1. You describe Loopool as ‘music of or for the senses’. Could you elaborate?
I don't recall ever saying that, nor do I recall describing loopool. Most of the time it must enter your brain via your ears, but this is not always true. I am very interested in the extra sensitive perception (ESP) as I know it, but subtlety is not a thing for everyone, as our world makes apparent. No one needs to be psychic anymore, its too easy not to be, but music fits into the basic rhythms of the body and I like to try to subvert this.
2. I find your music to be almost scientific more than easy listening. I think people probably wouldn't listen to this music everyday or on repeat as if they would if they were under the influence of some kind of drug or under a state of mind not brought on by normal everyday life. Would you agree?
The state of mind produced by everyday life is much more severe than that brought on by drugs, my music is sometimes a reflection of this hecticness and forced anti-reality of commercialism, drawing us so far from those things in life which hold real worth, such as pursuit of food or companionship. Instead most people think of the things they perceive they want to buy, it would do the world some good to eat some mushrooms instead of buying more useless shit. As far as the bridge between scientific music and easy listening, I sit on the crest of both, not afraid to fall into either category. I have been a happier person since I ceased to think of genre.
3. What sort of tools do you use to create your music/ loopool?
Sharpened rocks, sticks and mind. I also spend a lot of time analyzing popular music.
4. What kinds of feelings are you trying to conjure up in people who listen to Loopool? Is there a formula to your music?
I am always torn between pure pop formula and the complete rejection of it, as for those whose listen, I don't know that I know any of them, nor their reactions. I suppose at the very least I wish people to think and go through continuous changes of mind, which could only lead to a more complete existence, or maybe a more convoluted one, but it seems worth while.
5. What are your influences? I see that you do a lot of collaboration work with others. Who are they and how does your music differ from
theirs?
Sheer fear of idleness forces me into a state of perpetual work. Mindlessness and fear are my enemies, I reject and conquer these things and wish others to do so as well. Collaboration helps to keep me from being unidirectional, in the age of isolation I recommend this to everyone!
6. One of your cds has a list of song titles and their meanings or where you got the idea to create these songs. Are a lot of what you convey in your creation something you believe in and stand up for and incorporate into your daily life or are these just a helpful tool for people so they can link what they are hearing into how to understand it?
I try to live my ideals to the fullest, dreaming is one of the most important things anyone can do. I strive to encourage this. I don't usually feel as though I need to explain myself, but politics is not a solitary affair, I do not care for them, but democracy means getting involved and I prefer this to the fascist state which we approach.
7. I like your idea of ‘thinking inside the box’. Could you explain where you came up with the idea to do this? Was this experiment was
successful or fulfill your purpose for this project?
All experiments are successful for if you have not proved what is right you have proved what is wrong. Most of my ideas come haphazardly in bed or in the shower. The brain does not stop thinking, hopefully it comes up with something good.
8. What other interesting things/sounds/projects can we look forward to with Loopool in the future?
Change is the only thing you should expect from loopool!
9. Some of your music sounds like you are trying to communicate with extra terrestrials or something, maybe different life forms from an entirely different wavelength than what human beings live on. Can you comment on that?
Humans are of space, it is an easy thing to forget but we are literally of the stars. I try to communicate with myself, when this succeeds other people seem to appreciate it as well, after all we have a common thread. Let us embrace the fleeting moments of each others lives, at the very least it makes this world more interesting.
LYRICS
from "Arrogance is Bliss"
My interest in wickedness lies in the fact that it is one of the few extremes left which can cause true disgust in people, the more subtle and plotted the more effective. This art seems for the most part to have been avoided in this century, especially in the north where I wretchedly abide, transparent to most solely for the reason that such a thing is so uncommon to these people. Sometimes to make the worst decision possible is the quickest route out of the patient indecision that causes so many problems in the long run, these people know nothing of this and I believe it to be directly correlated with the possession of money, the people from other regions that I have encountered are more sympathetic to this style, possibly understand the poetics of impulse, the worth of randomness, perhaps not because of where they are from, but because they have managed to escape these places, as I have, and will surely do again, acting without plan except a fanciful notion. This disregard for the future is seen by some, especially those of religious background, as evil. So be it, I prefer interesting pain to the mundane sameness of security, which itself is a filthy sham for those who believe in the after life. Why not attempt the impossible of knowing everything, the fruitless is fun, the beautiful smile lacking from so many lives, endlessly worrying about all the things that are bound to end soon.
