Watanabe Darko

[watanabe-darko]

My new electronic track

[watanabe-darko]

[glassfirefly]

Photos by Peter Pugh-Cook

[watanabe-darko]

R.I.P. Miika Tenkula

[jerrycorneliusthings]

Slowdive - Golden Hair

[xx00xq]

[visiblelightspectrum]

Pink Floyd photographed by Harry Goodwin

[more-relics]

Syd Barrett, under psychedelic lighting at the Architectural Association student party, London, 16th December 1966. © Adam Ritchie/Redferns

[watanabe-darko]

[watanabe-darko]

[asurrogateblog]

this poem of syd's has got to be my favorite piece of semi-lost media. it was copied down from the (since destroyed) hipgnosis archives by bernard white, who did a lot of work collecting syd relics (for instance, he's the one who got ahold of the photos of syd's 1975 studio visit). the poem was published in Terrapin magazine in 1974. because there is no original version, there's been arguments about whether its even real – especially after one of white's two copies was auctioned off under the false pretense that it was in syd's handwriting.

I, for one, think the poem is real. If you're familiar with syd's lyrical style, its pretty clearly his characteristic off-kilter way of wording things, and I absolutely love it. no one else can really capture that feeling of "I understand exactly what you're saying, without understanding exactly what you're saying". I find it very meaningful.

(text below the cut)

A Poem By Syd Barrett

"A Rooftop Song In A Thunderstorm Row Missing The Point"

With yellow, red, and roomy food,

and quivered, crouching on a golden cushion,

UNDRESSED HIMSELF, to dissapear

through an infinity of pleasure.

And smiled to free the running me,

with "am I my brothers keeper?"

His meek hand on devils gloves,

Shaping running blood.

The prophesy, to recreate the truth

in visions of a seasoned mood

in truth, the only sight he saw

lay hidden in the bathroom door,

and spat on the rug.

As high is high,

So low is low,

and that's the end of it.

[s0ftsyd]

December, 1966

📷 by Angela Williams

[gothish]

[crucifixdoll]

[darkhestur]

This is the room, the start of it all No portrait so fine, only sheets on the wall I've seen the nights, filled with bloodsport and pain And the bodies obtained, the bodies obtained

Where will it end? Where will it end? Where will it end? Where will it end?

[watanabe-darko]

State of mind: I created a temporary version of my new song and I can't stop listening to it. I got addicted to my own song. It never happened before with such an intensity. Listening to my stuff will make it up for some time for not trying any more emotions when listening to my favourite artists. Then I listened to "Archangel" by Burial, which I liked a lot in the past. Well, my bloody song is a lot better than that. Maybe not true, but definitely I like it more. "Archangel" is damn static and kinda predictable. My bloody song goes wherever fuck it wants.

[th0rns]

via