Member 279
12 entries

Magnus Andreas Holen Myrtveit (M, 32)
Volda, NO
Immortal since Dec 11, 2007
Uplinks: 0, Generation 2

low moral fiber
i like a harmony you like a melody that's you and me we only disagree
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    Where forward thinking terrestrials share ideas and information about the state of the species, their planet and the universe, living the lives of science fiction. Introduction
    Featuring Powers of Ten by Charles and Ray Eames, based on an idea by Kees Boeke.

    This is an excerpt from a New Zealand show.
    In it we meet a woman who seemingly spends alot of time making some of the absolutely most hauntingly beautiful music I have ever heard in my life through the medium of devices we usually see as producing only noise.
    This woman has apparently received little or no international recognition from what I can tell from searching the internet for "Sue Harding", apart from a myspace site with nine friends. (suedotmatrix)

    Why is this?

    I get genuinely happy when I hear music like this. I want to know through details how it is made, why it is made and what it is made for. I absolutely love it and I can't understand anything of it, it is complex and it is perfect for nights where I have absolutely nothing to do but think about things that have happened and the future, to the point where i can just lie in my bed with my headset on and consume the sounds like a drug in an attempt to make sense of the rhytms and the notes. All I can understand with my nonexistant musical education is that it is harmonious and it inspires me in a very vague way. I want to create something beautiful.
    It also makes me sad, however, to know that I might never have come upon these sounds. It terrifies me how there are so many people in the world creating absolutely beautiful sounds I will never hear because I do not know them.
    So, in a sense, this also inspires me to go out and meet new people, to learn what makes them different and how they in their own way attempt to create something beautiful.

    Mon, Dec 14, 2009  Permanent link
    Categories: music, Art, Philosophy
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    For some reason I can only halfway understand, for the past two years I have moved nearly completely away from the computer as a medium of making music. It started when i first received an ancient 4-track, a tascam portastudio. The tape hiss and the degraded audio quality sounded nice, and i began to experiment with making looped tapes, opening the cassettes up, slicing and taping them together to make my own poor man's loop tape. There would always be strange clicks or notes that I couldn't control, and once in a while these would fit in an interesting manner into whatever i was recording, somehow giving my songs a new, unknown and dynamic effect every time i played them off the cassette.
    The cassette deck broke sometimes, I had to open it up without any idea of what I was doing and try to repair it. I still have no idea what to do when something jams or breaks but I still somehow manage to fix it with glue or gaffa tape or whatever is at hand, sliced into tiny strips.

    I began experimenting with what happens when you hook an audio cable up to a video in-plug on old TVs, the way the screen flickers in a strange way if you jiggle the plug around a bit. I learned how to produce extremely high-pitched tones on my gameboy color running music-making software and somehow, with time, learned the frequencies I needed to hit in order to make the strange lines on the screen beautiful, in different colors and following a strange pattern. They were never the same and I knew if i so much as touched the audio plug the electric impulses in my body would forever ruin that one, perfect picture on the screen. It would be lost forever. I tried to take pictures of the best ones with a camera but the camera is unable to capture the screen as it is flickering far too fast.

    I think this is why I love these things. It is the certainty of something going just a little bit wrong every time, something you cannot control, like an invisible band member playing alongside you as if you've made a pact with time in order to create something you yourself perceive as beautiful. In a sense this outdated equipment noone appreciate is timeless, and i believe looking to the past for creating something new is important. There is a simple joy in learning how to manipulate outdated equipment, and i believe a step back for electronic music would be a healthy one, if only just for popular electronic artists to see what they are missing.

