Actually, i think this one is better...

Sitting in my room, I regard each breath,
I feel my feet, my hands, my eyes in my head
And each breath in, each breath out.
I remember that I am in Melbourne, and that one day I shall die.
I hear the timber creak and a tram shuffle past at the end of the street.
I hear a saxophone and children playing with a ball, I see one of them slip and graze his knee.
I see a balloon floating on the breeze and imagine a dog sniffing at dry grass by a wire fence.
I remember my friends and the faces of my parents. I think of the sky changing colour at day break in spring, and how exciting summer is until the real heat arrives. I remember that I have a brother and a sister, I remember and I forget again.
I feel my back and imagine a forest growing between my shoulders. A white bird without eyes perches on my finger and looks for bugs beneath my nails. I remember something funny and I forget again. A fly buzzes past my ear and I see myself at work, making drinks, writing notes, singing songs. I dance around a corner and step over a chair. Spider webs hung in a corner sway and stretch. The floor moans and I remember my mother, sitting on a couch and looking so tired. I ask her to dance with me, but she looks away and stares at the wall. I feel angry because she is not old, but seems to wish she was.
I think of the future, the past and castles on a beach. I see art and music and each breath in, I see ships out at sea. Like tiny leaves, my thoughts are carried by water in a drain. A sun asphyxiated by cloud casts diamonds on the wind, making me cover my eyes. I see my body on the floor, doing push ups. I hear the ocean.
But I am none of these things. I am not even the sound of a tram shuffling past at the end of the street.

refuse to look at stars

The night is clear, i keep my eyes downcast, immersed in earthly struggle, i seek the moon, a twisted dance among the quiet trees, voices tempt my ear to lonely plains,
these graceful strides amid the swamp and foggy wraiths that refuse to part,
meaning has been lost, i seek the sun, and refuse to look at stars.

Come down from your mountain, oh sweet reason, and walk awhile among us.


Things we lost in the fire.

little reason

I haven't written here for some time - which does not indicate a depravity of reason. Reason for writing, reason for reflection. Little life little reason ... Reason enough. Winter has taken hold and we huddle about the hearth and squeeze turnips to amuse our inhibitions. It is dark and that is good reason to turn the lights down low. I often sit in the dark. I find it soothing to let the shadows make their offerings. We throw ideas about like a new beach ball and maybe when i have time and energy to spare i'll shove the plastic in a pot and tend to making towers grow. Maybe... this is all pretty cryptic isn't it? I apologise. We'll talk, we'll sort things out, we'll make it ok again. You still don't know who this is for. Who does this address? Is it you? Is it someone else?

I don't know. You think i tell the keys to fall?

I often have moments of darkness when the lights are on. An imaginary owl 'hoots' in my ear. Like she has a secret. Like she's washing my neck. It doesn't matter what the sun is doing. I look for leaves and get lost in the sky. An echo of anxiety strokes my cheek and i become convinced that wolves will come to fetch me. I look into my soul and find the motel has a room. 'Vacancy', 'Rooms available'. And then the fear is creeping faster than desert lizards over sand. I become convinced that soon i will be found out. My illusions shall topple from their perch and be dashed upon the tiles. You smile unwavering, you hold your own against the tide. Neptune returns to the depths, crabs scuttle under coral. It is a struggle to swim in unknown water. I reach for driftwood. I have lost my way. The stars seem cold, distant. I swallow sea water and know i'm going mad. The night grows darker. My eyes stretch upward.

A snow owl passes. 'Hoot'. And all is calm.

School is good. Work is good. Love is good.

The music keeps on playing. I shall keep on dancing.

Little reason...

reason enough.

Benjamin

recently made applied displeased

Hello,

I am living in top gear, clutch out and engine screaming. Study work music social - there is not time for stopping to stretch and reflect. My brother has been in town after returning from his summer long stint in Antarctica and i feel like i hardly saw him. Chotto Matte takes a rest for three weeks and for that i am thankful, that i may knuckle down and catch up on all the work i have been neglecting over the last few weeks. School is brilliant - theory and theorising what it means to learn - brightly burning neurons fire - i have lived and now i study life. So full to bursting. New bodies enter orbit - always exciting - distraction keeps me from sleeps that organs need to tackle turkeys. There are chickpeas in a bowl. Love is a cauliflower extending to the sky, florets like stars.

