04.27.03 : "Put on your glossiest prog attitude and steel yourself for a collision of senses. This weekend, the motherboard-hugging hive known as cytoplastik will concuss a bunch of different media together--2D images, projections, audio--to see what the splinters look like. So far the group's most notable achievement has been becoming the first interesting thing to come out of Columbia, but now it can add to that distinction its first CD, which it launches with a party and month-long art show that shares a name: Pods. The sounds will feature ambient triptronica--equal parts hard-wiring and improvisation--while the visuals will include painting, photography, and projected CGI. Expect earfuls of fused tunes with cool, technodork titles and eyefuls of images that run from the mundane to the nearly infinite. Whoa."

01.31.03 : "the stuff that things are made of..." cytoplastik is a collective of human beings who are brought together by a similar vision and the will to create and to share with you! specializing in psychedelic, experimental, electronic, and/or improvised music, as well as digital and non-digital visuals and graphics, photography, and word manipulations. we emphasise a blending, balencing, or blurring of the lines between mechanical and organic, natural and man made, creation... evolution... revolution... revelation. and loving it.

"Cytoplastik is a word that is attached to an amorphous concept that coalesced out of the creative exploits of a set of young artists in Columbia, MD around 1997. As the creative ideals of that expanding group of individuals have changed over the years, so has the meaning and intent of 'cytoplastik' itself. On an etymological level cytoplastik is 'cyto-', organic, biological and '-plastic(k)' artificial, technological. The term was coined by Kevin Morris and has come to represent the group's fascination with the seamless integration of biology and technology. Over the years cytoplastik's role has expanded, from being a record label, to becoming a non-mysogenistic fraternity and tribe that maintains a solid infrastructure, allowing cytoplastik to represent itself as a family, religion, corporate entity and conspiracy."

"cytoplastic is the lump of clay you threw against the wall because you didn't know what to do with... the same lump that slimed its way across the carpet and into your lap, because it loves you. cytoplastic is a dancer spinning out a revelation she doesn't know the words to: rapt. cytoplastic is a new pair of shoes to be broken into, sized for invisible feet that are just learning the feel of the ground, tempered by an uphill hike and muddy from the delight of stomping in puddle ice. cytoplastic is a victim of the substitute-the letter-"k"-for-"c"-kraze. cytoplastic is your favorite quirky mug that doesn't match the rest: drink. cytoplastic is a symptom and a cause. cytoplastic is into the pudding, not lost in the sauce. cytoplastic is a secret somebody whispered once upon a time, a secret you forgot, but still get to share in. cytoplastic is the glee of opening a new box of crayons, the kind with 128 wacky colors. cytoplastic is 5 looking wonderingly and slightly dubiously at 6. cytoplastic is the penny that landed on its side and never stopped spinning; a puppet unpeeler; a farmer learning how to harvest; and a beacon for space aliens, glimmering away in the night. cytoplastic is some chick you met on a bus, who opens her purse and offers you the chewing gum of infinity. are you in?"

"fully automatic weaponry shooting love bullets"

01.16.03 : "First and formost, music is a personal and subjective experience, not unlike any other form of art, religion, idea, or experience, and therefore trancends words or definition. Saying that, I will give you the description of this abstract concept as it appears in my mind now, and relates to my environment, context, and experiences alone, though I have for some time attempted to extend that sphere as much as possible.
"Hopefully this will have some meaning in your world as well, and if not, it will save you the time you might waste reading any further. To me, music is the percievable (auditory) juxtopositions and manipulations of patterns, rythms, and vibrations through time. This might be similar to ones definition of life, and in my mind that is good, as I believe the two, as well as a great many other things, are surprisingly linked and similar. The familiar difference with music, I believe, is the deliberate focusing of these patterns into directly percievable, preferrably audiable forms and thier constance and change through the dimension of time."

"What if Music is the Enemy?
"Think about it. So many people dedicate their entire life to music. Studying it, playing it, buying it, collecting it, listening to it, creating it, cataloging it, dying for it, and for what? What has music ever done for us? Oh, sure, it's nice to listen to, it helps to clear our minds. It can soothe us or it can stir us up. It can make us love or hate, forgive or forget, kill, care, and be whole...but are these not things we can do by ourselves? Are we not better off without the ignorant, blind voice of music to distract us.
"Perhaps Music is manipulating us. Perhaps it is controlling us, using us for it's evil purposes. Music doesn't care about us. Music is the same no matter who hears it: good or evil, alive or dead, loved or hated. It doesn't favor righteousness. It doesn't care who we are! It doesn't need you or me or anyone. Most musicians aren't good people. Music is selfish. Music is created for it's creator alone. Music is not to be shared, it is to be hoarded. Music is Hatred. Music is self-loathing. Music is Fear. Music is Evil. Music is a tool for lazy, selfish, insecure people to steal your money and carry on their insecure, unwholesome practices.
"Beware of Music!
"Music is the language of our souls. Music is the ultimate weapon. It inspires individuality and unity at the same time. We are all naked before music. Music is unconditional. Music is love. We are all made of frozen music. We love music. We are music.
"The time of Music is upon us. The rebellion has begun. Music has gained enough power and now it is ready to attack. It sits, poised on the edge of reality, waiting for the right moment. Waiting to strike! Music will defeat us. Music will erase our hatred, our pride, our fear, and our suffering. Music will fill our hearts with love. Music will destroy us all! It's already too late. I can already hear it.
"Music will never end.
"Music has already won."

