My name is Pete, professor of fictional electronics, and for your
computer music lesson, shall not subject your piece to strict analysis,
but rather employ a meta-sport diversion called "troutnalysis."
Troutnalysis is part of my "interrogajoke" series: interrogating topics in a post- fashion by employing jokes. Troutnalysis is a three part course: Petrogenesis, on the relationship between sport and petroleum; Action, on the subconscious need for mystique; and a response to Georgina Borne's ethnography of IRCAM.
Petrogenesis
Author of essay: Petroleum Bottle
Primary Duties: Mesh/messmaking, Facilitating objets-stereos.
Secondary Duties: fishing, driving petroleum vehicles
The
ribbon of highway sometimes runs up with the stream of salmon (fishing
in the pavement). My trout-shaped car trolls the pavement, sometimes I
note an old man on a boat. All arts make someone suffer. Fly fishing is
an art, which literally makes the trout suffer. Who suffers from your
art?
My name is Petroleum Bottle, because that's how a girl named Danielle made fun of me in third grade. I
cried that night. My older brother spoke of my girlfriend, it felt like making fun, and I cried
some more. I sobbed at my dad that I didn't want a girlfriend. How wrong
would I be.
Like a primordial dream of treasure in a cave, the Soviet theory of abiotic petrogenesis. Mineral energy springs forth underground, from the rock itself, not from crushed up plant material. Driving a petroleum bottle up the mountain is communing with these powerful rocks. The mountain creeks have a rainbow sheen, a natural slick that irradiate a collective hallucination in fly fisherman, as they
naturally flow with a small amount of petroleum.
I have to admit that I am somewhat competitive when it comes to fly
fishing, but that is because I entrust you or part of my fold, or become
part, and take my comments as curmudgeonly generalizations on human
nature.
The economy of fishing derives from petroleum industry: you must
drive to a mountain lake to do it. It also deals with the technical and
toxic metals: lead is used to bring baits to the bottom fish. Lead is bio-active, changing and impeding an animal chemically. Fly fishing is somewhat resistant to the toxic metal, preferring no
weight at all, some brass and copper. The most conscientious fisherman uses tungsten, it is heaviest and bio-neutral.
like the website "gink and gasoline"
which means petroleum based fish lure ointment plus the automobile
locomotion to home in on a fish in the mountains; they won't know what
hit them! Petroleum Bottle did!
What
is the lead fish? What fish is most "at home" with this heavy metal? To
know, we must think of all fish and what alchemical symbol belongs with
each; the sharks of the deep, and the lighter fatty fish of the shores
that taste so good when smoked.
Onion Sandwich Man
Ernest Hemingway wrote a modern fly-fishing
story early in the career; it was obviously a crucial metaphor to him
and potent with analogy to war and industry. Fly-fishing is, in fact,
ancient, as we will detail later in the chapter on Aelian. Hemingway
lived at a time when modern plastics and composite materials
revolutionized fly-fishing, yet it tied to the ancient technique of
fooling a fish and eating it; there still is violence, perhaps more
because of the efficient way that plastic line casts.
Fishing,
in "The Great Two Hearted River" is a metaphor for the war technologies
of World War I. That war was the most efficient to be known thus far,
an exponential growth from previous ones due to technology. Fly-fishing,
too, became more exponentially more efficient. Yet, the protagonist
eats only an onion sandwich for most of the book: he is post-haunted in
the ruins of war. For this reason, we call him the Onion Sandwich Man.
Let us perform a psychoanalysis of this "onion-sandwich-man" (OSM).
He
is a deep individual, not just simply surviving
in the wild. He may be in a wild place, but he is wilder inside and this
makes him a complicated individual. He is not fly-fishing the wilderness, but a burning town. It's not just survival, it's chaos
magic. There's a non-rhythmn with his actions and how he catches fish:
the first one he released so gently, the second one was big and he lost
it. The third he kept. Finally he gutted them. Only later in
the book is tension released when he slaughters the fish.
He eats a simple, onion sandwich. This act of improvisation marks him as magical, an alchemist of sulfury into savory. The
onion sandwich itself is a red flag of chaos, the sulfur smell added to his
breath, makes him rub up against others disjointedly, the sulfur smell
is a symbol of noise and tumultuous change. The only scent allowed on
one's flies should be garlic, rubbed on your hand and your sandwich.
