It's like love. It comes or it doesn't come. In a dream. I am very often asked this question - from where? It’s as if I’m a civilized person who gets inspiration, reads books, then transforms it, reads philosophy and gets such a cultural product. Here is such a consistent, “smart” way to liquefy this cultural swamp with another drop of mud. There is nothing of this here, no inspiration, no philosophy, no books. It comes from nowhere in a dream and that's it. It's in my spine, your spine, everyone. If you have enough madness to extract it, you do it or you don’t do it. It gives nothing. It brings no money, no cultural fame, no pleasure, nothing. This is some kind of revelation, this is not music. It was and disappeared. Then from this to knit some socks, to compose something, to make this product. No. What is all this for? What it is? If people think that this is some kind of missionary activity for spiritual enrichment, this is not so. We feel yourself like a terrorists. You come and we try, often successfully, sometimes not very well, to demolish your brain. To keep you empty. You cannot cleanse it yourself. You can do yoga, reading books - it’s all a waste of time. Everything will be in its place. Only through violence from outside can this be done. An accident, like violence, and you become nobody and nothing, and there is nothing to cling to, and the most valuable thing in your life, life itself, the future and so on, is questioned. You begin to doubt at all the reality of what you call reality. You can sober up and step aside, but there is no way. There is a good way here - asphalt roads. But it’s not very good there, it’s uncomfortable enough. This is good for my taste. Because, once upon a time it is necessary to finish off this stupidity, endless melodrama. When your brain is empty, you start writing history yourself.
I've been listening to this group for a few years now. I put on their sounds to draw stuff. But I'd never got to hear what this dude has to say, because his interviews werent subtitled in English. Now, after reading the translation this dude is posting in this section (thanks a Lot, btw!!), I see we have a lot in common regarding reasons to make such an extreme kind of music. Also, the guy has a Noise side-project called CORPS - check it out if you into that
Ten gość wie co mówi. Słowa nie powiedział o tym, co przewija się chociażby w samym opisie ( Bönpo/buddyzm) zwracając się jednocześnie do sedna/źródła.
It's like love. It comes or it doesn't come. In a dream. I am very often asked this question - from where? It’s as if I’m a civilized person who gets inspiration, reads books, then transforms it, reads philosophy and gets such a cultural product. Here is such a consistent, “smart” way to liquefy this cultural swamp with another drop of mud. There is nothing of this here, no inspiration, no philosophy, no books. It comes from nowhere in a dream and that's it. It's in my spine, your spine, everyone. If you have enough madness to extract it, you do it or you don’t do it. It gives nothing. It brings no money, no cultural fame, no pleasure, nothing. This is some kind of revelation, this is not music. It was and disappeared. Then from this to knit some socks, to compose something, to make this product. No. What is all this for? What it is? If people think that this is some kind of missionary activity for spiritual enrichment, this is not so. We feel yourself like a terrorists. You come and we try, often successfully, sometimes not very well, to demolish your brain. To keep you empty. You cannot cleanse it yourself. You can do yoga, reading books - it’s all a waste of time. Everything will be in its place. Only through violence from outside can this be done. An accident, like violence, and you become nobody and nothing, and there is nothing to cling to, and the most valuable thing in your life, life itself, the future and so on, is questioned. You begin to doubt at all the reality of what you call reality. You can sober up and step aside, but there is no way. There is a good way here - asphalt roads. But it’s not very good there, it’s uncomfortable enough. This is good for my taste. Because, once upon a time it is necessary to finish off this stupidity, endless melodrama. When your brain is empty, you start writing history yourself.
It's like love. It comes or it doesn't come. In a dream. I am very often asked this question - from where? It’s as if I’m a civilized person who gets inspiration, reads books, then transforms it, reads philosophy and gets such a cultural product. Here is such a consistent, “smart” way to liquefy this cultural swamp with another drop of mud. There is nothing of this here, no inspiration, no philosophy, no books. It comes from nowhere in a dream and that's it. It's in my spine, your spine, everyone. If you have enough madness to extract it, you do it or you don’t do it. It gives nothing. It brings no money, no cultural fame, no pleasure, nothing. This is some kind of revelation, this is not music. It was and disappeared. Then from this to knit some socks, to compose something, to make this product. No. What is all this for? What it is? If people think that this is some kind of missionary activity for spiritual enrichment, this is not so. We feel yourself like a terrorists. You come and we try, often successfully, sometimes not very well, to demolish your brain. To keep you empty. You cannot cleanse it yourself. You can do yoga, reading books - it’s all a waste of time. Everything will be in its place. Only through violence from outside can this be done. An accident, like violence, and you become nobody and nothing, and there is nothing to cling to, and the most valuable thing in your life, life itself, the future and so on, is questioned. You begin to doubt at all the reality of what you call reality. You can sober up and step aside, but there is no way. There is a good way here - asphalt roads. But it’s not very good there, it’s uncomfortable enough. This is good for my taste. Because, once upon a time it is necessary to finish off this stupidity, endless melodrama. When your brain is empty, you start writing history yourself.
