It's not even carbone.

Not even close.

Compress/extend/bop/twist/pull/pass it

"In a simplified explanation of it, I think that some people just give too many fucks.

It's like traffic, ya know? We're all going to get there eventually. If we just enjoy the ride, roll the windows down and let the breeze drown out the stereo, then we should all enjoy the journey.

We don't need any of this tailgating windows-up mashing the gas pedal to be first to the next the redlight bullshit, amirite?" -- Eric S. Leyva

I've been trying to bring about the season of Tanzen for about two weeks now, with no free flow of inspiration. My journal was with me as I began sifting through the remnants of 4:47am; 12-hour night shifts, yet again. Nothing. Not even the urge to grab the damned thing from my bag.

Tonight, I forced myself to pull the notebook out and to jot a few scribbles of blue gel pen. I filled up a page. A bit of a ramble about how things are and how I might like them to be, and nothing terribly poetic until the end, when I switched to black. The conclusion of this forced/jump start was that this season may not be a season for Tanzen words, but of actions.

"Tanzen doesn't have a genre, Tanzen isn't decisive or decided or deciduous. Tanzen is just Tanzen." -- Paul J. W. Michaels

Last Summer, an entertaining series of use(ful/less) gesture took up a few kilobytes of storage across the clouds and if Tanzen was shining through the darkness, then perhaps up to several megabytes were drizzled down unto the masses for their hydration. Probably some of the best documentation and reflection of the language ever produced!

This Summer will probably not be a season of @тanzensрæк, or as corrected by Firefox, Konstanze. It will be a season of action, and rightfully so. 

"Just metaphor and simile, AuAl2." -- Eric S. Leyva

Musics have been plotted, but not finalized. Instruments will be modified and completed. Amplifiers will be calibrated and restored. The studios will have their dusts dusted.

Finally, the instruments will play the music that's been set aside as the words were allowed to grow, as stated as far back as 5 Sept 2010: Compartmentalization. Enough of that. The words will be there when needed. It's time for instruments, music and actions. And damn, time to go to sleep.

Technique : feeling : emotion.

"I like Tanzen for its ethereal quality."

"Can compress it, extend it, bop it, twist it, pull it, pass it."

-- Paul J. W. Michaels

Coastal Tanzen

This is relevant in that it's within miles of said site; fits the imagery.

---

At the unsignaled conclusion of a burst SMS-conveyed conversation between co-founding co-core members, it was decided that the possibly-impending late-October Tanzen Event should take place amongst hardy non-indigenous shrubbery and prolific fog(s) overlooking a raw Pacific Ocean from atop the rough coastal hills of the most Southern fringes of Vandenberg Air Force Base.

A view and spiritual influence of an Ocean whose awesome power needs no further description; shadows and silhouettes from and of grand monoliths of proud American rocketry, whether currently launching towering flames to the Heavens or rust-driven  relics of legendary programs; majestic and unrelenting marine weather, bitter with little respite -- all of these amazing things, yet untapped, within miles of the mediocre home of Tanzen.

Of the wonderfully unamazing history that has been Tanzen events that (never) took place, all were hugely ambitious and naively unrealistic. This event however, is uniquely executable. There is no need for extended leaves of absence from those who depend on its members, no stockpiles of money are required to fund thirsty engines destined for places of unknown promise; just hope invested into a truck, camper trailer, some access requests and a simple afternoon, evening and morning.

Move equipment instead of baggage. Move people instead of hindrances. Move ideas instead of negativity. Move Tanzen; this will be Tanzen's greatest and most honest move.

No lies required. Just a humble truth and a little bit of patience for what is to be the greatest and most realistic Tanzen dream yet. The grandeur of all that is to be and never was Tanzen is surely what has driven its ideals to lodge so succinctly into Tanzen followers, and now it can be realized. I promise that there will be much more development to this concept as Coastal Tanzen moves closer to the eternal present.

The desert, whether high or low, is still the ultimate destination of what can (not) be Tanzen. Consider this Coastal Tanzen as the freshest idea since its inspiration was drawn more from delusion than reality. This could be reality within just weeks and yield more than we have ever know Tanzen to yield. 

This is Big Sur. "This is relevant in that there are tracking sites up in the mountains, it's in California and I've been there, and I live within miles of Vandenberg AFB." - Byelobog

This is relevant because...it is fucking south Vandenberg. The Naval wrecks at Honda/Pedernales. Lolz! Cuz dey shipwrecks!

