Time Munching And The Ear Doctor Sessions.

TIMUCIN SAHIN: Fretloze Gitaren, Compositions. http://www.timucinsahin.com/home.html
TYSHAWN SOREY: Drums, water, brushes.
BIMHUIS. PIET HEINKADE 3. AMSTERDAM. http://www.bimhuis.com/
Timucin Sahin, Kai Eckhardt, AND Owen Hart JR. Grew me a nice new set of ears at the Badcuyp, Amsterdam in 2007. So i returned to witness the spacetime technician's once more, this time at the Bimhuis with his new line up. Out the gate, out the traps, launch, go, straight off i felt i was in the right place for the evening, Timucin weaving his subtle cosmic tones and background radiation with a truly awesome flurry of fingered equations, while Tyshawn instantly abducted my ears to at least 9 simultaneous rhythm patterns, fluxt timespace signatures and all the accent and groove-feel to pull out the lilt and swing of the different junctions, at the phalanx of - intersection points - in the Plutonium jazzy-gass, splitting ears and brain-body barriers with the aroma of no-time, new time. All punching time on the chin. In a nutshell, i felt abducted by the soundscape, and the grooves satisfied by own personal glittered-jazz, drum and bass/jungle tinged taste buds like a well aged Sativa. Mwah! The show in 07 was a trio of sonic magicians, and so Timucin had all the upper register and midrange amidst Owen's intelligent drum orbits, last night however John O'Gallagher was very much with Timucin - up there - and for me pulled out, and defined like a sharp pencil line; the intricate and beatiful pan-modal Astro-neuro attainments being shared, freely with the Audience. Thomas Morgan moved with the flow and ebb of the swirling vortex, his bass talking the talk and walking up the stairs to Jupiter, Saturn and other planets that seem under investigation by the tribe of timespice engineers and sonic-fiction poets. The undertones and light whispering voices emanating from Time-munchin's calculations continue to crop up in all the right places for me, the quantum jumping compositions unveiling layer after layer of timespace, like an audio fabrige egg, with each new layer and complete new groove, feel and seemingly mode, to my ears. Now on fire, little flames symboling the tiny hairs in my ears, travelling and movement, verbs and echoes of just past places, remixed live, and brought back again, back to front, in the flickr of an eye or two. And when you think your used to the jumping around and technicolor sheets of sound, Tyshawn introduces another hot pepper, BANG BOOM,

Slamming, out of nowhere, then caress, then hyperbolic jungle-jazz-swing, then a stunning trip hop flex, all comfortable and innovative at each turn, playing snare with a bottle of water, rolling it across the snare getting the plastic crackle and fizz, then twizzling the bottled water through the space just above his set, between the two overhead mics, creating further mysterious sounding artcore entertainment, symbolic gesture, in short, Tyshawn owned everything he touched, my ears and everyone else's. Abducted by 10'000 variations on the 8 or 9 breakbeats i danced and lost my mind to in the dancehalls of Britain many years ago, which left a trace, picked up again tonight in the hardcore Drum and Bass and Sax and Guitar wisdom language. Like some of the writing of James Joyce, or Finnegans Wake, by the end of the show the 4 had put the Universe back together again, but in a whole different way using music and human ears and brains to their maximal potential, follow this! You dig! Now the street traffic sounds different to me after the show, percussive shards and trace fragments follow me out the Bimhius and down the Damrak, and the clatter of the trams is building something, i am waiting for the next launch date of Timucin (time-munching) to help me put the Universe together again and witness the tearing down, reconstructing and rebuilding of the life of the mind, or the life of the mind as i see it in 2008, fragmented times, bits and pieces and all culture and languages sirred up, whisked and baked into things, soundbites of the 21st century and all those bits and Bobs that have come before, and, i might add, the sense of the things of the future, included. In the sense of spaceways to other worlds, in the sense that vibration and Astro-Neuro attenuation through cosmic tones for cosmic culture, is out there for your to be a part of, if you can listen and trane your earwiggs. The snowballing angular turns and switching sequence puzzles ride. Together on the crest of the wave of expanding Universes, musical red shifting, and counterpointing, intersecting and jump-back assaulting of the equation. The collective whirring and mixing of pattern, rhythm, and polytonal, multiphonics flashes through the sounds spectrum in dashes and stoccato flashes, bewildering pace, slow and fast and everytime inbetween, always inbetween. Through and beyond my own comprehension, and then once more, your abducted again, sucked through a Noh-Wave Wormhole and brought home to your seat, at the show, clapping but keeping very still, but inside your wanting to dive off the roof into the cold Dutch waters below, something, to exstinguish the fires and flares started in my ears by these cats.
I hope you get to hear this group soon, too. Get some new ears for the holiday season. New music and new ways of hearing it, Timucin and his band of spacetime explorers, gathering the limbs and languages of outer-planetary entities, i like to think. How else can i put it, i was moved in new ways.

