Blue Velvet Review (dot) com is a pre-revenue DIY record label dedicated to downloading MP3s. It's also the first record label dedicated to the distribution so-called macrotonal music, tethering American English to principles of fractal geometry to create sui generis musical lines.
Limited edition CD's are available for select titles. Please email nikosnassafa [at] aol [dot] com for inquiries.
Nick Nassafa aka Tony Hentai aka Bobby Nipples is an American composer currently based in Providence RI. His macrotonal music primarily focuses on American English being both accelerated by and tethered to principles of fractal geometry, employing word enunciation and breath control as musical concepts, and paying homage to the notion of an immanent and aesthetic indivisibility of oneness.
Credits: Nick Nassafa; composition, voice, trichordo buzuki on track #1; J. Del; beats; Recorded at Pearl Street Studios Providence (RI)
Faux Nick - Body Hair Awareness Month
Release Date: 10/10/2024
Waves Frozen in Time
‘We come down from Truckee surfing against that sun / As if off a great wave but in the / Wrong direction certainly the wave is frozen / Or just moving so slowly that no one can know / If you've done it though you know the feeling’ - Robert Ashley, Foreign Experiences
‘There are no points or positions in a rhizome . . . there are only lines . . . when Glenn Gould speeds up the performance of a piece . . . he’s transforming the musical points into lines.’ - Deleuze & Guattari, A Thousand Plateaus
What’s the fulcrum of modernity, the fulcrum of the so-called Western world, the fulcrum of the scientific method, the fulcrum of ostensible rationalism, the fulcrum of sanity as we generally understand it if not this notion that ‘things’ can be broken down?—and not just broken down but disassembled into a more or less infinite regression?
To us every atom is a little explanation, every subatomic particle is a tiny special meaning for us to gossip about—to us every building block of nature is a dead frog to be dissected by high school sophomores, every single conversation is something to be recalled and divided into little apple pies of intent and cause and effect, to place on our window sills overlooking our white picket fences. Musically, this trend expresses itself, at first, through musical notes—being quote-unquote ‘noted out’—notes functioning as tone-spaces, and then, eventually, the trend graduates to a concept of microtonality, where said tone-spaces regress to infinite spectrums, infinite spectrums that still contain infinite points.
But listen. I don't want to, you know, like, get into a whole philosophical discussion behind all of this?—other people have explained it better than I could—I don’t even understand it. But compositionally—there’s an idea that, rather than component parts, we could compose via irreducible waves, waves frozen in time, that, yeah, maybe exhibit some attributes that we can notionally attribute to them, but these attributes, they’re attributes that don’t negate the fact that the waves themselves can’t be disassembled—that they don’t actually contain infinite points. That to disassemble them is to change their essence essentially. They contain no points at all.
The compositions that comprise Body Hair Awareness Month, sure, are tethered to certain principles of measurement—namely that elements are in a more or less fractal relationship with one another, five lines per verse, 34-55 syllables per line, a mode of 377 syllables per minute—they reference concepts like word-enunciation and breath-blowing, but they don’t strictly consist of parts. These are just attributes to irreducible names. This is my understanding of macrotonality—or at least that’s how it came to me. Who am I to argue? I wrote the majority of this introduction while listening to Thou Art Lord’s “Nine Steps to Hell” on repeat.
01. 12 Mezcals
Watching Larry Kudlow while I tickle her butthole the ways of the world those are the breaks everyday I’m elated to be fertile if not awake
Let me unrobe as well just so you can successfully kiss my ass I drink tears like ginger-ale after twelve mezcals no disrespect but fuck you I’m a nice guy fuck me I’ll stick a Civic car key into your brother’s eye
Suicide bomb your fuckin grandma’s assisted living center three hipsters talk getting food truck bullshit at Guatemalan festivals
Screwing in cymbals Alice Cooper performed with Filter nah I respect that craft shitty fuckin bands relapse to playing the same shit every night it’s actually nice
Koreans crank you off mid stroke asking if you're Pakistani identities are antsy in fifth grade Anthony never successfully pantsed me
02. Bin Laden's Ear Lobes
I enjoy believing what I hear they ID’d bin Laden by his ears my lobes are super distinctive too twenty thirteen I was in three hundred square feet double debt to income with none of it expungeable
To be honest I wasn't against being run into by a bus or two but RIPTA fucking drives too slow if I’m gonna go ideally I’d like to go
My hair clippers sounded like helicopters in the wet Rome lavatory Americanos the size of a micropenis agitated me
My zipper had a mind of its own on New York Avenue I didn’t tip on my second set of Fernets at the tavern oops!—too busy bonding over wanting to cease completely
Local journalists have become too busy to write more than fifty words on a murder some fuck got shot now I guess he rots?—let them snap a selfie for their IG before confirming
03. Perceiving Trees
Being made vaguely aware I could have possibly gotten beaten up by anonymous parties at an undisclosed period in time
The old guy with the white hair in the pink house picked up an Amazon package on his stoop as I walked by a week later he was beat to a pulp
Deceased in the basement by a guy with a face that looked like a decent looking insect dying is underrated annihilation is essentially reflexive
I was elated at the baseless allegation every day I pray to remain the politest chucking spears like Leonidas at middle aged men making moronic threats
My sobriety’s Ben Simmons on the Nets I’m embarrassing myself in public it’s the best rusty trombone phone home nothing’s of interest to me there’s an indivisibility to perceiving a fucking tree
04. An Empty Pint of Yuengling
Even Cheryl eventually threaded more eyebrow than appropriate leaving me practically bare boned in brow despite default caterpillar contours
Questioning if the light skinned lady guzzling a creamy espresso martini was actually dating the old East Asian man or if he was only making motel donations
Meanwhile the big bearded bartender with the lower level central tooth gap seems to dap every fucking body but me is it possible he recalls my exposed bracciole and balls from his previous bar—fuck it
The empty pint of Yuengling looked like it was having a seizure on the cement in the wind on Fricker there’s an architecture to walking drunk alone in the dark sometimes I dabble in gin after dinner
Analyzing arguably asinine signs in Dallas Cowboy games broadcast on solitary Sunday afternoons I no longer take what’s figurative as anything more something assumed
05. The Home of US Gov't Propaganda
Tethered to an uninterrogated subjectivity we bicker about one drop rules and data dumps of public policy fat tails fuck you
The Bill of Rights is junk email I check my gmail like I'm the fucking algorithm when analyzing such and such within the prism of what the fuck seventy percent of NGOs concluded many males often pay bucks for cunts
Not to get political but a wise man once told me the only good politician is a dead politician decapitated Palestinian children keep playing the victim
While Millennial US Senators listen to Limp Bizkit with limp wrist kids who enjoy getting fisted until making a modicum of sense is blacklisted
Voluntarily shoving US government propaganda up my own ass mentioning dollar denominated crude oil trades is considered a touch crass—I caught a shitty sea bass on my Uncle’s boat and tossed it back
Faux Nick - On Incongruities & Recollection as Fabrication
Release Date: 09/20/2024
Faux Nick takes left-field electronic music, 60s-era modal jazz, and the middle eastern taqsim (from Arabic, Greek, and Ottoman Classical music) and fuses each to underground hip hop.