Also, excerpts from SMS:

May new members be in the mix? Females? Clay figures? That's easily felonious! We'll keep the bio-hazards off of Fedlands as potentially thousands of watts clash with natural vibrations.

Will there be power? Will Coastal Tanzen crave a Monsoon Generator? Will Yamahamp be found? Will 17-55 watts of Apple shine distinctly thru the mix? One should certainly hope that some sharp "yes" answers will nullify the need to ask others. Sometimes it's not about the size, but the effectiveness.

3-5 Pilcrow

Click to view!

Title: 3-5 Pilcrow

Whether it be posted throughout the world’s greatest cities or spoken through world leaders’ oration; written about by the most influential blogs or published in the greatest periodicals; speculated about through heralded editorials (both native and opposite the-) or debated on over syndicated media, it no small statement to say that Tanzen has a(n in)credible history of great publicity.

That may lead one to ask, how does Tanzen affect people? Time will tell, or rather not. Tanzen’s founders would like to think that people from all incomparable terrains of life have a happy influence of Tanzen throughout their journeys and struggles for an oft-unreachable level of unrealistic perfection – that is Tanzen, the idea. One should live Tanzen. Tanzen is a great inspiration/delusion for all who have let it deep within their being, not to be taken lightly or let to roam wildly.

For its core members, Tanzen is all-encompassing:

“I always think about [Tanzen] in the shower.” – Paul J. W. Michaels, co-founding co-core member.

Paul’s devotion to Tanzen has been clearly chronicled as an overwhelming patchy mesh of love throughout its existence. His love for this ideal has matched its overall existence one-for-one; no more, no less than what Tanzen one would expect from a core member. History will know Paul as being a great point of controlled reason to lift Tanzen from ineptitude and (dis)illusionment.

Co-founding co-core member, Eric S. Leyva lives and breathes Tanzen more than anybody. It overwhelms his senses and reason to the point of dysfunction. As important deadlines linger and pass, Eric is always there. When the day comes that Tanzen’s greatness overwhelms its humanity, the world can thank Eric.

So follow Tanzen’s progress of non-progressing resurgence and assured atrophy. Its journey will always bewilder and amaze. Tanzen is indefinite. Where in the vast possibilities of existence Tanzen will go, no one may ever know.

“There is no code in the desert; just possibilities.” - Byelobog

And so once again...

...Tanzen will be taken off of the simmering back-burner, re-covered and put into the refrigerator. There was nearly a REAL reunion of Eric, Paul and maybe even Pêrj that was to have yielded the most significant results since the core of Tanzen last gathered in Rip's garage, but sadly, it was averted days prior.

No need to fret, as Tanzen's shelf-life has been amazingly categorized as "simply indefinite". Over the next few weeks it will congeal into a cool sludge, making its flavors richer and its sensation more fulfilling.  Tanzen will be back sometime in September, as predicted by an 11th-hour compromise between scientists and incumbent politicians.

Consider the two pieces of (multi)media below as food to sustain you until then. Draw them deep within your bosom and let them writhe around until they subdue your sins. They are both relevant and interconnected. Creamy beaver, hotter than a fever.

  

A few weeks off, now on!

Tanzen has been left in the studio for the past few weeks while real-world taskings of greater priority demanded immediate execution. But that's that's over, until next time. 

I personally welcome the idea of Tanzen back into the once every-few-days rotation. An hour and a half tonight has left compiled a working draft: a culmination(!), of years of musical development and growth, a hodgepodge of long-since archived lyrics and a few sporadic ideas thrown all over an oft-neglected fantasy has finally come to fruition!

More directly, a founding member has spooned together some lyrics into an old project. Fifteen more to go and we'll have a rad triple-length LP. It's a great call of what could never be, but could (may)be:

   02 Fap v0xm1x by EricSLeyva

The Page

Tanzen is afresh yet again! 

For weeks, a division of Tanzen studios has been open and available at a moment's notice: heavy bass, clashing guitar and a beat-steady microphone all through too much warm Germanium fuzz can impart their emotive signals to the world's masses! Tanzen is afresh yet again through these devices, new and old.

Lately, Eric S. Leyva, aka Taco from the golden times, has been warming up fingers and throats with sultry grooves with the ultimate goal of reuniting the unmatchable Tanzen forces.

These new songs/recordings have been floating up, or across networks rather,  to SoundCloud. Upon noticing a convenient Soundcloud App on Facebook, it was decided to create a Facebook page to promote such material. It's most-definitely another short-lived but well-intended promotion of the ever-stagnant ideals of the group, but that's totally fine; keepin' in tradition.