Men of Particularities
Men of particularities demand ratios unaltered, bound to their notions of perfection, taste the stick, fondness for archetype leads to a refinement that shapes in ways untraceable to others. Today, thanks to music, a voice was not heard, just as sight is captured and becomes closer to the real thing, a body was seen, later to be refilled and altered, come and work for this, such a thing, if my creation should bend to my will, it is not difficult to imagine in which direction
For Whatever Reason
For whatever reason, torture of the innocent is easy, no good will come of it, yet the shortest of paths, is the most trodden. Total heed to nonchalance, is the sure fire outcome, of wanton necessities, again the route of least resistance. Among these things, justice cannot and will not be served, justice an objective, drowned in subjective reality, never to be served. Should it ever be, that explicit judgment, is placed in the hands of men, when it is truly, a woman’s sport. Their being, that much closer to god, all things starting, with the superior parthenogen, a marvelous race of females. Please stamp out, the unholiness of hands, which come down upon, the bosoms that rise, out of promise. A serious appeal, within a chamber, unopened for great lengths, for good reason, not to glorify the wrongful passage. Then pleated spoils, burnt marks of closeness, thinned with drastic fluids, become acrid syrup, of unnecessary action.
The Pearl
For some reason I don’t mind so much stepping between to happy people, the body’s a temple, where I worship the devil, on my knees with my face in it, you’re a woman of god, you well that I’m not, but I’m familiar with your breed, you’ll be good and you’ll be pious, but you’ll bend to fulfill your needs, there’s something he won’t do, that you know I shall, he’s a man of god as well, and because I’m not I’m not held back by misconceptions of free will, sometimes you need to do wrong so that you can feel guilt, it’s on this feeling your beliefs are built, in the next world, the next world, would you be the oysters pearl
Smear lipstick across face with hand, others run and smear with tears, evoke a restlessness that can be ruined, beaten away, into submission, cruelty flow undirectionally, without point, for the sake of limits crossed, for the sake of taking what one wants, in pain see clearly, in abuse work through this, it is not a role, it is built in, attacking, sick for it’s modern, maybe all need it like this, many have wanted blows with the kiss, the teacher was a fool, but opened a door, if she appeared again, would suffer proper, a life built around this brings it upon you with many facets, through this disc, in the bedroom with hits, on the streets, humiliation
Send More Waves
Looking for something which only comes by force, stop the search and grasp what lies between fingers clenched between air, the medium of our waves, force into existence all which is desired, now is the only time for this, people who speak of later waste their breathe, send more waves into the unaccepting ether, malleable through control which is a thing which is taken not earned, waiting is a form of death whose decay fouls the medium with its stench, those who revel in this death spin structures soon to be unhappiness, blind to the time which presents itself to them, to us, all possible mediators of the spirit whose unfolding is godliness invention, we move forward, most prefer to tread, but if it moves with you then why not harness and ride it to where you desire to go
Where is the future we were promised? The tubes and beeps, no need for streets, we can fly. New wave clothes, synthesized clothes, robot slaves, take your pleasures all day, die young and happy, pills for food, brand new drugs, everyone blessed out.
I have a million friends, I have a million dollars, have slept with a million women, been to a million countries, flown a million miles into space, I’ve been a million people, though a million thoughts, made a million records, created a million new things, seen a million things, of me people ask a million questions, I have a million faces, Written a million books, read a million books, I’ve killed a million men, will kill a million more, I want a million things, and I’ll get a million of them, I’ll live a million years, and die a million deaths a million times, with a million words, I’ll say a million things
Melting on Black Pavement
from "Spells"
AT LEAST ONE THING IN COMMON
an allotted period of time will be given so as to meet emotional quotas of silence and action,a standard of disciplinary works, progress in a direction that will change in time but remain focused in a way that is perfectly clear and has been experienced before, this time in a healthier manner, but outputs remain, a dozen a year plus one of a different nature or two depending on circumstance, this will not interfere with social contacts or learning processes or future works, and these this will blossom into objects which grace hands and bodies of others who in many cases are far from eyes reach, even of different languages, but with at least one thing in common
BE SHAMED
I curse you so called moderns into dust, those who claim experiment outside of science, outside of spirit, the whining frail herds of boredom merchants who believe volume has something to do with it. I am arrogant to do this and do not care because although I waste my time on your subject the co-opting fools who dilute the spirituality surrounding this deserve the harshest of reprimands, back to your nu-metal slag of the earth, all you petty fools who praise the reasons you would have beat me up ten years ago, shame on you, you are as water to wine and will fade into the background you do not understand, there is no need to give names, look into the mirror and be shamed.
