optimism

music philosophy visual arts records voids Québec, Canada (my english isn't the best) Nothing deserves more attention than a thought.

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never been so into any local band. check them out

(oh and also, free ep)

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I just can't stop listening to RP.

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"Lucien tried conscientiously to understand them, but many things escaped him and he was shocked because Rimbaud was a pederast. He told Bergere who began to laugh.    "Why not, my little friend?" Lucien was very embarrassed. He blushed and for a minute began to hate Bergere with all his might, but he mas­tered it, raised his head and said with simple frankness, "I'm talk­ing nonsense." Bergere stroked his hair; he seemed moved; "These great eyes full of trouble," he said, "these doe's eyes... Yes, Lucien, you talked nonsense. Rimbaud's pederasty is the first and genial disordering of his sensitivity. We owe his poems to it. To think that there are specific objects of sexual desire and that these objects are women because they have a hole between their legs, is the hideous and wilful error of the pedestrian."

Lucien essayait consciemment de comprendre, mais beaucoup de choses lui échappaient et il était choqué parce que Rimbaud était pédéraste. Il le dit à Bergère qui se mit à rire: "Mais pourquoi mon petit ?" Lucien fut très embarrassé. Il rougit et pendant une minute il se mit a haïr Bergère de toutes ses forces ; mais il se domina, releva la tête et dit avec une franchise simple : "J'ai dit une connerie." Bergère lui caressa les cheveux : il paraissait attendri : "Ces grands yeux pleins de trouble, dit-il, ces yeux de biche... Oui, Lucien, vous avez dit une connerie. LA pédérastie de Rimbaud c'est le dérèglement premier et génial de sa sensibilité. C'est à elle que nous devons ses poèmes. Croire qu'il y a des objets spécifiques du désir sexuel et que ces objets sont des femmes, parce qu'elles ont un trou entre les jambes, c'est la hideuse et volontaire erreur des assis. " Jean-Paul Sartre, L'enfance d'un chef, 1938

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"In desperate times we live by desperate means. We put our faith, love, and sanity into anyone, even the unseen. As long as it will make us feel good, whole, and complete. We'll put our trust into anything, if it takes away this uncertainty."

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"These days I just try to keep to myself well aware I’ve lost touch with everyone else I understand that I’m fading away I’d rather play dead than play catch up Because no one really cares all that much I can’t keep having the same conversations I look to the floor to keep concentration"

"As weird as it sounds, we're a much happier group of people when we're on the road. when we're home, we're cool for about three or four days, but then we start texting each other, saying, 'This sucks!'" -Jeremy, AP #277

Even though I can't really relate to it personally, it certainly shows an interesting aspect of life in a touring band I never thought of.

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''Tout existant naît sans raison, se prolonge par faiblesse et meurt par rencontre. Je me laissai aller en arrière et je fermai les paupières. Mais les images, aussitôt alertées, bondirent et vinrent remplir d'existences mes yeux clos : l'existence est un plein que l'homme ne peut quitter.'

''Every existing thing is born without reason, prolongs itself out of weakness and dies by chance. I leaned back and closed my eyes. But the images, forewarned, immediately leaped up and filled my closed eyes with existences: existence is a fullness which man can never abandon.'' Jean-Paul Sartre, La Nausée

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''A radical method of behavior correction with an intractable refusal to temper aggression. Take it as gospel. I mean every word. Long lives the desire for herding the humans then thinning the fucking herd.''

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I have way too much time on my hands.

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Fuck off

Sometimes I feel as if this complicated gift we received from the cooperation of simple laws and lots of time, our conscience, is in really poor taste.

A Simple way to put the human condition would be that we are armed with this commanding conscience that rules over our limited body. In some way you could compare that to an army officer giving orders to a still forest. While there is an undeniable beauty in the complex structure of the forest, the officer's orders seem futile. Whatever he tells that forest, it will not help him in any way. It was born to change, keep changing and die, without ever achieving anything. It is what makes its beauty, as matter it only obeys to simple laws. Yet, the officer wants it to answer to his orders, which he thinks have a purpose. Only the officer, our conscience, understands this purpose yet he forces it down the throat of the forest, his body, to which it is senseless. In other words, I hate what we are.

I think nobody will ever put it better that Hawking. As he said "I don't think the human race will survive the next 1,000 years unless we spread into space." The selfish, meaningless and self-destructive absurdity that is our soul simply won't allow it. Just like him, I stand optimistic (even thought we both do for different reasons). I know that the human race and its self-absorbed ego will never get to secure themselves away from their downfall. I can only await the moment when this horrible nightmare we have caused will come to an end. Our conscience in this world is and will always be absurd and perverse. I wish it no luck.

or maybe I just had a bad day

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"I want answers for coming days. I want a reason for what was and what will be. I try to look to no god, nor any man."

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"I can't deal with this fucking condition carrying a load that weighs a ton no hesitation comes from my eyes replaced my fear with battle cries"

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"They keep breeding, one by one. Rid the world of this scum. Lowest humans, all around me. World of shit brought to it’s knees"

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"To die would mean nothing else than to surrender a nothing to the nothing, but that would be impossible to conceive, for how could a person, even only as a nothing, consciously surrender himself to the nothing, and not merely to an empty nothing but rather to a roaring nothing whose nothingness consists only in its incomprehensibility." Franz Kafka, December 4, 1913 (translated from German)

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"Swallowed up by another hollow year Sleepless nights, just wishing it away"

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"How many more reasons do you need as a person makes violence their only means, gunning down for the money to silence the hunger in their veins.

It's all too clear as another person sells themselves to feed the monster that keeps them on their knees.

I'd rather be crazy if this is what you call sane."

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"Je laisse Sisyphe au bas de la montagne ! On retrouve toujours son fardeau. Mais Sisyphe enseigne la fidélité supérieure qui nie les dieux et soulève les rochers. Lui aussi juge que tout est bien. Cet univers désormais sans maître ne lui paraît ni stérile ni fertile. Chacun des grains de cette pierre, chaque éclat minéral de cette montagne pleine de nuit, à lui seul, forme un monde. La lutte elle-même vers les sommets suffit à remplir un cœur d'homme. Il faut imaginer Sisyphe heureux.

I leave Sisyphus at the foot of the mountain. One always finds one's burden again. But Sisyphus teaches the higher fidelity that negates the gods and raises rocks. He too concludes that all is well. This universe henceforth without a master seems to him neither sterile nor futile. Each atom of that stone, each mineral flake of that night-filled mountain, in itself, forms a world. The struggle itself toward the heights is enough to fill a man's heart. One must imagine Sisyphus happy." Albert Camus, Le Mythe de Sisyphe

I don't think I'll ever be able to quote this man and his art enough. If for some reason you never read anything from him, start with this - and in french if that's something you're down with.

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 "I got so red in the face and choked up when I looked at them, [that front row comprised entirely of burly enlisted men who were singing every word back at us with tears streaming from their eyes], because  they're 100 percent into what we do. We're just writing our opinions  and what we think it would be like, and it apparently struck a chord with these guys. In the middle of a song, one guy took his dog tags off and put them right in Derek's hand and said,'Thank you.'You can't put a price on that."

Jay Maas, Defeater, Alternative Press #277