Whereas Project Blowed ingeniously invented a style of rap that was akin to the saxophone solo - drawing from the rich history of bebop - Nick's verses are akin to a buzuki or oud taqsim, a modal improvisation with an emphasis on acceleration and relatively small but precise gradations of pitch.
In fact in this instance the tempo is the mode. The mode here being word-enunciation and breath-blowing that stay in the range of 377 syllables per minute, with 5 lines per verse, and each line consisting of 34-55 syllables. Each beat is set to 89 BPM and was written in the Hijazkiar maqam or Piraeus rebetika road.
Topics include: The proper method of drinking blended scotch, courting Caroline Ellison, real time manufacturing of falsified memories, nude Caucasian crackheads, grammatical errors on apparel referencing affinities for blowjobs.
Recorded at Pearl St Studios, Providence (RI)
nikosnassafa[at]aol[dot]com
Recollection of minutia as fabrication on my way to drink my face off at Needle I bought The Novelist: A Novel at Symposium the cashier was not the nicest I'd encountered—
every center of gravity is the single center that's ever existed there are in fact infinite centers I pondered this sitting silently on a tall roof assisted by my so-called sensory organs—
it’s no longer the case—things have morphed to the extent that people have no actual work to complete which is maybe why the podcast industry is on the rise with such impressive growth rates and they're all sublime—
the nationalism of the Romiosini was corrupted Romanides should have gone further east to find himself drinking scotch my glass reads ‘girlfriend’ scratch that ‘fiancée’
I try to achieve honesty with myself every three days perusing Rubmaps with the royal nonchalance of a British prince when unevenness is evinced that's just a ripple of triplicity.
Actually Giordano could have succumb to a devilish little trick his own damn self is he burning in flames of folly I’m tossing syllables onto a blockchain with the ex-boo of Sam Bankman-Fried—
rereading Noah’s nine hundred fifty year five paragraph creeds are they drowning in the flames of an immanent plane that extends into the jurisdiction of the Kingdom of Heaven?—
troubled souls are telling us ‘Timing is everything’ but they only call at the absolutely most inopportune times you ask yourself if it’s possible you’ve become morally outraged in illogical ways
just maybe about matters which have jackshit to do with you?—wearing five dollar Foot Locker tees I tossed Dave Yurman rings into the bottom of the Atlantic Ocean or actually it could have been just the box
but maybe the relevancy is out of stock timing is everything—no waiting is a logical impossibility since Biblical eras people posted up til last call and only received chlamydia.
Imbibing blended scotch out of measuring cups filled up with ice on a quaint Saturday night The Social bartender although polite deep down definitely held a ruthless vendetta against me
remembering a comment I made months ago correctly critiquing her slow Corona Light service she’s now superfluously charged me seventeen and a half bucks per glass of Mezcal
faces contorted frozen in time I chugged the cup of agave helpless but at the same time it seems so antiquated investing in things like depression and elation
if you can’t annihilate yourself in the midst of Mineral Spring what can you do Rocco’s bar’s girth got extended the cul de sac streams with lovely ducks got a cement redo the tailor’s building is now a gas pump
the Syrian’s spots gone too I spit on the terrible white truck after doubling back to spit on the white truck in two decades we’ll remain the exact same age the loogie on the windshield was just an illusion of change
A young Korean female is wearing an ‘I (Heart) BJ’ white tee in the singular tense while waiting at the Broad Street bus stop whatever the idiocy of your youth
it’s indubitably true that eventually it becomes something soporific and increasingly idiotic as times passes ruthlessly asking attendants for top shelf liquor
then quickly flickering into states of existential shock at the opulent bills received insects with telepathy hypothetically could control the cosmos we'd have no science to prove it untrue—
they tried to impolitely poop on my aura probably unaware of their actual bowels I had to head a different direction we used to obsess over revenge
press necks against walls certain substances suggest you could evade the Unseen you might think you see a demon but perhaps it’s just a generous gift?
Emerging from the condo sun baking a white crackhead is naked pulling up her Juicy Couture sweats in my fucking courtyard I carry a black trash bag glancing at her pasty asscrack
she stares blankly back as I toss trash into a rat filled navy blue dumpster Staten Island’s shaped like the Peloponnese I enjoy vaginal cavities when they’re wet and they’re greased—
on shrooms I find I’m often in tune with herbs and plants shit hit when I exited to amble toward Cranston Street dark skies fold origami-esque the tinnitus of June was architectural I guess—
why would you want to be in control when you could instead be out of control ‘time to come’ isn’t always linear ‘raised from’ isn’t necessarily literal
we could consider memories recurring concurrently with current events Sunday seems different during the day sitting in utter silence at the bar.
Faux Nick - "Only exaggeration can make things clear."
Release Date: 09/06/2024
Fractal Maqam Rap
Topics include: Vomiting up mint hookahs in parking lots, grotesque binary constructions, nipples emerging on Main Street, Ingo Swann's audiobook autobiography, asking old bags their exact ages, disgust with modern photography, doppelgangers in hell.
Mechanics: Each verse consists of 5 lines; each line has a minimum of 34 syllables; each line has a maximum of 55 syllables; each beat is set to 89 beats per minute; English is generally spoken at a tempo of ~233 syllables per minute; each verse is performed at a tempo of ~377 syllables per minute.
(Fibonacci Sequence: 1, 2, 3, [5], 8, 13, 21, [34], [55], [89], 144, [233], [377], 600, 987 . . .)
Recorded at Pearl St Studios in Providence (RI).
nikosnassafa[at]aol[dot]com
Off Eddy getting politely asked by Matt to leave as impassioned we discussed the political merits of men razor blading their legs at one AM I was on my way out anyway
Inveterately rhetoric seems something akin to a plaything of nonsense is that basically frowned upon in this era?
Made members of the mafia replete with YouTube channels you're on the precipice of forty praying to get permanently pushed to pavement by a stray RIPTA bus on Point Street
Puking up a mint hookah in a Pizza J parking lot people enjoy smoking marijuana because they become less likely to get bounced from bistros and bars grab the damn wet wipes please?