*ПОЧЕМУ ВО СНЕ-ТО ПРИШЛО??? МНЕ КАЖЕТСЯ ЕТО НИОТКУДА НЕ ПРИШЛО. А Я ПОД ЕТО ПРОСТО МЕДИТИРУЮ И ВСЕ. НЕТ ХОРОШЕГО ИЛИ ПЛОХОГО, ВСЕ ПРОСТО ПРОИСХОДИТ И ВСЕ. МУЗЫКА ЗВУЧИТ, ТЫ ЕЕ СЛУШАЕШЬ. ПУСТОТА ЕСТЬ И ТЫ - ЕТА ПУСТОТА. ВСЕ НА МНОГО ПРОЩЕ*
It's like love. It comes or it doesn't come. In a dream. I am very often asked this question - from where? It’s as if I’m a civilized person who gets inspiration, reads books, then transforms it, reads philosophy and gets such a cultural product. Here is such a consistent, “smart” way to liquefy this cultural swamp with another drop of mud. There is nothing of this here, no inspiration, no philosophy, no books. It comes from nowhere in a dream and that's it. It's in my spine, your spine, everyone. If you have enough madness to extract it, you do it or you don’t do it. It gives nothing. It brings no money, no cultural fame, no pleasure, nothing. This is some kind of revelation, this is not music. It was and disappeared. Then from this to knit some socks, to compose something, to make this product. No. What is all this for? What it is? If people think that this is some kind of missionary activity for spiritual enrichment, this is not so. We feel yourself like a terrorists. You come and we try, often successfully, sometimes not very well, to demolish your brain. To keep you empty. You cannot cleanse it yourself. You can do yoga, reading books - it’s all a waste of time. Everything will be in its place. Only through violence from outside can this be done. An accident, like violence, and you become nobody and nothing, and there is nothing to cling to, and the most valuable thing in your life, life itself, the future and so on, is questioned. You begin to doubt at all the reality of what you call reality. You can sober up and step aside, but there is no way. There is a good way here - asphalt roads. But it’s not very good there, it’s uncomfortable enough. This is good for my taste. Because, once upon a time it is necessary to finish off this stupidity, endless melodrama. When your brain is empty, you start writing history yourself.
Keep going! Not my language,but I understood somehow. The world need more phurpa. The eye opening is near.
It's like love. It comes or it doesn't come. In a dream. I am very often asked this question - from where? It’s as if I’m a civilized person who gets inspiration, reads books, then transforms it, reads philosophy and gets such a cultural product. Here is such a consistent, “smart” way to liquefy this cultural swamp with another drop of mud. There is nothing of this here, no inspiration, no philosophy, no books. It comes from nowhere in a dream and that's it. It's in my spine, your spine, everyone. If you have enough madness to extract it, you do it or you don’t do it. It gives nothing. It brings no money, no cultural fame, no pleasure, nothing. This is some kind of revelation, this is not music. It was and disappeared. Then from this to knit some socks, to compose something, to make this product. No. What is all this for? What it is? If people think that this is some kind of missionary activity for spiritual enrichment, this is not so. We feel yourself like a terrorists. You come and we try, often successfully, sometimes not very well, to demolish your brain. To keep you empty. You cannot cleanse it yourself. You can do yoga, reading books - it’s all a waste of time. Everything will be in its place. Only through violence from outside can this be done. An accident, like violence, and you become nobody and nothing, and there is nothing to cling to, and the most valuable thing in your life, life itself, the future and so on, is questioned. You begin to doubt at all the reality of what you call reality. You can sober up and step aside, but there is no way. There is a good way here - asphalt roads. But it’s not very good there, it’s uncomfortable enough. This is good for my taste. Because, once upon a time it is necessary to finish off this stupidity, endless melodrama. When your brain is empty, you start writing history yourself.
I've been listening to this group for a few years now. I put on their sounds to draw stuff. But I'd never got to hear what this dude has to say, because his interviews werent subtitled in English. Now, after reading the translation this dude is posting in this section (thanks a Lot, btw!!), I see we have a lot in common regarding reasons to make such an extreme kind of music.
Also, the guy has a Noise side-project called CORPS - check it out if you into that
Философу - философия...практику - практика.
SpasiBog
Ten gość wie co mówi. Słowa nie powiedział o tym, co przewija się chociażby w samym opisie ( Bönpo/buddyzm) zwracając się jednocześnie do sedna/źródła.
как же он меток
Невозможно постоянно жить в мелодраме
Не живи
Can anyone please translate or just summarize what he was talking about? I understood maybe every 5th word..