    Wed, Dec 2, 2009  Permanent link
    Categories: music
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    graph 1.a: you can tell from my eyes that i spend little time sleeping.

    hey, hello.

    it's been a while since i last posted here, i suppose it's nearly a year if not in fact over a year.
    i did go to the army. it wasn't very fun at all. now i'm "studying" history (up all night, sleep all day)

    i should perhaps clarify something though,
    i didn't sign up for it by my own free will. in part, i did, but that was because i saw nothing meaningful in the future and i was fed up and angry at the people around me. i miss them right now as i find myself nearly alone in a big city with nearly no acquaintances at all and i'm sure i'll miss them in the future, but i'll explain that later.
    the norwegian army drafts all males at the age of nineteen, dodging the draft is easy but i guess i felt like i needed some authority to control me as i felt i was spiraling out of control or something clichè of the sort. i felt like i needed something to devote myself to, and running around in dark forests chasing imaginary enemies with guns seemed like the right thing to do. it was very, very cold. northern norway is above the arctic circle, so i quickly once again felt like i had absolutely fucked up my life once more. things were looking grim, i thought about talking to the army psychologist and make some stuff up about breaking down, asthma, anything. i called my father and he said he understood how horrible i felt, but told me to push through. the other soldiers probably had problems of their own, the recruit period wasn't easy. there was comraderie and friendship that i guess is kind of like what you see in movies, not that we were shot at or anything but we basically spent a year freezing out asses off. i met some good friends. i didn't excel in anything at all, and i spent most of my free time on my laptop talking to people at home. in the weekends we got drunk, in the kind of primal macho-fueled endorphine do-dumb-shit way, that was a good time. i'm not a very strong or aggressive person, i can't pump iron or do stuff like that, but i really enjoyed the occasional bar fight or armwrestling or anything like that. i guess it's kind of healthy in a way. to be flawed and to be human.

    when i was home on leave all my friends had moved to either study or go to the army except one, who i then realized was my best friend. he lived at home because he couldn't really handle living in oslo, which i understand because there are too many people and too much noise. he had tried but it never really worked out, i suppose. so we hung out alot, he had a car and would come pick me up and we'd try to find parties to crash or fail to and just get drunk and talk about how things were better before. things seem to always get better in the past the older you are. does that make sense?

    after the army i went back home for about a month. it was great. all i did was stay at home, lie in the bed for long stretches and think about how great things were. occasionally i'd call my friend and we'd get wasted. some of my other friends were also home and i'd hang out with them too.

    then i thought i'd start studying, move to a huge new city and meet new and interesting people. i've moved here now and i can't seem to talk to anyone. the people i go to lectures with i have nothing in common with and it's hard just talking to someone and ask them if they'll be your friend. all my other friends i've met while drunk, things are easier that way. we'd talk about politics or philosophy or talk shit behind someone else's back and then we'd call each other the next day and hang out. here i have noone to talk to and noone to talk shit about, my prime strategy has been to go out on the weekends by myself but it's hard to approach people in bars and nightclubs without them thinking you're hitting on them if they're a girl or trying to woo you in a gay drunk stupor if they're men. it's awkward as fuck.

    so i stay inside, make music on a 4-track cassette recorder and think about how things will be better next year, though i have no plans and i know from what i've learned that it'll most likely suck. (you can check some of that out on

    sorry for being away for so long
    i'll start writing again, maybe i'll learn some new things about myself in the future.
    Thu, Nov 5, 2009  Permanent link

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    because of my belief in analog. tape. physical. reality. carving something as abstract as sound into a soft material by use of sheer force. soundscapes. love. everything all of the time, a portable way to conserve memories, some song that sucks because i can't write songs when i'm drunk after some horrible party where i've failed in all things love and perhaps gotten punched in the face by some asshole who is into cars and homemade booze. then when i'm fifty i can dig up all my old tapes, listen to them all weathered and messed up and try to decipher what i'm trying to convey. my purpose. i'll make my own mystery, and it'll be exciting because i'll try to hide it from people i love. maybe i'll even be happy. jobs, economy, social status, sleep, coffee, more jobs, education, more jobs, indoctrination. i'll suppress memories, and i won't even remember what i was on about back when i was nineteen and had my vision clouded by the sheer vastness of the world suddenly thrown at me.

    because it is being thrown at me and i'm not ready for it at all. going to the army in august because i don't have anything else to do.




