connexion: the selector

If only my wounds beat skin deep, how simple this dumb life would be
I’d just rub in the salve, no more problems would I have
And no more burning interminable fire.

Oh, Anna, darling, I know. I know. The ladies of The Naysayer just make beautiful songs. Period. All fronted by the heavenly voice of Tara Jane O’Neil. They’re also fabulous, hospitable, strong women - who make tasty cookies. So, they’re basically perfect.

A lilting love song that makes my heart fuzzy, in classic cabaret style. Lizzy was so sweet.

Somewhere in the Netherlands, one lone music teacher struggles to lift his charges out of the same-old tedium of the usual songbooks. Many music schools in Holland can’t afford a music teacher at all. These kids are lucky that they have one who will teach them about the beauty of Supertramp and let them play xylophones and scream their hearts out. The first time I heard this song I seriously cried.

I am not ‘hip hop.’ But hip hop and I were born around the same time, and we’ve grown up together. I am not hip hop, but hip hop is a part of me. At any point in my life post walkman, a steady stream of boom bap provided the soundtrack to family trips, suburban summers and cruising the El Camino. I can remember trying to scratch on my all-in-one stereo turntable, and breakdancing before school. I’ve grown up and so has my hip hop. I still can’t scratch, but my vinyl weighs a ton.
I’m not hip hop, but Slug is.

Celebration song from the melting north.

honey sludge at the bottom of my tea cup.

burning fig and vanilla in unison, writing notes in my mini book with the intention of sending them away when it’s full.

imagining a different place, with a low-set coffee table, my favorite bowls filled with water and orchids, laying on the wood floor and taking photographs.

painting my nails in the monitor glow, headphones on tight, rutti so loud i can pretend i am somewhere else.

sweet bliss-out melting head phenomenon. my ears just bloomed orchids, i swear.

COVER ME IN ECTOPLASM, MARCIE CALLED.

excerpt from live journal entry, 17.02.05:

after seven mixes, three collages and a rose, i left a letter on marcie’s car with two acapella zulu songs that were too relevant to ignore. up until this point, my midnight marcie missions were done covertly, anonymously, whatever.

she didn’t call today, so i’m pretending like she’s playing it cool and trying not to seem too desperate, which is honorable. but shit, if after a month of secret admiring i found out who it was, i would call them back A-sap with some sort of indication of my feelings, favorable or not, right?

actually, if they repulsed me i probably wouldn’t call back with any sort of immediacy. wtf, so, she hates me.

this is it:

marcie,

i like you, but i don’t really know you.

i know how to be awesome for someone and i want that person to be you.

i’ve sort of had it bad for you since the first time i saw you.

you make me stupid.

call: number

or, if you’re bold, stop by: address

sean.

so this is it, a triumphant song for a triumphant day. NO HATERATION.

There isn’t much in this world better than William Shatner singing. This website with his rendition of Rocket Man gets frequent visits around these parts. In fact, it’s quite scary how often I watch that.

But one of the few things better than a pretentious sci-fi actor singing, is late 70s punk about being swept away aboard the Enterprise in a dream. That’s where Spizzenergi come in. They’ve gone through more names than Liz Talyor has husbands, but no matter what you call them, they rock.

Ever since I first heard Elizabeth Anka Vajagic from my girl Niki last year, her music has lived in my skin. Her voice and lyrics are dark and raw, and the music goes down into my chest like heavy water.

This album is the first few months that I lived here alone: my apartment even more bare than it is now, getting used to the sound of cold hard wood under my bare feet; it’s staring out my window at five am, watching the lights change on the corner in the absence of cars. It’s watching ice melt in bourbon filled glasses, turning the liquid from the color of honey to amber and the burn of that second tumbler poured neat.

Actually, I’ve always associate this song with the taste of bourbon; I imagine EAV is someone I’d like to split a bottle with, even though I bet at some point I’d have to stop her from putting out cigarettes on her arm.