--Fly Agaric 23.


Please do not mistake me for Steven Pratt - the Australian M.P. he seems an OUTSPOKEN anti Grafitti tool. Do not confuse us.

"But is it art?
Saturday, April 21, 2007, 05:18 PM GMT [General]
After dealing with bad news in my last blog I thought I'd dedicate this one, to a certain extent, to a news story that made me smile.
Where art and vandalism meet: one of Banksy's images.

Australian MP Steve Pratt (no, I'm not making this up) has gotten himself into a spot of bother after he destroyed a commissioned public artwork as a part of his campaign against graffiti. Mr Pratt (it doesn't stop being funny, does it?) had assumed the mural, on a concrete bridge in Canberra, was an "obnoxious piece of vivid graffiti vandalism". It was, in fact, a fully paid for art work commissioned by a nearby sports club.
The subject of graffiti seems to have made the headlines several times in recent months. Britain's very own Banksy is now thought of not as a vandal but as one of the country's leading artists, despite the fact that nobody is really sure what his real name is (it might be Robert Banks). A couple in Bristol (Banksy's home town) recently sold the graffiti on the side of their house for £102,000; the house came free with the purchase.
Only yesterday he was in the news once more after London Transport staff painted over a Banksy painting estimated to be worth around £300,000. I find it curious that there are no other graffiti artists currently attracting this much publicity. There's no denying that Banksy is incredibly talented, but is talent alone the reason his vandalism (because, let's face it, it is) is now worth hundreds of thousands of pounds while other artists work is simply deemed a pain in the neck for your local council.
There is a lane near where I live, in Cardiff's Llandaff North, which is covered in graffiti on both sides, from one end to the other. Some of it is crude, I'll grant you, but some of it is very good indeed. It reminded me, in its own humble way, of Berlin's West Side Gallery; the stretch of Berlin Wall preserved for the quality of graffiti left on it.
Personally, I don't have much of a problem with graffiti, providing its in all the right places. A giant, airbrushed 'tag' across the dome of St Pauls would, for example, be wrong, as would images of cannabis smoking aliens on Hampton Court, or Manga style women in nurse's uniforms on Stone Henge. But many of the places where we see graffiti are ugly and soulless. The Bauhaus-inspired council estates that we somehow thought would engender utopian communities but instead became dour, grey and hostile have, in many places, been enlivened by the addition of a little unplanned art.
The concrete gullies of the District line wouldn't quite be the same without the occasional daub of colour to wake you up on your morning commute. And what journey across London would be complete without the spotting of Tox's latest handiwork?
Graffiti isn't always "obnoxious", to borrow a word from Mr Pratt. Sometimes it makes more colourful those places we've made ugly. Can there really be a sound argument for preserving just how grim and foreboding the underside of so many bridges are by removing what little colour has been put there?
Granted, there is no place for graffiti in the likes of Saffron Walden or Tunbridge Wells because graffiti is an inherently urban art form. Its home is the big city. But surely in those places it has made beautiful (and I do actually mean beautiful) we should be preserving it, and not just if it comes with a £300,000 price tag."
July 28th 2004 i performed my first recorded "poem in public", whilst spinning rekkids with Garaj Mahal off the back of a boat, sailing around the Statue of Liberty NYC. The poem is inspired by some Garaj Mahal track title’s.

