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AQC Release for Tuesday, March 23rd, 2010

Words: Bill Hillmann, Chipmunx, Asher Benatar, D.M. Mitchell, Mike Parrish, Hernán David Camargo Luque, Hollace Metzger, Ron Hirschbein, and Peter Bebergal Interviews Guitarist Sir Richard Bishop.

Visuals: Felicia Olin, Ruben Cukier, Stephan Maich, Cody Sevedge, Jim Henderson, and Rebecca Etter.

Films:Nick Cave interview - Ghosts of the Civil Dead (1988), A Brief History of Pretty Much Everything by Jamie Bell, Give Up Yer Aul Sins - Story of Saint Patrick by Brown Bag Films, and TOWN OF MAIPO - PROCESSION by Felipe Rodríguez Pincheira.

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Tuesday, March 23rd, 2010

Works by Felicia Olin and Ruben Cukier.

Peter Bebergal Interviews Guitarist Sir Richard Bishop

Sir Richard Bishop is truly one of the most exceptional guitarists working today. He is best known for his work with the brilliant and inscrutable Sun City Girls, but his recent solo career is no less impressive. His most recent record, The Freak of Araby [Drag City] is a wonder of technical virtuosity and authentic respect for his influences.

Bishop is currently in Southeast Asia (read his blog here) and was kind enough to answer some questions regarding his thoughts on the influence of occultism on underground music, his own thought on esotericism, and the difference between the inner and the outer. 

Underground music and esotericism have been a pair for a long time, but there seems to be a much more candid expression this last year or two. Recent examples include the summer Equinox Festival and the Musicka Mystica Maxima Festival put on by the O.T.O. Do you have thoughts as to why this might be?

I was pleasantly surprised when I first heard about these two festivals. I don't recall any festivals like this happening before. I'm not sure what Raymond Salvatore Harmon or the O.T.O. were expecting from these, and I honestly don't know if either was successful but I hope they (and others) will continue in this direction. As to why it is all happening now, it's hard to say. It's possible that more and more people are getting fed up with all the bullshit that is going on in the world today. I mean, there really isn't a lot to grasp onto these days. Maybe by getting involved with the esoteric side of things, musically and otherwise, people, especially younger people, can find something to identify with or at least broaden their personal horizons. And on the other side, perhaps it benefits some of these occult groups by bringing more into the fold to increase their own ranks. After all, the economy is pretty fucked up and maybe the O.T.O. needs more people to pay that $666 a year (or is it more now?) in order stay afloat. Who knows? It really doesn't matter how one interprets it all but I do think it's a good thing. It seems like a natural affinity.


Works by Stephan Maich and Cody Sevedge.

by Bill Hillmann

This is an example of why no matter how big you are you should never go to somebody’s house looking for a fight. It was a school night, around 11, I lay in bed, I could still hear my parents TV blaring down the hall as I started to feel myself drift off to sleep. When I heard Rosie’s voice raging “Oh, I know you didn’t come up here like That! To my house Fool?”

I heard a deep voice grumbling something about “Where is it Rose,” and I tried to drift back toward sleep when I heard a slap and a scuffle, pulling, shoes scrapping over pavement.

Rose’s voice rippling, a vicious “Nooo.” Like the hiss of an alley cat and I shot up and looked out the window as my sister wrestled with some large dark figure on the sidewalk below out in front of the house, it looked like a grizzly was mauling her. I leapt from bed and rumbled down the stairs, Jan saw me near the front door as she sat on the living room couch and said “what are you doing?”


Dirty Spooge in Praying Hands

During a snowy February Jeff discovered in a mold infested basement, at five in the morning (on his thirteenth birthday), how his young mother was prevented from having an abortion.  The Christian Right (a church leader, a teacher, a city council member, a pro-life activist, and a supporter of guns) pushed their pro-life agenda into legislation, forcing his mother, who was raped at age fourteen by her father, to bring the child forth into the world, despite her desire not to have a child of an incestuous birth: the bastard son of an evil man, who had molested many children during his tenure before cancer ate his perverted body.

Jeff's mother, a welfare recipient who did not inherit the life insurance from her father because he gave it to the church, had a whiskey and sedative habit that rivaled a Rock-N-Roll Stars from the 1970s. If she was lucky, a couple truckers would stop by the house for a few hours and give her a hard, deep rooting while she was passed out in her own vomit. She was a twenty-eight year old, STD infested, walking vessel of her cancerous environment of crucifix wearing, bible thumping, religious caricatures who privately prayed for their nation's president to be assassinated. Her teenage cirrhosis showed as she sat feebly waiting for her monthly check; nevertheless, she did not angrily beat Jeff while she was in a blacked-out rage against society...


Frondosidad de Sebastián
Asher Benatar

Nunca imaginó que Velasco pudiera estar tan bien informado. Exhibía estadísticas, informes, cartas presuntamente secretas que debilitaban la propuesta de Sebastián dejándolo en una situación difícil. Por eso, cuando llegó su turno, paseó la vista a lo largo de la mesa ovalada y supo que estaba al borde de quedar en minoría. Comenzó a hablar pausadamente, no por tranquilidad sino para ganar tiempo, para encontrar los argumentos adecuados que convencieran a esas seis personas de que la gestión por él desarrollada al frente de la compañía no había sido imprudente ni arriesgada y que aquellas inversiones tan discutidas iban a constituirse, al cabo de pocos años, en el instrumento para quedarse con buena parte del mercado sudamericano. Empezó bien, y acaso habría podido dar vuelta la situación de no ser por aquella molestia que sintió en el hombro obligándolo a investigar por debajo de cuello de la camisa. Palpó algo extraño, delgado y suave, una pequeña excrecencia que se doblaba ante la presión de los dedos y que sólo provocaba dolor ante los cautelosos intentos de Sebastián por arrancarla. Inquieto ante esa novedad de su cuerpo, perdió el camino de la argumentación, repitió conceptos, no supo convencer.  Castelnuovo, el único de los miembros del directorio que lo apoyaba, parecía instarlo con el gesto. Celasco y  Ferrer mantenían su expresión neutra, sin ceder a la tentación de una sonrisa irónica. Sebastián trató de olvidar su inquietud pero no pudo. Sus palabras, habitualmente apasionadas y llenas de fuerza, se tornaron anodinas, carentes de garra. Aun Castelnuovo, tan entusiasta y lleno de adhesión durante todo aquel tiempo de negociaciones secretas, dudó antes de emitir el único voto favorable a Sebastián.

más leer...

