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