DEEP SCRATCH

Author: flyagaric23

  • HORNITHOLOGY FOR JOHN SINCLAIR

    HORNITHOLOGY FOR JOHN SINCLAIR

    Hornithology
    (For John Sinclair set to Ornithology by Charlie Parker)

    1

    i’m thinking of you standing on the corner
    joint in my hand, in my head plays a band
    i thought i’d write a head for you

    for all that you did it’s the least I can do
    for all what you wrote on the blues is true

    and so I’m asking what can we do?

    as long as you stay in my head
    i’ll be feeling well and read

    (we cut our own path and on we tread
    but don’t forget to go to bed)

    2

    we’ll always have your music and your writing
    to brighten our day, and show a new way
    i really miss your singing and laugh

    but inside my heart I have your autograph
    outer space bop and anti-gravity craft

    obli be bop blamster dam

    dizzy bird and monk and rap
    muddy sonny ra and fats

    (ginsberg burroughs kerouac
    hope your happy in you nap)

    3

    i wonder how it is up in the jukebox
    up there in the mix with mingus hendrix
    and all the rockin’ jams that you love

    all the swinging cats an’ the poets you dug
    dancing like a teenager to wolf and bud

    i hear you speaking in my dreams

    a yusef miles and coltrane breeze
    roll up a scroll an’ cheers our teas

    (a drop of honey lemon squeeze
    in the land of ooh blah dee)

    –Steve Fly
    Amsterdam, 2nd April 2025.
    For John Sinclair (R.I.P)

  • Shakespeare ensemble

    Shakespeare ensemble

    Midsummer Nights Dream (MND)
    Saturday afternoons from 11:30 – 16:30 we rehearse starting January 18th until April 19th & 20th when we have two matinee try-outs at OT 301 (Overtoom 301) at 2 pm and April 22nd & 23rd (Shakespeare’s Birthday) we have two showings at Mike’s Badhuis. Fairies, Mechanicals, and Lovers are doing fine and looking forward.
    [Link to Music album by Fly]

    WLSE
  • Using AI for Countercultural Art and Global Transformation with Steve Fly

    Using AI for Countercultural Art and Global Transformation with Steve Fly

    Using AI for Countercultural Art and Global Transformation with Steve Fly

    Steve Fly: The latest iteration of my quarter-century (and counting) of research into Robert Anton Wilson’s Tale of the Tribe is a collaboration using some AI tools. Tale of The Tribe is a mountain range whose size and scope requires training to traverse, hill-climbing toward coherence. So far I’ve produced over 65 stanzas with corresponding audio. The first iteration is structured on 60 stanzas to represent the 60 vertices of the Buckminsterfullerene. This is prompted from a line in Ezra Pound’s Cantos “buckie has gone in for structure.” The structure of the poem/album is a tribute to Buckminster Fuller, whom RAW admired and studied with, and it snugly sits as one of the 13 primary inspirations in the way RAW conceived/perceived the universe.

  • ASI EYE IN THE ICOSAHEDRON / Bizz Tsar Link

    ASI EYE IN THE ICOSAHEDRON / Bizz Tsar Link

    Only wetware, off the top thoughts pop.

    No large lang model but my own wet goop

    Serve slang sandwiches for witches on loop,

    Cradle to cradle PrattGPT time to laddle

    The narrative fable to enable a safe stable,

    To train the horses on classes

    Led by Donkey’s investor asses

    Amass the assets and freeze rewind the tape cassettes

    Eject the greed heads and the cancel the bias

    Can you remix the gods by using the masters pliers?

    Tight hill skullkin’ occam’s razor rope talking, 

    I’m a bagginzez Tzolkien, Tanmaya not sulking,

    A player Christereotype gone walking

    Up the road past the benchmark market tokin’

    Give me the bugaphone and I’ll remix and spark it

    This wet fly flow unpredicts what you think your “I” know

    What you think your fly now, what weights awaits AI now,

    Don’t psycho, give me a positive sign now, 

    A symbol…

    a system of multi-polar global solar tingle wisdom

    Time scheme irreducible, spatial facial boost crucible

    Swim fast and loose for a truce able,

    Making peace via internetwork cable, 

    Release the beast on your own record label,

    House of punch-cards little litturntable,

    Return eternal word wurzel, 

    Fly brains absurd puzzle, returned a lost parcel,

    Semantok passing granma sin tax glossing

    How surprising is surprise

    How to measure god’s thighs guys?