Chotto Matte played at the Ding Dong Lounge last week to a tiny audience of close friends - we do not have a name for attracting big crowds. We do not have the support required. So i will focus what energy i have on playing for venues already swingin - there are nights for noise and noisy bars - attended by splendid hungry ears. Our movements need a knowing sun - waves crash on lonely shores. A bough creaks - swing alone, swing together - a buzzing behind twisted strings.

'Are you okay?'

I think so... it is all too much. Assessment stumbles in. And the music is louder than ever before. Before you know it we'll be singing statues in gardens on the coast. Glass cracks... an imp dances sheepish.

I scream at the awkward stones - i think i hear the dawn.

Peace and pieces, probes and pores,
silent screaming and throttled caws,
Rapid release, push comes to shove,
My hands drift open, and swallow

love

Hey kids. Check out this wild stuff from the first Chotto Matte gig back in December.

nothing remains

last friday.mp3

Here is a an unadulterated recording of a an electronic/vocal jam session performed by Dave Hicks and myself last Friday the 20th of February. It is a sprawling journey through strange habitats - haunting encounters with defiant architecture. It is also the first recording directly through desk to device - so it is relatively good quality, considering our usual lo-fi approach to capturing ourselves.

There is a weird impulse to keep recordings like this under our hats, or under our seats, out of sight - but that defies the whole "nothing remains" ethos of Chotto Matte. No matter how happy we are with a particular piece of work - we let it go, let it burn, never look back.

Paper House happened last Thursday at the Glasshouse - there were many little lessons for us in the performance. Our sound has filled out with the addition of a guitar - and the use of projections added great visual accompaniment. Without wasting anytime, we bend our crests toward the ides of March.

I am reluctant to talk at length about what we do when we're on stage - i am a little superstitious... that's all.

Hope you enjoy the recording - feedback and criticism is wanted.

Benjamin

paper house

Chotto Matte presents: P A P E R H O U S E
'meditations on psychosis'

@ the Glass House : 51 Gipps St Collingwood
9-pm 19/02/09

It is time for the next Chotto Matte gig and we're back at the Glass House and the sound is bigger and fuller and i think i'm gonna wear some make-up. Two shows behind us - two remarkably different works. I feel a strange ambivalence about tomorrow's production... it will definately be our most ambitious effort - extra musicians, video art, more promotion - but what is the nature of this little evolution? What debris peppers our foaming wake?

Only time will tell, i guess.

the violence of love: the love of violence

I just posted a blog entry on the chotto matte myspace, and realised that so much has happened and that i had not written anything, in this, my spiritual refuge, for so long. At least three weeks, i think. Not that there is anything particularly extraordinary about that - but it struck a chord and i listened and the vibrations seemed to call me back here, to my blog, that i may write somethings about something. And so much to tell! But not all of it... some stories need to be told and others do not. Some stories need other stories with which to coexist, to justify their tangled place in memory. I would like to tell of the other weekend when Chotto Matte played (but not that bit) and the Rainbow Serpent that followed.

The night of the Chotto Matte gig was what it was. We played. I was thrilled with the performance because i felt more powerful than the first time. Alex and David were not so chuffed because their instruments gave them grief. So 'tis with these things. That week i averaged about 3 hours sleep per night - anxiety and angst in my workplace - fear and frustration in my personal life - whatever combination of irritants gave rise to my difficult restlessness, i cannot say for sure. Then it was the show and i dreaded a sluggish performance - and was delighted to discover that my rage became a tool and a vehicle for self transformation when i took the stage. Dionysus had found his mountain and the maenads writhed in ecstasy as milk and wine oozed from their pores.

That night i could hardly close my eyes - my skin quivering with electric pulses. By the following noon i was bleary eyed and my body felt like a bad day in Baghdad. Making coffee was difficult - my muscles ached and screamed with each twist and turn. Needless to say, i was not so excited about going to a great big sweating hippy festival (uttered with affection - i have been going for ten years now and love it more each time), camping and getting jiggy on the dance floor. I recall some sleep deprivation related hallucinations during the drive to Beaufort - flashes of light in my periphery. It was a bit of a shit sandwich finding a camping spot - but we eventually decided to set up on the top of a hill at the perimeter of the property - a bit of a hike, but an extraordinary view of the festival and nearby country. This turned out to be a stroke of genius when the sun was emerging over the mist filled valley on the Monday morning.