We’d fall asleep smashed up between the bed and the wall, my head in her lap.

For some reason I can’t stop thinking about sex, so when trying to choose a Zoviet France song I was drawn to “Hymen.”
Sex is a great reason to choose ANYTHING. Oh yah, and the song is gorgeous. Whatever.

[All disco mix, made 12/04 for FYC mix exchange; not yet mailed out because I’m a poor slacker.]

�lectric funk - shanghaied
sun la shan - catch
kat mandu - the break
digital emotion - get up (re-mix-make)
mau mau - the truth (loose goose mix)
premiere classe - poupee flash
my mine - hypnotic tango
blonde ambition - live to tell (saints peroxide mix)
steel mind - bad passion
la bionda - wanna be your lover
pineapples - come on closer
capricorn - capricorn
venise - playboy
black devil - timing, forget the timing

for laura

“ghosty head” tarentel
“a falling down billy brown” vincent gallo
“you can’t breathe memories” hood
“i came to your party dressed as a shadow” piano magic
“we have a map of the piano” mum
“compania” the orb
“muim” murcof
“tranquil eye” faye wong & the cocteau twins
“your baby (lets you down gently)” britta phillips & dean wareham
“sunbathing” lush
“where you wonder” elizabeth anka vajagic
“no mercy for she” yann tiersen & shannon wright
“in this hole (covers record vesion)” cat power
“screaming in the trees” arab strap
“gurb song” migala

When nature takes hold and the sounds around begin to swirl and sway. The landscape becomes enveloping; trees begin to bud orgiastically, ferns emit bursting spores, animal flesh and fur ripples. The body of water nearby is an exhalation. Each atomic particle a holy dance.

Rod Modell originally recorded with Chris Troy as Waveform Transmissions on the seminal Silent Records. Since then, he’s produced a number of psychoactive ambient records (in fact, his Autonomous Music Project CD on Amplexus is a disc no ambient collection should be bereft of). His Deepchord tracks are pulsing, swirling Chain Reaction-style techno, somewhere between Wolfgang Voigt’s Gas project and the naturalistic work of Monolake. Modell’s Vibrasound CD, out on the Amplexus sublabel Silentes, is an essential collection of Deepchord work, a microcosm of sounds from nature and vintage hardware.

OK, I was starting to gross myself out with the random �obscure�-type stuff I kept beginning to write about and then abandon, and for some reason this song has been in my head for the better part of a week now, so it�s only fitting that I unleash it upon the awesome realm of Selectorosity tout suite, as the pesky French would say.

Rob Crow and Armistead Burwell Smith IV have done been in various San Diego-based projects (Thingy, Heavy Vegetable, Three Mile Pilot, etc.) for a while now, but Pinback is, for this dude, their creative zenith. This song really only has one repeating musical progression, but I think it�s the repetition that works to continuously embed itself in my unconscious. They recorded this on a home computer, which wouldn�t be such a big deal were it not for the fact that the record is eight years old.

Intense aural melting beauty phenomenon. Makes love to your brain.

Sometimes, there’s nothing you can do about it.

You completely fall apart and everyone gets to see. Even the ones who don’t deserve to.

And you can’t do anything but mentally pull your legs to your chest and rock back and forth while the wrong ones delight in picking apart your insides, and divine all the wrong things from your entrails.

Sometimes, all you can do is tell yourself over and over again it’s not your fault, and that it’s not really you, and wait until the rawness fades away, like everything else does.

This song always makes me cry.

The black and maroon sky overhead, tinged orange by streetlamps and passing cars, threw white confetti all over the DC area yesterday. It must have been one hell of a party, as my car was under four inches of it. No big deal. I got to work this morning and put on this set of songs from this is my beauty, show me yours and learned to like the winter in spite of the afterparty cleanup. The Marsen Jules remix of “Shiver” (also available for download) is a slightly hushed and calmer version of this already low-key song; think snow drifting on a highway. Highly recommended for winter-into-spring listening.