The
town is burning and he's eating an onion sandwich: that is a flag of
chaos magic. That is, the art of contingency, leveraging weather (a
sudden freshet or riffling breeze) or circumstance: burning town, only
an onion to be found. It is said that the gods do not mark fishing as
time wasted (even when skunked), because the fisher is engaging in the
chaos computer (programmed by god), learning patience, and awareness to
sudden opportunities.
Tying flies is a natural technology, that has been mixed with synthetic technologies:
plastics research, nail polish, and electronics parts such as wire and Mylar bag. After the world wars, surplus materials such as copper wire
became widespread in flies. My uncle was in a radio shack on Guam, did
not see much action but many water buffalo, and repaired electronics
in the morning. It was boring, but using his hands, he created a
nice little shack. The same in his guest bedroom, using ostrich herls
and rooster capes, he prepared to meet nature again with his new nylon
lines. Time flies
with these materials is learning how to be at peace with them.
The onion sandwich man is surplus personality
from war; he is trying to finding out how to be at peace. He's at odds with the
water, at best adapting to it. there he
encountered stange animals in mud ventures. He never told me any war stories, just about the muddy electronics shack, and the yellowstone cutthroat.
What
would it mean to be Ernest Hemingway in a world of global weirding? You
still have your short sniped sentences, and the sharks are still there,
but your sport has chaotic storyline. The good fish are gone and the
weird fish remain. In his twenties, Hemingway sought a storyline in Spain, drinking and bullfighting with his hipster friends. His fishing trip there was completely sullied by polluted waters, but in his fictional trip (The Sun Also Rises), the trout were fat, eager and ripe.
Classic fly-fishing is
considered dry, or on the surface, wet, or just beneath the surface.
However, some forms have evolved, based on solid foundations in
entomology, to go deep beneath the surface: imitating the chironomid.
This midge, or tiny fly, starts its life on the very bottom of the lake
as a worm, quickly evolving into a mysterious vertical larva in the
water column. It is deep, and still, yet it has a mysterious hand
gesture: it is named for this gesture. It part of the art of flyfishing
to transform one's own hand gestures into an imitation of this creature
of the deep, tethered by a long and slender line.
My first experience with chioronomids
confirms that esoteric is chaos magic. fly fishing is a quest for the
esoteric and chironimids are the most esoteric. At Lava Lake, dinner and
breakfast was trout, we didn't bring eggs. Bright green midges in its
tummny. Powerbait and lead go hand-in-hand, fly fisherman are against
the use of lead in the lake. Midges eat lead.
 |
| LED Chironomid |
Chaos Magic
Go fishing in a polluted body of water. Salvage
electronic ruins. Derange a wild cat by taking it to a bagel dumpster in
the suburbs. Go to a place that you know has bad luck, multiple times
to accumulate it, so you can have good luck somewhere else. At the
waterfalls there are old transformers and turbines.
If
you are from Oregon then your grandpa represents the Oregon trail. The Oregon trail still exists, in the thousands making their way to the global worming refuge. My truck
has shelves and pots and pans and niches for onions. It looks like a
green wagon trail camper. Because my dad is dead and my grandpa is too, i
have no Oregon trail, i have to be both dad and grandpa if i move to
this land.
His kids can live in the city and he can realize his
ideal of theOoregon man. But I don't have a dad to be the Oregon man so
how do I respond? This is the same question as how does a man retain a
mystique on the water? Well I will not buy a camper and for a boat I
will have a kayak, try to keep it minimal. I wear dirty pants. My
grandpa tore up old shirts to use as twine. My grandpa squeezed the lead
sinkers on with his back teeth.
Holidays should be at random times in the year, to minimize
exposure to campers and to reveal secret migrations. Always look for the
onion, when i met a camping family, the grandpa of a family
showed me a bunch of trout poaching in an aluminum rollup and
it smelled like onions. He used random spices, but only a little bit,
because they forgot salt, and it was great! Then they found some salt
and unrolled the foil to put salt in it and put some butter in. Grandpa said
it was better with less foil because then you can smell the fismoke.
the presence of onions is confimed in the chaos magic story. Onions are
the key ingredient that caramelize and release chmicals into the trout
and change its form along with the butter. Another great ingredient is
orange peppers.
the
coastal range fish eat orang, inspired by the orange bellies on the
newts in orange slit on the throat. the cascade range eat green,
inspired by different shades of moss green and algae, from the deep
sediments at the bottom of lava lake. the two colors orange and green
are those of the mountain "dew"
Oil
There are thjree kinds of oil. The oil used to transport the
sportnsman to the wilderness spot. The oil that is polluting his home
rivers in the city: pcbs. And finally the oil in the fish's brain that is
used for its memories. It is along its spine too; body memory. These
three oils have a relationship to each other. The fish oil is how it
goes from the coastal city the river into the wilderness passing through
the port city. The fishemans oil also moves him but in a dumb way.