Which side of the boat are you onwitch side-"witch side"my side -"your side" witch side of the boat are you onwitch side-wot sidethis side-that sideThis tide is turnin as "liquid Hindi" Vision's of LSD Are dripping onto the tongue of liberty, Like a psychotropic meatless patty. Breathe, Never give up duck, Cuz tomorrow never knows her mondo shadow, Like thursday: "a d-tuned Eagle", I break out the cosmic elevator kisses. From madagascar to Bajo A happy hippi poodle drives a very strange truck Wild Samauri duck blues inside a Milk carton, Chime like silver bells.Line games fall from the Ivory tower like aTen ton chicken. The big smack down. Stoked on Rasaki, i receive furthur gumbo vision's: "Be dope on Thursday "Because, "it's wednesday" and, Tomorrow never knows. I break out pen's of mass construction And fly like a poodle, soaring over the ivory tower singingBlueberry funk. Poodle poodle palladin Poodle poodle palladin Poodle palladin Poodle palladin, Poodle paladinPoodle palladinPoodle poodle palladinPoodle poodle palladin.Dog's barkin while im parkin human dignity In the garaj, They call me flydermanCuz i live in a blueberry mirage. A massive rubber slut has no spectFor my poodle, Have mercy, mercy, mercy. Sing a song, Don’t doodle.

JO is for JAZZ OCTAVE: poem. 2005 SAN FRANCISCO.

Blue thunder thumbs half notes, Weeping willows look all Wes Montgomery. Art Blakey's drums of experience, Stix glossinging to Animal skinheads. Like a Taoist typesetter Theolonious fingers -Do the talking. Hornet Coletrane Ellington Fitzgerald Pharaoh New jazzeraAnnalivia Elvin Jones AfroJazz machine setter Smiling physicist Unified field theory or just sheetsOf sound?John Coltrane = physicist. Alice Coltrane - timetraveling Mother Harpist, Mythological scholar goddess. Kept Reel McCoy - Ravi Pharoah Moffet Harland - theology goods. Inside the wheels of funk -Sissy strutin spun Clockwork -Meters reformation. ESP direct sustained Magus Miles ahead Above, and beyonder. Potting string theory quilted with Jolly Grant Green Fields og gold. Charlie Bird, Donald Byrd Playing babyskyblue spells, Birds flew far and...

Fly Agaric 23. September 2005.
San Francisco.

PANNONICA - John Sinclair and his Amsterdam Blues Scholars by flyagaric23

Vonnegut Wilson Coltrane Baudrillard Brown R.I.P

By Fly Agaric 23. 18th April 2007.

Kurt Vonnegut, Robert Anton Wilson, James Brown, Jean Baudrillard, Alice Coltrane mixed:My favorite things in music and in writing So honor em' how? damn words just to start off with? Build statues and make plaques? Plant trees, label meteorites, craters And scientific principles after em'? A great big love up, a big up to em' Cheers! Omnipotent Everyware and Nowhere: Great thoughts dispersing like Cotton seeds... Representatives and word sound power Way Post Modern like Past Post structuralist Post quantum Culture culture. Encyclopediatricks
Vast museums of culture How to fit it all in or get it out? Huge Galactic Archives of good Word
And good sense i think, but so different too,Together in a blogg train
cause' they tripped outAnd may never come back? Word deployed
To the new world disorder Disorder like spring, uprising voices "word magic "Everywhere
Whispering like the wind. Earth culture highlights in just 5 Cherry stones,
5 lives 5 piles of books
5 glasses of water
5 great lights."Absent without leave" where, Where are their thoughts now?A scent within leaves
Blowing in the greening spring wind Is music here?
Where does it go? "Unabridged" Bound as word, as writers,
musicians knotted togetherEntering their own "WORLD"
realms, constellations their
Senses, all-together, playing, spinning. A full blooming, all together NOW! Read them, listen to them.
Read them, process their thoughts,
Listen again. Cast seeds
East/west north/south, open your mouth. Sing of Wilson,

A Most potent Quintet don't you THINK? Their birth/death dates now sealed,
Calendars edited but without end
Of correspondences, Without end in e-space now. Messages from space
Inner/outer and between And the numerous other worlds among Boundless stars, Death
Has become the ultimate absurd:
The opposite of life? LOOK between the linesThese are vehicles, blueprints, ships and portals.