Somewhere in the northeast, you’re perched atop a hill, careful ring of trees lining the upturned bowl of the horizon. Uncurled charts spread neatly beside you, sitting indian. A quick glance through the viewfinder: Mare Tranquillitatis, Mare Imbrium, Mare Nectaris. Seas in reflection, a completely reversed geography.

An owl, a distant hooning. The wind seems to blow from all directions, outward, inward. Sky records….

Like picnics. Picnics where nobody dies.

When I was in high school…hell, no. Let’s start before that: I never really fit in anywhere. I really wanted to be punk, wasn’t very good at it. Tried being goth, only lasted long enough for me to realize I could sleep that extra hour before school if I just stopped putting all that shit on my face. Never had a chance to be one of the popular kids, and fuck no was I going to be a jock. I think that there was one week, inspired by the movie Colors, I wore a bandana or something.

I spent a lot of time at school reading books in the library and avoiding people even though I always had lots of friends (what as an adult I think we would all call acquaintances) from all the above groups. I was the shadow girl who slipped in between the spaces in their venn diagrams.

Given my lack of subculture identity, I had the freedom to listen to basically whatever the fuck I wanted without reprisal from anyone. I spent hours listening to the radio and going through my parents records (jazz and classical from pops, the Beatles and disco from ma mere) and in the middle of the night I would sit plastered to MTV. It was somewhere in mid-high school that 120 minutes started, with the only host that ever mattered, Kevin Seal. Man alive did I love 120 minutes back then. It’s where I discovered David Sylvian, The Damned, first heard The Pogues and all sorts of stuff I didn’t know about before. This was way before that british dood and waaaaaaaaaaay before Kennedy, whom I have never liked.

One time, I used my fathers Beta-Max recorder (which is either a testament to how long ago it was, or how very behind the times my father has ALWAYS been technologically) to record songs off 120 min and made what is probably one of my favorite mix-tapes of all time. It had the aforementioned bands and the Bel-Fires and New Order and Joe Strummer and oh so many great things.

One of the greatest, though, is this song, Soil by the Abecedarians. I can almost remember the video, but not really. Basically this song is dark and beautiful and at the time, I didn’t know what to do with it but love it.

That was a really long way to go for the punchline of “I love this song.”

But they all are, really, aren’t they?

Basically I don’t know anything else about the band and I’m totally sure you can never find their stuff ever again, but I wanted to post this song anyway. Because I can. And sentence fragments are awesome.

PS–I had a cassette tape I made of an interview with Robyn Hitchcock & the Egyptians. The acapella version they did of Uncorrected Personality Traits makes the original pale by comparison.

PPS–Sorry that the sound isn’t the hottest, I think they recorded it low.

sbruises: oh, i miss you when youleave.
UnTigreDePapier: god, i had a semipower outage.
UnTigreDePapier: i had to fuck with the breaker in the laundry room.
sbruises: awww
UnTigreDePapier: i, also, fucked with my neighbors’ breakers because they’re assholes and never let me in when i’m locked out.
UnTigreDePapier: POLTERGEISTS.
sbruises: HAHAHAHA
UnTigreDePapier: looks like someone is going to be late for work tomorrow.
UnTigreDePapier: i’ve said it before, and i’ll say it again: YOU DON’T MESS WITH THE S.
sbruises: so totally
sbruises: i wouldn’t dare

gorgeous droning sound wave. fill head with water. release. repeat.

dear sweden,

some of my fave pop bands sprung from your loins (hello gothenburg!), but i want to thank you especially for the bubbly huggy bear/shop assistants milkshake that is love is all.

there are just some days that a good, lo-fi mix of shouty melodic post-punk-pop (po-pu-pop?) is all i need. and this song definitely delivers, making me look longingly at my stringless guitar and wish i had a garage where i can gather a few stripey-topped girfriendos, complete with saxophone, and sing into muffled mics all afternoon. and that�s good, i think.

so, tack s� mycket!

