Thursday, April 22, 2010



10 comments:

Brushback said...

Hmmmm....

Anonymous said...

Radio Silence… What radio silence??

Radio Silence as in history of American hardcore??

Radio Silence the Springsteen Costello Way on Utube??

Radio Silience as jazzman Cowley??

Radio Silence as in The Betrayal of New York's Bravest???

Radio Silence as the Massachusetts band??

Radio Silence as Thomas Dolby did??

Radio silence as the Kyrgyzstan gov imposed on Radio Azattyk as the 5 year mark of the tulip revolution came close??

Radio silence as a defence against interception??

Radio silence since we out here seem few, silent, indifferent or plain absent??

I'll be waitng for BATCO………….

Meanwhile……..

As George Clinton says:

Radio Friendly DJs spin me 4 the Funk

Still Anonymous

ib said...

Still Anonymous,

the list is wholly entertaining.

I am the sort of individual who would hastily assemble a tawdry graphic when told the house was burning down.

While the flames lick at my trouser cuffs.

I am far too addicted to the labour of incessant posting; my hair is on end my eyes are fried from too close proximity to the unblinking moniter.

A temporary opt out clause, the radio silence I claim is merely an attempt to police myself. A reminder to me only to keep the f@ck away from the keyboard and allocate some time to obligations I've already charred to a cinder on the proverbial 'back-burner'.

It ain't easy.

This urge to post myself senseless nags and cajoles.

And the dishes pile up the sink.

Also. I have the faint suspicion I am a little burned out. Some of the shit I am writing is beginning look a bit tired and pedestrian.

Brushback:

"Hmmmm...", indeed.

Brushback said...

Yeah, I've found myself slowing down the pace of my own posting over the past half-year or so (ever since my computer blowing up forced me to take a month off), and it definitely has advantages.

People don't really give a shit if you post 20 times a month or 12 times a month, really - they're not going to visit any more often either way.

ib said...

Hey. I didn't know about 'The Blow Up!"

Happened to me a few years back and I lost the contents of my hard drive. A whole bunch of stuff which left me crying in my beer.

On visitors. I have allowed myself to become something of an anorak on traffic analysis (one more personal failing), and I long ago stopped drawing any direct corelation between readers and commentary, although I enjoy the feedback when it comes.

I set my own bar on excessive posting when I first started this shit, and while I've definitely slowed down the pace I'm still hooked.

The way I write is like leaving a window open and the tablelamp switched on.

I often publish impulsively, then repent at my leisure. The picture showing is whatever is rolling in head. I like it like that.

When it's fluid at least.

Then again. There are times when perspective is required.

Nore and more now I'm being targeted by bands and labels with new material in hand. With less and less time to return a fielded ball and keep my own dribbling. Since there was little structure here to begin with - even self-imposed structure - I need to reflect a little on where I'm going with this.

SibLINGSHOT has always been a very mixed bag. Ecclectic and pretty much stream of conciousness at times.

Like I said, I need to think about where I'm going with this. And I definitely need to shower and shit.

Anonymous said...

Tried to post a comment last night - obviously got lost - or maybe I was protected from myself?
Well, I repost - slightly remixed but to no avail, really - more stream than consciousness:
Setting the standard way up high has it traps - myself I just can't get around to commit myself - going for the long haul - quitters not accepted - tangled up in the web - every new posting must outdo the last -
I would for sure run traffic analysis 24/7 - with all sorts of angles - and run deep statistics and forming non-verifiable theories - who is out there? - as I stumble in the dark, heading for that lantern burning in a window in the distance - like navigation after the stars - come in he says, I'll give you shelter from the storm.
House burning down, well, some US woman twittered as her child was dying and the medics arrived -
Quarter of a mill?? Must mean something!!
Rediscovered JB the Godfather thanks to these pages lately. A period way back when his lyrics gave direction and hope - for some reason I separated from the Godfather sometime in the 80'ies - just as he separated from himself - time for some serious JB analysis - A man has to go back to his crossroads before he finds himself.
Appreciate your take on new groups - like The Wind-Up birds - so why then the postings on DNA and other recognizable grooves from the time forming this man drill deeper and connect stronger? Well, seem to be way out here now - I'll be around……..
Still Anonymous

Nazz Nomad said...

the man can't take away our music

YoungW21087 said...

I love readding, and thanks for your artical. ........................................

ZenaT_Pinter2284 said...

how do u do?

ib said...

Apologies, Still Anonymous for not responding sooner.

Out there, yes. Eloquent and appreciated. So far as my own war of attrition goes - "the long haul" - I am having difficulties in getting it up.

Or maintaining much enthusiam when I've worked up a sweat.

You're right. The 27/7 traffic analysis is as much fun as sitting in some underground shelter. Scribbling on a clipboard.

Vehicles collide and the screen fills with snow and white noise. A tea lady breaks out the biscuits.

Good to know I rekindled some lapsed passion for James B. The 80s was that kind of decade. Pointless and cruel; painting everything in the same unsympathetic colour.

The whooping it up in purple - the faux camaraderie of the Blues Brothers - did nobody any favours. I fucking despised the tedium myself.

I'm still fried.

The most I can muster is a snapshot or two. Nothing taxing.

The brittle felicitations from some far eastern location seem somehow poignant. I won't delete them this time around.

You can't keep the industrious fuckers off the lawn.