becoming resonantly harmonious.