A magic executable
with power, irrefutable,
compares a phrase of searchable,
random, juxtapositional,
poems from my exploration,
as curious unfolds creation;
a treasure trove of facts and lore
results and, now, my life is more
than every day that came before,
transcends me to the distant shore
of understanding's endless store.
Here, knowledge crosses time and space,
commune, I, with the human race
and share the dreams that in this place
take on a form beyond the base
dimension of the mortal scale.
Existence is transmutable.
Its vastness is commutable.
With songs that carry me away,
unlimited, I search and play.
The echoes of my heart and soul,
reverberate on rock and roll,
and for the moment, I am whole.
Through free association, then
a new found demarcation sends
me searching through the thicket wild
and nether regions of my mind
discovered and illuminated,
in other Edens replicated.
But wait.
someone there has locked the gate
who sees in me a reprobate,
who fears my yearning, searching mind,
who'd really rather see me blind
unless I pay the prices set
to access "properties" they let
me "own" for moments that they shill
to advertisers, hawking shrill,
the corporation's branding mill.
who wish to own my mind as well
(For them its just a thing to sell)
Expanding their commercial hell.
Where once this boundless universe
that elevated and immersed,
and filled with knowledge, and with pride
the day so common, otherwise,
now turns into another box
of unctuous security locks
commercial gizmos from the core
of corporations' hopeless bore.
And chaining me against my will
if I should fail to pay the bill.
stooping me to lick the boot
of greedy landlords that would shoot
and maim me, if they only could
or jail me, as they say they should,
for wanting freedom of my mind,
for hacking into what was mine
to begin with, don't they get it?
Don't they understand to let it
be alive and free, like wind, and sea.
All I need to fill my soul
Is other humans' self-same goal,
communicating words and songs
to share what we owned all along.
For none can own the things we think
and ownership defined by ink
is nil, compared to hyperlink
A simple line of code explodes
the locks on souls creators sold
through contracts that the devil wrote
with details far beyond the scope
of what the law's intent required:
To send their knowledge far and wide
A simple line of code
will liberate their souls.
and ours.
Rafael O. Quezada
Dear Rafael,
Would you mind if I put your words to music?
Sincerely,
Digital Yoda
Digital Yoda,
I'm immensely flattered and I don't know what to think, but being a gung-ho collaborationist and process artist, I will yell !go for it! *without* thinking.
If you choose to do it, please let me hear it, ok?
Rafael
rafael,
yeeeha! thanx.
you said:
"but being a gung-ho collaborationist and process artist"
me, too.
remember reading those posts about analog pussy? i'm trying to put a lil' sumpin' together with them... and other musicians, computer programmers, and artists.
(they're from germany... we have a russian... an indian... a columbian... french canadian... and a few others, too.)
so, i was thinking of making it into a multicultural experiment in digital music. the overall theme of the group is The Power Of Universal Language (such as music... or "A simple line of code") if you know anyone that can help translate into different languages, please let me know.
sound like fun?
sincerely,
digital yoda
Digital Yoda,
Sounds like real fun. I'm good for the Spanish component, although dialects (and cultures) vary in subtle ways from one Hispanic country to another.
Rafael
What if we had to communicate with someone that spoke an unknown language? In this vision, I try to connect with just such a thought -- literally. What if I was trying to connect with a modem... and "the alien" recognized the modem sound as my speech?
This song attempts to:
The recording was mixed live and on-the-fly, while being captured through analog and digital connections onto a one-track mini-disc. (aka "Alien Adlib")