Collecting samples that aren't weird whale noises for the mysterious whale-based EP I'm working on. It's going to be an EP now. Tell the peoples.
Something that Todd in the Shadows (yes, yes, I know, but hear me out) said in one of his recent reviews is that the power of a sample is in the re-contextualization of the sample. Anaconda's sampling of Baby Got Back is child's play; the true art lies in the likes of Shatner on the Mount or Unicorn vs. Gravity.
Right now, I've got one sample of Orson Welles saying "Call me Ishmael". I am not being imaginative and this is a problem.
Mæg ic be me sylfum soðgied wrecan, siþas secgan, hu ic geswincdagum earfoðhwile oft þrowade, bitre breostceare gebiden hæbbe, gecunnad in ceole cearselda fela, atol yþa gewealc, þær mec oft bigeat nearo nihtwaco æt nacan stefnan, þonne he be clifum cnossað. Calde geþrungen wæron mine fet, forste gebunden caldum clommum, þær þa ceare seofedun hat ymb heortan; hungor innan slat merewerges mod. Þæt se mon ne wat þe him on foldan fægrost limpeð, hu ic earmcearig iscealdne sæ winter wunade wræccan lastum, winemægum bidroren, bihongen hrimgicelum; hægl scurum fleag. þær ic ne gehyrde butan hlimman sæ, iscaldne wæg. Hwilum ylfete song dyde ic me to gomene, ganotes hleoþor ond huilpan sweg fore hleahtor wera, mæw singende fore medodrince. Stormas þær stanclifu beotan, þær him stearn oncwæð, isigfeþera; ful oft þæt earn bigeal, urigfeþra; nænig hleomæga feasceaftig ferð frefran meahte. Forþon him gelyfeð lyt, se þe ah lifes wyn gebiden in burgum, bealosiþa hwon, wlonc ond wingal, hu ic werig oft in brimlade bidan sceolde. Nap nihtscua, norþan sniwde, hrim hrusan bond, hægl feol on eorþan, corna caldast. Forþon cnyssað nu heortan geþohtas þæt ic hean streamas, sealtyþa gelac sylf cunnige -- monað modes lust mæla gehwylce ferð to feran, þæt ic feor heonan elþeodigra eard gesece -- Forþon nis þæs modwlonc mon ofer eorþan, ne his gifena þæs god, ne in geoguþe to þæs hwæt, ne in his dædum to þæs deor, ne him his dryhten to þæs hold, þæt he a his sæfore sorge næbbe, to hwon hine Dryhten gedon wille. Ne biþ him to hearpan hyge ne to hringþege ne to wife wyn ne to worulde hyht ne ymbe owiht elles nefne ymb yða gewealc; ac a hafað longunge se þe on lagu fundað. Bearwas blostmum nimað, byrig fægriað, wongas wlitigað, woruld onetteð: ealle þa gemoniað modes fusne sefan to siþe þam þe swa þenceð on flodwegas feor gewitan. Swylce geac monað geomran reorde; singeð sumeres weard, sorge beodeð bitter in breosthord. Þæt se beorn ne wat, sefteadig secg, hwæt þa sume dreogað þe þa wræclastas widost lecgað. Forþon nu min hyge hweorfeð ofer hreþerlocan, min modsefa mid mereflode, ofer hwæles eþel hweorfeð wide, eorþan sceatas -- cymeð eft to me gifre ond grædig; gielleð anfloga, hweteð on hwælweg hreþer unwearnum ofer holma gelagu. Forþon me hatran sind Dryhtnes dreamas þonne þis deade lif læne on londe. Ic gelyfe no þæt him eorðwelan ece stondað. Simle þreora sum þinga gehwylce ær his tiddege to tweon weorþeð: adl oþþe yldo oþþe ecghete fægum fromweardum feorh oðþringeð. Forþon biþ eorla gehwam æftercweþendra lof lifgendra lastworda betst, þæt he gewyrce, ær he on weg scyle, fremum on foldan wið feonda niþ, deorum dædum deofle togeanes, þæt hine ælda bearn æfter hergen, ond his lof siþþan lifge mid englum awa to ealdre, ecan lifes blæd, dream mid dugeþum. Dagas sind gewitene, ealle onmedlan eorþan rices; nearon