Author Archives: d.perry

https://harpers.org/archive/2015/02/some-notes-on-song/

“I try to reason and I tell myself you’ll return.” / “It is not my job to win you over with a persuasive argument, but to impart to you a vibrational experience that is capable of awakening a desire for another world.” / “We have noted how a song borrows existent physical bodies in order to acquire, while it’s being sung, a body of its own. […] And the song shifts unpredictably from one borrowed body to another.” / “No sequence, only a being. No journey, only a dance.” / “What night endeavors must we embrace to enter that hidden frequency?”

https://doorgallery.neocities.org/articles/8-valyri-interviews-Octa-Octa-interviews-valyri

Friedrich Nieztsche’s statement that “God is dead” is often misinterpreted. Drastically at that. In Nietzsche’s time, there was a wide emergent awareness that institutions such as the Catholic Church, which attempt to stand in for God on Earth, are decadent and corrupt and have strayed too far to the status of robber barons. Where do you find the equal-to-all, endless love of God, the examples of His wonders, the perfection of His creations in His image? Nietzsche proposed that now God as a concept is “dead” due to its ambassadors no longer representing all that our Creator stands for, we have reached a spiritual crisis. The only solution to this spiritual crisis is the introduction of boundless beauty, he wrote. Art would be proof of God’s miracles. We must create and consume the things that prove that God created us in His image, and he gave us the power to imagine and empathize and to elicit strong emotions in our audience, to reach for something Holy and boundless, to create viscera adorned with His love and His omnipresence. “Fake Opulent” is what happens when beauty comes pouring out of the gutter. When all the extraordinary things contained in the mundane start, without coordination, pouring out as if a great flood. In this constant flow, inevitably, much like if given a typewriter and infinite time a monkey could produce the entire works of Shakespeare, order will emerge. Surrounded by hellish amounts of beauty, and Holy amounts of curiosity, our nature, in His image, will allow us to discover the true order of the universe, to tap into God’s Work amongst the entire spectrum of lights and metaphor encircling us. If Man were made by God to grasp His miracles, we would be able to take the fruits of our actions as His creation, the results of our being in His image, and use this ignored but spectacular detritus to come to fully appreciate the breadth of beautiful possibilities we were given by our Creator. “Fake Opulent” is the hypothetical music that emerges. With components unrelated across personal circumstances, time, place and genre, it comes together to create a Possible music, one that would not be made if all the unwitting collaborators in the process of its making were to meet and be put in the same studio and make decisions communally and what this music should come to be. “Fake Opulent” accepts the authority of God. If everything is beautiful, and everything is made in His image, this music made of the creative efforts of His sons and daughters, and all of his children, without anything but Luck assured by our Creator, this music should come even a step closer to imitating the Endlessness, the beauty of God’s love. A clock ticking constantly produces entropy. Chaos is the only constant. With every each motion, we contribute more and more disorder to existence as we know it. Our chaoses, our feeble attempts, will inevitably knock on the right door and out will come a version of music that we love and find beauty in, assembled with no contributions by the artists it imitates, a Bootleg crafted by the Hands of God. The job of a sound collagist is to mine the beauty and produce even a crude approximation of what God’s Version, with access to all the untapped vastness of human creativity and the deep, rich lives that come with it, would theoretically resemble.

-from Fake Opulent’s liner notes

Under the Eastern White Pines,
lies the reflection of the neon lines
on the rain-soaked road that
defines the border between the
dark of the forest and whatever
festers on the sticky pine boards
that line this Eastern Lodge of the
Roadhouse and during twilight,
you can see shine the veil that
covers the hole that drains the
water from these grey marshes.

https://www.jstor.org/stable/23009133

from Someone Must Be Called Twilight (for Carlos Ramírez)
by Jaime Saenz

Many times searching without being able to find you, the twilight would
surprise me in the hour of your eyes
Many times I forgot you, wanted to forget myself and remember, and
remembered I had to forget you,
thinking of you for the very reason I didn’t want to remember you
—the twilight would surround me at such times, I remember it perfectly.
I confused you with the twilight confusing myself with you;
you confused me with the twilight confusing yourself with me,
and you and I confused ourselves with the twilight which confused you in me and
me in you,
confusing with you what was confused in me to confuse with me what was
confused in you.
And many times in the same person there was a confusion of twilight, you and
me,
and many more each confused with three other distinct persons,
adding up to nine altogether, which is to say, zero.

And there was no such person called twilight,
or, to tell the truth, no person not called twilight,
except those called you and I, who nevertheless could not keep from calling each
other twilight.