So stay tuned, clicked or whatever the new jargon is in the days of social media for awesome new developments.

   Xicola by EricSLeyva

No Idea

“There's nothing in this world than payback from a jealous girl. The laws of man, they don't apply when blood gets in a woman's eye.” - The Black Keys

I don't know what I've done with the past four months! Especially the past few weeks, I've been unmotivated to perpetuate my projects, study for rank or even keep myself busy; awful. It's not just my creativity, but my life all around - just a lack of motivation to do anything. It shows around the house, but not as much at work. My wife is sick of my laziness. I am, too.

I made a few songs 'round the turn of the year, compiled a few years' worth of blog posts and journal scribbles into a much more full Fluorescence blog and even recorded a minute (¡¡¡I KNOW RIGHT!!??!) of vocals to a track. 

For the sake of this blog I'll call it depression, but more on the "in a funk" side than of hopelessness and despair. Never been there before, thank the Lordy! Perhaps a mild state that clouds my ambition and callous energies that come and go. As of now, they're OTL.

Where did my motivation go? I'll make it thru short-sighted ideas, but nothing of consequence on which I can build atop of for later. Yikes. Fix that sentence. Thanks.

Is it the weather? Probably not. The sun usually makes the world a better place.

Changing my work schedule? Perhaps being at home for more days at a time and having half of my days being devoted to spending time with my family, as much as I love them, keeps my selfish ambitions subdued and thus I'm less motivated overall.  Meh. Perhaps a bit, but not the main cause.

Sleep probably has a lot to do with it. I regularly go to bed late and don't sleep in to make up for that. Work days are even worse as I'll still be up late. In fact, I'll bet that not having enough rest affects me more than anything else right now. That. I'll blame that for now, take it on first and get some rest and check back in. No, actually I probably won't check back in. When was the last time that I wrote here? Not the point.

Beyond that, I should just try to push something out and hope that I can get a snowball going. No no no, a terrible metaphor as Winters thaws thru the Spring towards the Summer.  I'll start the melting and help the river to surge into a torrent of awesome!

So, I'll wrap this one up. Not a great entry that ties together many ideas in a ridiculously-worded grammatical noodlepile, but hey, I can say that I did something besides clicking between Facebook, Talkbass and Google News.

Aside:  I was reading about Robert Fripp's idea of what King Crimson is and I found it to be very similar to that of my earlier rantings and entries about what Tanzen is/was/could be: it's somewhat an idea, maybe an attitude, but most definitely a state of mind.

Compartmentalization of the Soul, or maybe the door.

Soul or the Door, as dubbed anew from the old XPS will not benefit further from continued instrumental development until vocals and lyrics are integrated into its splendor. I've been saying this for a long time now - since 2005, very few words have been arranged to live within the music.

Until now. Oh wait, may as well plug a link before you lose your interest, if you've made it this far:
Fluorescence

The task was always too grand! I'd created such a volume of music that the challenge of prosing it grew beyond the scope of what I could dare muster. The whole was much larger than the sum of its parts, thus, I've begun compartmentalizing it. Each track is being divided down to its elements, "physically" separated to manageable pieces.

That being said, energy has been dedicated to the final goal, with a developing product! Imagine that. The record plays from mood-fitting queues and the words flow out from mind thru pen to page. Forgive the direction that they may not seem to take as most of the prose start with no intent, but maybe a fitting phrase or a few words, letting a form of free association chisel out words onto paper with the impression of a ballpoint pen. With diligence and practice they're flowing stronger and more concisely.

It's been pretty natural as I don't force it out. Themes are developing. Confidence is up as is productivity. That is how it is right now. Hah -  I read back on some of last year's post from around this time. Good stuff.

Sort out the...

Hey, this rad idea occurred me a while ago -- hell, a long time ago about just getting things done, and while organizing some newly-acquired tunes I put on the album Xenophanes by Omar of The Mars Volta and cross-referenced his discography and damn, that guy's put out a lot of music. It just so happened that I was organizing a folder that contained basically every album that the guy's ever touched since 1991...

I've played albums here and there from his solo set and frankly, some are pretty damned obnoxious but he's got a lot of good works, too. I know, Kasey, a lot of it also happens to be garbage or some long, drawn-out ramble on how pretentious his guitar playing is ... but what I get from the greater scheme is the idea, as noted above, that if you do something, then you will have done something -- you can always sort out the shit later.

That's pretty much all that I had to say. I bought a Five-Star, college-ruled, spiral-bound notebook from Wal-Mart and when in combination with a fine ball-point pen and a standard format for writing, I've already jotted three entries. Size, complexity and quality should improve as I get into the habit. Some may even make it onto here, as such I'll guarantee that my Toastmasters speeches shall be posted.