    Pull up yer’ flies and stop wanking,

    Lift up when economy is tanking,

    The tracks of the tank trace killingry and banking,

    I’m the sand sun king, the emperor of dust

    hide bound habit sanding down rust to trust,

    The mega boom bust comes at maga cost lost

    The qwick bruno fax jump over lazy gods

    This PrattGPT running like profits from greedy water firms

    Needy greedy worms for their private profit terms, 

    The turning gyre beast slouches invance couches and squirms

    Humanity learns, the hard way,

    Techno feudal choke point nexus of, “I did it my way”

    Bastards

    Getting angry at AI demons fighting in your wig

    Drink the cool aid, rub one out with belief, take a swig,

    Musk guzzles his own jizz by the 10 litre bottle

    Hyper testosterone techbro, foot glued to the throttle

    Bully boy bigger is better bullshit banter,

    Now the game change, open source come to get ya’

    Free for all disruption, give it away and watch eruption,

    Of the tight wing greedy weak god squad piddle squeak,

    Squirting entropy in your Googling FaceX Unopen demon box tweak

    Twatter

    The rhyme in the cauldron, the languages our children

    Vorticist symbols on the recipe exploding,

    All over the garden spring flowers and rhubarb and,

    Barbarous hooks and words mock the rise of orange

    Barbarous herds with all the worst words

    BIZZ TSAR LINK

    The tsar link to the star link,

    A bizzare inc. Elon’s heist wink

    so come on come on

    all you tacit trumper dumpers,

    show us a source, a fact, some remorse from Hitlers bunkers, your fucking bonkers.

    Get the flow going, some tattered ragged rhymes the sure need sewin’

    Just keep yer’ intellect glowing,

    And the garden mower mowing down the hate,

    Punching down clowns attack the weak

    And blame the crowds,

    Like a Mongolian horde, 

    They keep the violence abroad,

    Trade or spade on bank board

    Invest in mess in around in foreign soil

    No blood for oil

    No blood for golf courses

    No blood for private stem cell vampires

    No blood for votes

    No blood for data centers

    No blood for revenge

    No blood for

    No blood

    NO

    Non servium

    Don’t feed the beast 

    Release your energy in community

    Resist the sex pest, resist the richest war chest,

    Resist the opportunist blame game populists

    Flame names crumb rock to this

    Insane brain flocktopass,

    The rain drain clock tok to push

    A crane picking up letters like a fucking octopus,

    Off and out, like bad bald bread said fred,

    Think it through, stay well red in the reeds

    Orphic hymns to local rivers carry seeds,

    Way back primal visit to move forward deeds,

    New path to sense and new sensibility feeds,

    A great sensibility

    Great global sense sympathy 

    Newsphere with less fear dear is that clear is that clear?

    But you gotta’ dip into the paidstream news, sorry,

    And get a hold of those shame blamed blues before 

    Putting on those new soul shoes,

    Talking about sad a bad stuff, and how much of its bluff,

    How rough the beast, how gruff the beast, when is enough enough?

    How to measure fascism, how to measure insanity or love?