I wish there was a whole genre of Industrial Country. Till that time comes, this Skinny Puppy track will have to do. Tastes like downtempo, and industrial, with a country twang twist. Great for jump starting your morning.
For those who are new to Skinny Puppy, I’ve been told that Remix Dys Temper is an accessible entrance into the musical world of SK. I don’t know if I agree with that, but you should try it anyway.

raga makes me reverent.

i began liking world music in the fourth grade when escaping sunday afternoon malaise by listening to the world sound clips on microsoft’s encarta. i had the want like bad, but no access to the greatness. so i compromised.

last year, i made an addiction out of it. after drinking poppy tea like an indian widow in mourning, i’d sit and scry towards a window or ceiling, letting my eyes cross unfocused in dopamine bliss and listen to ali akbar khan.

drop a couple of narcotics and do yourself right.

A couple Summers back, hanging out in the garage of the big house Amy used to live in, was when I first heard this. I think. Her roommate’s mediocre band would practice there, and Amy and I would hang out and drink beers and make collages out of magazines she took from her job. On the really hot days we sat in the kiddie pool out front and ate Otter Pops and didn’t make anything. After practice, they’d usually blast some Manowar. It probably started out as a joke, and I was all, “You guys, liking something for irony’s sake is dumb.” But I listened some more, and I really fucking liked it.

I’ll dance to this song at my wedding. You should too.

I wish this was longer. I could listen in the dark and feel broken. Synapses popping, palms damp, fucking religious.

You’re just lucky I couldn’t post that 23 minute Pain Jerk track.

I am tired, folks.

i have been dealing with so much for so long that I am just exhausted. I have moments of happiness and they aren’t even few and far between. But often in the quiet of the middle of the night, in the blue glow of this monitor, I find myself slowing down until things blur together and stop making sense.

I have been listening to this song on repeat for an hour now, and each time it begins I just sigh deeply, close my eyes and press my fingers against my eyelids until the colors change.

I can’t imagine what he was feeling when he recorded it, or where all that came from. I am somehow comforted that I can never imagine his life and he could have never imagined mine.

Sometimes, I like the solitude of our singular existence. Sometimes, I am so very thankful for it.

This song was recorded in 1927.

i am with you, yoko ono!

every summer i undergo some sort of uv radiation poisoning from an overabundance of sunlight. i’ll wake up in the afternoon feeling wired like a time bomb.

this is not an asian theme in relation to jessica’s post, only a coincedence and not merely.

i hope you enjoy.

Things here seem to be rolling along nicely, and this pleases me. I hope everyone’s enjoying the site on its first full day as much as I am.

I am, however, a bit over-stimulated and nervous feeling, drinking tea and looking longingly at my newly made bed.

Whenever I am agitated like this, a surefire way for me to calm down is for me to lay down, close my eyes, listen to the Cocteau Twins and try to relax. Rather than leave you for the night with just a Cocteau Twins song, though, I thought I might give you something a little extra: one of my favorite Cocteau Twins’ songs, Tranquil Eye, (sort of) covered by Faye Wong. I say “(sort of)” because she really did it with the Cocteau Twins for her now out of print album, Impatience. On Impatience it’s called Fracture, but it’s the same song.

And it’s lovely.

My friend Tom had this horrible B.O. that I secretly loved more than almost anything, and I really loved hanging out with him, smoking pot in his bedroom and listening to Unwound. Now pot makes me tired and nauseous, but at that point in my life there was this hyper-awareness that maybe made Unwound sound really good on his shitty record player.

The last song on 1996�s Repetition, Kill Rock Stars� first real rock band manage to fill up this massive space with cymbals, and a swaggering buzzsaw riff-o-rama that just seems so evil and yet hopeful. �They pick your life apart/and throw away your art/Finding something new is never hard�.

