Component, Rhythm #4

Component, Rhythm #4

Kitchen Killa(Rhythm #4: Crinkling)

Kitchen Killa
(Rhythm #4: Crinkling)

Fingers asleep(Rhythm #3: Puncture)
Original full-rez: (https://www.dropbox.com/s/egn2s2ben5lya4d/fuzzball.gif?dl=0)

Fingers asleep
(Rhythm #3: Puncture)

Original full-rez: (https://www.dropbox.com/s/egn2s2ben5lya4d/fuzzball.gif?dl=0)

Rhythm Components

L’attaque du modernisme(Rhythm #1: Escalation / Erection / Industrial Static)

L’attaque du modernisme
(Rhythm #1: Escalation / Erection / Industrial Static)

Sniffin It(Rhythm #2: Punctuation / Radiation / Noisy Indignation)

Sniffin It
(Rhythm #2: Punctuation / Radiation / Noisy Indignation)

ODESZA // Say My Name (feat. Zyra)

glassfrequencies:

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Austin, TX
August 2014

ODESZA just doesn’t stop. The Seattle duo (Catacomb Kid / BeachesBeaches) exploded with the release of their 2012 debut LP, and with the release of their newest single, ‘Say My Name,’ rest assured that yet another LP (In Return) is well on the way. Since the release of…

Saint Pepsi // Fall Harder

glassfrequencies:

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Austin, TX

August 2014

This one’s personal.
In the B-side for his stellar new 7” (out now on Carpark Records), Saint Pepsi drops some serious feels. Between the poppy twang of his summer guitar and the hopeless croon of the boyish chorus, the producer-turned-singer/songwriter nails the…

LUCIANBLOMKAMP // Help Me Out

glassfrequencies:

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Austin, TX
August 2014

You are so much more than you’ve chosen to be. You are beautiful, you are wise, you are indefinite. For this long I’ve let my fears keep me from being great. You’ve kept yourself from being great. But all you need is a push, a knuckle to the small of your back, an embrace, a limp apology, a leak, a shove.

'Help Me Out' is the first single from Australian downtempo producer LUCIANBLOMKAMP's debut LP, 'Post-Nature.' The track evolves from a soulful lament to the release of pulsating house chords and dry claps before transitioning again to a waxy alto sax solo. It is both a cry for help and a signal that the past is just that: time wasted, a wave carrying fear and darkness and the pain of knowledge away. It leaves you clean, it leaves you pure. It's a night drive through your cranium, caught up in nothing at all.

Porter Robinson // Sad Machine

My new music/cinemagraph blog, GLASS FREQUENCIES, is now online! Check-check-check-check it out!
glassfrequencies
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Austin, TX
August 2014

This is for you. You who believed in me, who loved me, who awoke me. What was once never is now always.

Welcome to the first Glass Frequency, the first in a series of a new breed of music sharing, a unique playground where I match new music with gifs of the world…

Mark
Austin, TX
August 2014

Mark
Austin, TX
August 2014

Thoughts on the evening of becoming an adult in the eyes of the state

I wish I could come down from some mountain
Or climb out of some window
Or hop some low fence
And see you lying there,
So simply,
So gracefully,
With one knee bent and a finger to your temple,
In the way that made me glad that you were happy,
And sad that you were supple,
And believe that singularity could exist again
And it was there
In my arms

But your greatest feat was in denying me that simplicity,
Of identifying the final and infinite point of knowing something which could
Save me
or
Destroy me
And in that,
I know now that the only key to love, hate, ambition, and destruction
Is that forced patience
Which I hope I’m ready to give.

Summer

Summer. What a great place for us to live.
Where our feet are closest to the sun
Where your skin doesn’t pucker
Where you wipe your brow and pleat steeples into your forehead,
Where the air carries your weight too well,
Where you can forget that time does indeed move
But you still have your own heat to give,
Before your blood turns to alcohol,
Before we get fat in weird places,
Before autumn comes and steals your slow humor,
The ache of a body frozen in the simmer.
But you did always say that life is most beautiful in its latency,
And that kings only value useless things.
What does that make us, then?
Summer—what a great place for us to live.
And die.
But you forget that too,
You who are steeped in the culture of things built for warmth
You who trade cash for sweat, while your fathers did the opposite
But they didn’t teach you to listen for insects
Or wait for the sun to set
Or love with abandon
Has their summer passed?
Did they ever know to pluck the rubber of an open car window?
Did they know to tear grass and chafe toes?
The summer of the South does not employ comfort
But only reminds you of the storm within you,
The fever of your restless innards,
The thirst for your musk,
The stifling embrace of our growing star.
Summer—we need these things.
Summer—we’ll never leave.

Austin, TXJune 2014

Austin, TX
June 2014

June 2014

June 2014