The true beauty of rhetoric is found in um double shots of vodka and bummed American Spirits from people quoting Big Pun lyrics I don't agree or disagree
Eating pussy on an immanent plane reading books but in an innocent way I discovered Thomas Bernhard spent some time at an Ali Pasha mosque I wasn't shocked
Tossing darts at the impotent no one said mercy necessitates some universal innocence consumerism loses vision of an indivisible Oneness
Marx thought quite highly of discrete units on a roof lit above Broad Street orders of ice coffees in informal Spanish sound like they're emerging from a circus megaphone
Two dimensions is understudied man's best buddy ages like sped up podcasts my beta fish Larry lived for half a decade above three rocks from a Taco Bell parking lot
The live band said they had tees in their SUVs as I suddenly realized I may have misunderstood a bar fly's intention is it possible baseless presumptions can also veer from the truth?
I told Mario ‘You know yo quiero lo siento I don’t know maybe some yo tengo’ his cousin exhibited three and a half of thirty two teeth I’ve detested rationalism since my sweet sixteen.
A newly minted couple shares a newly lit solemn thin cigarette as I drunkenly question the method of Twenty Three and Me with a Portuguese immigrant I just met
Who wants to be reintroduced to their own multitudes?—I feel convoluted connections with select architectural structures
Yet another grotesque binary construction my significant other is a bundle of my securitized interpersonal shortcomings
The holy legato of spoken language asexually passes through select edifices I puked twice in July once it was a vegan Oreo smoothie once it was living my life as a lie.
Chord change seventh chords variations among geometric shapes and shit tricep dips decimal points considering you have an undiscovered mental disorder or if perhaps demons exist
I find the post-COVID inflation of light beers demonic in character a country club wedding's hysterical you'll never see any of these fucks again
Landscapes change for Lent you look at a patch of grass and it refracts to black understandably some are hesitant to take that as that but how can you fucking edit what's sent to you?
Plagiarism psychotherapy wanes in cache it's a fact I called a twelve year old gay but he was acting cunty for a bunch of the afternoon
What you create doesn't necessarily cater to you my Aunt Dena owes me an eighties era Cadillac my dad said it crashed yet I never saw proof of that
A nipple emerges on Main Street with a brimless hat I have a taint for TSA to taste select members of a West End Planet Fitness seem to visit in NPC intervals my stock phrases escape me
Tony's titties drooped like tear drop tattoos at a certain juncture I said fuck you the voices in my mind are the real ones is that still a sign of being batshit crazy?
Ingo Swann's autobiography's audiobook on YouTube aliens at grocery stores I'm at Urban Green perusing overpriced pineapple fractal geometry's a hole in the floor
Mineral Spring vape shops Parlour improvisation the doorman enjoys maqam music subpar vegetable broth off Power Street zesty with horny GILFs at Mezzo
He said Oh you live off Woodward in falsetto he actually got whacked off there twice a year discussing donuts with structural engineers with wire rims that find your opinions on picture taking in poor taste
She admitted if a male wore a fitted cap to just go to quote-unquote CVS that that was an act deserving of examination and you nodded you cranium just slightly erect
The purple beam under my old stove struck me as black American in essence as I laid face up on the floor for an extended period
Sitting by myself at the Elmhurst Pub at approximately one AM I was reminded of casino Christmas parties with middle aged floozies who still sought dick
It's been beyond a half decade since the insect's corpse survived a strong rain in outline form on the laminated map of the Seekonk River
I said If you can't see yourself as the penis of Jesus then you'll never understand Allah with an authentically minimal amount of irony evident in my tone
In absolutely no way shape or form do I regret expressing my vicious disgust with modern photography among young mothers who dedicate their Instagrams to infants
It's essential in my mind that we question the intrinsic value of the frozen image in fact of anything we note to be quote-unquote frozen in time
Laotian hookah bar on Douglas Avenue abandoned basketball court on Douglas Avenue recalling my own decade old imagined images also on Douglas Avenue
Have you been by any chance to that new Tapas place off Wickendon ‘suck my penis’ I said I haven't had exceptional sushi since Tokyo closed
Apparently Parmenides believed a divine being of some sort informed him of a certain indivisible oneness which moved him to write a poem
On the chest press adjacent a stress test relayed a series of wall panels shifting of their own accord to which reminded myself of being completely sober
Fucking chalk it up to some intermittent vegan B Twelve deficiency or I'm just losing my mind which historically happens from time to time
At times it seems like you're often in the process of for lack of a better wording losing your goddamned mind and I find that curious and/or disturbing don't you?
Often the text retains Byzantine intricacy because of traditions that may not even be our own outside Tripoli two hundred years past September twenty three
I feel the blood from my veins on my face horrific violence still appears somewhat regularly in dreams time travel isn't mythical it actually happens intermittently
The gaze of others considering faithful lovers whose sole request was to express how you obviously felt in some remotely comprehensible jumble of spoken words
Instead you chose to query some old bag on her actual age like it was some sort of novel notion the cubicle blows its own brains out we can't strain out imperfection from memories
We're little more than big babies who want to reconvene with our Maker there's something fucking immanent here and It's relaying Itself in what can only be called a circuitous fashion
April five into six two hundred years amiss the middle aged redhead who doubled as the sub-Saharan bag you shamelessly fornicated with?
Two as one suggest in a quaint manner we wake up yet the words struck us as statements that hardly even needed to be uttered at all
10. glancing at a homeless man
sleeping quaintly on a patch of grass (2:23)
‘I try to describe what I’m feeling inside’ a guy wears an old tee inside out explains with unearned confidence why he adorns himself is such attire
Basking in our bourgeois tartuffery we're actually considerably more despicable than anyone in prison for any sentence of committed crime
In fact glancing at a hobo quaintly napping on a patch of grass behind a Broad Street bus stop I find his life decisions worthy of distinction I'm inspired
Packs of scattered needles discarded Double Whopper wrappers a dilapidated wheelchair there's wisdom in this unwinding of modern capital concerns
Are you in love with the well-worn architecture of this place or is it people who perplex you an ironic mustached man gets into what seems to be a relatively new Nissan Rogue
Even Moses had shit to deal with on South Street nonlocal intervals become rowdy perhaps instead of a parallel universe your fucking genetic history requests a brief word with you
You've been reminded of things you implicitly understand memory's a fucking scam yet all of this shit can only be expressed in um
Should we say circuitous fashions the same abstract manner you enjoy indulging in with others which results in people without exception failing to comprehend what the fuck it is you're trying to say
You own a tendency of expressing things in obscure fashions that invite absence which is perhaps the most accurate way of comprehending this strain of befuddlement
Yet all of these people are nothing but projections of your own single self wall panels shift it's not B Twelve it's your favorite doppelganger in hell
It’s your birthday We should inform you of where you actually are you’ve been selected to experience horrific dreams how else can We convey this it’s a clear sign for your birthday
What We give to you is the simple fact you exist simply two hundred years ago as well as two hundred and two years ago leave the city
Find a village some shit about cherries you’ll begin again a new name and life but know that the horrors you witnessed will stay with you in dream
This is why the wall panels move why ironic mustached men ride in Nissan Rogues until you repent!—until you return to Us in the form We intended
In a place where you don’t exist where you’ve yet to truly discover the meaning of the mirrors We’ve placed in homes and automobiles in this realm
Where architecture speaks where old bags confirm their ages when asked it may seem paradoxical in concept but it’s entirely sensible leave the syllogisms to the side—We genuinely wish you a happy birthday!