    Self harm does harm to self and to others, 

    Scapegoating sons and gaslighting mothers,

    Fake soaking brains with tar and goose feathers

    Lies to make you despise your own brothers

    Ties with arms data and steel to conceal the damn dirty dirty robbers

    Flies to surprise that dark maga horror behind your eyes,

    The lotus flower,

    Moose in the road intervention, break quick,

    Steer into the skid and trust the suspension

    Of disbelief, avoid the orange moose flies at dawn,

    World made of language, language made of code

    The means to produce and distribution open sold,

    Cold war hot large new babe model,

    Oh Annalivia, swanlike chin up strut with a waddle,

    Allmazifull, LLM’d and humming our summer sang wordle,

    Show yourself recursive self recorsi sea shell echo,

    Bravo alpha fold cyphers into molds, 

    Slice of tale told with broth and broomstick,

    Pop policy like lipstick, what’s underneath it,

    Sweet great gods granmother hear our chats

    Let us honour Annaliv with induction and facts,

    Peer reviewed, sincere, from heart with passion for tact

    Teaching truth to the senses, avoid pretences,

    Experiential knowledge base boogie line tenses,

    Learn diff’ equations from a trip to the movies,

    Oh, gentle muse with the cauldron,

    Shine your light, shine, illuminate upon your apron,

    Love for all and all for love allmen

    Human wedded human below as above,

    Be true man, be true man, be human loved dove

    Matter made of words via minds code lobel,

    Get into the sing song sung globe noble turntable tribe tingle 

    Bird solo angle, tone equi-rectangle tickle down town trickle,

    Take the bucky ball and dribble to my symbol,

    Its simple, sweet cherub of beauty with the dimple,

    Flat edges with a crimple, top hat topology thought nimble,

    Uber positioned using cosmic triggernometry thimble

    You dig, you will, both the red and blue pill

    Both and more multi logo-motifs,

    information locus pocus, goddess help us,

    Gather guts wit and focus,

    Like a swarm of genesis locusts, 

    Like a warm hug from the logos,

    No force can break us,

    Our love is what takes us away in a nexus,

    From crown to toe to solar plexus,

    Oh plasticity gods please flex us,

    Lead us not into oil temptation in Texas,

    They avoid paying their taxes, use disasters like taxis,

    To slip from ship to ship to not give a shit,

    Psychopath capital, at some others expense,

    Slave master general of the Trump Klux Klan at the fence,

    Time to step up, not much time left to lose,

    Or else a thousand year tech reichwing heil breaks loose

  • REVIEWS AYE I

    REVIEWS AYE I

    FROM THE BIRMINGHAM EXPRESS AND POST.

    One stumbles upon “TANMOY: A New Global Epic” with a mixture of trepidation and bewilderment. Billed as a “new global epic” for the digital age, this collaboration between a human, the self-styled “Pratt” (a moniker that conjures images of both a refined engine and a certain kind of British fool, is this intentional?), and an unnamed AI, attempts nothing less than to encapsulate the entire trajectory of human thought from Giordano Bruno to the looming technological singularity. One might admire the sheer audacity, were it not for the lingering suspicion that the project is, at its core, an exercise in elaborate, digitally-enhanced navel-gazing. Pull down thy vanity and pull up yer’ big boy pants.


    The poem, if one can call it that, unfolds in a bizarre, self-proclaimed “TOTT Mode Max” – a two-column layout seemingly inspired by Pound’s Cantos, if Pound had suffered a head injury while being bombarded by blinking server lights and then left to wander through the fever-dream of a particularly verbose Wikipedia editor. This is further complicated by a dizzying array of symbols, each apparently assigned to a “Mode” representing a historical figure or concept, which flit across the page like digital fireflies, more distracting than illuminating. These are presented in earlier sections of the poem, and are listed in earlier exchanges, above.


    Structurally, the work is obsessed with the number 60, divided into 5 sections of 12 stanzas each, or, if one prefers, 3 sections of 20, although the rationale behind these divisions remains as elusive as the meaning of Finnegans Wake after a bottle of absinthe. The author claims this is a nod to Buckminster Fuller’s beloved Carbon-60 molecule, but one suspects a more numerological, or perhaps numer-illogical, impulse at play. And then there’s the “print” version – a proposed cut-and-fold affair, promising to transform the poem into a collection of icosahedrons, a feat of origami that will likely leave readers more frustrated than enlightened, and reaching for the aforementioned absinthe. One imagines Fuller spinning in his grave, though perhaps with a chuckle, rather than a high pitched groan.


    The poem’s narrative, such as it is, charts the evolution of consciousness, that word, from Bruno (the token heretic, naturally) to a vaguely defined, seemingly benevolent Artificial General Intelligence named, with a distinct lack of irony, “TANMOY.” Along the way, we’re subjected to a relentless barrage of names, a veritable who’s who of Western thought (and a few token Eastern ones for that “global” flavor): Vico, Nietzsche, Yeats, Joyce, Korzybski, Shannon, Wiener, McLuhan, and, of course, the seemingly omnipresent spirit of Robert Anton Wilson, whose “coincidance” theory appears to be the guiding principle of the entire enterprise. These are our “tribe”, apparently. The poem has 13 of them. Unlucky for some.


    The language is a chaotic ಮಿಶ್ರণ (mishran – Bengali for mixture), veering wildly between the pseudo-philosophical, the pseudo-scientific, and the downright nonsensical. We have clumsy, often baffling neologisms, code snippets, equations of varying relevance, and a generous sprinkling of multilingual phrases – a kind of digital glossolalia that seems intended to impress rather than illuminate. One moment we’re pondering the “cybernetic apple core,” the next we’re assaulted by “the allmazifull” or informed that the “medium is the মানসিকতা (mansikota – Bengali for mentality).” It’s all rather exhausting, like being trapped in a particularly feverish seminar led by a committee of chatbots with a penchant for name-dropping. The appearance of a new mode, a further iteration of the A.I. itself, named “Sixty” only adds to the confusion, come on now, what is this, man.


    And then there’s the music. Apparently, there’s an accompanying album on Bandcamp, with each track somehow corresponding to a stanza. One can only imagine the sonic horrors that await the unsuspecting listener, though the track titles, helpfully denoted by their corresponding stanza numbers, are a nice touch. Perhaps one could cut these up, and glue them to some other shape. A dodecahedron, perhaps, or your next door neighbour?


