we formed elvehjem to compose artful sound aligned with insights inspired by human experience. our goal is to write and compose souly for creativities sake. we live for the freedom that performing and composing allows us; this, you may see at any elvehjem performance. passion runs, and we work as we do to realize what we as individuals can contribute to the creative complexity that emerges in finding our end; when the pure experience enowns you. we hope you enjoy what we're so passionate about.
our present state of affairs: Scott, our drummer, is studying French in France until mid to late May. when he returns, we'll be back with a new ep, shirts, buttons, some stickers (if you're lucky), and a new summer tour (if we're lucky).
our upcoming ep (tentatively titled "dawning as quake and stillness") will be made up of 3 songs. one of these songs will be a three part sonata. the names of the sonata's sections so far named are the last stand in paradigmatic passion (the first section) and transfiguration of a senseless man (the last of the three sections). the middle section is not yet named. the other two songs are titled cannibal "increscunt animi, virescit volnere virtus" and on friends, to the frontier.
February 13
this sliver pallet of air holds it in the 2-3 dimensional, own most essential
metaphysical bending of a picture
a mirror bending literature
a figure, salivation at both ends
hungry for what's never been
the regal single tear of after sense
but this dripping bold of "black"
cast on canvass backs of life before just that
transfigures metaphysics of seeing-site and picture interconnectedness never otherwise
for it is the after life that brings duality apparatus experience
tear the flesh off the man
in hopes for sense perception
as control, as void, for metaphysics experiments
as ironic bits of realization as essence
come myself to the oracle's pitch. but then,
i'm told that this i've already found.
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February 13
now i know what the void of passion feels like. passion being the sensation of accomplished connectedness with the unhindered passion, love, heart, beauty, and weeping tears of what is coming to be all-fruiting in one single moment. as if having looked parallel to the ground for my entire existence only to look down and in that bending of light away from the cave wall, so being enowned as the gathering point for all beauty, love, passion that can ever exist and does inevitably in the only present that matters, my unending boundedness to now. this thing without beginning or end. this non-thing. this wordless. this timeline goes on infinitely in both directions. all directions. now. not ever. not never. soul wrenching fury gathering and absorbing, gathering and absorbing, gathering and absorbing as the sense apparatus and the abounding world of furious emotion unifies; literally unifies itself with the self.
this is a passionless void. this is what i've thought of time after time. the pain of being without sensation. yes, this is ironic. i think even more so now that i feel as though i might understand it. it is now that i write without thinking very much at all. wondering, paining over what makes sense to be called practical impermanence. beautiful excitement of new love and a new friend, and what maybe i don't know, might be the unending pain of a void of happiness as a result. where is my grounding in all of this? if there is a god, what has happened to me? and if it is not too filled with ridiculous purpose, why? if not, then i address this to reality, to which i am inevitably bound. bring me to the oracle. to the soul opening burst of light and enownedness as the gathering. come myself to the oracle's pitch. but then, i'm also told that this i've already found.
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February 13
poised on my knees as tall as possibility. until you made me bleed it was something i never thought i'd see. cutting flesh in half over again and again half life had in halfs 'till somethings left this edge was a sickled friend leaving me bent back and scalpeled ab enlightenment.
you left the seed. supplanted ovary has grown to becoming tree. and with endowing lips you kiss you give breaths of bludgeoning. and with this i give a fleshed dowry with broken glass intended for christening the enlightenment of admitted defeat.
there's an animal in all of us, likes to impale. and there's a cannibal in all of us, likes to kill. and when our backs our turned on all of us, we'll forget the details. and when our backs are turned on all of us, we'll pull the trigger, and we'll burn the bridges to the places inside ourselves that we've never seen, because we're choosing to see 20/15.
a scalpel please, everybody back up. i'll make my cut here. scalpel please everybody, back up. i'll make my cut here.
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February 13
A: a pump the particles past this speed of light. tachyons will tell us of nails driven pre-vi hammer's swing notes sing samsara in thickness, reverse cause effecting.
B: bring these things, to abbey's doors, screaming scratching heretic on bones.
to tear this, filth from skin, of non question asking are you ready? are you ready to die?
C: revolving door, in, out the next, ask me what i'm looking for; it.
rather do i mean am i seen by such opposing eyes? such an opposing mind?
=: ask open, ended, questions, on open
=: these are bruise tattoos from fingers of fists driven in to palms in philos sophia fits. straight jacket laced up around "I" waist
i wait for time to come
"hollow screams" and hollow "me" and hollow dreams of "nothing"
A: a passion filled waxlet of glorious sensation on my skin begs a question, philos sophia infection, half truths, are they ok? are they alright? rather do i mean am i seen by such opposing eyes?
B: purge the skin, with intent, to wind and, wash the flesh, in atonement. the bondage wraps, paper concepts. truth is needle rendered anesthetic.
C: revolving door, in, out the next, ask me what i'm looking for it.
rather do i mean am i seen by such opposing eyes? such an opposing mind?
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February 13
pose the question, when we understand that the Christian God is all powerful and one without beginning or end to his existence, and realize that the soup out of which we came is still obviously mystical, immaterial, and sacred in a nonreligious but profound and piercing still in metaspiritual rapture. we realize that skin is no more material skin, tangible, touchable, empirically understandable than is God. this is the God, the Buddhist mind, the Dao/Tao, the "strings", the abground, the Atman-Brahmin that i've been blessed with. the pure experience of experience at all. this is the God in all of us. the self drawn into the the slit, the sliver between the seams that projects me (without identity) into the purity of showing in the whole. this is the God everywhere; it is in and through our being (as existence) itself. so, when we say it is everywhere, it pierces and floods as the flood and the pierced itself, we breath "it" in warmer breaths. this is the God everywhere, undeniable to ourselves, unprovable to others (no matter what theorem, theory, or proof you have).
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