nu cyningas ne caseras ne goldgiefan swylce iu wæron, þonne hi mæst mid him mærþa gefremedon ond on dryhtlicestum dome lifdon. Gedroren is þeos duguð eal, dreamas sind gewitene; wuniað þa wacran ond þæs woruld healdaþ, brucað þurh bisgo. Blæd is gehnæged, eorþan indryhto ealdað ond searað, swa nu monna gehwylc geond middangeard. Yldo him on fareþ, onsyn blacað, gomelfeax gnornað, wat his iuwine, æþelinga bearn eorþan forgiefene. Ne mæg him þonne se flæschoma þonne him þæt feorg losað ne swete forswelgan ne sar gefelan ne hond onhreran ne mid hyge þencan. Þeah þe græf wille golde stregan broþor his geborenum, byrgan be deadum maþmum mislicum, þæt hine mid wille, ne mæg þære sawle þe biþ synna ful gold to geoce for Godes egsan, þonne he hit ær hydeð þenden he her leofað. Micel biþ se Meotudes egsa, forþon hi seo molde oncyrreð; se gestaþelade stiþe grundas, eorþan sceatas ond uprodor. Dol biþ se þe him his Dryhten ne ondrædeþ: cymeð him se deað unþinged. Eadig bið se þe eaþmod leofaþ; cymeð him seo ar of heofonum. Meotod him þæt mod gestaþelað, forþon he in his meahte gelyfeð. Stieran mon sceal strongum mode, ond þæt on staþelum healdan, ond gewis werum, wisum clæne. Scyle monna gehwylc mid gemete healdan wiþ leofne ond wið laþne * * * bealo. þeah þe he hine wille fyres fulne oþþe on bæle forbærnedne his geworhtne wine, Wyrd biþ swiþre, Meotud meahtigra, þonne ænges monnes gehygd. Uton we hycgan hwær we ham agen, ond þonne geþencan hu we þider cumen; ond we þonne eac tilien þæt we to moten in þa ecan eadignesse þær is lif gelong in lufan Dryhtnes, hyht in heofonum. Þæs sy þam Halgan þonc þæt he usic geweorþade, wuldres Ealdor ece Dryhten, in ealle tid. Amen.
For the living know that they will die,but the dead know nothing;they have no further reward,and even their name is forgotten.Their love, their hateand their jealousy have long since vanished;never again will they have a partin anything that happens under the sun. The race is not to the swiftor the battle to the strong,nor does food come to the wiseor wealth to the brilliantor favor to the learned;but time and chance happen to them all.
You are the end result of a “would you push the button” prompt where the prompt was “you have unlimited godlike powers but you appear to all and sundry to be an impetuous child” – Zero, 2022
You are the end result of a “would you push the button” prompt where the prompt was “you have unlimited godlike powers but you appear to all and sundry to be an impetuous child” – Zero, 2022
I should be studying but fuck it, it's Friday and I'm lazy
Went into my one lesson of the day. Was sat by myself as usual. Went outside to go to my mentor meeting and in a space of about 200 yards, I got absolutely soaked because of the sideways rain. Cried during my mentor meeting discussing my issues. Went home. Got even more soaked and cold. Was shivering by the time I got home. Had a shower. Shower drain is blocked. Emailed my personal lecturer about my issues and now ready to just sleep for England.
You are the end result of a “would you push the button” prompt where the prompt was “you have unlimited godlike powers but you appear to all and sundry to be an impetuous child” – Zero, 2022
Thank you. I'm taking this weekend to just get myself back to a relatively stable frame of mind. Once it's not pissing it down with rain, I'll go take a nice, long walk and get some fresh air in my lungs.
