etching its way through the fractal road practical stowed in the crevices
psychic ceviche but there is no lime
ticking in the aftermath when there is no time

taste the acid etching through the crevasse under the corpus callosum, widening the divide between what we calculated and what was chosen

Sour thoughts and smooth brains talking about soft hands and black stains on lung scans but not enough miles on my airplane scans to smoke a camel in quicksands…

Where were we?

susurrations of scales over sands expands the bands of spectrums still unseen in the violence of the liquid scream
the only comfort in the taiga is the lack of scales and thermal vision, making the frisson of fear of the enlightening one

the glowing son

the burning sun

am I the only one?

But this fertile garden now frozen in fear, the fertilizer steaming in the fresh fallen ice
looking for the navigation device
or just the vice
that drove the motor
the engines
over the edge

the irony of freezing to death staring into the eldritch fusion reactor we call god.

The post Etching appeared first on Bass Bastard.

It disguises as need

it knows when that has failed

it wants

the echo not decaying
just reverberating
I want
becoming obsession

lying to me that I need

I want

It

the hollow one needing me to consume in it’s name

forever empty
forever in me
it feeds on misery

If there is happiness it is not
if there is growth it is rot
it triggers on the absence of it

it needs it
it is the ever present drive
of want

it gets in your head
it drives false need
it leaves you hungry
when it makes you feed

consume for want

It wants to be bigger
It wants to be small
It wants the shiny things
It wants it all

it wants nothing
so it can be filled again
it is empty
so the want can begin

I want

It

to

be

silent

The post Want appeared first on Bass Bastard.

Digging through the junk drawer

finding shit I knew was lost

A bic lighter

random keys

to locks that have lost their relevance.

The noise on the peripheral persists

so I dig through another container

a t-shirt I do not recall

a sock with a skull

a 3D printed polygonal cat

But there are no spoons

Each container full but empty

and the clatter at the periphery persists

a dull roar from outside

reminding me that reality still exists

Earplug container, only one side

mints of a dubious flavor

keep digging

the hell of it all is I need to go out there

Where are the fucking spoons?

I find sufficient noise in the rectangle

no wires, just cacophony

the silverware will have to wait for later

reality awaits

two shoes

two socks

underwear and pants

torso covered by something hanging

at least I have a knife.

slip on the shades.

The post Junk Drawer appeared first on Bass Bastard.

Memory is not a shelter
it is a trap for the unprepared
a hole in the row, as cavities grow
and the rictus is mistaken for smiles

a shell of a comfortable mirror
pointed back but not pointed to self
never looking ahead to the alternate paths
just falling into the concentric patterns of death

Shatter the walls of reverie
tradition and how the things were
a trap set by the lazy unconscious
and the death rattle of growing’s last breath

Memory is for reference
Now is for life
the future is chaos blooming
Stop digging and start nurturing existence

Lose the anchors
lower the stones
breath and walk free into now
create today without false resistance

The post Looking Back Blind appeared first on Bass Bastard.

Away from the scarred and broken
mending lines and pain
A confession long unspoken
of plans too long refrained

To tell the truth to myself
would shatter me away
when I look at what is left inside
there’s nothing left to say

Hatred left a wasteland
rage a scorched path
violence was the answer
but the question’s never asked

born into all the world could teach
before the mind could grow
who is it now, what can become
something I can never know

So I pay myself a visit
Across the ashes and the flame
should I peel away another scar
I’ll never be the same

The post Last Payment appeared first on Bass Bastard.

Kinda going old school and slowly removing all but the minimum from most social media. Twitch and Youtube are gonna get most of my traffic until I can get a streaming resource on this page that works reliably.

The post Updating appeared first on Bass Bastard.

My auditory and visual arts use technology and randomly generated unintended noises based on the use of saturated and distorted effects on generated and sampled sounds. I do the same with video and illustration. I also incorporate AI-generated imagery into videos and still pictures to enhance the whole.

Visually I am also using video synthesis on random seeds and live video feed through specific programs to make one-time unique patterns that react to current sounds and beats at the time of creation.

Who am I to judge another artist because they use the medium of pure text to have technology manipulate it into an image?