You think you know, but you don’t know. But now you’ll know… The year is 1995, I’m working at the mall record store, with JAA sax player Michael Liu. The first time I went to see them play it was purely supporting a coworker, every show I hit after that was because they were great. Through following them I caugh a bunch of other great third wave ska bands… eventaully moving on when I found I was the oldest person in the crowd. Jr high kids sure dug that crazy ska sound.

Anyway, JAA, like too many amazing (SF) Bay Area bands, almost hit it big. Listen now, and taste how good it got. Before the lawsuits from Willy Wonka and that square pizza place…

So how often have you been in the mood to have a bunch of drunk guys yelling at you in vaguely sacreligious french lyrics? God know I always am.

Like that one time I was a poor village wife making dinner for her Fisherman husband and 5 starving children. The sea wasn’t being very fruitful, so mon homme was out more often than usual just to support his family. But that dark night, all I could do was worry over him. It was like Death himself had whispered in my ear “Ne pas être trop confortable, Madame. Ta vie change.” I rushed to the beach only in time to see les jeune hommes pulling his soaked body up to shore. Once I got home, I turned off the Death Cab, because I just had to put this song on. It was like so my life at that moment. It was like I was living that song. < /emo >

This is your captain speaking. The captain is dead.

Head down the long, black corridor for the opening theme of a space opera never written or filmed. Down that corridor, far enough away, you meet a future Adam and Eve, a future self, a new (old) method of living, “Natural People.”

Steve Pickton records as Stasis, Paul Teebrooke, and Phenomyna, and is one of the original “IDM” greats from the early nineties, when Detroit techno, German cosmic music, and ambient comfortably coexisted. “Natural People” is from the debut Stasis album Inspiration, now sadly out of print. Pick up the two-disc retrospective, Past Movements on Peacefrog for a cross-section of galactic soul circa ten years past and two thousand years hence.

So say you’re an up-and-coming eighteen year old female grime MC from London. Say you’re spitting out tracks like mad because you and your crew are really blowing up. Say one of those songs is a diss track. Who needs a good taking down in the world these days? Ashlee Simpson? Paris Hilton? Tony Blair? Well, as further proof that the UK is a bit behind us always, this amazingly brilliant track completely slags the already completely irrelevant one-hit UK wonder “Jentina” for its 3 minutes and change duration. This is perfect - it’s like recording a Four Non Blondes diss or something. I first thought it was about J-Lo with the “Jenny From The Block” references but apparently Jentina is like the UK’s answer to our Ms. Lopez, hoochie shorts and all. And the track is brilliant - all squiggles and ripoffs and barely-audible sub-lyrics chatter, sound effects, gloriously stolen hooks tied together by whispered “fuckin’ fake, fuckin’ fake”s - this is what I want pop music to be, cruel and joyous and hilarious. She is the next big thing and you’re gonna be fucked behind if you don’t realize it.

A beautiful recent-ish outing from Piano Magic; also a late addition to the 2-cd 40+-song mix I’m constructing pour mon amour. Pretty much in love with this song right now. New Hampshire is blanketed in the softest whitest snow tonight and I’m touched by sadness and longing - it seemed appropos.

Outside, the fairground in snow, revolves like a waltz, funeral slow/And summer has gone, collapsed like a chair/Like the heart of a bird, a bell on the air/Inside, the wireless in snow/The orchestra drowns, funeral slow/And autumn has gone and with it the bloom - the harvest of stars, like moths to the moon/Help me warm this frozen heart

So here it is. The first post. Let me tell you, I was 16 kinds of freaked out over what to post. Should it be something like, about beginnings? How about the first song I made it happen to? Should it be one of my all time favorite songs, just you know, blow my load all in one post? WHAT THE FUCK DO I POST, I wondered.

And then, after sampling maybe 20 different songs, I had to take a break. My brain was all fux0red and I was stressing myself out.

So, I decided to just hang out with my boy, Sean, listen to whatever struck me and leave the possibility of the first post on the back burner.