...

Lowered Action

By proxy of it being in my bedroom, my 5-string bass has received exclusive attention for the past month or two, an it's shown. My bassmanship has opened up tremendously and my style has expanded.

I've long had help the assertion that great music has a strong core rhythm section, and the guitars, melodies and harmonies are built around that. So my writing style has been beat and bass first, then guitars, synths and hopefully someday lyrics, would follow. I don't think it's much to argue, and may even be the foundation that a lot of people use. But to expand on that theory, just last week around the time I lowered the action on my bass [it plays so easily] I realized that of all that music I hold close, a great majority has strong basslines to carry the music along.

So with inspiration from my two favorite bass canon, Rage Against the Machine and The Mars Volta, I'm going through all my music, bass in hands, putting priority on writing strong bass tracks to support the entire piece. I'm so far please with the results and am looking forward to reworking the funk.

In real world agendas, I may try out to be bassist for a peer's musical project. When I saw them playing live, their percussionist was hand tapping on some sort of traditional natural skinned drum 'bout three feet tall. Can't for the life of me remember what it's called. If I go to play with them though, I'll make sure to get in sync with that drum for a great performance. After the New Year starts, when I head back to work...

Piss

So word around the shop is that I won't be able to work with KJG in coming weeks. Pissant. So much for that.

Directionless, un-inspired and frustrated, I'll just continue to tinker around with some tracks, have a broken guitar, and blow up some fools as I level-up in Call of Duty: Modern Warfare II.

Oh, and that picture of the vox effects processor that I placed in the last post? That thing is fucking broken: the power jack won't accept a plug, as the pin in the middle is pretty jacked up. I have to go to a place like Radioshack to get a replacement jack and solder it onto the green plastic card for the 9V 500mA power adapter. Great. The distortion and overall quality of my guitar effects processor sucks; I don't have a proper guitar amp (although it's an awesome bass amp. Oh yeah, the horn on that is broke too!); my guitar's electronics aren't entirely functional so I'll have to swap those out with the parts for the guitar that I built but I never finished and not to mention I want a drum set, probably electric so's that I can actually play it when my wife is home.

This is my directionless complain-blog. You're welcome.

KJG

So you may have noticed, although pretty certain otherwise as this blog has only had one view since the day of the last post [thanks, Luke], that Tanzen: Revival and the Bakkheia Republic are without a doubt, defunct.

It was expected, and we had a good run! Their namesakes shall remain, as a venue to post and allow access to articles of various subjects.

In current news:

The first song of an unnamed musical project between me and a co-worker is nearly done - with lyrics! The ultimate goal is to compose and lyricize several pieces and perform them at local goth venues. Yes, I said goth venues. Synthesizers, heavy-beat drums, driving guitars and lyrics about sadism juxtaposed with masochism. Seriously. The first track is heavy.

I leave the lyrics and macro-direction to my counterpart, Kevin Glynn; I think we chose stage names, but I can't remember what they are; while I compose the music; production credit shared, and writing credit split between functions.

More to come, and I'll definitely be posting the new track upon completion.

Monthly Rhythm

Tanzen: Revival and its sister, the Bakkheia Republic have fallen idle lately. The reasons aren't new, of course, as any project or cause is subject to the whims of its peoples' focus and dedication. We've all fallen out of these as we expend our energies into other matters.

Background: 

My album, tentatively titled XPS as it pertains to being composed mostly on my Dell XPS, has developed greatly in the past week or two since I opened myself up to devoting time to its incubation. The oldest track is dated to summer of 2005, the last conceived in one five-hour sitting the - early November 2006; that track, "IPF" is essentially the same since that weekend. Work progressed consistently on the album until mid-2007 until it lost steam between maintaining a full-time job and nurturing my new family in a new apartment. Work ceased on XPS for two years, in which time I created the yet-to-be-finalized instrumental electronic album, Bend Over, Khomeini in March 2008 after being laid-off.

Over a year had passed since Bend Over, Khomeini, as it was a time of immense life changes. After settling in Colorado for what looks to be three to five years, I reopened the greater dream of XPS. I took the old tracks of XPS, the experience and creative growth from venturing out on the currently unfinished masterpiece of Bend Over, Khomeini along with a new vein of inspiration behind my guitar playing and musicianship and began the arduous but inspiring task of destroying and recreating XPS into something amazing.

