June 2007 Album Update: Sephirah and Apophenia

June 2007 album update: Sephirah and Apophenia

The process of creation is a summoning, a drawing, from the deepest unknown depths of the psyche, to fill a space where once there was nothing. Sometimes it is an unconscious stream, things just welling up and spilling out, while sometimes it can be a tedious, coldly calculated system. The work becomes a reflection of yourself. You see in it all the ugly things you can't escape in yourself, and at the same time beautiful moments in your life, memories, ideas. You stand at the gaping edge of total vulnerability...all you have to do is step off.

You let everything get in your way. You let every microscopic aspect of your life become a terrible, devouring macrocosm of excuses, distractions. Anything to avoid the face-off between you and everything inside of you. It is in these moments that you grow. When you have to acknowledge and accept the things you don't like about yourself. Then you can move forward.

We have a tendency to get comfortable. We begin clutching to all the meaningless, insignificant little things in our lives. There is no growth without change, and there is no change without discomfort.

I have a tendency to write and record albums worth of songs that ultimately just get deleted.

Altogether, the album is probably about half finished. Some good, some bad. Sometimes those pretty little melodies have to be sacrificed for the greater good. This album, I know what it is supposed to be, but I'm still not sure how to get it there. It is very visceral for me, experiencial. I see this album in colors that reflect the moments and emotions the songs are written about. It is made up of the things that are the hardest to say, the feelings we don't let ourselves feel.

The things that are worth creating are the ones that are the hardest to get out.

What we seek in life is to truly feel alive. This is different for all of us. I'm not sure what life feels like, but I know I never feel it when I'm in the moment. It only comes after time and memory have fermented the moment into something truly beautiful. I'm always looking back at how amazing it used to be, how I felt so alive. And yet everything - the past, the present - it all feels so intangible. Even this time here before me now...it's like I'm watching a home movie on an old projector. I can reach out and touch it, but it feels cold, flat.

We have a transgressional nature, because we become so quickly desensitized. The world is full of words, names, definitions. We have to define everything because we fear what we don't understand. But then the world becomes drab, wonderless. Definitions have broken every beautiful feeling, image, sound, into a word. Collapsed. We can't feel alive. So we push the boundaries again. Fear and pain reminds us we are still alive, and the unknown tantalizes. We are enlightened. Until we create new words and definitions, starting the cycle over again. Otherwise we would become numb. We need pain to truly experience life.

But clarity, truly lucid experiences of living are so fleeting, so hard to hang on to. A complete mental orgasm, and gone just as quickly, pulling away the moment you feel it. It leaves you empty, abandoned, aching for more. But it just doesn't come.

We seek something divine. Something that can touch our souls and remind us we can still feel. If we can't find it, we try to create it. Maybe we can create something that will last forever this time, that won't leave us. And yet we're already letting go.

I've been plagued with so many ideas lately that I can't focus enough to conjure any one of them into this world. I have an infinite number of distractions set before me to pick from, a buffet of excuses. The things I am trying to create, they have no definition, no perfect set of words to describe them, no names. Just viscera. Aggressive, sensual, primal.

Quite balancing on the edge and just step off, just let go. Since the moment we began we've been falling. That's what we want. We need to be naked, vulnerable, falling from the edge of Eden. Falling is freedom. It's our purpose, our sangreal. Let go.

By the end of the month I'll be in Texas, and shortly thereafter en route to Las Vegas. I think a sojourne to the city of Sin will do me in.

This is exactly what I need.

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The new version of falloutfracture.com is finally up. It's just a temporary fix until I have more time to work on it, but it's functional.

When I return, Levi will begin conjuring the first video for the album. His work is beautiful, unsettling. Watch.

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Anxiety Lyrics

I get a lot of questions about the themes and meanings on the Anxiety EP. That is not for me to decide.

What is it to you?