And then, it happened. I heard “Toy Box” by Sheila E:

secretbruises : oh man. this music makes me like, REMEMBER shit.
UnTigreDePapier : oh, you need to share.
sbruises : i did, i sent it to you!
UnTigreDePapier : the memories, doodly.
sbruises : oh, just being like, i don’t know, 11? 12? wanting to be sheila e.
sbruises : i would “practice” drumming to her album
UnTigreDePapier : that is unimaginably cool.
sbruises : hahah, just wait til you hear this song before you call me cool
sbruises : i still think she’s amazingly amazing.
UnTigreDePapier : now my image of you has become shakingly funny and unimaginably cool.
sbruises : hahaha
sbruises : dood. are you listening to toy box?
sbruises : because this is making me laugh/cry/happy
UnTigreDePapier : not yet, i’ll put it on.
sbruises : so please do
sbruises : because if this doesn’t make you love me
sbruises : no fucking thing will.
UnTigreDePapier : about to make me get on a knee!
sbruises : i think you’re the only one who will understand this.
UnTigreDePapier : the eighties urban childhood experience forever, man!
sbruises : SO TOTALLY
UnTigreDePapier : no, 4EVER.
sbruises : 4 lyfe
UnTigreDePapier : hahaaaa!
UnTigreDePapier : I CAN’T GO TO THE CLUB WITHOUT MY JEWELS.
sbruises : I KNOW.
UnTigreDePapier : SO GOOD.
UnTigreDePapier : now i’m sold.
UnTigreDePapier : hello.
sbruises : what?
UnTigreDePapier : i want to greet you over and over again.
sbruises : sometimes you’re the sweetest
sbruises : bring me one of the furs, good god!
sbruises : i need my jewels…my diamonds and s’it, you know
sbruises : LAWD I’M TRYIN’ TO TELL YOU

With a reaction like that, how could I go wrong??

So I give you one of my best memories–listening to sheila e and trying to get awesome, even at the tender age of 11.

And here we go.

ps: I highly recommend you check out www.sheilae.com, if only to see the shoes she uses as the icon for “about”. Holy fuck me harder, how do I find those shoes?!

Welcome.

Here at The Selector dot org our objective is inspired by the following tenet:

– The Global Pop Conspiracy Manifesto, specifically Section Two:

In the travelling Jamaican sound systems of the ’60s and ’70s, musical duties were split between the selector, who chose the records, and the operator, who played the records. A quarter century later, the selector and the operator have become one: the dj. In the dj, we have allowed execution to overshadow ideas. We have perpetuated the notion that the soul of creation is in the technique, and that, lacking technique, we forfeit the right to create.

Yet, from Duchamp to McLaren, from ? and the Mysterians to Simple Machines, from FactSheet 5 to weblog, it has continually been proven: Technique is overrated. Ideas are still important. Use the tools around us: boom box, transistor radio, word processor, scissors, old magazine, photocopier, construction paper, scanner, URL…

The Global Pop Conspiracy believes this: You are the selector.

——————————————————————————–

I am Jessica.

This is a community for us, The Selectors.

I invite you, friends, let us make this a place where we can share music and introduce each other to places we may not have visited otherwise without having been given the map.

I am excited to see what we can make of this. And finally,

You are the Selector.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

NB: At this time, the Selector is not actively looking for new contributors. This is not to say that there will be no new Selectors, only that their addition will be at my whim only, as I am power-crazy, and also people shy. In general, if I don’t know you well enough to want to share non-virtual physical space with you, it’s very unlikely that I’d consider making you a Selector.

! - MP3s are for sampling purposes only. Please delete them after 2 weeks.
@ - MP3s will be removed from the server once two weeks have passed.
# - If you have the burning itch to post more than one song at a time, please make sure you do it all in the same post. No busting someone’s awesomeness to the middle of the page by making multiple posts like a douche.
$ - Be radical and support the artist: lay down the skrill for the slab.
% - If you want to suggest songs for posting, please contact a member.
^ - Do not ever, EVAR post directly to the link for the MP3, i.e. do not post the link for the mp3 directly in another site (instead post a link to your post). To do so would be fruitless as hotlinking has been disabled due to multitudes of human garbage who hotlinked our business all over the universe. Thanks.
& - All copyrights belong to the original artist/composer/copyright holder.
* - This is not about making people feel like crap, rather it is a place to introduce each other to radical music and have fun. If you don’t like a song, delete it and move on. Do not feel the need to flame the poster. You are not the only one who is cool. Get over yourself.

