afterceasetoexist-blog1

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James Benning - Landscape Suicide (1986)

In Landscape Suicide Benning continues his examination of Americana through the stories of two murderers. Ed Gein was a Wisconsin farmer and multiple murderer who taxidermied his victims in the 1950s. Bernadette Protti was a California teenager who stabbed a friend to death over an insult in 1984.

My first film related post on this blog. A brilliant and fascinating meditation on perception and the bilaterality between mundanity and violence. In my top 10 for sure.

#avant-garde cinema #avant-garde #structural film #essay film #movies #cinema #experimental film

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Jun Konagaya - “Contact”

From Travel (Eskimo Records, 2014)

A considerable departure from the more power electronics affectations of his work under the Grim and White Hospital aliases (although it is fair to note that some releases under the former nomenclature are comprised of very restrained, almost psychedelic neofolk), Travel nevertheless never ceases to impress. Stygian neoclassical darkwave for the post-industrial age.

#neoclassical darkwave #gothic music #darkwave #post-industrial #ambient

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This Heat - “The Fall of Saigon” (1979)

We ate Soda, the embassy cat Poor Soda's coda No more da capo, she's decapitated Running 'round the room, half-baked The other half is bacon and sizzling in the frying pan We ate the TV We ate the armchair We ate the telephone We ate the sofa My god how we got so far only to reach so low The Russians saved the janitor Soda was a little tough to eat No wonder she was hard meat Out on the roof with the feline goose But Soda had a heart of gold The ambassador's wife had the liver "Please deliver us from evil," she cried "I know all about cats and their heavy vibes" She was a very hip ambassador's wife 

#experimental rock #experimental music #this heat #post-punk #industrial music

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Through its focus on process and materiality, Bias opens the practice of sound ecology beyond the acoustic to consider the audibility of the chemical composition of soil. From scraps of muddied media buried across three sites in Austria, Greece and Italy, Lami crafts a series of melancholy studies which seem to question the inevitable legacy of human culture and industry in the geological strata. 

#experimental music #dark ambient #musique concrete #electroacoustic #tape music #bandcamp

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AMM - Before Driving to the Chapel We Took Coffee With Rick and Jennifer Reed (1997)

An album that has accompanied me through countless sleepless nights and bouts of introspection. Essential...

#free improvisation #experimental music #amm #electroacoustic

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Swans - “Young God” (1984)

I don't know where I am I'm dancing in my corpse I don't remember anything I'm wearing your flesh I love your flesh You are my flesh You are your flesh I wrap your flesh around my face

I love your face, I love your face I love your face, I love your face I love your face, I love your face I love your face, I love your face I love your face, I love your face Your face, flesh, oh Flesh, flesh, oh Oh, flesh I eat, I eat, I eat, I eat flesh

When I wear your flesh, I love myself When I wear your flesh, I love face I wrap your flesh around my flesh Then I love my flesh Flesh Stop

I love your face All I can do is kill All I can do is kill I love your flesh around me

#noise rock #no wave #swans band #michael gira #industrial music #experimental music

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DNA - “Little Ants” (1978)

#no wave #experimental music

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SPK - “Ground Zero: Infinity Dose” (1981)

#industrial music #noise music #experimental music

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I use this room like a disease uses a body. I corrupt it, eat away at it, mar the walls with my hands. The room stinks of my blood. I'm in my bed. The mattress is rotting beneath me. My urine has eaten a hole in it. My lower back's buried in the hole. I can't tell where my body leaves off and the mattress begins. When I get up and go to the toilette, I tear my body in half.

- Michael Gira, A Grave (1984)

#swans band #michael gira

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There and Back Again

About half an hour ago, I felt spurred to write something here, albeit 100% understanding that maybe 3 people would read it. But as I’m sitting here, languidly hunched over the cold emanating glow of my laptop screen, I frankly find myself at a loss for words.

It’s funny, too. Every very tired aphorism I spout out in these scenarios has practically been reduced to a stiff, prosaic formality. Something I exhaustively reiterate whenever I’m stressed about this ‘kin shit.

Have I really found myself in this position so many times that I can’t even repeat the same tepid shit I always do? Is that how defeated I feel? Is this the threshold I’ve passed?

