“When you dance the dance of another, you make yourself in the image of its creator.”
– Madame Blanc

More about: Thom Yorke

Place your hand on a wood table, or a tile wall, on a thigh. Tense the muscles in your hand. Make a pressure of your senses.

More about: The Caretaker

In that time when your network feels mechanized — your responses were programmed before you could write them for yourself; synapses are firing, reactions are delivered, you are never consulted — you’re becoming machine. But as though they are presenting an old koan, they utter on “Lover,” “I can be eaten too,” repeating it to be clear. It’s a useful reminder, perhaps because the carnal is so rare, a thing not just of meat, but of mistakes and dirt and sharing too.

More about: JOBS

A love language of sighs.

Marginalia scrawled like—

Or of whispers, too.

Vines that.

Rhymes that.

Gesture toward what?

A rush of air that sates silence after which the bus passes.

Strangle the signs.

They overcome the text, which gasps.

It sparkles, it gleams.

Is it ecstatic? Suffocating.

Empty as the.

Empty with the.

Isn’t it dreamy?

Sounds that slip by.

That remain.

That linger and lusciously.

That resound.

The exhilarating ecstasy of cries and howls and yelps.

And laughs.

Poetry like raindrops.

Our flagrance.

More about: milo

The first track of Yoko Ono’s Warzone begins the same way as “MOONBEAMS” from her 2013 album TAKE ME TO THE LAND OF HELL: distant safari noises merge with an ominous ether of sound courtesy of an unnerving synthesizer. The former song “Warzone” also incorporates the sound of gunfire and Ono’s panicked, remote wail, where the latter’s intro builds momentum with the singer’s spoken word lyrics.

More about: Yoko Ono

What is a mix’s function? It seems related to, but different from an album, operating according to similar principles of coherence, but diverging from the former’s dependence on singular expression — the need for the album to stand as a body of work issued from one place only. The form of authority instantiated by the mix is more diffuse — looser — than that of the album; a mix can show its seams. In fact, this seems part of its appeal, its authorial weight emerging through the transparent production of a total soundworld, with tracklist in tow.

More about: Burial, Kode9