Timequake, John Coltrane: Infinity, The Third Coming, Ishtar Rising, Divine
Song, Reality, À l'ombre des majorités silencieuses The Sex Magician's, Sex
Machine, I got the feelin', Everything's Under Control, Sex and Drugs, Ain't it
funky, Down to Earth, Wilhelm Reich in Hell, Transcendence, L'échange symbolique
et la mort, Right Where You Are Sitting Now, Hot pants, Papa's Got a Band new
Bag, The Trick Top Hat, The Illuminati Paper's, Breakfast of Champions, The
Popcorn, Pass the Peas, The Golden Apple, The Homing Pigeon, Cat's Cradle, World
Galaxy, The Sirens of Titan, I'm real, The Gulf War Did Not Take Place, Think,
Astral Meditations, Mind power, L'échange impossible Quantum Psychology, The
Elements, Slaughterhouse-Five, Coincidance, Talkin' Loud, Email to the Universe,
Universal Consciousness, Journey in Satchidananda, Galápagos, Soul Power,
Reflection on Creation and Space, Cool Memories V, My Life after Death,
Simulacres et simulation, Reality Is What You Can Get Away With,The Conspiracy
of Art, Grits and soul, The Universe Next Door...R.I.P

Kurt Vonnegut (November 29 1922 – 11 april 2007)Jean Baudrillard (July 29, 1929 – March 6, 2007)Robert Anton Wilson (January 18, 1932 – January 11, 2007)James Brown (May 3, 1933 – December 25, 2006)Alice Coltrane (August 27, 1937 – January 12, 2007)

Fly Agaric 23. 18th April 2007. Amsterdam.
BY Fly Agaric 23. Brooklyn. New York. 06 June 2004.

Freer’ than the wind
Ting Taka SizzzzzleCymbals Allied in ritual carpet ride
Woven world trip to
The stars

Jitterbug perfume
All up in the skins like Li Po Polyphonic Beats
Wheeling Dazzling percussive warrior spirit
FreeAscending Rolling Like thunder
A space snarewayWithout punctuation

Frozen Rhythmic weather patterns )+(
Embellished with TurkishAlloysZinc
CopperGold and golden soulsStix on bells
Cymbal ping swing Music of trees Kisses
The ear On the wind stereo
know what I mean?
Cosmogenetic sticknology
Elvin with

And Chambers
A mighty rain forest
Oozing jazz nectar Juicy jazz fruits
Sewing great seedsWith reeds
Drums Strings and Thumbs
Timeless astral flame and ice
Dripping fireAblaze yet cool

Birch snares Walking bass upstairs
To bedInstant zen dreaming Steaming locomotion
A voyage toward supreme vortex
Train tracks
Bullet time sssssshhhhhissshhhhhiiiizzzzlllleeee
Crash Snap Snap Stix
AhoyBeats crumble like Dali’s cookies
Splicing drum beats into Wang Wei
Jazz transmission

Bliss Kissing stick to drumskin
Maybe akin to kissing tongue to tonguekissing time
Good ByeDrum beats go like this
SwordsmithWhispering brush
Tapping with grace and a feelSo smooth
Billions of beats per minute
Indicating taka time has left
The buildingCymbal mist rolllllllzzzzzWhispering

SomethingIn circles Taka Tinga
Trees inside stixz
Playing licks with sweat.
Multiple hammers, hands, feet.
Musical meanings flower
Genius Jazz Machine science

Drifting lines from the sun Scribble
BeatHumming BzzzzzzzZZZzzzzzzz Inisde my Don Cherry
Stone Ambient acid modal transitions for
Trancendental transmissions
Peach tree fragrance blossoms
Everywhere Passing blurr
Blooming everywhenHitch-hiking

The bardo past the lower lights
BzzzzzzzZZZZZZ TingTing Taka ting Soundz like zig zag Zen za za !
Incredible on the snareway to

Alice Coltrane plays Afro harp Like the great TaoCrashing
At heavenly shoreline
Rest In Peace to Infinity

Elvin Jones: September 9, 1927 - May 18, 2004

By Fly Agaric 23.
Brooklyn, New York. June 6th 2004.

“Trane tracks sound like
A Dizzy Monk
Miles ahead,
Just like SonnySupreme”

March 23rd 2006. Stourbridge. UK


TY is for TRANE YOURSELF. Nov. 2003

By Fly Agaric 23.

The Great hall of records getting
Looted, Dear Lord.
The gods I wonder?

Eye dreamt about a blue one legged
Thunder bolt
Containing one hundred and eight
Coltrane tomes

Ascending through time from
Six days war and plunder.