I desperately want to say something new, something fresh -- perhaps in some vain effort to stumble across some profound, unprecedented revelation -- but each time I entertain the thought I reach the same sobering realization that I’m incapable of even that. In a way, it mirrors my search for the “truth”. How I’ve exhaustively scrounged seemingly every nebulous corner of my mind, in an endeavor to find something, anything, and each time, my efforts are fruitless. How I fervently claw at its illusive surface, and sometimes even briefly latch onto something, but ultimately fail each time. How I endlessly fall under the misguided guise that I’ve unveiled something worthwhile, only to watch it erode and disintegrate, falling through my fingers like grains of sand, however feverish my attempts to grasp it are.

Is this... really where I’ve wound up?

The road to the truth is interminable and ephemeral. It twists, cracks, and undulates beneath your feet in motions of spasmodic peristalsis. I find myself drifting along it, with phosphorous or absentminded intent, and each time I find nothing but cobwebs and tumbleweed. But I nevertheless opt to keep searching. I never learn.

I suppose the worst part about all of this is that, despite everything, being an alligator chick from an indie game is pretty nice. Full disclosure -- for better or worse, I’ve participated in Tumblr’s (frankly garbage, sorry not sorry) otherkin community in some capacity since late 2016 or so. I’ve come a long way. I accumulated many kintypes (a word I despise, by the way... feels very cold and detached to me) over the course of 2 years and watched all of them vociferously vanish before my eyes in reticent sarcoline explosion. I’ve found love through this platform. I’ve built friendships and burnt bridges. Through all of this, Beatrice Santello is the only thing that has completely endured. It is intrinsic to my being. And you know what? I love it. When I’m in the proverbial eye of the hurricane -- that brief, transient moment of peace and stillness -- I feel normal. I feel like myself. For a while, I forgot what that felt like.

So you can understand how disheartening and baffling it is to try to be yourself, only to face a violent flurry of overwhelming self-doubt and self-denigration. I feel as if I’m forcing myself to project some bullshit facade of thinly-veiled scalie feminity. I’ve tried everything. I really have. God knows how many times I’ve vacantly stared at the smooth linoleum of my bathroom floor tile and ardently denied my identity, sometimes for days, even weeks at a time, only for those repressed feelings to inevitably boil over and rupture in a turbulent display. Note: self-denial does not work. Seriously.

I’m just so... fucking... tired of this. I never thought it’d be this arduous to just be me. 

I think above all else I just want to speak with other NitW kinnies. Maybe that’s one of the pieces in this crazy oblique puzzle of mine. If I talk to one of y’all... I dunno, maybe something will click in my head. This goth scalie trash needs some trash mammals.

Particularly Mae. Y’know. That’d be cool.

Maybe I’ll find someone to message. I’m kinda shit at initiating conversations but I can sure as hell try anyway.

Just send me something. Anything.

#night in the woods kin #nitw kin

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Uh... hi. I’ll try to make this brief, even though I’m probably going to ultimately fuck that up. I’m Bea, looking for basically anyone, but particularly Mae. On an important note, I’m pretty sure I don’t personally subscribe to the notion of past lives (not that this is a matter of contention for me... believe what you will) -- consequently, if you’re scrounging through this tag with the aim of reuniting with goth scalie trash of days bygone... you might want to look elsewhere. I’m honestly not even entirely sure what I believe. All I know is that... I’m Bea in some manner (and, no, I’m not “fictionhearted” or whatever. I’ve already exhaustively mulled over that possibility to no avail). I say all of this with every bit of understanding that it’ll probably end up averting anyone who even gives the faintest angstrom of a fuck, but eh... I anticipated that.

I totally realize that this entire message comes across as somewhat paradoxical. Looking for sourcemates typically carries the connotation that you’re trying to find canonmates, after all. But... I dunno. In spite of everything, I’ve still found myself lying in bed at night missing Mae, and sauntering right the fuck into maudlin-ass tirades about how great she was -- even though that’s obviously contradictory to all of my beliefs concerning past lives. So maybe that’s a portent for something? Idk. Perhaps talking to someone will reveal something.

I’m also a minor (albeit I’m turning 18 in a matter of months) if that’s any concern. Hit me up, I guess?

Sincerely, alligator bitch

#nitw kin #night in the woods kin