I am an average vocalist that uses technology to make things I do vocally interesting. (not autotune, but other effects) I distort and modulate my stringed instruments so that the analog input comes out as something unattainable acoustically otherwise.

I would love a cybernetic implant that would allow me to “play” audio and visual instruments to create a sound and video-scape in real time using nothing but my mind while I play instruments to accompany it.

AI is simply technology. Plain and simple. It will not generate art on its own without input of some kind. It will be directed to auto-generate by some creative force. That will be the programmer, the human inputting prompts, the variables changed out during implementation. Any number of things eventually lead back to the person creating the generating program. If this is not a form of art, then nothing we do with technology is art.

From the moment we started banging rocks together or sticks to create sounds our bodies are incapable of creating (not counting artists like Michael Winslow) we are using technology for art. (He often uses effects and the response patterns of microphones for his noises.)

Anything you can do with and to your body would then be the only “pure” art. Voice, hands, feet, and any other extremities. The moment you use echo in a cave or hallway, you are incorporating more than your body. A stick is a technology when used as a tool. While there are examples of slap and vocalized percussion and acapella music of all kinds in chorals and choirs, we need more mediums of expression.

Visually you have limited tools at your disposal. Glossing over that the use of a wall could be technology, You have various bodily fluids that dry into different colors at different densities to create art. You can form long hair into a brush that you wear and comb it into different sizes. Any use of outside pigments, brushes, knives, or palettes is technology.

For moving visual art, it gets harder. When does a costume become technology? Props are definitely technology. Lighting to create mood is technology. Hell, the stage could be considered technology if it enhances the scene outside human influence.

Finally, the written word. Sanskrit to online bitching, it is all technology. Finger painting your thoughts onto naturally occurring surfaces with body fluids would be about the limit to what would be considered the use of technology. There are entire societies revolving around the spoken word. Oral histories are passed down from generation to generation. The Uluru people (An accepted term Indigenous Australians use for the continent prior to occupation, based on a major tribe’s language.) are one of the best examples of this. They have art and history with minimal technology and are so accurate with their history that we can match it to geological events. They still use technology but would be the closest example of what we are discussing here that I am familiar with.

This is all opinion. Art is subjective, and technology should be used to enhance it at all levels. It makes art more accessible. I hate gatekeepers. Technology helps me get the noises in my head out into the world so that others may suffer… I mean enjoy it. I am on several discord servers where I see people spend hours refining a single prompt to get one picture generated from an AI server. You know they got what they were looking to create when they stop posting to the thread. These are people who may not be able to use other tools to get their vision out. Maybe a physical limitation stops them. Access to expensive tools stops them. Open AI servers and a keyboard enable them to get what they want out into the visual realm.

I am not one to judge or restrict them.

The post Creative tools and Technology appeared first on Bass Bastard.

The post Moth appeared first on Bass Bastard.

The feeling of impending something quiets
the shadows shrinking but still looming defiant
The void keeps calling, but goes to the machine
convinced alerts are red but the lights are all green

I want to know, before that moment that I go
To see it coming before I face that last breath of cold
Brace for impact or embrace the real fact
but I want to go before the suffering takes hold

Living in agony to distract from the hurt
growing my fears in my mind’s fertile dirt
comfort finds me and rocks me to rest
until the voices rise up and tighten my chest

No pills to calm me, just seeking out arms
the kind to embrace, or the kind to do harm
Mother earth don’t deny me my natural right
to be aware of what’s coming and a chance to fight

I want to know, before that moment that I go
To see it coming before I face that last breath of cold
Brace for impact or embrace the real fact
but I want to go before the suffering takes hold

Money can’t buy happiness, but it buys all the pills
it pays for the faceless and pays all the bills
Filthy paper tuck intimately behind tight strings
the touch then the absence of all that it brings

The lies whispered from inside the skull
keep the sleep meter empty and adrenaline full
The void keeps calling, but goes to the machine
convinced alerts are red but the lights are all green

I want to know, before that moment that I go
To see it coming before I face that last breath of cold
Brace for impact or embrace the real fact
but I want to go before the suffering takes hold

I want to be ready when the suffering takes hold

The post Ready? appeared first on Bass Bastard.

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