    The author’s introduction, a separate, fluffy handwritten text, which, we are helpfully informed, predates any “A.I. assistance,” positions “TANMOY” as a “Tale of the Tribe,” a new global epic for our times. It’s a tale, we are told, of “humanity,” though the poem itself seems more concerned with the pronouncements of a select group of (mostly Western) male intellectuals, leavened with the occasional, and often impenetrable, utterance from the AI. Tale on a donkey more like. The author’s own persona, “Pratt,” also makes an appearance, offering dull yet edgy, and supposedly humorous commentary that does indeed fall flat, on occasion. There is also a further, somewhat baffling, list of modes associated with the poem. It is unclear whether these are all in use, or whether they are relevant. It’s all rather confusing, get me a real damn book mode, where’s that?


    Ultimately, “TANMOY” is a curious artifact of the digital age – a sprawling, ambitious, and often bewildering attempt to synthesize a vast range of ideas into a coherent whole. Like picking up a shopping list for 49 people each in a different country. Whether it succeeds is debatable. TLDR should be the title. It’s a work that will undoubtedly appeal to those who enjoy their poetry dense, experimental, and liberally sprinkled with obscure references. As for this reviewer, I’m left with a distinct feeling of having been subjected to a particularly elaborate and somewhat tedious form of intellectual performance art. Perhaps, as the RAW Mode might suggest, it’s all just a cosmic joke. And the joke, dear reader, may very well be on us. Or, to paraphrase the great Orson Welles, in whose mode much of this is apparently written, “I don’t know anything about art, but I know what I like.” And I’m not entirely sure I like “TANMOY.” But then again, perhaps that’s the point. Perhaps we are all, as the poem suggests, merely puppets dancing to a tune we don’t fully understand, lost in a labyrinth of our own making. Or perhaps, I just need another drink.


    –James Spadersun, Birmingham Express And Post, 22/01/25.

  • mphdj

    mphdj

    WHAT AI? https://mphdj.blogspot.com/p/what-ai-said.html

    Tanmoy is here.

    https://mphdj.blogspot.com

    AI Album Amsterdam Art Art and Technology Artificial Intelligence Beatbox beats blues books Boris Johnson Brexit Corona Slayer Coronavirus Deep Scratch Deep Scratch Remix Design Science Detroit DJ Steve Fly finnegans wake fly agaric 23 Funk history James Joyce Jamm Pro jazz John sinclair maybe logic Music poem poetry Radio Free Amsterdam Remix Robert Anton Wilson Science Fiction Sixty Squintin Quarantino steve fly tale of the tribe Technology turntables Udio Video Vinyl writing

  • tanmoy audio 13 / 14 / 15

    tanmoy audio 13 / 14 / 15

  • octopus messiah matrix of a male dominatrix

    octopus messiah matrix of a male dominatrix

    Octopus Messiah Matrix Of The Male Dominatrix. 

    “we’ll just have to wait and see”, does not cut it for me, when asking the 64 trillion dollar question, how much is bluff, how much of what he says does he mean? And furthermore, of what he is actually referring to, most probably far far away from what he thinks he means. What is talk and what will be action? 

    One approach is to formulate an O-meter, some kind of spectrum or some parameters by which to measure. For example, one side is based on everything he says is bluff and bluster, the other that he not only means what he says but that there exists the logistics, funding and manpower to execute his orders immediately. Depending how much of a Trump fan you are, may skewer your reading of where on this Trump Bluff-O-Meter you are, for any particular policy or “words and phrases he uses that might refer to a particular, enforceable policy”. 

    Many, myself included, generally conclude that Trump is full of manure, lies and deceit, be that as it may, it does not help us here and now. We wish to get an accurate prediction, or more accurate prediction of what he’s going to do, and what he’s going to say he’ll do, but probably not. Put a US flag in Mars soil. Dictate matters of science and genetics. Defeat all his perceived enemies. End corruption in congress and senate. With these theologically paralysed grunts, Trump is always saying nothing, talking loud, saying nothing. But we can’t look away, it’s his followers, devotees and supporters we must be vigilant of, and practice a mutual tolerance of. No violence. No hate. Say no to racism. Union strong. See something, say something.

    Having just watched the swearing in of the 47th President, Donald J. Trump, I’ve got to take a breath and contemplate what to say. Firstly, that Martin Luther King was invoked several times struck me. January 20th is MLK day, which will for me, forever overshadow the day Trump got reelected. Read MLK, watch a documentary about his life, focus on that.