You are the end result of a “would you push the button” prompt where the prompt was “you have unlimited godlike powers but you appear to all and sundry to be an impetuous child” – Zero, 2022
I know how that goes. I had to take a "get things back to fucking normal" weekend recently myself.
Also: An Englishwoman who doesn't like tea? How dare you defy my stereotypes! :P
You are the end result of a “would you push the button” prompt where the prompt was “you have unlimited godlike powers but you appear to all and sundry to be an impetuous child” – Zero, 2022
I'm incredibly bored.
I wanna do something Princessly but I'm all out of ideas
You are the end result of a “would you push the button” prompt where the prompt was “you have unlimited godlike powers but you appear to all and sundry to be an impetuous child” – Zero, 2022
You are the end result of a “would you push the button” prompt where the prompt was “you have unlimited godlike powers but you appear to all and sundry to be an impetuous child” – Zero, 2022
*gives Tools a fancy nobility title of her choosing*
You are the end result of a “would you push the button” prompt where the prompt was “you have unlimited godlike powers but you appear to all and sundry to be an impetuous child” – Zero, 2022
I like how Centralia's nobility is pretty much just "Centie's friends"
You are the end result of a “would you push the button” prompt where the prompt was “you have unlimited godlike powers but you appear to all and sundry to be an impetuous child” – Zero, 2022
You are the end result of a “would you push the button” prompt where the prompt was “you have unlimited godlike powers but you appear to all and sundry to be an impetuous child” – Zero, 2022
You are the end result of a “would you push the button” prompt where the prompt was “you have unlimited godlike powers but you appear to all and sundry to be an impetuous child” – Zero, 2022
(Voiceover Lady voice) Next stop: Chamberlain Avenue & Maynard Street
You are the end result of a “would you push the button” prompt where the prompt was “you have unlimited godlike powers but you appear to all and sundry to be an impetuous child” – Zero, 2022
I'm planning to eat a ham sandwich after class...if the professor ever shows up
You are the end result of a “would you push the button” prompt where the prompt was “you have unlimited godlike powers but you appear to all and sundry to be an impetuous child” – Zero, 2022
I finally broke down and bought some new screen protectors for my Nexus 7
Because I just can't take the scratches on this one anymore but I don't wanna go without
You are the end result of a “would you push the button” prompt where the prompt was “you have unlimited godlike powers but you appear to all and sundry to be an impetuous child” – Zero, 2022
Comments
hee hee, i sayed a funny
Assassin poems, Poems that shoot
guns. Poems that wrestle cops into alleys
and take their weapons leaving them dead
Assassin poems, Poems that shoot
guns. Poems that wrestle cops into alleys
and take their weapons leaving them dead
Assassin poems, Poems that shoot
guns. Poems that wrestle cops into alleys
and take their weapons leaving them dead
Assassin poems, Poems that shoot
guns. Poems that wrestle cops into alleys
and take their weapons leaving them dead
Assassin poems, Poems that shoot
guns. Poems that wrestle cops into alleys