ADDENDUM: If people start flaming each other, expect nothing but Tori Amos posts FOR DAYS.

( - At this time, the Selector is not actively looking for new contributors. This is not to say that there will be no new Selectors, only that their addition will be at my whim alone, as I am power-crazy, and also people shy. In general, if I don’t know you well enough to want to share non-virtual physical space with you, it’s very unlikely that I’d consider making you a Selector.
) - Other questions? Send them here.

Name: sixty4k
Location: around
Interests: donkey butter and ninja ambient dj skillzors
Favorite Music: rjd2, the User, casionova, children’s religious records, k&d, atmosphere, murs, debbie deb, the spice girls, tricky, scanner, kid loco, roots manuva, dj wally, eq1, radel esca, sixtoo, matth, dj spooky, mutor…
About: sixty4k is the most bestest dj you’ve never heard of. The ambient rockstar, the ruler of the chill room, grumpiest of the grumpy, he can kick your ass and make you thank him afterwards. He eats 9 volt batteries for breakfast, dope beats for lunch, and orbiting satelites for dinner.

Contact: sixty4k@REMOVETHIStheselector.org
Site: bootyhouse

Name: Mister Eden
Location: NJ
About: Mister Eden vows to provide lush listening for the future denizens of ruined Earth on a regular basis. Third ear optional but recommended.

Contact: mistereden@REMOVETHIStheselector.org
Sites: Asphalteden is…, The Quiet Sounds

Name: sean
Location: a galaxy in the shape of a double-helix.
Interests: african heart, alter-egos, black power, car dances, the childhood experience, chocolate, cigarettes, coffee, colors magazine, cosmology, country and climate, egyptology, exotic fruit, extra terrestrials, jim henson, lord shiva the destroyer, mysticism, new york ferocity, the opiate coma, photography, the sedaris family, shanghai cosmopolitan living, transient life, urban landscapes.
Favorite Music: world folk and captain beefheart.
About: mother mary on my lips and a desert demon in my eyes.

Contact:untigredepapier@REMOVETHISAOL.com
Site: cheapuptowndirt

Name: jessica
Location: the turntables might wobble but they don’t fall down.
Interests: orchids, astronauts, memento mori, dj headphones, kevin aviance, front porches, ascii hearts, gauze (gauze…gauze, more gauze), scars, trains and subways, lip gloss, neck/leg braces, confessional screens, cartography, joe frank, post-marks (on mouths, on wrists), collecting fingerprints, unfolding origami, midnight coastlines recorded to connect, wittgensteinian spellings, sartrean salvations, my unfed-nyc bedsheets, photos of invasive surgery, mechanical pencils, nevada-tan, keeping the screws from all the desks in my back pocket.
Favorite Music: so sweet the sound that saved a wretch like me. also: Beethoven’s 5th, 7th, & 9th Symphonies at chest-cracking, jaw-rattling volumes.
About: i don’t want the world, i just want your half. (i’m a good girl, and that’s what should make you should trust me.)

daydreaming of remedios the beauty ascended to heaven always helps me regain my balance.

“this is not a pace, i wake up, smoke weed, fuck bitches, get my dick sucked - A LOT, drank my drank, come here and do this shit. what am i supposed to do? take a vacation?” — Lil’ Wayne

“…In the end I think of music as saving grace for all humanity.” — Henry Miller

also, i smell great.

ghetto tracks

Contact: iamtheselector@REMOVETHIStheselector.org
Site: theselector.org