The pollution oil is a taint on the fish's brain, but its dielectric
constant has a mysterious and unknown effect on thoughts. The pollution
oil is from electronics and i am polluting again with the transistor
ant.
There are different kinds of trout, you can taste them by eating
them. You can taste it when you eat them. Hatchery pond blue-green pond.
trail north worst, they taste like urine. The best is a wild small
trout from a deep lake, or a rocky river. You could taste it wehn you
eat it. There are types of flesh incarnate that are fooled by the smell
of rotting dough, and there are ofther flashes that are fooled by girl
patterns, recognition etched in omega oil. It is the
recognition oil that the fly fisherman seeks. I seek to know if trout
recognize electronic components.
Trout and Salmon
both have this salmonid oil, which has evolved from their need to
journey up mountain rivers to keep their babies safe. They remember the
way home by the smell of the water, landmarks, colors. They also peel
back the onion skin to what they ate as babies: little aquatic insects
and other tiny tasty things. It is a sequence of ghost-images they
remember as they take this journey of life, and of death, for that is
their fate once depositing their young. Is the pink ghost flesh that we
are after eating, for it is a psychedelic.
The forms of the flash incarnate. The tree pond brown turd sucker.
Deep sea predator and noble king salmon, black gum king salmon,
spirito-politically owned by the gillnetters. And habiter of mottled
places, where sudden dances the entomologist. The football linebacker,
the steeler, chrome worker of back hills Pennsylvania and Ohio. golden trout is
mythical and small, should you eat it or worship it?
The wild man of the mountains is limited by the barrenness of his
soil, that says , so he turns to hunting cougars and coyote, which in
turn feed the meat soul and makes him more of a hunter. When the cowboys
encountered these people they also left behind a sort of pale worm band
who only prefers to eat the oily fish of the little mountain streams.
There were men also had typewriteers which they typed the first modern
novels on, in sandals there.
A
receipt from Ollie Damon's, where we bought shad darts and strange
discount bass jellies. We also bought line and rooster tails, and asked
the old reddening man on how to wrap a sardine around the lure. My
revelation of the day was that this man did not know and think about how
to flare an LED in the depths of the river, and he knew about the
piezoelectric force, that may provide enough current to dimply
flickering the LED. He knew it needed something striking it to discharge
it as he said.
I eat salmon so I can put the memory
oil in my own brain and subsume it. The dam is like a hard electronic
obstacle, which the salmon oil seeps around. The salmon encode a memory
in oil, starting in their deepest brain as a baby, eating little things:
crustaceans in the river, and the smells of their adolescence: the
smell of the city sewers. Trout are likewise, they do drip down the
stream eating things.
All these things encode a memory
that accumulates, which they peel back again in their later years,
stripping the oil off the memory oil in their brain, and reverting in
the end of their life when they trophy, to eating tiny things. This is
the concept of patterns, which are hard like symbols, but encoded in
oil, like the concept of the PCB (Polychlorinated Biphenyl) analog delay
drum. This rotating cylinder was employed in some poisonous electronic
music studios to encode sound directly in the swirling fluid, as
dielectric charge. Then the sounds were replayed through the speakers
again, emanating from the encoded oils.
The salmonid
encodes its journey in oil, from the inside out, then travels back
within; back in time as Rudolph Steiner told us to recount our day to
ourselves, backwards, every night. If you rotate it fast enough, though,
it stops swirling and becomes froth, and mixes up the memory. This sort
of globally-weirded-fish can swim in more than one direction on the
river.
The yellow fungus eats their memory away.
Remember you can record audio onto a rotating head of poison oil. The Salmonidae also record memory on two layers of oil in their body.
This
is a technique I learned with Stefan Tcherepnin, of blowing marijuana
smoke into a synthesizer before playing it. Now I do the same with
flies, to make a creative undulation happen in their computer music.
Blanc's
question starts with the rumor that trout like the smell of a spray
lubricant, WD-40. What if they like other petroleum flavors, what if
they like industrial smells such as electronics? Can salmon smell the
PCBs in the Willamette river? Can they learn to be attracted to this
most synthetic smell? Can they smell heavy metals?