and take their weapons leaving them dead
Assassin poems, Poems that shoot
guns. Poems that wrestle cops into alleys
and take their weapons leaving them dead
Assassin poems, Poems that shoot
guns. Poems that wrestle cops into alleys
and take their weapons leaving them dead
prajñāpāramitā-hṛdayam samāptam. bda-gandha-rasa-sptitvād bodhisattvasya prajñāpāramitāyacittāvaaro bodhisattvo gambhīrāṃ prajñāpāramitā caryāṃ caramāṇo vym āśritya vnuttarāṃ samyatāyā na pṛthag rūpaṃ; yad rūpaṃ sā śūnyatā; ya śūnyatā tad rijñānam. na raṇaḥ. cittāvaraṇa-nāstitvād atrastro viparyāsa-atikrānto niṣṭhā-nirvāṇa-prāptaḥ.tryadhva-vyavasthitāḥ sarva-buddhāḥ prajñāpāramitām āśrityā-ahā-mantro mahā-vidyā mantro 'nuttara-mantro samasama-mantraḥ, sarva duḥkha praśamanaḥ, satyam amithyatāt. prajñāpāramitāyām ukto mantraḥ.tadyathā: gate gate pārapraṣṭavaya-dharmāh. Na āptiḥ. tasmāc chāriputra aprāgate pārasaṃgate bisa
siþas secgan, hu ic geswincdagum
earfoðhwile oft þrowade,
bitre breostceare gebiden hæbbe,
gecunnad in ceole cearselda fela,
atol yþa gewealc, þær mec oft bigeat
nearo nihtwaco æt nacan stefnan,
þonne he be clifum cnossað. Calde geþrungen
wæron mine fet, forste gebunden
caldum clommum, þær þa ceare seofedun
hat ymb heortan; hungor innan slat
merewerges mod. Þæt se mon ne wat
þe him on foldan fægrost limpeð,
hu ic earmcearig iscealdne sæ
winter wunade wræccan lastum,
winemægum bidroren,
bihongen hrimgicelum; hægl scurum fleag.
þær ic ne gehyrde butan hlimman sæ,
iscaldne wæg. Hwilum ylfete song
dyde ic me to gomene, ganotes hleoþor
ond huilpan sweg fore hleahtor wera,
mæw singende fore medodrince.
Stormas þær stanclifu beotan, þær him stearn oncwæð,
isigfeþera; ful oft þæt earn bigeal,
urigfeþra; nænig hleomæga
feasceaftig ferð frefran meahte.
Forþon him gelyfeð lyt, se þe ah lifes wyn
gebiden in burgum, bealosiþa hwon,
wlonc ond wingal, hu ic werig oft
in brimlade bidan sceolde.
Nap nihtscua, norþan sniwde,
hrim hrusan bond, hægl feol on eorþan,
corna caldast. Forþon cnyssað nu
heortan geþohtas þæt ic hean streamas,
sealtyþa gelac sylf cunnige --
monað modes lust mæla gehwylce
ferð to feran, þæt ic feor heonan
elþeodigra eard gesece --
Forþon nis þæs modwlonc mon ofer eorþan,
ne his gifena þæs god, ne in geoguþe to þæs hwæt,
ne in his dædum to þæs deor, ne him his dryhten to þæs hold,
þæt he a his sæfore sorge næbbe,
to hwon hine Dryhten gedon wille.
Ne biþ him to hearpan hyge ne to hringþege
ne to wife wyn ne to worulde hyht
ne ymbe owiht elles nefne ymb yða gewealc;
ac a hafað longunge se þe on lagu fundað.
Bearwas blostmum nimað, byrig fægriað,
wongas wlitigað, woruld onetteð:
ealle þa gemoniað modes fusne
sefan to siþe þam þe swa þenceð
on flodwegas feor gewitan.
Swylce geac monað geomran reorde;
singeð sumeres weard, sorge beodeð
bitter in breosthord. Þæt se beorn ne wat,
sefteadig secg, hwæt þa sume dreogað
þe þa wræclastas widost lecgað.
Forþon nu min hyge hweorfeð ofer hreþerlocan,
min modsefa mid mereflode,
ofer hwæles eþel hweorfeð wide,
eorþan sceatas -- cymeð eft to me
gifre ond grædig; gielleð anfloga,
hweteð on hwælweg hreþer unwearnum
ofer holma gelagu. Forþon me hatran sind
Dryhtnes dreamas þonne þis deade lif
læne on londe. Ic gelyfe no
þæt him eorðwelan ece stondað.
Simle þreora sum þinga gehwylce
ær his tiddege to tweon weorþeð:
adl oþþe yldo oþþe ecghete
fægum fromweardum feorh oðþringeð.
