Do Not Break

I should stop writing blog entries so late at night. I tend to quickly forget what I had to say, if anything at all, then become tired, and give up with a half-assed entry to show. Not good.

The remix is done. Everything has been tracked, at least, and is more or less mixed. Sterling's helping me recruit the DMC monitors and mastering unit Friday morning to finalize tweaks. So much for the days when I was so impressed I could get a computer to make any sound at all I believed three minutes of drum machine wankery accompanied by a Radiohead piano sample was fit to publish on the Internet. Life gets harder when one starts setting standards for oneself. The remix is good though; I didn't become disappointed by it the moment I finished it, which is a good enough sign. It has 11 guitar tracks, though not all of them are concurrent with each other. It starts out with shimmering ambient drone, works its way through a verse of minimal electro-pop and winds up with a wall of sound rave-up. I don't know. People seem to like it. Andrew thinks I should make a record. I would, but I'm still trying to figure out what I want the software to do and how to make it do it. I've only been at this less than a year, so I'll let myself off for now.

I've been listening to a lot of Ellen Allien and Apparat. I find it funny that I treat a lot of such electronic as almost exclusively head-music, when most things from Berlinette or Orchestra of Bubbles, and maybe even a couple songs from Walls could motivate a dancefloor at high enough volume. Then again, I suppose I treat pretty much all the music I listen to as head-music.

I saw There Will Be Blood tonight. It was kind of like sitting in a wind tunnel for two and a half hours, except instead of a wind tunnel it was more of a drama tunnel, if you will. I think it's comparable to a film analogue of "Like Herod" or "Frankie Teardrop": it blows me away, but it's so intense I might not be able to ever watch it again.

Feeling a little trapped by the present, by my apartment, by my lab, by the walks between my apartment and my lab, by the heaviness of my eyelids. Seeing dead ends everywhere; all this time and nowhere to go, nothing to do. I think my room has begun to mock and asphyxiate me with its familiarity. There's no longer solace here, if there ever was. I seem to have become surrounded with the confusion of others; it's hemming me in, it's got me under siege. Maybe I will elaborate later. Then again, do I really need to?