FALL OUT FRACTURE: Anxiety (2005)

PISSING IN THE GENE POOL

cover your eyes, cover your ears, sever your mind, covet the fear

searching for a new way to break the wheel

spasmodic synaptic misfires of blind rage

purge the hole, pick it from the bone
infection is home

cut it out of you, cut it out of you
cut it out of you, we gotta get it out of view

we believe our own lies and we're dropping like flies
evolution is money in our greedy little lives

searching for a new way to break the wheel

SUICIDE IN SPRING

dogs are biting at your feet again yet you don't make a sound
bees are flying in your hair again stinging the most beautiful song
and you're moaning like wine in this moment, the most precious crime

tomorrow was dreaded but inevitable
it's a suicide in the spring time and I'm bleeding for two
you lied and I listened and healed inside you
everything is wrong, everything is fine, where do I draw the line?

for ten cents around your neck you can feed the sick starving stars vomiting up bile on these tender scars

but you're so beautiful...wash your feet again

there used to be a time when everything was so perfect
in this fallen down, broken town nothing is perfect
forever you say, forever and always
but like mist in the morning it burns away in day

rain runs down your lips as we say goodbye
watching the movies replay in your eyes
skin in my teeth knows that vibrance has died
suicide in spring and I feel so alive

aimlessly dazed by a sound on the outisde of eden where their golden tongues still amaze bodies wash up on distant shores made of spasmodic synaptic misfires of rage

BURN LAYER

so tired of these mundane little dances on your tongue
where no one is satisfied and nothing is done
you were never so alive, so sanguine and so heartfelt
a voluptuous mess, a clown in a garter belt
she's splayed, she's going down further
broken spine dripping milk and holy water
stale drugs and nicotein fed straight to the wrist
choking on her pearls and she moves on her fist

you poor fucked up disease
your eyes brought me to my knees
you blame me, but it's all in your head
you drain me, and you leave me for dead

I smell the delicate flavor of lighter fluid on your skin
your burning is just a matter of friction
cutting the lines to make it all make sense
she's spreading her legs to find the innocense
lost and alone and blue and cling to something new
because it's warm and it moves so she paints herself slut red

in the morning you're just a stain in the sheets
of blood and glitter
this bottom-shelf-vodka-lust is gonna do you in

lock her in the closet until she's sober
cover her mouth until it's over

can't shake this feeling of nauseousness

push, breath, victimize your obese mind
you're the victim when it's over, black out roll over

I'm bored, roll over and put your knees to the sky

slut red whore

PAPERCUT SHOTGUN

well it all comes down to this again
everyone you love will leave you in the end
every moment we're spinning
around the barrel of a shotgun face to face
with the slug that can take it all away
because we're numb to love and pain
and reaching the end is the only way we can live

waste flows through me, through you

it all comes down to me, it all comes down to you
there's a fine line between living and fighting just to see the light again

here comes the rain

if one and one and one is three
then there's something to stand on, there has to be
I'm lame
in the field with a shotgun blowing the shame away
and even if you've been so close you no longer hold your breath
there's something to be said for the moments that come to pass

here comes the rain

we're drinking gasoline just to feel something

combustion in my veins, just to feel something

which way?
the road I was on has washed away

waste flows through me, through you

SURVIVING THE END

paint the walls with my conscious entity
turning blue and falling away
picking and peeling away this familiar cavity

a shooting star leaving a trail like an acid trip
as the bones decay into the bloodstream
nerves are like live wires ready to snap
it's too bad, it's so perfect, it's so low

it's just one thing after another after another after another
we're hurting ourselves, we're hurting eachother
everyone is the enemy
no control or feeling
ignore the signs we're seeing
we're hemorraging energy

we've looked to the stars for so long
now they say that something is very wrong
everything we knew is gone
so take my hand and come along and we'll
gather all the weak and the sheep and the liars
for a trial by earthquake, water and fire

it's all burning down

I'm standing tall as they are all below me
I'm standing alone as they have all gone before me
so this is how it ends
this is how it ends

trust your instincts, only insects will survive

I won't walk through the darkness with locusts in my ears - we're surviving the end

Global Warning

The voice is Bush. The beheadings are of American, British, and Turkish civilians just before Bush was re-elected. After the election, the beheadings stopped. Another ploy to horrify the people into rallying behind Bush and his war.