Nas Safa - 13 Golden Rectangles
Release Date: 07/23/2024
Rather than the more linear narratives of Unique Towels and Spaceship for Sale, 13 Golden Rectangles was written in the shape of the 30th sura of the Qur'an (The Byzantines). It consists of 60 lines and 3 mystery letters.
Each verse is enunciated at approximately 377 syllables per minute, while structurally each "orchestration" consists of the verse recited at exactly 233 and 144 syllables per minute simultaneously, the three components referencing the first three "sides" of a golden fractal rectangle. In a sense this is a choir.
01. How Can I Possibly Concentrate on Nuclear Holocausts? (2:22)
You said something deep and no one gave a shit my oil paintings looked like cunt fucked up at the Greek fest who said buying a subsequent bottle of Retsina is ill-advised?
I'm ninety nine percent Pine Sol this is ritualistic writing erotic poems for Russian whores and signing my name χριστός ανέστη you can drown in a glass of water.
Philosophy still can't save us people no longer chew wrapped pieces of gum no—the industry has transitioned to free floating mini buckets of gumballs.
How can I possibly concentrate on nuclear holocausts with all these big bad booty bitches around the mountain has better ears for bullshit I've never been a fan of camping.
I've always found things somewhat preposterous I suppose two hookahs twist the little knob there you go I apologize for forgetting the meaning of cuando.
Put some clothes on for Christ sake before you ball your eyes out I never lied about wanting to kill myself if anything the opposite!—mountains have better ears for bullshit.
Trees—some of them are old as fuck that's why we built cities our fictions play better surrounded by buildings a Burmese python ate a forty four year old woman alive.
It's just like a snug little sleeping bag who doesn’t like to take a little nap four or five milligrams of melatonin why would you lie about wanting to drive yourself into a tree?
Walking down South Street witnessing a few chubby goth adults nibbling on handfuls of potato chips from disparate fun size bags I had an odd feeling I was entering a parallel universe or something.
She told me with tears visible on her cheeks that sometimes she wished she'd get hit by a bus I said ‘Sometimes I feel sad too’ Socrates only laid down with an adolescent Alcibiades.
He never fucked him in his asshole that's why Alcibiades was still in love with him years later you know there are signs in things Socrates never wrote shit down.
Muhammed was illiterate why the fuck are you enrolling in an MFA program in the coastal United States?—memory is a stain on my being it takes a different form every other day.
She told me with visible tears streaming down her beautiful face that at times she hoped she'd get hit by a bus to which I retorted ‘Sometimes I feel sad too.’
What really happened in that bed with those two these are philosophical questions relativism only emerges after a certain axiom coagulates.
Thinking about architecture about the necessity of chance on a Nickanee’s patio with a group of people adjacent.
Adjacent and discussing Chinese food in a manner that strikes you as the talk of pure imbeciles that like if chance is necessary?
And it has to be necessary otherwise everything would become irreparably fixed but if it’s in fact necessary then it’s also in a sense fixed essentially being a necessity?—puzzling.
There’s a little triangle tattooed on a pinky finger there’s no individual ecstasy in architecture only during periods of intense collectivism at any given time it’s difficult.
It’s challenging to quantify the amount of conversing occurring on the planet that’s architecture in a sense guy with a hook nose intensely biting his fingernails as upper middle class whites watch in awe.
As other upper middle class whites recreate a modal jazz that was cutting edge in nineteen sixty five on Elmwood Avenue you recall images.
Which informs your decision making in material ways recollected images are animated and in turn falsified solely in your mind.
Which exists in a location that you can’t quite place at the time as you cross a windy Washington Street bridge a figure of this or that proportion is constructed in your memory.
What we call your memory currently we’ll call it your memory to move out of the realm of seminal attraction into one of pure representation.
Lights flicker numerically like CPA firms Neoplatonism was a corrective on the integrity of infinite numbers Sufism a corrective on the rationalism of the concept One.
I feel more in tune with God when I vehemently condemn photography at a bar where no one gives a shit every situation is set in a unique context in what we perceive as time.
A curiously significant shift seemed to occur in the repetition of the smile addicted to dying a thousand deaths with that said hold the red onion on the gyro I’m fresh out of gumballs.
Sent to remedial English simply because we questioned the nature of signifying pronouns but we never got offended at it sans repetition you can’t get back to sleep sometimes.
‘If the whole ocean were ink for writing the words of’—sans repetition sometimes I can’t get back to sleep mirrors are now placed regularly in households and automobiles.
I felt a sudden sense of the whole accelerated heart beat thing you know?—an Elvis impersonator playing his guitar with a perspicacity that was just a delight to behold.
The notion of this oneness as indivisible in essence is only truly comprehended in states of extreme intoxication get drunk by yourself and you may apprehend it.
The bartender at Figidini’s explained how to order a pizza I considered replying something to the effect of ‘Go fuck yourself’ but instead thanked him for the extremely generous insight!
Only in states of isolated intoxication isolation that’s only possible in densely populated areas the desert is a misunderstanding of solitude I think.
It assumes that people exist which is an unproven presumption of our social fabric to some extent so-called population centers of shit piss and semen it’s really just a mirror.
It’s not technically an offspring not in the way that you’re thinking to overcome this um—seminal state this theoretical amplified seminal state as an overcoming of some implied European self.
06. Older Lady with the Look of Pure Death in Her Eyes (1:50)
Pepperonis discriminated by Bib at the bar marble counterwork with the homosexual Chinese quaff—managerial—Michelle said to just shoot the double shot correctly.
Mirrors looped into incoherence another Friday night sat at a bar thinking about oneness typing to yourself that you’re thinking about oneness.
Tiny Bar wasn’t quite as cunty the second time you went there blonde platinum Nordic telepathy dreams in technicolor doppelgangers of gaze.
Thinking about God as the precise indivisibility of this Oneness we’re still typing all of this shit down as we’re thinking it—I may not actually comprehend the origin of so-called feelings.
This notion of being emotionally damaged seems intriguing the shattered self assumes once again let’s not forget this that people actually exist!