It's like love. It comes or it doesn't come. In a dream. I am very often asked this question - from where? It’s as if I’m a civilized person who gets inspiration, reads books, then transforms it, reads philosophy and gets such a cultural product. Here is such a consistent, “smart” way to liquefy this cultural swamp with another drop of mud. There is nothing of this here, no inspiration, no philosophy, no books. It comes from nowhere in a dream and that's it. It's in my spine, your spine, everyone. If you have enough madness to extract it, you do it or you don’t do it. It gives nothing. It brings no money, no cultural fame, no pleasure, nothing. This is some kind of revelation, this is not music. It was and disappeared. Then from this to knit some socks, to compose something, to make this product. No. What is all this for? What it is? If people think that this is some kind of missionary activity for spiritual enrichment, this is not so. We feel yourself like a terrorists. You come and we try, often successfully, sometimes not very well, to demolish your brain. To keep you empty. You cannot cleanse it yourself. You can do yoga, reading books - it’s all a waste of time. Everything will be in its place. Only through violence from outside can this be done. An accident, like violence, and you become nobody and nothing, and there is nothing to cling to, and the most valuable thing in your life, life itself, the future and so on, is questioned. You begin to doubt at all the reality of what you call reality. You can sober up and step aside, but there is no way. There is a good way here - asphalt roads. But it’s not very good there, it’s uncomfortable enough. This is good for my taste. Because, once upon a time it is necessary to finish off this stupidity, endless melodrama. When your brain is empty, you start writing history yourself.
@@vitaliinomadov2436 Thank you very much!
english subs please? :o
It's like love. It comes or it doesn't come. In a dream. I am very often asked this question - from where? It’s as if I’m a civilized person who gets inspiration, reads books, then transforms it, reads philosophy and gets such a cultural product. Here is such a consistent, “smart” way to liquefy this cultural swamp with another drop of mud. There is nothing of this here, no inspiration, no philosophy, no books. It comes from nowhere in a dream and that's it. It's in my spine, your spine, everyone. If you have enough madness to extract it, you do it or you don’t do it. It gives nothing. It brings no money, no cultural fame, no pleasure, nothing. This is some kind of revelation, this is not music. It was and disappeared. Then from this to knit some socks, to compose something, to make this product. No. What is all this for? What it is? If people think that this is some kind of missionary activity for spiritual enrichment, this is not so. We feel yourself like a terrorists. You come and we try, often successfully, sometimes not very well, to demolish your brain. To keep you empty. You cannot cleanse it yourself. You can do yoga, reading books - it’s all a waste of time. Everything will be in its place. Only through violence from outside can this be done. An accident, like violence, and you become nobody and nothing, and there is nothing to cling to, and the most valuable thing in your life, life itself, the future and so on, is questioned. You begin to doubt at all the reality of what you call reality. You can sober up and step aside, but there is no way. There is a good way here - asphalt roads. But it’s not very good there, it’s uncomfortable enough. This is good for my taste. Because, once upon a time it is necessary to finish off this stupidity, endless melodrama. When your brain is empty, you start writing history yourself.
@@vitaliinomadov2436 Thank you so much!!!
*ПОЧЕМУ ВО СНЕ-ТО ПРИШЛО??? МНЕ КАЖЕТСЯ ЕТО НИОТКУДА НЕ ПРИШЛО. А Я ПОД ЕТО ПРОСТО МЕДИТИРУЮ И ВСЕ. НЕТ ХОРОШЕГО ИЛИ ПЛОХОГО, ВСЕ ПРОСТО ПРОИСХОДИТ И ВСЕ. МУЗЫКА ЗВУЧИТ, ТЫ ЕЕ СЛУШАЕШЬ. ПУСТОТА ЕСТЬ И ТЫ - ЕТА ПУСТОТА. ВСЕ НА МНОГО ПРОЩЕ*
Хрен знает кто и откуда к вам приходит. Надо спрашивать
бесы
Why do you not use a russian title?? So we all know we won't understand a word..
Goddammit guys /:
It's like love. It comes or it doesn't come. In a dream. I am very often asked this question - from where? It’s as if I’m a civilized person who gets inspiration, reads books, then transforms it, reads philosophy and gets such a cultural product. Here is such a consistent, “smart” way to liquefy this cultural swamp with another drop of mud. There is nothing of this here, no inspiration, no philosophy, no books. It comes from nowhere in a dream and that's it. It's in my spine, your spine, everyone. If you have enough madness to extract it, you do it or you don’t do it. It gives nothing. It brings no money, no cultural fame, no pleasure, nothing. This is some kind of revelation, this is not music. It was and disappeared. Then from this to knit some socks, to compose something, to make this product. No. What is all this for? What it is? If people think that this is some kind of missionary activity for spiritual enrichment, this is not so. We feel yourself like a terrorists. You come and we try, often successfully, sometimes not very well, to demolish your brain. To keep you empty. You cannot cleanse it yourself. You can do yoga, reading books - it’s all a waste of time. Everything will be in its place. Only through violence from outside can this be done. An accident, like violence, and you become nobody and nothing, and there is nothing to cling to, and the most valuable thing in your life, life itself, the future and so on, is questioned. You begin to doubt at all the reality of what you call reality. You can sober up and step aside, but there is no way. There is a good way here - asphalt roads. But it’s not very good there, it’s uncomfortable enough. This is good for my taste. Because, once upon a time it is necessary to finish off this stupidity, endless melodrama. When your brain is empty, you start writing history yourself.