D.M. Mitchell

In my mind’s eye I can still see Jimmy wandering the grubby streets of my childhood. In his mangy carpet slippers and torn lank-top, muttering unintelligibly and snapping at passers-by. I can picture his hollow-cheeked pocked face, lizard skin beneath beetling brows. Never wore an overcoat, even in the winter, rain or snow. Over the years of my formation up until puberty- he became part of the childhood mythology of the neighborhood. In retrospect, though, he was just another dead-beat in an area full of dead- beats. He lived next door to the house with the overgrown garden where poisonous looking weeds erupted from the remains of an old sofa and a TV- set. The tales that surrounded his pitiful existence were typical little boy fabrications, except as it turned out, for one. He did keep his wife locked in a rear bedroom, feeding her on biscuits and water, and she did scream every night. She was acutely schizophrenic. Social workers in those days were very few and far between. Not that they're much use even now.


Works by Jim Henderson and Rebecca Etter.

Cannon Revisited (Unannounced)
Mike Parrish 

     Lost in technological advances toward mankind’s industrial implications of progression a forward motion might be discovered to be nothing but hazardous. A scripts’ “white-out” in 20 AD on goats skin didn’t exist and a journalist’s typewriter originally never had the function of erase and delete or copy and paste until the computer arrived.     

     Epochs have come and gone by the side of wayward sons with indifference to technology. Certain effects of machinery aid as others hinder the progressions of social wellbeing. Abundance of individuals sick in their pants towards social disciplines control the masses of all the sycophants. 


El vagabundo
Hernán David Camargo Luque

Pordiosero, mechudo grimoso
Algarabía dejas detrás con tus cabellos
Entre sociedades señalado como inconcluso
Yerras tus estudios, muestras  lo que seguro es
Otro vagabundo implorando misericordia de su ser
Busca un lugar para tus mechas
En la elite no vengas con tus ideas de rebeldía revuelta
Entre ideas vagas e ideologías baratas
Conocemos los de tu calaña  ¡Quédate con pura calva!

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El monarca
Hernán David Camargo Luque

¿Cómo osas cuestionar mis actos?
Si de la escoria tú fuiste mi rebaño
Tiempos pasados me remontan a ti
Como gobernante fétido de corrupción fui
No me conoces porque pordiosero nunca has sido
Pero lo serás porque la justicia ha venido
Derrotado entre señalamientos habré sido
Monarca de las elites pronto he comprendido
Que como yo, tú nunca veras un céntimo en tu bolsillo

más leer...

Central Station 00:38
Athens to London to Beauvais, 2007

Hollace Metzger

Punctured metal chairs
pushing into too many pairs
of tired thighs. Pigeons flying
across the room with only
as much as a single movement.
So much luggage,
such a small family.
Where are we all going?

Why is that decrepit, cross-
eyed man staring at me?
My body is black,
her skin is pale,
his hair is rotten,
our eyes are open.
A closed gate between us
and breakfast.
A closed ticket counter
leaving us all pushing
automated buttons
connecting to nowhere.


Showing: Nick Cave interview - Ghosts of the Civil Dead (1988), A Brief History of Pretty Much Everything by Jamie Bell, Give Up Yer Aul Sins - Story of Saint Patrick by Brown Bag Films, and TOWN OF MAIPO - PROCESSION by Felipe Rodríguez Pincheira.

Ron Hirschbein

The usual distinction between continental and analytic philosophy misleads. The real cleavage (carnal without being sexy) is between continental and incontinental practices. Continental philosophy is not about the motorcar of the same name—although continental philosophers seem autoerotic in that they abuse themselves and others. As vulgar Freudianism—the best kind—would have it: continental philosophers fixate upon the phallic stage—they prick our conscience. (Consider Foucault’s ruminations about the penal system.) But alas, continentals are undervalued in Wittgenstein’s Blue Book. (Would you buy a used philosophy from these people?) In any case, at this age, I’m obsessed (I had to say that!) with incontinetal practices:

*Some incontinental colleages claim Berkeley as a misguided ancestor—that insane uncle secreted in the basement. John Wisdom’s interpretation of Berkeley’s philosophy puts the “anal” in analytic philosophy when he hazards a psychoanalytic account that reduces the good Bishop’s imperious empiricism to an anal fixation. I’ll probe this alimentary logic, but not too deeply, for I have no interest in handling Leibniz’ windowless gonad.  

*Karl Popper’s “promissory materialism” corners the subprime, philosophy of mind market. You may have seen the promissory note: Popper advances what I call diuretic materialism: Just as the kidneys secret urine, the brain secrets consciousness—it’s truly epiphenomenal. (Alas, those of us aging disgracefully endure intermittent streaming.) Supposedly, the payoff comes in 30 years when neuroscientists reduce consciousness to particle logic. No principle is generated by the promissory note; it’s interest only.

Learn more ‘bout the cleavage by dialing the philosophy sex line—900 Platonic Love. Press “1” to reveal what you’re thinking of doing—but don’t get the wrong IDEA!


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