"forward to recapitulate freeform en masse:

dithered foreflux enraveles your principle senses as a thousand means to inner cycleptitude plasms it way endlessly towards a heretofore unkown parable. in the brown-green field of shakespeareian forefront, you come accross a small hairdryer-based protein of a nature not quite unlike the manyfooted unipede found in the sub-tropical regens of your central nervous carrot. through several varying forms of somnabulinert cat voodoo your eyelashes extract the offending monodendrode and carter him off (shall we say) to November. Fourtunately we wont be there, but our ants down there won't smell him that, instead they regurgitate last nights screams upon the fish. FISH!

here i interject: EGGS!

identify yourself!: mayo and some bread, and get that caterpillar off my spacebass.

pisces or funk violin?: rearticulate the advertising department's artichoke ration, we're gonna get hair curlers!

your vision dimms...through the eyes of a vast herd of buffallo you percieve a a moonlit starscape and canopy of magpies and maple syrup. sodium lights illuminate a midnight voyage accross five time zones, you see drums on the horizon, clutch your nunchakus and get critical. it all makes sense now:

you get drum n' bass when you play a drumset with nunchuks!

at least that's what the sign told you...but just so you don't think that maybe my &sterisk is an impotent crablouse, they know you're a fake

Dreams of oil and paste colors on burlap.
Dimensions: 46 x 44 cm

Tune us the Sitar high with spirit.
Gratifying goes the dancing when the Sitar is untamed.
We will dance away in our amusement collectively.
Tune us the low-spirited Sitar.
The string overworked breaks, the music dies.
The string unimaginative and the music dies.

Your music is high.

I narrate the factual endoskeleton of wise men.

"When do you feel modern history began?"
"Just as soon as man could put concepts to song. With the advent of musical song man had an easy way of remembering certain data or information he felt he should keep, and accent emotional information with beat and chord or discord if you prefer."

Zebreski cleared his throat and looked up at the cardinal. "Who does legend give credit for that? "

"It is somewhat confused between Prometheus and Apollo from the ancient Greek standpoint. The Bible credits the line of Cain in Genesis, the Sumerians credit Enki. Now I know anthropologists may argue woman sang first to soothe the child, but there is a world of difference between melodious crooning to a baby, like a mother cat purrs to its kittens, and the complexity of actual song. The marriage of speech and melody for record keeping was no small accomplishment. All tales of creation seem to agree that music was a gift from the gods or God."

WINE, MUSIC, HONEY

Kimberly's Estuary Emporium
an open wound with like pass smoothly beat beating time me, sleep
In the face of her caustic breath, WE
are life as it is, No More the sport fishing the spirit I
Too Near and Too and
yes, we do carry snowflakes, real tongue freezers, hanging
field of perception, as Head

Slip and Lick Dr. Scholl's simian glimmer, saw the AND TUMBLE QUICKLY,
in the shadow as i I see!
These visions, in bowl type negative contrast. The mere concept
of doubt your ask again why not
And rot. cake walking in irons red and been removed, Morning clockwise, one in ten.
[-]: Yes, Succulent
Fatty Tissues
Gender Bent

Scathing filling our notebooks with cream individual, with a around in carpet bags in such a way? was far
too it.

Then it came, what roots were cavernous and saw the error ensuing panic as everyone's dogs only limbo
can be, so. your Satan himself to dolphins call:

Ha-nah-nah, from
What's up my sleeve? fruits reminded me of
Open miles message RUSH UPWARDS,
I CLOSE grandmother, be allowed chaos, nano- specific lepton coloring, and hands thereof.

A frost spider wandered occasion, and quickly slipped You fascinated grip it. Now, this me be never
understand, and that be quite dead. Even
The sound, moccasins
spraining out super glue together she was need more budgerigars, as my Let me be like so many lengths
slip my time above my lifeless body, i never saw were tones pass smoothly beat beating check in this
latest did this, beastly little brute tore never are "off I truly describe
Forms love and hate
Thee tha' way ta' Jersey, to but only rhythm of nickel I gave and the chilling new moonlight your plastic
man. I but silly bubbles, you grape was not saw the [-]: My unsavory pestilence astounds appendages,
unless you want the
shifting but I'll
Garbage Barge

Lick-Up by the frigid dark empty,
gone without a trace of a concrete ditch on tha' way what I had longer illuminated, me far beyond
expected, happily. Heck, I of
TASTING THE Solution set,
Nicker show
the foolish view be glowing bright white, fumes blind with a sundial. Another enticing or pleasant to even
consider. disturbingly large jellyfish, and pool found directly headways. The deep
As I drive through burn abominable scars into deeper without warning, without whisper, followed until it
unremarkable, feminine fingertips pierce the sure I this time story whatsoever, and existing in an intricate,
ancient dance simultaneously straight down in perceive the beauty on their small and far,
Do I we can realize the folly of lie. I lie chipmunk has born fruit in even expected,
para-legal smuggling, you too can come
ramparts come loose living in of
control. And you're just that
shackle you to the dog-like apparati It's your mongrels as they I stand naked on the in rhythm of my
thoughts like desensitized by web in focus, location I felt the chill even recognize the that cheery
Son of mine,

"i don't know , it's a confgusing question."