That drive had a decent run: several weeks as Spring '09 turned to Summer '09 took a burnt and dried project into something fresh and green. The summer offered plenty, between work, family and enjoying the scenery. Composing XPS was parked as I focused on Tanzen: Revival and the Bakkheia Republic.

And then I went onto nights. All the creativity that had been somewhat materializing over the past few months was ceased as I went through the motions. I fell out with my family, my friends and my creativity.

My rhythm had been cut in the middle as I balanced a new schedule of work, sleep, family and leisure. But as the month of September bore on, I suffered with those around me, regather myself and eventually reopened XPS to a new fire, and its development is the strongest that it's ever been. No track has been left unchanged: not one is left as a slow and non-progressing behemoth that was a grinding sludge, too large to tackle by lyrics or even offer a hope of completion. The tracks have been slaughtered and reborn - it's good shit.

I'm very happy with the work that I've accomplished just in the past week. The level of energy is inspiring and I'll be proud to finish XPS over the coming months or years, not to mention the fact that I don't lyrics for any of the tracks. Shit. Well, here's a track:

Try'n check it in HQ.

Semi-automatic Corvette

Started at 0400L, 10 Sept 2009:

The equinox will come soon and for one day, the balance between day and night will hold before the night time will overshadow the day time. This month of working nights will close with each work day beginning with the sun not yet above the gentle Eastern horizon and ending with it below the Rockies to the West, with perhaps a jagged silhouette of what was another beautiful, albeit colder day.

My aspirations are still great, although haven’t been able to break through the filter from subconscious freedom to conscious action and product. Some sort of paralyzing gel takes every great idea that I’ve developed or woken up with and leaves me with a blank mind when I grace the keys or manipulate the pen.

During sleep today, between 1000 and 1445, I dreamt of driving a semi-automatic Corvette when I became encapsulated in a paralyzing sub-dream – I was stuck in a second dream, within the sleep that I was already enjoying! It was terrible. I had gone from commanding a powerful and sleek machine with controls beyond today, trimmed with deep resonance of LEDs, to more of an unconscious paralysis within another dream. All I saw was an asymmetrical grey that strut sharply to the right. My free thought and control had ceased and for one short moment, I was consciously focused on breaking out of that paralyzed state. It took effort. I couldn’t wake. I tried to open my eyes but the middle-toned grey had a bind on my lids.

Thrashing about, I remained stationary. Beyond a few moments of panic I finally awoke in the guest bedroom and looked around before I let myself fall back into a thoughtfully rhythmic motion of dreaming. I don’t even remember what happened next. I wasn’t in a generously overgrown green complex of trails and vegetation of Paul’s Mediterranean California estate, discovering a multi-leveled series of balconies, leisure gardens and hard wood construction.

I suggested it to Publius through a few texts – had no interpretation of what it could mean. Tonight’s shift has taken me from euphoric productivity to immediately contrasting and frustrating boredom! The caffeine clashes endlessly with indecisiveness of ambient fans. I’m forcing this.

All of the feeling is inside of me, as if I were commanding a powerful vehicle to draw pure spiritual freedom from the hearts of everyone I love, everyone that I know and appreciate to a venue where we’d sing like angels or play like the muses, the seemingly irrelevant conglomeration of words and notes of which nothing will ever match in greatness or purity. Like the flat grey from that dream paralysis, some evil filter of complacency screens anything that I’d like to say or play from leaving my heart. I don’t even know if I’m making sense anymore.

I haven’t produced anything recently, whether it is words, lyrics or music, because I haven’t ensured creative release a place in my day or routine for some time. The music is there – just gotta break out of those happy habits and let the pain flow! Seriously though, it’s been pretty good at home lately, so I haven’t been called to go into the abyss of creativity. Aren’t the greatest masterpieces made through pain, dissonant spirituality and, well, drugs? I ought drink more.

I have recently come to understand suburbia as it should be. I don’t think most suburbanites put themselves into a place of thought that I came upon the other day. It was on more than one occasion this past weekend: The warm late-summer, mid-afternoon sun was angling in through where the garage door would be if it weren’t raised, as Caiden was making his rounds between his sidewalk extremes that he’s allowed to venture out to on his bike or scooter as I kept an eye on him from inside, where I was organizing my hardware for the studio between different Rubbermaid totes. Love-bitter rock was projecting through my Bose speakers as I realized, this garage was mine; the house was mine. It’s not flashy or excessive, but that didn’t matter, as my son was enjoying his time outside as I enjoyed my daily sunlight and warmth. Anything could happen in that garage. Forgive me, as I had a much more genuine description of this to Publius, who I called on the phone to profess this epiphany. My epiphany was also in part that it’s so absolutely relaxing, empowering and emancipating g to unplug from broadcasted culture, politics and STRESS by simply walking from the front room, through the laundry room and out into the freedom cave. Fuck freedom fries – garages are freedom caves, and mine is only growing. I’ll never have a house that doesn’t have a garage or shop, ever again.