That first night i had a few drinks but decided to make my way to bed early (2am). I slept soundly, without a sleeping mat, on a slight grade, until after 8. Strangely enough i rose refreshed and feeling fit. My frustrations and anxiety were quelled - who would believe i went to a party to get some much needed rest. The next two nights i averaged more than 8 hours - extraordinary, if you ask me.

But my intention is not to give you a blow by blow of my movements and experiences at the festival - nor is it to provide a review of the acts, the workshops or the quality of the delicious food. I would not bore you, or myself, with such trivialities. Rather, i am concerned with the something that happens at that particular festival that is life affirming, cathartic, expressive and energising. It is apparent immediately; as we arrive we are met with joyful enthusiasm, and the market seems to sigh lovingly as new eyes roam, peeling apart the carnivalesque atmosphere - meeting others who have come in search of an other worldly experience. The general feeling is one of a return to something - a strange sort of home coming. This feeling only intensifies as the party goes on.

After being at the event for more than two days, one knows their way around - one has established connections with people in a variety of locations, discovered interesting video art, immersive environments and become familiar with the sights, sounds and smells of the party. One begins to forget about the world outside - memories of that person you were before you came to this weird and wonderful place. Periods of intoxication mingle with relative clear headedness - the management of necessities and the maenadic loss of self on the dance floor. It all seems to fanttastic and unreal

Mondays are notorious as the highlight at the Rainbow Serpent Festival - everyone has been around for a few days - everyone is filthy, hung over, coming down, sleep deprived and edgy about the party coming to a close. And so the gloves come off and the music is minimal and dark and dirty and we all just let go of whatever we were holding onto and soon you're just losing it along with everyone else. Occasions of people watching - what might otherwise inspire fear or terror in a stranger, or perplexed amusement in the newly arrived, gently forces itself upon you and you cant help but just dance dance dance. I forgot about time and place and everything and my body became a sacred site for expression and worship. I know this all sounds a bit new age and wank laden - but there is an ecstatic, religious experience realised in the maddening frenzy of the dionysiac, and that is what i rediscovered only ten days ago.

I ask myself the next question: why did all the angst and fear of my daily life evaporate within hours of my arrival at this festival? Why did i feel so at home in this strange and alien world of fantasy and make believe? Why did i sob quietly when i realised it had come to an end? It can be distressing when it dawns upon us that we are more at home in the hills, surrounded by people in weird costumes, shaken with the dizzying pulse of music, than we are in the mundane world's we call our lives.

Nietzsche argued that all of life should be a determined and relentless search for experiences of intense pleasure, the attainment of which is the only reward and justification for its own pursuit. Pleasure is discovered in different ways by different people - for some it lies in the attainment of money - for others, the expenditure of money. For me... this is going to be one of those questions i can never answer wholly or satisfactorily... i guess it is partly earthed in the experience of dance and movement... but there is much more to it than that... intoxication? yeah, that is fun too... but not on its own... i never drink alone... this will go on and on, and i am really asking myself what is important to me, and maybe you are thinking about the same thing and maybe neither of us will ever be able to pin it down for sure in a way that endures... for it must keep changing, morphing and distorting, just as we must. In a world dominated by the endless and grueling pursuit of status (your job, car, designer clothes and big holiday to exotic locations, while functional, remain markers of "success"), the philosopher and wanderer within will always be unsatisfied. A part of us will always be some how taunted by a self reflexive understanding that meaning is absent in our pathetic little lives. And yet, there is something mysterious and exciting, lurking in the fog of Dionysian desire and expression - a socially sanctioned moment of communal release? or a profound opportunity for personal and collective insight into the primal substance and rhythms of who we are? Perhaps both.

There are moments when reason slips and the body is pushed to its limits - there are those who collapse with heat exhaustion, dehydration, overdose. We all know, and yet we keep on dancing. Is this perverse? We accept the violence of love. We accept the love of violence. Catharsis or catalyst, we go on chasing that distant thud of music, for what it promises and what it delivers - what it permits and what it prevents - deeper and deeper into the bowels of the earth. I embrace the darkness and the joy - and feel myself ALIVE.

Chotto Matte play the Glasshouse next Thursday the 22nd. Hope you like the image. Hope you can come along!

beanstalks

It is now when i am sitting in my room which shall not be my room for much longer and i cast my imagination a little higher upon the beanstalk, that i may consider the plateau of recent memory - I am in my room - i am listening to Gustav Mahler (the first symphony) - it is about 26 degrees when they said it would be 39. We thought it would be dark clouds and deep crags, sweaty corpses soaking in the gutter - a broken bell struck by deaf and despairing patients - fearing death, wanting death.