Fear and confusion are the tools of political trade.


DIRECT LINK

Also, new ringtones are now available through a site that's much easier to use than the previous:

Surviving The End: Click here or text 95674 to MYXER (69937)

Firefly (from the album-in-progress): Click here or text 95699 to MYXER (69937)

FALL OUT FRACTURE
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April 2007 Album Update: Symbiosis

The new album is growing much closer to completion. About twenty new songs have been clawing through my head from some unknown region of the subconscious psyche, but not all have yet evolved to the level of self-sufficiency.

But they will continue to consume me until they do.

As far as I can tell, these new creatures, these moments in the fluid abstract of memory and time, have grown into wholly new and undefinable anomalies of the senses. Genomes are splitting, mutating, and transforming inside cells of thought and sound, a perfectly geometric crysalis of instinct and animus.

The parasite invades the unsuspecting host and burrows deep into it's nervous system, latches on. It takes hold. The two develop and depend on an intimate symbiotic tryst, lovers who have fused as one and can no longer exist without the other. It is a relationship of disgust and distrust. In trying to hurt the other they hurt themselves.

Two organisms become one. Identities become indistinguishable. Where does one end and the other begin? Were they ever really seperate? What is one without the other?

Long artistic projects in solitude bring you face to face with these complicated, ugly dealings with a cold and calculated intensity. It deprives you of your external senses, and you get lost meandering down horrificly scarred subdermal passages inside yourself. Further, deeper, darker.

And that's where you find it. The parasite. It sits in an empty, withering room you vaguely recognize. In the dust and glass on the floor you see words scrawled with a finger, maybe yours. They are little reminders, the agonizing truths, the bitter and venemous offspring of your denial. But you can't run. Just outside that room stalk other hideous monstrosities whose time have not yet come.

You must face the parasite, look it in the eye. It has a halo of glowing neurons, a thorny crown of violently sparking synapses. When you ask the questions, you don't speak at all. When it responds, it is in subtle gestures. If you don't focus you might miss it.

If you miss it, you may never make it out alive. The parasite will pull the plug, the walls will fall in, and the creatures beyond will consume you. You will consume yourself and slip beneath the chemical undertow.

The new album seems to be a transgressional journey into a dark and chaotic levidity, an emotional hematoma on the fragile, post-coital glow of love, loss, and the positive and negative euphoric states between and surrounding. A very bad place I never wanted to go.

But then again, I am no longer in control. Only the hivemind can know. The time is now to listen, and to let go....

Someone once said that when two minds come together, it creates a third, new consciousness, a hivemind, capable of things neither could have done on their own. That is one of the many compelling facets of art - when two minds become one in some intricate new creation.

I'm pleased to announce that I will be working with experimental filmmaker Levi Stair on a video for one of the new songs. His vision is uniquely visceral and subverted. It moves on a primal level somewhere inbetween the delicate etchings of instinct on the nervous system, and the turbulent waters of the atmospheric subconscious.

The life of a hivemind is one of tragedy. It quickly swells into existence, is given just enough time to complete the great work, and then just blinks out. But what it leaves behind is beautiful, and somehow makes timeslessness out of trauma.

Art imitates life imitates art.

FALL OUT FRACTURE
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The Decaying Self

The Decaying Self Film



By Levi Stair

Chrystalyn

This is Chrystalyn, the beautiful new member of the Fall Out Cult:







You can find her on myspace right here.

Infection

Acheive higher levels of consciousness, brain damage, and paranoia, all while being infected and brainwashed with patterns of dangerous thought and habits threatening to the modern paradigm, the controlled and shallow cultural infrastructure of fear, confusion, and the pursuit of happiness through consumption and possessions.

Commit the crime of thought and knowledge.

Believe nothing, trust no one. Break the wheel.

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Alex Jones' Dark Secrets: Inside Bohemian Grove - Watch

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