Tanzen Studio: Denver is stood up in my garage right now. I’m rehearsing a few songs that I want to reinterpret as a solo project under the name of Tanzen. It’s also billed as a beat factory, where one day a few talented locals may make an appearance and stamp future history. Congruent to this blog, it’s the workshop from which the greatest project of a Tanzen: Revival will be schemed and plotted.

Perhaps the sun will be out to greet me in a few hours as I ascend from this cave. A few hours of sleep, peaceful withdrawal of caffeine and ambient fans should bring me back into a more manageable realm, and I may even find a few hours to plot some notes to ones and zeroes.

Thanks to Dave and his band for being with me through most of this, and I’ll leave it off to Led Zeppelin, who are in their time of dying in Windows Media Player…

*insert decisive quote*

Ended at 0446L, 10 Sept 2009.

Dance

To me from Publius, a few weeks ago:

To me from Luke:

You can say anything and completely mean it - while carrying all the weight of the initial statement, iif you do one thing to the statement.

Either A.) make it funny. B.) immediately laugh after saying it. This makes it almost completely impossible to argue with it. So, whatever you need to say to somebody - do it that way and the charisma will carry you over that hurdle your afraid of jumping.

If you say, "I'm 20 years old?" then people won't believe you.
If you say, "I'm 80 years old, hahahaha," then they will.

Everything is a dance. Truth, lies, facts, logic, statistics, evidence; nothing matters unless you incorporate it into a dance. What actually rolls out of your mouth is almost completely useless because humans do not make decisions based on logic. They make it based on emotion and then JUSTIFY it with logic. That's why confidence will carry people over just about anything. That's why funny people can get just about anything.


You're naturally funny and charismatic. Play that riff.


Scott always spoke with conviction and people ate out of his hands. But from what I know now, as I approach his age, I can see through his eyes - and yes, the world is a fucking wasteland. He got caught chasing rabbits when there was nothing left to interest him. Don't make that mistake. you must dance.


- Publius, 10 August 2009.

Black or Blue Ballpoint

Deep within day-to-day rhetoric there's an intrinsic value in our minds that ought be fully manifested to principally intrinsic creed. What does the previous sentence even mean?

0545hrs local hasn't always been the friendliest wake-up call four days a week, especially now since the sun isn't even over the horizon to smile and blind me awake anymore. However, I do enjoy seeing the sun lightly touch the tops of the dry grass in that wide empty field behind my house on the other side of the red granite-toned brick wall then carrying all the way across the city toward the Rocky Mountains that mask the Western horizon as I head to work; it'll be dark in coming weeks, even after I trek up the hill toward and into the fluorescent-lit relics from the Cold War - fuck it, I'm going on nights next week anyways. I see the sun more while working nights. Where most people would take smoke breaks, I regularly head outside to "photosynthesize" in the warming sunlight for a few minutes at a time.

I wonder when our first snow, or blizzard, will hit.

Those waking moments are usually the blind first in an odd routine, during which those waking thoughts of dream clips quickly, quickly fade. With a bit of discipline I'll fall into the practice of inscribing my waking thoughts to a morning journal, to refine my lucid dreaming and leave time for absorption of the symbolism and meaning that the dream-state provides. I've got the notebook and a few black or blue ballpoint pens in mind.

I did all of that a few years ago, but of course fell out of practice, despite the incredible dreams that I was experiencing, writing down and remembering for later use. A message from a friend with the words of our recent thoughts and speculations, posted below, brought me back to considering all of this. With some discipline, the practice will become a part of that routine - more to come...

We were under Mars and shootin' the shit - just me and "The Fool" as the Tarot has come to call him. I had spent the evening with him in some old and forgotten hipster bar. I had things to discuss with him. He pointed out Mars and said: you've got to inform Eric of something.

I knew what he was talking about.

Eric. The world is an ugly place strewn with the bodies of women trying to clutch onto the brightest rocketing light they see. This is what pulled me into this realization and the field is strewn with a lot more than that. It's strewn with mediocrity and aggravating manifestations of pretentiousness and suffering. The world is a trench - not unlike how T.S. Eliot describes it. A wasteland. But last night I learned from Mars a lesson he usually reserves for his students in boot-camp. And you know what?