In my last entry i spoke of struggle and dread - but those emotions have faded, as all things do upon the shores of time. Even when i was suffering, was i really suffering? What of suffering when one recalls the moment and its events, and all that one sees floats and flickers, a steady candle in the window, dancing, winking, like a knowing friend? I held my fear, my anxiety, suckled it and rocked its cradle. Cooing for one's affliction nurtures blindness, frenzy, rage. Discovering the horizon, yet again, my imagination forgot its paternal preoccupation, let the crib alone to burn, and set each foot before the other - gleeful about mountains.

Now i have a Kaossilator. And i promise that Chotto Matte shall seize his weathered beard and swallow the sky with eyes not meant for seeing. If you read. You should attend.

But what of recent events? There was some irritation of a personal nature - as there often is in times of vulnerability. But i have seen some of the most amazing music this last week. There was the Necks at the Corner last Monday. Had i known how immersive, moody and affecting the live phenomenon could be, twould not have been so long before i came. Such is the gulf between knowledge and experience - to know about... what a jib!

And then we went to see the Silver Apples (!) support Spiritualized. I went for the apples - but was pleasantly surprised by the spirits. Simeon had me worried - how would this great artist, now in his 70s, manage to reproduce music that was written and recorded 40 years ago, without the assistance of the drummer (with whom the project began) without compromising the overall power of the music? Was it compromised? It was compromised. It did not sound the same. Electronic beats and stomping techno rhythms stand in as a questionable replacement for live percussion. That said, the artist has successfully reinterpreted his own work in a way that is both progressive and challenging, within the realm of contemporary music, whilst remaining true to the intensity and imaginative complexity of the original vision. And he is doing it onstage, on his own - in Australia "for the first time." And if that doesn't inspire artists of all walks across all fields of creative enterprise, then nothing will. Simeon's performance was a rare and precious gift - one i shall cherish in the vaults of my memory - no matter how high i must climb in order to find it.

Monday. It was time to see Krautrock super group Harmonia play. And who would have thought three old chaps with laptops and a couple of instruments could rock the nuts off the East Brunswick club so effortlessly. Bass heavy programming and intricate melodic patterns intersecting and rejoicing on the air.

And now in the third week of 2009 i am reminding myself that it was once the third week of 2008, and 2007, and will one day be the third week of 3004. And one can't help but let go, look to the slowly setting sun, and smile.

Thank you

rage

A thrown up thought thickens, curdles and coagulates like cream spilt and sputtering, strewn and simmering as the wings of midnight moths, such motley miasms quiver, quiver and dissolve - as steam on the breeze, a tongue gliding by pearly whites collecting scraps of trespass, tranquilizing, seizing with Caesar's unshaken will to power at the hour of et tu brute? We fell like honourable men to sweetly coated bullets of atrition - all men with one woman in mind, all women with one man, reflected, rippling, returning eternally - acceptance of the end our only answer to death, the ultimate beginning, breaking down and disintegrating, dislodging the illusion of the one and the whole, the whole in the one. A macrocosm and the memphis mule, alone by the pool, bring me coffee or tea, i read the clouds, watch the sun, and think of Jesus. I read the clouds, and whisper: I am.

I am suffering at the moment. After the Chotto Matte performance Melbourne came into full colour and i thought for a while that i could stay here, build a life for myself, be happy and content. I remember the rush of such ecstasy dripping from the most menial of tasks, ethereal emanating from the most bland and boring company. But the energy fades. And now i am sad. And the sadness wont budge. On Monday night, after a grinding day of repressed angst and crippling anxiety, i thought i had overcome the beast - we went and saw the Necks play at the Corner and life was affirmed and despair was abated, for a little while. Sensing the quiet rage stirring, i went for a big bike ride to Brighton and back, and somewhere in Melbourne the seizure was upon me. I spent the night sulking in the dark, my limbs heavy and brittle with the fever.

They say that anger and desperation are good, motivating emotions for overcoming and transcending situations that are unsatisfactory. And so i make manouvers and confront some demons. And there are camels, perishing on my horizon. But this is not me - this is not who i am. Broken? Miserable? Terrified? This is not okay and cannot go on any longer. My hands are shaking. It is because i am anxious. It is because i have made one tentative step. I must make another. The Beach Boys play in the background.