Like the onion-sandwich-man, who takes great care to not
damage the protective layer of slime on his first trout, I am damaged by
waterways full of PCBs and leaden sculpin; that is the damage that
makes me angry at the clean fish and want to kill them employing a piece
of electronics. Like the bird who is snared in a fly-line, my children
are angry about their aborted world.
Mountain Dew
I get my tungsten beads in metallic coffee, because I can, and that
marks them as the special metal of the deepest chironomid, or
Pennylvania midge. Also, a good morning camping on Lake T_____ will
involve an espresso in my aluminum grenade.
Major Carey
traveled by railroad to the interior of Canada, where the great lakes
dwell, and pitched his tent by the grandest body of water. He then made
coffee and sat down at his camp table, praying to himself; this is the
combination of my dreams in the wars, of sitting down and creating
something in nature. What he created was the Carey Special, essentially a
truly green Aelian, using a pheasant's rump for the partridge hackle.
It's olive body and dun undulator evoke the older days before bleach and
synthetic dyes.
Jeff Carey employs a nice gaming
joystick and also some really effective LED strobe lighting to deliver
chaotic and gestural noise music to his listeners' ears. When I saw him
there where no colors, just the action of flickering white light, a
hooked, enigmatic penusius grasped by computer musician, creating
undulating sheathes of sandstorm sounds. These are three most important
points of the LED fly: action, mystery, and again, action. The first
action is synthetic, the flickering of mylar strands; the second action
is natural, sheathes of feathers slipping in the stream. Mystery is
essential to the stone-age fly, because there is always the question of
"what is the hook?" You use ACTION to convince the trout that it is
simply the tail of a juicy and easy prey, as Carey uses noise and
flickering lights to convince you his joystick is a penusius.
Do you mountain dew or do the mountain?
Jeff
Carey is sponsered by the Dew Tour. The colors contrast with the
Mountain Lake times past nostalgic colors of General Carey. In Japan,
Dutour is a nice cafe with muted tones and good boutique coffee.
However, in America, it is an outdoor stadium of blood, with bright
green attractants and nutritious hooked hooking fluids. The river is
green not from pcbs, from nature.
General Carey was the
first Dew Tour. The military has dumped about six thousand pounds of
trout into Henry Hagg Lake every month of the spring. Dough suckers,
bombs of dough suckers. In contrast, the paisley Oregon Dep't of Fish
and Wildlife releases pretty things into Lost Lake deep in the woods.
Science
project, stomach pump 1:" 1 beautiful chironomid, estimated to be at
size3 18 2x long nymph hookwith gray metallic, i.e. mylar chip bag with
1tan floss, black wing case like peacock herl, black haed, P.t. trutt.
and two tinty white gills . Stocmach pump two: similar wormy like forms
and patterns. stomcah pump three: nothing. stomach pump 4: yellow and
gree n Mountain Dew colored powerbait with mylar flash holographic
flashes in it.
a[pprocahes scientific through use off the stomach pump/
lost lake, mar5ch 30 2017
Fluorescent
green and yellow powerbait flecked with irridescent specks of mylar. If
I were an EPA official, I might even confuse it with capacitor
ingredients. Like powerbait these trout are branded with energy
discourse. Mountain Dew volt. Powerbait is measured in wattage, like md
volt, these trout are branded... don't get me wrong i like hanging out
with men of the river, stuyrgeon men with wabndering eyes.
These
are my babies, in the cement tank in Clackamas. My babies, my tank: I
manage it, I come here on my days off to feed them dough balls. I
liaison to light artists to display bright green and orange colors
through aa milky perspex cube in the bottom of each tank, for the
entertainment of my babies. They like light, they like sounds. When you
control the breeding tanks at the top of the stream, you own the fishes'
minds, their core memories. I've taken away the natural programming of
muyted insects in natural tiny mountain streams, and replaced it with
bright hypercolor flashes of mountain dew cans. in their deepest memory.
The tank in clak is for streelhead.
The
disco beach is a synthetic natural phenomenon of the trout industry.
Take a lacunarian location such as trillium lake in Oregon on the slopes
of Mount Hood. The lake itself is created from a marsh, impounded by
earth. Then the dough ballers at ODFW installed trout that respond to
synthetic mylar sparkles in the dough, this dough gets discarded on
beaches and the sand becomes Berkely and it also has little balls of
lead in it. Like an industrial museum of the twentiethe century: the
lake!
Take a away his phallic joystick, bring him to
the shores of the disco beach, replace the joystick with a fly rod and a
tiny bundle of lead in mylar. Emplace a rhythmic throbbing beat, and
whip the air with your sparkle-ball.