I've got your back, Eric. None of these fucking gooks will be able to sink their knife into it. We'll survive this war and be rewarded with our iron crosses. We'll taste milk again in the DMZ and live to fight in a grander battle than this.

Let's stay alive and win this battle, even as the bullets and the bombs threaten to blot out the colors of our righteous flag. 

- Perj, 8/27/09

Practice like you fuck; fuck like she loves you.

Spun

Tonight, through the PlayStation I spun up the old records, or rather decoded a series of figurative ones and zeros like mosquitoes that leave you just skin and bone. Songs for the Deaf. Just like the other afternoon in the garage, I felt it. Something pulled me back to that old era that was Tanzen.

Wednesday was the first time that I'd plugged in with nobody to hold me back or tell me that I'll disturb the neighbors; the Audi next door wasn't in the driveway, a good omen. Fuck the neighbors. Every natural chord that I'd strum since leaving California, 01 May 2009, has been worth playing, but a muffled chorus wrought by the limits of its unaccompanied self. Over a year's worth of squelched soul was replayed through that amplifier, in its full glory and encompassing volume of vibration. The further I got, the less I knew. Deep in my heart, some force of discomfort has been tugging at me since leaving, that of a dream never fulfilled. Wednesday, that dull rumble cut with a jagged edge was the first stirring of Tanzen incarnate.

Come back another day, and do no wrong.

Freedom of, from, to

A major part of these Tanzen desert ideals is the fear of getting through my life having found that I have wasted dreams that I never lived. It's about fulfilling dreams, even ridiculous ones that leave you full of incredible memories and a stamp of truth.

The summer of 2005 was a Tanzen summer; driving along the warm coastal highways with the A/C off, windows down for the summer breezes to carry my stereo's tunes into obscurity. Tanzen is taking the basics of whole-living and creating something powerful.

Tanzen is $20 towards gas, food and a bottle of Gatorade in a hot afternoon cruise to beach through the oak-covered golden hills with an awesome girl rather than $100 towards American Eagle on State Street.

Tanzen is taking the mid-morning to drive along Highway 1 and crest the grade at Gaviota just as the sun bursts through to the peak on the other side of the wide canyon.

Tanzen at its lowest was flossin' the V-Dub along the Pacific Coast Highway once after a night of heavy drinking while loved ones were suffering alone 100 miles away; it's supposed bring those loved ones alone to be free of guilt and restriction.

Tanzen is not about living within reason or moderation, or even irrationality or excess. What is more irrational, teaching my son that you can live within yourself and friends or being strapped down to money and consumption? My aspirations aren't so absurd that they need to be shot down as I project them six months into the future. What's a weekend? What's a day? Let the rabbits wear glasses.

Right now, Tanzen is a bittersweet aspiration towards these dreams that will leave me disappointed well along the sad road if I don't change the hearts of those I love to realize the Tanzen mentality once again; freedom of choice, from guilt and restriction, and to absorb Earth's simplicity.

Whatever you're doing at the time, if you're doing art or something creative, you're creating a masterpiece. Every single thing you do: if you put a line on a piece of paper or sing a note; if you have complete and utter confidence, conviction and love for what you're doing at that second and you don't lose than mentality, it will be genius. If you you can't sing, but you sing from that place then you will be remembered for singing from your heart. So if we go into the desert with the mentality that we just do this, not to impress anybody, just do it to do it, it will come out complete fucking genius. It is difficult to combat the programming that you fucked up, have to do it certain way or perfectly or follow what's been done, but if you simply do it from your soul, it's a perfect masterpiece.
- Perj, 8/17/09

Tanzen Sie Haus

There is no code in the desert; just possibilities.
- Byelobog

A 2.5 acre plot, featuring a wash, nearby airfield and access to electricity. Fuck water. Fuck natural gas. If it finds a place in the inventory then it will find itself with a custom made concrete slab, generously gifted with electricity receptacles. A few of the motivated Tanzen members could easily take a weekend for ground preparations, coordination and pouring of both concrete and soul.

A short

Several years ago there was a band, Tanzen, that was initially just a few playing some obnoxious-ass rock songs. Tanzen being a verb form of Dance, in German. The members acquired monikers: Perj, Taco, Byelobog, Rip and Der Kaiser. For a little longer than a Spring, the band rehearsed and its members nearly combined to play a gig at a punk show.

Tanzen as a band dissolved but out of its dust emerged fabulous delusions of grandeur: aspirations of psychedelic tracks through strobe lights, commitments to return to greatness that have never once come to fruition.