Forþon biþ eorla gehwam æftercweþendra
lof lifgendra lastworda betst,
þæt he gewyrce, ær he on weg scyle,
fremum on foldan wið feonda niþ,
deorum dædum deofle togeanes,
þæt hine ælda bearn æfter hergen,
ond his lof siþþan lifge mid englum
awa to ealdre, ecan lifes blæd,
dream mid dugeþum. Dagas sind gewitene,
ealle onmedlan eorþan rices;
nearon nu cyningas ne caseras
ne goldgiefan swylce iu wæron,
þonne hi mæst mid him mærþa gefremedon
ond on dryhtlicestum dome lifdon.
Gedroren is þeos duguð eal, dreamas sind gewitene;
wuniað þa wacran ond þæs woruld healdaþ,
brucað þurh bisgo. Blæd is gehnæged,
eorþan indryhto ealdað ond searað,
swa nu monna gehwylc geond middangeard.
Yldo him on fareþ, onsyn blacað,
gomelfeax gnornað, wat his iuwine,
æþelinga bearn eorþan forgiefene.
Ne mæg him þonne se flæschoma þonne him þæt feorg losað
ne swete forswelgan ne sar gefelan
ne hond onhreran ne mid hyge þencan.
Þeah þe græf wille golde stregan
broþor his geborenum, byrgan be deadum
maþmum mislicum, þæt hine mid wille,
ne mæg þære sawle þe biþ synna ful
gold to geoce for Godes egsan,
þonne he hit ær hydeð þenden he her leofað.
Micel biþ se Meotudes egsa, forþon hi seo molde oncyrreð;
se gestaþelade stiþe grundas,
eorþan sceatas ond uprodor.
Dol biþ se þe him his Dryhten ne ondrædeþ: cymeð him se deað unþinged.
Eadig bið se þe eaþmod leofaþ; cymeð him seo ar of heofonum.
Meotod him þæt mod gestaþelað, forþon he in his meahte gelyfeð.
Stieran mon sceal strongum mode, ond þæt on staþelum healdan,
ond gewis werum, wisum clæne.
Scyle monna gehwylc mid gemete healdan
wiþ leofne ond wið laþne * * * bealo.
þeah þe he hine wille fyres fulne
oþþe on bæle forbærnedne
his geworhtne wine, Wyrd biþ swiþre,
Meotud meahtigra, þonne ænges monnes gehygd.
Uton we hycgan hwær we ham agen,
ond þonne geþencan hu we þider cumen;
ond we þonne eac tilien þæt we to moten
in þa ecan eadignesse
þær is lif gelong in lufan Dryhtnes,
hyht in heofonum. Þæs sy þam Halgan þonc
þæt he usic geweorþade, wuldres Ealdor
ece Dryhten, in ealle tid. Amen.
And he has Yogi Bear's collar and necktie and a Ranger Smith/Fred Flintstone/George Jetson-esque five-o-clock shadow:
Went into my one lesson of the day. Was sat by myself as usual. Went outside to go to my mentor meeting and in a space of about 200 yards, I got absolutely soaked because of the sideways rain. Cried during my mentor meeting discussing my issues. Went home. Got even more soaked and cold. Was shivering by the time I got home. Had a shower. Shower drain is blocked. Emailed my personal lecturer about my issues and now ready to just sleep for England.
*offers tea*
Thank you. I'm taking this weekend to just get myself back to a relatively stable frame of mind. Once it's not pissing it down with rain, I'll go take a nice, long walk and get some fresh air in my lungs.
Also: An Englishwoman who doesn't like tea? How dare you defy my stereotypes! :P
I'm sorry! I fail at national stereotypes :P
I wanna do something Princessly but I'm all out of ideas
*tosses you a Centralian candy bar*
bump the beaky
Because I just can't take the scratches on this one anymore but I don't wanna go without
It was 5600 Boobs Road the whole time
alas