Which we’ve previously deemed somewhat presumptuous you talked to the lady with the look of death in her eyes playing pool in the black skinny jeans her name is Ellen she’s seventy-one years young.
07. Multitudinous Feminine Entities (2:03)
A sort of nonlinear seminal yearning Madden Ninety Three dream but the opposing team is a multitudinous feminine entity abutting orgasm as the Detroit Lions.
A tale of two Pearl Streets concrete ear plugs in old Earth soil a Third Reich-era Nazi said Sufis don’t get fucked up—should we consider this a reputable source claim?
Siberian Russians speaking broken demotic Greek pale-faced disgusted sitting at the Chili’s bar TV screens every three feet chugged sixteen ounces of Dos Equis Amber muttering something about sucking my penis.
Thought about jumping off the roof at eight fifty eight PM I remain ambivalent about grain carbohydrates pondering the social dynamic between Latin busboys and Trans bartenders.
But in a totally gender-neutral type of way treat ideas the same way seasoned exotic dancers maneuver impressionable men of all ages molding manifold fictional worlds until it’s extinguished.
Until we no longer know what’s true and what’s false until veracity and falsity became totally subservient to a sort of nonlinear seminal yearning—until the icon collapses.
Discrete units repeating themselves you had a dream about a guy named Nate Bonleo from Chicago a peculiar figure from out of town the name has no hits in any search engine.
Something impalpable in the language something a Hellenized Islamic scholar might attempt to explain velocity ergo legato spatial inquiries into syllabic distances.
This is a five paragraph essay I wrote an extended gaze into the human form itself can manifest divine revelations Shahidbazi tell the bitch to pull the panties off.
Those are one dollar bills in your hand dialogue heard in the so-called mind phrases generated in some sort of involuntary process Gabriel—what does voluntary mean exactly?
The word tartuffery comes to mind we sat on the roof of Pearl Street and drank Soju out of an emptied Ginger Ale bottle and asked ourselves ‘What can a poem express?’
‘What exactly can a poem express’ the word tartuffery comes to mind Gabriel in the cave I can relate a musical mode no—the sound of the fucking human voice.
You asked yourself what can a poem express getting drunk by yourself on the roof of Pearl Street drinking Soju out of an emptied Ginger Ale bottle.
We’re not necessarily in the Thirteenth Century Asia Minor one could argue we’re in Twenty First Century America it seems a lot has changed in eight hundred years.
Everywhere I look I see fucking morons scrolling through feeds scrolling through bullshit and I’m doing the same shit this is art but it’s also an indivisibility of Oneness.
Pre-algorithm the feed disseminates this indivisibility an extreme compression of time the word tartuffery comes to mind the utter dissolution of memory.
GFK tenor the summer months are no time for cum bibs Nubian co-eds speaking foreign melodies thru high vol airpods on the Bridgeport Amtrak the hair product lingered for the next four stops.
Abutting pissy on the HOA call magenta fat faced legal representatives with tight high fades we find follicly inspiring perhaps to my own detriment gradual extinction of the semicolon.
Meteors don't extinguish species they disappear into a collective unconscious of their own volition I was in a cloud—descend to vertical lip stubble.
Give her space when she needs it words replacing tones five letters for λογος adroitly fear scriptural allusions you're the mirror in which He sees his names.
11. The Median Lifespan of Bananas (Alif) (1:47)
I detest the median lifespan of bananas annihilation has always been the ultimate end-game you write things you arrange words but there can only be the one thing.
The one thing contains multiplicities but remains fundamentally somehow unaltered as one annihilation is the only end-game and there’s really nothing objectionable about it.
We love insemination of near-strangers getting our toes painted Nintendo Switch Online getting fucked up three times per week what’s so bad about returning to the one thing.
Language fundamentally must precede mathematics you think lying in bed repeating four words over and over in the hopes that the memories will cease.
We must name the number two!—we must imagine two things distinct from one another to begin to construct this name without the name sans the image.
How would two and two become four!?—it simply wouldn’t is the only conclusion available to us although mathematicians would certainly scoff heartily!
In the abandoned parking lot on Battey the infinite fails to care about the eventual implosion of our solar system there’s a reason Parmenides wrote poems.
Michael has one tooth and pays nine hundred eighty five dollars per month to live in a basement in Warwick and enjoys the company of girls with glasses.
He loves them with glasses and only considers redheads to be true redheads if they’re white redheads which I personally found sensible!
I found this notion that people of color with red hair aren’t quite authentic redheads in the colloquial sense of the phrase to be the sole logical conclusion one could draw regarding the nature of redheads.
It’s simply what we can’t conceive it’s our conception of this extension of this one thing that seems so inconceivable people spend their days talking about nuclear families and rainforests.
The nature of the infinite is in no way similar to simply shaving gyro meat off a giant slow roasting kebab vomiting up the dairy free Ben and Jerry’s cookies and cream smoothie.
Eating ten dollar per pound salted pepitas over my kitchen sink I considered that distinguishing discrete items in space is a form of doubt in itself.
Shove a Corona Premier up your butt and do a handstand you could possibly get a following on YouTube a guy you’d never met alleged that Brett Smiley is a disingenuous cocksucker.
You took his word as gospel and didn’t think twice about it despite knowing neither this person or any of the intricacies of the municipality’s politics.
We recalled that Timothy had fairly plump breasts prior to disappearing I personally wish him all the best in absentia.
Spanish girl tossing Reposado into her body like raised ranches sinking into the Earth in the midst of acute Richter scale events a random carousel seemed psilocybin-adjacent.
‘He could never come to terms with being born into a world that basically repulsed him in every detail from the very beginning.’
Around the year two thousand nine the notion that I was an individuated piece of fate became more or less nonsensical to me which caused a certain type of implosion for a period of time.
13 Golden Rectangles - Text PDF
Nas Safa - Spaceship for Sale
Release Date: 05/31/2024
In a future world where esoteric Lunar Caliphates are in unrelenting decline, where i-Spleen technology has become ruthlessly pervasive throughout the inhabitants of the Third Dimension, where long-standing power structures exist in states of general decay and gradual upheaval, a man by the name of Ibrahim Pasha and his intimate business associate, “J_!!1,” are trafficking cocaine as a primary source of income.
Working in close concert with the Guistiannini Syndicate, a semolina-based usurper of what used to be Caliphate terrain, Pasha is supplied outside Pluto, distributes in Manhattan, and generally spends his free time at the clubs on the Moons of Uranus.
Yet on one fateful afternoon, Pasha and J_!!1 are suddenly robbed of both their narcotic supply as well as their spaceship. Ibrahim, well known within the Solar System as a man somewhat prone to tumultuous bouts of caprice, follows his immediate instinct—tracking down the perpetrator and murdering her in cold blood.
