Symbolic Retribution for the Disconnected.


Symbolic Retribution for the Disconnected from mandi goodier on Vimeo.

Canto V Presents Symbolic Retribution for the Disconnected:
)best seen in full screen mode, best heard through a decent set of earphones(
Deep psyche exploration, none stop free association, synth analysis, complete honesty, a lack of ability to comprehend anyone or anything outside of the self, and above all complete disconnection. 

This will last internally until the end of life when all is relived 
- canto v

An aural and visual experimentation by canto v
If there is one thing I am sure of, it is that this will never be shown on It's Nice That.


Have some music for your time

Symbolic Retribution.

stick it to the mand presents:
SYMBOLIC RETRIBUTION
(for the disconnected)
TO BE
DELIVERED
14/06/2010
 www.stickittothemand.blogspot.com
only available to view here
The first in a three part visual
and aural experimentation
www.silentage.bandcamp.com


Beauty...

Ambulance by TV onthe Radio



Oh comely by Neutral Milk Hotel



Know all your enemies

Experience Everything/All of this has happened since:

Amidst the banks crashing and colliding, an event which, at the time, evoked no real emotion in me beyond an "oh", an era was occurring that would carve itself into my memory greater than any other before it. With Mercury in retrograde, as Mars in Libra aligned with Pluto, a darkened shadow fell upon Saturn's moon Titan. This lead to a peculiar kind of gravitation pull, one so great it triggered a plummet within my heart which coincided with a glance into a pair of eyes. It remains to this day beating low. That unusually low beat activated a creative surge, which also continues to this day. I sat often, staring, contemplating a mathematical problem of emotional proportion with ever changing values and infinite possibility. The solitude and staring equates to one thousand five hundred and eighty four hours (and counting) since that plummet, leaving little time for much else.

Russell Brand and Matt Morgan leave my itunes library forever. Ridiculously I feel like I have lost two good friends. I would visit them once a week, we would share in jokes, they did most of the talking. I was gutted that I missed "that" podcast. I felt that the people who never used to join our weekly gatherings should have butted out.



A crash of personalities resulted in a constant grey cloud that hung over our house. It's silver lining was so bleak that it barely enabled us to find the key hole in the front door. A sunken druggy presence, which was completely un-intimidating and non-threatening, eventually turned two outsider souls to antisocialism and depression. Screaming lows and arguments. I closed my door on them. A sallow head reclusing into books and the written word. One harrowing scream caused me to rush from my room, expecting to find serious injury, I found one of those souls screaming at the front door, unable to unlock it. I opened it for her, realising that it was her final straw.

Gunmen. Men with guns. It takes years of psychological harm, then one object, a gun, one moment of madness and one final straw for a backlash of hurt feelings and international headlines. 15 dead at a school in south west Germany. 10 dead at a college in Finland. 7 dead on a bus containing the Sri Lankian Cricket team.



A labyrinth web was woven. A group of us found a comfortable nook and remained there. A set of overlooking eyes caught mine from time to time as they moved across the nook. As they focused in on me, I was struck like a fist to my low beating heart. We stayed in that nook so long that we forgot the route out. When we got out, nothing had changed yet everything was different. We all had to find new ways to settle and move on. It hasn't been easy to shut out.

I stayed awake the night of the US elections. Barrack Obama became President of the USA, a country in which I am not a resident and have only visited once. I loved what Obama represented. I expected an immediate change to the world. But nothing happened. I waited for a few more weeks, still nothing. Eventually I gave up waiting, then something new happened, Barrack Obama became the first president to have his official presidential portrait taken with a digital camera.




I know in the depth of my stomach it's a lie, a trick. You are a fraud. A self harming soul placed one heavy hand onto my self harming soul and there I received and sent pleasure resulting in momentary inflation of the ego and self image. The ability to feel a sudden connection between myself and another rarely happens so I became dazzled by it's appeal. This dizziness and lapse in judgment on my part resulted in disorientation. Fear was constantly pumped from my heart into each one of my organs resulting in the occasional anxiety attack. Once it was over I cried emotional rape, though I cried silently behind my closed bedroom door. Not one tear was wasted. I don't cry anymore. (revision: 3/11 I do)


Jade Goody dies. It seems like the most symbolic life and death of this generation. She became a reality TV star and remained famous for doing nothing. She was loved by us, then we tore her apart, then we loved her again, with the aid of Heat, Closer and Now. She shown a new side to herself, turning from the bullied to the bully and plummeted in our expectations, again on reality TV. Then she became terminally ill. She allowed the cameras to witness her death, she invited us all to her death bed. She died at 27, it is the rock and roll age. Brian Jones, Janis Joplin, Jimi Hendrix, Jim Morrison, Kurt Cobain, Jean Michel Basquiat, Jade Goody.