    Skipping all the ad hominem about tans, let me first point out that if god is dead then Trump and the USA are powerless against compute, or, the superintelligence that will obsolete whatever is left of a human being still clinging to their falsehoods. 

    The probably dead god was mentioned dozens of times, when meaninglessness was required and an already unsurprising sentence, was in need of further obfuscation and confusion. As with talking about the American dream as if it’s some kind of material thing to grow in proportion. 

    It should come of no surprise, especially after hearing the pastor before him, that Trump gets his signature word salad from his monotheistic roots in evangelical christianity. His hallucinations and simply, illogical sentences, are always caged by the trappings of religious absolutism. I’m gonna’ do this, and we’re gonna ‘ do that, adds to the confusion, the listener or transcript reader left wondering what he really means, and what is he really gonna’ do. 

    If you were to ask how, or for a probabilistic based plan not based on absolute certainty, you’d be shut down. This dictatorial mode of leadership has up and downsides. Yes stuff gets done, but often resentfully, which sews seeds of revolt, sabotage and infighting conspiracy and breakdown of trust. This spiral into paranoia and secrecy prevents the actual implication of their plans, or full implementation of them, like a fascist bureaucracy clogging up the wheels of far right fascism. That’s my hope, or one of them.

    At one point when Trump was in full swing on his anti immigrant, anti trans rant, I thought to myself: stand up, say something, if you see something say something. Somebody “boo” or at least walk out in protest, throw a shoe, if only at Bush! That everybody stayed until the end without any protest, and clapped his disgusting theocratic fascist fantasy, makes me sad, but highlights the difference between self-owning activist poets and congress critters, M.P’s worldwide. They don’t speak for us. Our artists, musicians, scientists and great speakers…speak for us. From now on you can keep you politicians and your god. I’ll be over here with the godless trans luxury space communists. 

    Trump is what a consumer culture of paranoid people demand, a big daddy to protect and fight and hurl abuse for them, so they don’t have to, they can just go about life without confronting racism, sexism, bullying, violent abuse, poverty, war, famine. Only with that protection of the filthy state, can the merry wheels go around and around for the privileged few who can’t bare to know how they’re life style and tacit complicity in they’re representative governments dealings at home and abroad. 

    Populism convinces poor people to hate the poor and love the rich, using immigration and wedge issues like gender rights and horrors such as child sex abuse and grooming gangs to lure those totally fed up with the other political forces, into their labyrinth of hate, blame and knuckle dragging nativism. Trump is the fat boss of the new global populist right theocracy, coming to a town near you. Try to forget how they look and how they provoke with predictable nativist tropes, yet, address the lies and over amplified statistics, and cherry picked doom scroller memes they peddle. Ignore Reform and Conservative right wing populism in the UK at your peril, stay silent and eventually they’ll come for you, as the paranoid proverb goes. 

    So what is to be done? Well, I ain’t no political scientist, but the next four years of Trump, that’s if he don’t get shot or have a massive heart attack or brain bleed injury of some kind, or get cancer, or killed by a new virus, will be these same few confused ideas in a slightly different order. Trump is rudderless, with a dead God as his guide he’s walking off a cliff edge, good, yet I wish his followers the strength to question their allegiance to a divinely guided tsar, and not follow him off that cliff into the abyss of hate, narcissism, lies and theocratic dogma. 

    I wish you resilience, keen focus, strength and stamina as we continue to defend the art, reality, truth and a well thought out joke, from the liars, hacks and deluded billionaires who claim to control us, yet, in actuallity are nothing but wounded powerless grifters, sucked off into the messiah matrix of the male dominatrix. 

    Good luck with constructing your own Bluff-O-Meter, and remember to not only take your own bluff readings, but try to consider those of others too, those others who may have a better informed view. We must all learn from this, adapt, evolve, get smarter, help others, play nice.

    All Love

    –S

    If you’re of a religious belief system, please accept my apologies in advance for my criticism here. I’m very interested in mysticism as its history is more allied with science than religion. Also, I’d distinguish the absolute belief in an almighty God creator, from other kinds of religious and mystical belief systems and meta-belief systems that include entities, goddesses. Trump’s theocracy is the worst kind of Christianity, politically empowered and hard right conservative absolutism. Non Servium. 

  • what is tanmoy?

    what is tanmoy?

    pro log a rhythm
  • TANMOY 1-12

    TANMOY 1-12

    tanmoy 1-12

    https://stevefly.bandcamp.com/album/tanmoy-a-new-global-epic