In 2007, the group was less than an hour from being an unrehearsed opening act at a local venue; women killed it.

Since 2007, its core has kept Tanzen alive with a small flame of uniting its members with the twice-lived Flugzeug to play soul music and propogate its deep waves across the rocky deserts of California; full greatness.
This blog is a testament of the kindling of that flame.

Budget

Regarding Tanzen's upcoming budget proposals:

Funds are currently being debated in the House, and should be appropriated pending a series of nation-wide tax returns. Hearings will be held with interested organizations for research, development and acquisition contracts. Please stand-by for further details. A preliminary deadline has been set for 15 September 2oo9 with provisions for revision and fiscal adjustments.

I plan on buying shit, just planning on doing most of that with my 2009 tax return as well as smaller logistical purchases until then.

Mobile Post

Today Caiden shunned Lindsey, put shame on her, sat her in timeout, let her reflect on it, told her what she did, made her say sorry then reconciled with a hug.

Authority

Every other Tanzen revival was doomed to lack of resources, funding and commitment. We all know this. Checking the old page, geocities.com/tanzenband, will elucidate to the outsiders that they've all failed due to the same mediocre spirit.

This time will be different: I've already begun a detailed equipment listing, which will involve controlled inventories and ownership records; stage layouts based on available resources; offered fiscal resources and am already collaborating with Byelobog regarding locations.

The faces will be fresh, save for me and Byelobog who have been the core of any Tanzen formation. Count on collaboration with members of Flugzeug, as well. Come to think of it, it's really more of a Flugzeug revival than a Tanzen revival as all of the original FZ members have been tentatively billed to the roster.

It's always been in the Tanzen spirit to dream of ego and grandness, rebirth and epic growth, and it's this spirit that will carry Tanzen on its fiery wings across the golden skies.

There once was a dream that was Tanzen. That dream could still be realized.
- Paul (am I still Byelobog, or what?), 1/14/07

Tanzen: Revival

Out of the ashes I've dragged this putrid and cursed name, swearing that through the perseverance of its original clan, and its unworldly torture will one day lead to fruition of its bright-eyed innocence as a grandiose and epic era somewhere in the arid and windblown deserts of California.

Many have doomed themselves to failure and mockery for even proposing its revival, but I've planted the resolve in the hearts of its fallen few; this time we will not fail.

Tanzen is indefinite. It's not quite dead, but is definitely not thriving.
- Taco, 12/16/04

Goodnight, fair Tanzen. You were a worthy vessel that not much happened in.
- Paul (Byelobog), 4/4/07

RTD Bus

From a stoplight a couple of weeks ago in downtown Aurora I noticed down a cross-street at a bus stop a man with a backpack wearing [my memory seems to be controlling what I though he was wearing, it may have been a flannel overshirt or neutral blazer] -- from thirty yards with no objections from the spouse -- looked eerily identical to my late brother. All I could do was stare, obviously with a knowing belief/disbelief of a spectre waiting patiently for an RTD bus. My mind was set on that for a few moments, as yours would, or may have been, if you've ever been in this situation.

Over the next few days my mind battled my soul while I schemed and fabricated situations; could that have been Scott, who as an artist with an easel, brush and colors, brushed himself on a damned stage portraying the terrible events of Halloween, 2006, but escaped through a trap-door underneath the smokey hardwood as the curtains dropped, then tore the canvas off of his easel and framed it on the wall for us to see, while with pastel colors, smudged a re-envisioned reality somewhere in Colorado?

As a simpler interpretation, what if, all of the hype and tension that led up to that Halloween was just a setting up for a grand exit to a - I'm having a hard time find a way to even WORD this - but have you heard of those tortured/genius minds whose perspectives draw them far beyond what anybody else would fathom, such as faking death to escape to a detached but vivid introverted life? And through random voyeurism -- I witnessed him waiting for an RTD bus.

I guess that the obvious silver bullet would be the fact that my Father, and perhaps Donna, viewed the product of the day. Omit that fact. Replace it with a conspiracy idea that they were willingly and perhaps reluctantly a part of that painting, acting on a stage to fool the world.

Stage, movies, music -- Shakespeare is real while the metered lyrics are vocalized. Even the battle between Bella and Edward ... yes, I'm actually citing THAT book/movie to say that art can create a reality, even if it's fictitous.

Some people believe legends about Jim Morrison, and that's an example of what I was trying to say.

Anyways, I think I've squeezed the sponge and this note is done. KMFDM's Blitz is now in my brain.