My neighbor utilised my self harming soul and good nature to form a self destructive cocktail but only after I had tasted hers. Sat by a pool of her blood, a craft knife (naturally) and a severed wrist. Shaking but clear. In that pool I could see a reflection of my heart. I couldn't go there. I drifted. Who could ask for better friends, really. And who could ask for better enemies. (Know your enemies). Disconnected from the event yet able to find symbolism in what I saw, I created a world of new imagining. A world exactly as this but with no people. Nothing but loneliness, nature and pure pointlessness. This fantasy makes me happy. Interceptions come in like an overheard police radio. Unclear, unknown and striking me as the thoughts of another. Abstracted visuals as if glancing into the landscape of another's memory, beyond comprehension but so completely beautiful. And what beauty I found in that blood. Disconnected from the event.

A car crashes into a Fiat Punto killing a father and son. The driver was drunk and otherwise engaged in performing a sexual act onto himself. He is jailed for 8 years, banned from driving for 15. I doubt he will ever drive or wank again.


She had been wailing all night. In complete honesty I knew what she had done but I didn't want to deal with it so I went back to sleep. April 10th, I ask her to open her door. No, she responds, you'll be mad at me. Upon hearing the no all I wanted to do was walk away and get on with the day, but that is not the right way to behave, that is not how a human being should respond to this kind of situation. Behind her door is an empty bottle of cava and five or so empty boxes of Ibuprofen. Then I shake, but remain totally clear. The ambulance arrives, staring, alone, still contemplating that mathematical problem. The grooves of the floor of the ambulance had collected grime from every accident it had visited, a time line, a biography a complete history of this van. Now I am part of that. Life and death. Four hours wasted in that hospital. The company of Henry Miller made that personality's tedious existence bearable for those tedious hours of my life. What a waste.

Kerry Katona is drunk on national TV. This Morning. God love Warringtonians, or Warringtoners as some prefer to be called.


All those people. All those brilliant people. Full of ideas. I want to reach inside the minds of each and every one. I want to relate to all of them. I want to touch their thoughts. None will fall. We remain solid beings. Beings with depth. Somewhere between intellectuals and creatives. Some neither here nor there. What beauties though. And under those watchful eyes. Inhalation. Laughter. Anxiety attack after anxiety attack. High achievement. Speak up. Slow down. Flight or Fight. Those eyes. Reading erotic material. Throwing up in bars. Being carried outside by the bouncer then laying in the middle of the road. Homing in on solipsism. Me. Only. Who could touch me really? Was it not all illusion created by myself. I connected to that road, that is the only explanation I am able to give. Those eyes linger on! They had me pinned. All I could see, because even though I am familiar with my surroundings, I am unable to see anything at all really. What was I waiting for? That suicidal friend takes me home. It was still early. We caught the second to last bus of the evening. I wake up to find a cigarette burn in my ear.

A mother in West Yorkshire kidnapped and drugged her own child. I was never quite able to comprehend what she hoped to gain from this, some form of monetary reward I think. The child was 10. Parents will continually fuck their kids up, but this one goes beyond.



Inhalation. Loneliness. Solitude. Deflation of ego. I am left with an headache and a bitter taste in my mouth. I think I want vengeance but I am unsure of the injury, whether a wrong has occurred. There are still more roads ahead of me, I may find myself laying in the middle of a few from time to time. There may be more red puddles to catch my own reflection in. The blood spilled that night was never cleaned up. It remained a dried up memoir of idiocy, selfishness of life and death, for all of us. Afterward, the people I told about the event would ask me if I was ok, not her. I responded in a human way, not a honest way.

Michael Jackson died the day that I discovered my final grade. It put a full stop to the days events Despite everything that had happened, I find myself with a first class honors degree. And what will cling to me most about the day Michael Jackson died? Those eyes, holding onto me like a cruel embrace that goes on too long. The usual conspiracy theories ensue, I take great interest in them.




She fell. I caught her twice. They fell, but they're getting better now. I fell. I was lifted momentarily by the actions of others. Those eyes fell, and I have no idea what this means. Intoxication. Disconnection. Vomit. Infatuation. Limerence. Suicide attempts. High Achievement. Lows. Loneliness. Lust Friendship. Dependence. Loss. Highs. Obsession. The influence of everyone. It turned out to be the greatest time of my life. I'm still counting the hours, the events, the landscapes, the experiences, the memories, everything. Experience everything, then create from everything you experience. And that is what I have learned, and that is how I live now.

Katie Price and Peter Andre split up. Well I saw that one coming.

All this happened since I met you. I'm not holding you responsible, but I am not taking the blame either.