FOR YOU
for you I cast money and fire into the air, I will have full possession of your body, struggle only when this is my desire, fane lack of desire when I search chase, let it not be obvious when secretiveness is sexy, your mind may rove free but I will demand at times a psychic leash which will be enforced with mental energies unknown to most, for you I bury books so that fools may not read them, I will even disguise your beauty if you tire of looks, I will break those who shame you and ask nothing in return because I like violence, but of your body, envision it shackled with thorned lace that can only be removed by my touch and others who desire this shall cower.
BECOME GOD
a divorce, from morality, from pattern, a direction, all directions, may those feel small who fear the energies within them, violence is inept when manipulation exist, callous your mind minions of gossip and complaint, may action bring forth thought that is strong, in such a way that worries are only for the material, trite self images are smashed, sniff the lines of powdered mirror that the thousand yous die, you care not for there are more, become god in this way, in all directions does not care, based not on compassion but whim, newness flows, break the steps you have taken, become god, erase pasts, attack futures, divorce the present and tell it what to do, it listens without morality, it has no code unless you still purchase the tired waste of tradition, become god
I WANT MY MOTHER BACK
perhaps in vain and perhaps too personal for this context, but I have a belief in things quantum and that all may occur at least once, death takes many from us, eventually takes all, I am not concerned with this, I am not its victim, it does not even upset me, the way things may have turned out is not important, impossibilities do not concern me, I am selfish and unrealistic and these are some of my strengths, I believe maybe her's too, what ever it is that took her, I want my mother back.
the power of others
listening to everything
shamed of my presence
and fearful of the possibility
that any moment
may be immortalized in some fashion
and the true testament
of your voice too loud
and I, a fleck of numbers
not fitting in
to the private moment
coveting it for my use
with dreams that one day
a look back will bring
memories false comfort
I with my back, you with your passionately blank stare
each alone in our need for enlightenment
Soften us up
an open invite that faults be pointed out
please follow each one of these
with the realism behind them
bring truth to light
or hollow echoes
become a pinball of criticism
we do desire truth
but must take it gently
we've been made soft
through repetition
bright lights have influenced us
melted nerves
we taught them peaceful warfare
look how well its worked against us
you can be anyone you want to be
but at the hours they dictate
it has become your clock
do they offer truth?
do they offer friendship?
can they even criticize?
everyone agrees, then must cower
is there anything more disappointing?
observation of the world
she fakes for a living
knowing men enjoy the falsity
they never want to know her
just quick drinks
flirty smiles
filthy thoughts
I hunch over
unable to escape
television
radio blasting
conversations rehearsed
as much as the prior two
everywhere across the world
the same thing is happening
only a language barrier
can make me comfortable
with my inability to relate
who would you wait for
who would you wait for
the only thing worth
who would you wait for
the most tired eyes
just one drop from
who would you wait for
beautifully devout tired eyes
the only thing
who would you wait for
from "Courtest Run Rampant"
nowadays
what state is this, where so little can become strong, and significance is overlooked, like the faces of strangers, who no longer feel a though this behavior is acceptable, hello my name is, this will be over in five minutes, and if you choose to forget, will never exist in the only reality, allowing participation from one-sidedness, oh they all do, but what makes this special, or seems too, is its ability to close from everything, and let in only the prewritten bits of romance, at least that’s what keeps this a romance, making certain that it fits the idealized, collage of emotions and near certain tragedy, the only thing that can go wrong, is a slip on the actors part, or more so, the notice of the audience.
the preliminary work
the preliminary work, life. a stream of disinspirations, preparing for unimaginable self deceit, preprogrammed inevitability, fear of fleeting, a mandatory preparation for strife anticipation, time-bomb keeping track of seconds, whose lives are nothing, together stripping our moments alive, with such intensity that they go unnoticed, like plant growth, keeping us going, always ignored, selfless creatures, not allowed to discriminate, just take in what’s around them, feeding their surroundings, in inhuman fashion.
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