What remains unclear, however, is which parties are declaring war on this final descendant of an original Lunar Caliphate—and to what purpose?
Spaceship for Sale is a 16,000 word poem in syllabic verse, where each line contains between 34 and 55 syllables per line. Chunks of the text were then rapped into an iPhone Voice Memo recorder. These (48) recordings were the "discrete units" that the "orchestration" was derived from. There are 1.42 syllables per word in Spaceship for Sale. Using 233 as a Syllables Per Minute calculation that imputes about 164 Words Per Minute or about the normal American speaking tempo. The (47) voice memos have an aggregate tempo of 380 SPM. The target for the vocals was 377 or 1.618x the normal tempo of American speech. All beats were set to 90 BPM.
01. Carlito's Volume Discounts
02. Joe's Cologne & Wine Spritzers
03. Cryogenic Assholes
04. Outside Pluto
05. Amerigo Vespucci
06. MH370 in Space
07. Strip Clubs in Greater Uranus
08. The Synthesis Always Fails
Nas Safa - Unique Towels
Release Date: 04/20/2024
At an undisclosed location, an undisclosed narrator and his long-time acquaintance, Stratos, discuss a new piece of legislation that apparently recently passed in Inner Saturn, where both men reside
The two residents continue to have a lively debate as to the potential motivations and long-term effects of this peculiar legislation passing. Namely, they share their idiosyncratic views as why a polity would potentially pass legislation requiring men of prime breeding age to use their genital regions (their penises) as dish sponges to wipe down public surfaces.
Unique Towels is a single narrative composed of (10) verses rapped into iPhone Voice Memos at an aggregate tempo of 363 syllables per minute. Which are then juxtaposed with (7) beats all set at a tempo of 90 BPM, making each syllable essentially a 16th note, "musically speaking."
Full Album Download (18:24)
FULL TEXT: Stratos said Did you see her? I said See her what? Who? Beatrice? Stratos said Yes. Beatrice. The girl you’re allegedly trying to pork man! No. Some random person. But no. Seriously. Did you just see here? Stick her feet in. Into those boots? With no socks? Bare foot and shit. I said Ugh. Are you fucking serious Stratos? She’s going commando in the black boots she’s in right now? Stratos said Swear to god man. I literally just saw it happen. Right in front of my eyes bro. I said Ugh. Fuckin kidding me? She's the type to do shoes with no socks? No socks? Stratos said Not just shoes with no socks. We’re talking boots. No socks. I said That just. I don't want to say it ruins it for me outright. But. Stratos said I knew you'd want to know. See. Because I know you feel the same way I do about that. I said about what? About feet? I wouldn’t go. I don’t know if I would go that far. I actually appreciate a good foot Stratos. But I'm just. I mean maybe her sweat glands are fuckin nonexistent. She's one of these girls that like never sweats. Whose skin is preternaturally dry and whatnot. Stratos said But still there's no barrier. Sweat aside. There's still no prophylactic separating foot from boot. I said And I get that. But that in theory doesn't offend my taste as much as the increased probability of her foot stinking later. Which would obviously be sweat-induced. No? Stratos said You zmail her yet? I said Nah. Nah. Not yet. I wanna make sure I'm saying the right thing. The exact correct phrasing. You know. That first zmail. It has to really hit. Otherwise I'm fucked. Then again. If she's going sockless already? Maybe I shouldn't even bother. Maybe it’s already a lost cause. Save myself some time. Stratos said Well. I mean. Big picture? It's not gonna make much of a difference soon anyway. I said What do you mean big picture? Not gonna make much difference soon? Stratos said Well. I mean. You know. With the whole legislation thing that passed. Pretty soon I don't know how much we're gonna be using our cocks anymore anyway. So like I said. Maybe it’s a moot point regardless. I said What the fuck are you talking about Stratos? I’m not gonna be using my cock soon? The fuck? You know I don't watch the damn news. Why in the hell would I cease using my penis in the near future? Stratos said You know who Hunter Carlson is right? I said the prick with the bowtie? The one who smokes crack with hookers right? Stratos said The Assistant Vice President to the Acting Chairman of The Greater Galactic Bureau. Yes. Him. Well he just motioned forward this new legislation. Now of course nobody actually thought this thing was gonna pass. And of course not! There’s plenty of nonsensical legislation every year that gets motioned forward and is of course dead on arrival. In fact. People are still a little mystified as to how it passed. I said Okay. But what did it propose? The actual legislation. Stratos said Well the main gist of the legislation is a single requirement. That all male-identifying citizens of inner saturn. Under the age of forty. Are to be strictly required to use their genitals. Their cock and balls more or less. To clean all public surfaces as deemed necessary by the state. I said Our cocks and balls Stratos? Being used to clean public surfaces? That’s what you’re saying? Like dick sponges? No. I don't like the sound of this at all. It strikes me as less than ideal. And to your previous point. How the fuck would something like this. Stratos said Even pass? I don’t know. In a sense. When you think about it? It makes perfect sense. They've been trying to pass population control legislation for like a decade now for Inner Saturn. Probably more than that. I said But that never fuckin passes. Even I know that. Stratos said Exactly. And then you just take a look at the derelict condition of all three of our major cities? The municipalities are overwhelmed from a sanitation perspective. Which is obviously being driven at least in part by the unrepentant increase in population. I said So you mandate that the most fertile males are required to essentially mangle their dicks cleaning up the cities that are being sullied precisely by overpopulation? Stratos said Exactly. I said That's bullshit. Stratos said Oh it's total bullshit! But it's gonna be our reality extremely soon! I said Can't they like fuckin filibuster or some shit? Delay it in perpetuity or some shit. Call a special public hearing or some shit? So it like passes but is never actually enacted. Because. I mean. Even if it passed? It would just lead to a mass emigration? Stratos said Sure. If anybody can actually get a Visa-Z. Sure. Good luck with that though! I said You know. Now that I’m thinking. Maybe I will shoot Beatrice a text. I’m not gonna. like. Fuck her feet anyway. Right? A footjob the first night? That seems preposterous anyway. Stratos said Our cocks are gonna be in way worse condition than her feet soon enough! I said That’s total. I can't believe that. What a cunt that Hunter Carlson guy is huh? Like of all the cunty things to suggest. He goes and suggests possibly the cuntiest. Stratos said It’s cunty yet subtly brilliant as well. There’s a muted cunt-like brilliance to it all. Like I said. You more or less have to respect it. Nobody has any idea how this guy actually got the legislation to pass. Hardly anything passes these days! You can’t get a motion to increase the meal tax on death row. Yet somehow this Carlson fuck manages to get legislation for a mass movement of literal dick towels through both the State Senate and the Congressional Republic? I said It’s odd. It’s anti-male discrimination Stratos. It’s pure war on the penis. That’s what it is. It’s the age-old jealousy of the phallus. Phallic jealousy of the first order! You know the Congressional Republic has skewed female for some time now. Stratos said But it's not like they're all dykes either. I mean. Sure. There's certainly a feminine antagonism. But I don't know if there's a real market for actually extinguishing the phallus of inner saturn in aggregate within the Congressional Republic. I said That's actually not a terrible point. And then the State Senate. That's like ninety percent chicks with dicks now right? Stratos said But again. Not the demographic that’s going to vote against the phallus. I said Because without the dick they're just chicks. Stratos said Exactly. Chicks with dicks are on average the most pro-penis demographic of Inner Saturn. So again. The question remains. I said How the fuck did Carlson get this shit to actually pass. If I have to start wiping down Burger King counters with my scrotum I’m gonna be pissed Stratos! Stratos said And like I said. Good fucking luck getting a Visa-Z. I’ve