Sun Ra.
You fuel my Aiwass Ka.
Son of a Knew Biz dressed in
Afro Blue honey beads you color
Mental tapestry with

Razor prose days from the Crescent city
Fill me with joy.
Especially after the rain falls
I can hear the

In a sentimental moog
I rolled up glyphs into cryptic splyffs
Spark up the golden lamp love.

O Sir, is O’Sirius important?
Many strange questions in my dreams about
Cosmic Serpents.
If we are nature’s boy

Then get your evangelical hands off
Our mother’s tomb
Crusader raider.

Place the eye of Horus on the Rekkid.
Nod your Nut.

Cut and Scratch the imagination
With A new configuration, like,
Blowing over the whirled
Inside a Syrian ruebot constructed
Light particles.

Sing 13 Moon invitations
to my Sun sister and heal yourself.
S/he runs between the legs of Nuit to the beat
Of acknowledgement.

Like a sun star satellite you shine on
All Nuit.
Sun of RAMMZISS, awaken.

Blowing Stellar regions through your Reedles
Onto stylus psalm needles.
Sun star groove rider.
A Passion flower-powered Goddess
Of balance.

Precession-guided weapons of love
Dissolve any empire of terror.
Made of a substance beyond a dream
Shimmer you and who’s army?
to the end of the beginning.

Lift the curse from your pursuance with
Ancient sounds.
Hey Wallis Budge over let Jimmy
Take over with,
Acid jewels of love juice.

Gods and dogs talk of
Emerald bullets of pure love.
My tongue spits spackled round Jazz speak like
Cool Daddy cool.
Rewind for the unwind

Love Supreme Council of
Infinity listen up!
Cosmic ambient sounds
Are sacred sentences miles beyond this one.

Trane Your Self.
Re-aim yourself
For the Tranesition.

Hawass KA A.A!
Indialivia Elvin Joanzing

Pyramids capped as we approach the
Witching hour
Of Transformation.

United we can Break
Any calendrical spell.
Dreamcasting wisdom through music

The traveler in soundspirit.
Escape the ape body
And head for the stars.
Where Jukeboxes play
Many of Sun-Ras

Awakening! Hey sweet mama
I hear a new World Coming
From a far off land.

In the Beginning was the Bird of the Nile,
And the Bird was made Flesh.

The Western Lands…
And takes off skyward.
Geometric forms crafted by the wind
Of Reedles in Orphic Horns.

Sonic army’s of moonchild Arkestra’s
Spill out from Jupiter’s moon like gods
On a safari.
Soar upon wings of Kamapa

Jam spore.
The spore of the words.
Folded and imploded
Gusts of Trane
Wrecking havoc.
Shredding time like Dali’
Weaving Illbient Jungle through
A space-time plug whole
The size of Monk’s dream.

Baby oil exchanged for stocks in
Baby flesh.
Pound for Pound.
“Yes the price, the price, we think is worth it.”
Preaches Mad Lynne Allbright.

Tiny lotus sky church gods
Speak to me in
Enochian Jabberwocky.

Next year on April 10th you will see
The Trilogy.
The Bird-headed flaming one
A Dark Star Maker
It’s just a remix of the RAW.

Severn by Severn
Saxophonic ships
Set sale toward
Sextet isles of

Simple soul boats carry the feather
Of an

Get the Zero Pints? Across the hole Galaxy,
N Eye N
Commuted faster than Light.
Frozen spirit of Pan,
Sonic Sperm Seed

Are Astral traveling
With a prayer before dawn.

Oh Pharoah
Speak to us from beyond
Beyond memories of J.C.
Beyond the red black and green
Sand Castles are
Mansion worlds

Pharoah communicates
The entire legend.
The creator has a master plan!
Our Symbolic Sibilant’s have born word
unto the world.

Cosmic musical meditations mark
A Transition for mankind
Toward Interstellar space.
Oh Lord let me do
No wrong this Equinox

Speak low with triangles
And Tinkle bells.
I invoke thee,

The Terrible and Invisible dog,
Who dwellest in the void place
Place of the spirit

Together we can chant down Babylon
With music.
Sweet sweet music.

New Orleans. 30th November. 2003.


Edited and reset Amsterdam December 3rd 2008.