heard the waitlist has already quadrupled since this news broke overnight. It could be three fucking years before you get out of here! I said And by that time my entire penile faculty would probably be in such a state of disrepair. Ugh. This is bad Stratos. This is a real concern. I’m zmailing Beatrice right now. I need to go on a fuck spree ASAP now. This is. No. This is very concerning. Stratos said She might be more amenable too now. That's the only real silver lining here. I said That these girls. Realizing they could be dealing with exclusively dirty dicks in like a week. That they’re gonna wanna get in on their own fuckfests in the meantime? Stratos said One would think that's a possibility. I said Please don’t say one would think Stratos. One? It’s a little pretentious. No? But either way. Hear me out then. Hear me out. Stratos said I’m listening. I said what if Carlson. What if Carlson is colluding with the Congressional Republic and the State Senate and the Interior Ministry on this? What if this is an elaborate psy-op. What if actually it’s just a psy-op of the highest order. Stratos said How so? I said You threaten people with this potential loss of aggregate penis. Right? Stratos said Right. I said which moves them to engage in weeks of unencumbered fuckfests. Which makes the aggregate STI rates jump through the roof? Stratos said So you’re not going to zmail Beatrice then? Is what you’re saying? I said I’m not saying I’m not going to. I’m just saying. Stratos said That this could be a low-key euthanization psy-op as opposed to a low-key population control campaign? I said It’s possible. It’s something I’m strongly considering now. With that said? I just zmailed Beatrice. I can already see she's typing me back! The little dots. Stratos said There's only one issue with that theory though. This euthanization theory. I said What is it? Stratos said STIs haven't been generally fatal for like three decades now. Not since the whole bronchial herpes outbreak of the late 2190s. I said So? Maybe the State Senate. Maybe they already have some insight into a potential second wave of bronchial herpes. Or a intestinal AIDS or some shit. Or. Um. Something equivalent you know? And that's factoring into the equation here as well? Stratos said See. Now? Now we're going just a little too deep into pure speculation. A little too far down the rabbit hole in my opinion. I said Go ahead and say it Stratos. You think the theory. That it's conspiratorial now. Stratos said Well. I mean. Kind of by definition? But that's not necessarily a bad thing. That doesn’t ipso facto disqualify it in my mind. I said I don’t know. To me it's really not that crazy. When you really think about it. Like you said. This entire conversation you've basically been adamant that the idea that Carlson somehow got this legislation passed. Through both the State Senate and the Congressional Republic bodies. That it's basically absurd. That it makes no general sense. So clearly there almost must. By definition. Be something of a conspiratorial nature that's going on here. Stratos said Perhaps. Perhaps. But at the same time strange things do happen. Strange events do occur. Without rational explanation. I just wouldn't necessarily go to the whole an STI of deadly capabilities is on the precipice of entering the social fabric of Inner Saturn. And our own governmental bodies are intentionally passing legislation to promote its rapid spreading through the populace to kill off large swathes of people. That's all. I said She just replied. Stratos said What'd she say? I said She's asking me off rip if I have a foot fetish? Stratos said That's. Somewhat forward. I said She said she thinks she knows me from some Big Toe Group Chat from a few years ago. I just zmailed her saying I don’t think I was in that. But that I’m not necessarily averse to toes. Stratos said That's not exactly a ringing endorsement. I said It’s the furthest I’m willing to go. I’m not going to outright lie. And I’m not gonna sign myself up for some shit I’ll end up regretting by midnight. Be on some Let Me See Them Toes Type Shit. Then get over there and just try and pull my joint out. You know? Stratos said That's actually. Pretty upstanding of you. There’s a modicum of respect to it. I said I figure if this legislation thing is real then there should be ample other opportunities for me anyway. Stratos said Right. I said But what about you? Stratos said What about me? I said I mean if she's gonna go hard on the whole foot fetish thing? I’ll give you Beatrice's number? That can happen. If you want? Stratos said Eh. I said Aren't you gonna try and at least get laid then? If all of this is true. Isn’t that a motivating force here? Stratos said Probably. I said No interest in Beatrice? Stratos said Eh. I said She not attractive to you? Stratos said She's fine. I said Fine? Would you not try and fornicate? I thought we both agreed. Stratos said I’m not saying I wouldn't. That’s not it. I’m just saying. I said What is it you’re saying Stratos? I don't know. It kind of seems like you are. Trying to say you wouldn’t? I just asked you if you wanted her number and you said eh. Stratos said Let me marinate on it. Maybe. Anyway. You still might be interested right? I don’t wanna be like all over it and then you're trying to hang out with her. You know? I said No I get it. Stratos said Yeah. It’s not a big deal. We’ll figure it out. I said You were probably just really turned off by. You know. The whole bare feet in the boots thing. Right? Stratos said Have you applied for a Visa-Z yet? I said As of maybe half an hour ago I had no notion of this Phallic Wash Cloth Legislation. I had no notion it even existed. Never mind that it apparently passed. So I haven’t. Stratos said You probably should. I said Why? Have you? Stratos said Oh yeah. I’ve had a Visa-Z for a few months now. I said Really? You applied. Stratos said Oh yeah. Way back. When um. This whole Hunter Carlson thing has been rumored for a few months now. I figured just in case. I’d go ahead and try and get a Visa-Z ahead of it. You know. Cover my bases. I said Oh. Stratos said What? I said Nothing. I just. I don't know. You didn't think to maybe give me a heads up at all? Stratos said It seemed like a low probability thing. I didn’t want to. You know. Bother you and shit. Over something that was in all likelihood going to end up dissipating into the ether. I said In all likelihood dissipating into the ether. Yet. You still went to the trouble of applying for the Visa-Z yourself? Stratos said Just to cover my bases. Yeah. I said I don't know. In the abstract I suppose I get it. Maybe it makes sense in the abstract. But I’m just struggling here Stratos. Just a little. Marrying up this legislation being something that was at once super low probability. Yet also something you went to the trouble of applying for a Visa-Z over. Yet also something you felt like was of no concern to tell me. To give me even a minimal heads up on. Stratos said Is that my responsibility now? To watch the news for you? I said I’m not saying it's your responsibility. Obviously I’m my own person. You’re your own person. I don’t watch the news. You’re somewhat of a political junkie. Stratos said I don’t know if I would say I’m. I said But you know what I’m saying. We’re obviously our own people. I’m just saying. That if I was planning to potentially flee Inner Saturn because of some apocalyptic draconian legislation? I don’t know. I might be saying something to you. Bring it up in conversation. Broach the topic if you will? I might just say like hey Stratos are you planning on leaving Inner Saturn. You know. Because we might be forced to pull our cocks out and wipe down dirty dish pans with them in perpetuity because of our deeply corrupt government? Stratos said In retrospect. Sure. Yeah I guess maybe I should have made a point to mention something about it to you. Perhaps that’s a fair assessment. Perhaps I should have made more of an effort to broach the topic during one of our routine conversations. I said She just zmailed me back. Beatrice. Now she's asking if I want to come over. Over zmail mind you. Stratos said Are you? Or do you? I said She's saying she just got back. Saying she walked all the way from Garden View back to her apartment. Stratos said Ugh. I said You’re not. Well of course you’re not interested. Stratos said I think she’s cute. There’s nothing wrong with her. If she. Did she mention anything about taking a shower at all? I said Eh. Stratos said Oh. Now you’re eh. I said No. I mean eh. As in eh I wasn't technically lying when I said I wasn't necessarily averse to toes?
Macrotonal Adjacent: >.667 Ratio Raps
The texts associated with the below two records both are written in the >.667 Ratio. Rather than rhyming outright or even internally the sum of instances of alliteration and assonance were counted within a verse, and then the verse was edited until those repetitions reached a greater than .667 ratio with the total syllables of the line.
Nas Safa - Postmodern Novelists
Release Date: 12/31/2021
Postmodern Novelists is a "kontakion" (written in the modal ratio of >.667) and the earliest experimental opera of the Nas Safa project. It details a conversation between a narrator and the postmodern novelist Thomas Pynchon regarding the potential origin of the postmodern novel, namely the possibility that the origin could be an obscure long poem by a 10th century Byzantine monk.
Postmodern Novelists (Full Album Download) (22:13)
Nas Safa - Giannis Tzelepes Thomas Tzatziki
Release Date: 06/23/2023
Not quite an opera at all ... just a 23-part text where each verse is written in the meter >.667. (i.e. the repetition to syllable ratio is greater than .667. (i.e. if there are 30 syllables in a line, then there should be at least 21 repetitions or 'echoes', 21/30=0.7)). The net tempo of the 23 verses is 377.02 syllables per minute.
Giannis Tzelepes Thomas Tzatziki (Full Album Download) (16:09)
Lit Corner: Novellas as Unrealized Librettos
These were all attempted to be made into records at some point . . .
Nas Safa - NBA Hentai: Jeffrey of Nazareth (A Novel)
Release Date: 11/10/2023
Rick Brunson is just another guy trying to eek out a living selling sex toys. Yet in the year 2024, free porn, AI generated Hentai, and ruthless advancements in Flesh Lights are compressing margins and infringing on the demographics Brunson Industries has historically serviced.
They say crime doesn't pay. But neither does a 3% net profit on a 9 inch dildo.
With this mind Brunson emerges with a novel idea. Selling butt plugs for house pets. Encouraging people to start actually banging their pets. Inspired by a mysterious note he received during the COVID-19 pandemic—written by a certain David Wingate in the year 2981—Rick comes to suspect that, by the year 2050, pedophilia will be legalized in the United States. That Jeffrey Epstein will be re-evaluated not as a child trafficker and potential Mossad agent but instead as a man-boy Christ-like figure.
It's in this very milieu that Brunson plans to ensure—by any means necessary—that his proprietary puppy butt plug technology is first to market. Because, in his mind, by mid-century fucking fellow human beings will, in all likelihood, be totally passe.
Nas Safa - NBA Hentai: 1995-2011
Release Date: 04/15/2024
Five short stories loosely connected by the inclusion of characters sharing the names of various 90s and 00s NBA players, all engaged in various types of absurdist crime.
Most of the stories consist primarily of spoken dialogue, which were then divided into lines by a TEXTSPLIT formula in Microsoft Excel. (=TEXTSPLIT(A1,“ ”,“.”,TRUE,0,“ ”).
These stories occupy the same "NBA Hentai" universe as the novella Jeffrey of Nazareth, which drew its characters from the 1998-1999 roster of the New York Knicks.
Below are the mp3s for 60% of NBA Hentai, which sets three of the five stories to ambient backdrops.
60% of NBA Hentai: An Audiobook
01. '04 Pistons
02. '09 Lakers
03. '95 Sonics
The novella American Caliphate continues the saga of Ibrahim Pasha and his partner J_!!1 from Spaceship for Sale. In this chapter, Pasha is asked to intervene in the aid of his archnemesis Uday Abbasid, as Greater Uranus is under a ... rather unique attack. The format of this text was also structured using the =TEXTSPLIT(A1," ",".",TRUE,0," ") delimiting formula in excel, following a strategic use of periods as opposed to commas, to demarcate the contours of extemporaneous speech.
On the Concept of Byzantium with Continual Reference to Alcibiades (Version 2)
A novel in Microsoft Excel in two segments. A figure Alcibiades indulges in two extensive monologues: first, he discusses a dream where he had sex with a woman who simultaneously was somehow African-American and Caucasian, then he gives an extended take on the division between the Byzantine and Anglo modes of thought.
This text was written in a modal style, meaning that the frequency of repetition in the text was calculated in relation to the total syllable count. Each section occupies a frequency (echo to syllable) of >.667 (the final third of the number 1).
Plain text and ciphered script set side by side in the excel sheet.
On the Concept of Byzantium w/ Continual Reference to Alcibiades (Version 3)
This is just a separate version of the same text as the Excel version. In this iteration of the text, the prose was separated into line breaks by the Microsoft Excel formula =TEXTSPLIT(A1,“[”,“ ”,TRUE,0,“ ”).
The structure of the text, metrically, is that instances of repetition (alliteration or assonance) were placed in [brackets]. These repetitions were measured in relation to the total syllables. i.e. If there were 4 repetitions in a verse that contained 10 syllables, then that relationship would equal 0.40. The text was written and rewritten until the ratio of repetitions to syllables for each section was equal or greater than 0.667 (>.667).