    Fri, Jun 6, 2008  Permanent link
    Categories: Nothing
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    i am tired, i am weary. i could sleep for a thousand years.

    so me, s and t found this road that i've never seen before that's all over-grown and never used due to the ever-present danger of the mountain breaking off and falling in huge chunks killing cars in violent bloody metal gore explosions.
    and it's fucking beautiful. i feel like i'm in some sort of post-apocalyptic movie, like mad max just without the cars and shit. more like a certain book by cormac mccarthy. today me and k went there and i slept on the asphalt for a while cause it was all warmed up by the sun. when i go there i hear shit that doesn't really exist 'cause i'm in my own post-apocalyptic movie. there's everything one could need. a huge, fucking overwhelming mountain which gives off a kind of stereo echo when you yell, a huge drop down to the fjord, a always present sense of slight danger due to the mountain falling down occasionally, etc. it's great.
    oh man.

    also i've been listening to way too much velvet underground lately, i think that might be what makes it so hard to sleep. i had about four hours of sleep before my german exam but i think i did allright. not really sure. i should probably sleep instead of writing this but i can't 'cause it's either too hot or too cold. right now it's kind of 50/50 so i guess i'll try.

    cheers for all tomorrow's parties.

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    in this post i'm planning to break the conventional rules of posting in a "professional" environment by presenting my own thoughts and slightly intelligible opinions construced in a intoxicated environment. i find it dif if difficult to find the proper letters on my keyboard. this might take a while.

    struggling as fuck to find the post blog button, drunk. drunk. intox-sick-hated. alarm!
    shit. man. i don'tknow what to write about. i guess i'll write about the fact that whenever i am drunk i feel like every sound in the universe is beautiful. often when the sounds are out of context with.. well, everything. i wish i had every shitty singer in the world, every michael jackson impersonator, every gathering of junkies with guitars in my room at this moment. a room with huge fucking reverb. epic reverb. like a cathedral, just without the religion part.. i wish they were all right here right now in a room filled with huge reverb so i could gather all their emotions, all their fucked up musings on life itself into a single huge sound. i could cut it to any length i wanted,any length they wanted, maybe a split second. a split second of EVERTHING. a split second of sound containing every single beautiful or horrible, miserable emotion ever compressed. contained. like in a fucking syringe.

    oh shit jimi hendrix is on tv. beautiful.
    Sat, Apr 26, 2008  Permanent link

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    I recently saw a documentary called "Deep Water" which made me fascinated by the story of Donald Crowhurst, a man who spent an amazing amount of time in complete solitude at sea, seeing as he had no life to return to, facing economic ruin and public humiliation. All he was surrounded by was an endless amount of waves and ripples, varying in force and aggression. As this was all that was present in his surroundings, it became his world. With time he began to view himself as a God, evident in his logbook entries slowly spiralling into a kind of free madness.

    "I have become a second generation cosmic being, I am conceived in the womb of nature, in my own mind... In the womb of the universe. "

    This is taken from

    Crowhurst was a British businessman who attempted to sail solo in a race around the world from the fall of 1968 to the summer of 1969. His motives for this enterprise were complex, ranging from practical business concerns (he had designed and manufactured a navigational device, sales of which were in sore need of such publicity) to psychological imperatives (a need to prove himself - Crowhurst was an intelligent and ambitious man of modest birth in a class conscious society).

    Crowhurst was unprepared for his trip.

    He came face to face with his limitations in the South Atlantic. His boat was taking on water, his self steering gear was falling apart, and he was missing vital equipment (the result of slip-shod inventory at the outset). Disappointed in himself and embarrassed by his slow progress, he began to exaggerate his speed in his occasional radio reports, reporting positions far in advance of where he actually was. Crowhurst was probably assuming he would make up the difference over the course of the trip. Soon, however, he realized he wasn't going to make it.

    At this critical juncture Crowhurst made a momentous decision. In short, he decided to fake it. He reasoned that by appearing to finish the race but lose it, he might save face while avoiding the magnified attention that would surely result from winning. As an also ran, a dignified failure, he would be afforded enough publicity to benefit his business (and thereby his family and his standing within the community) while remaining unimportant enough to avoid scrutiny and detection, his ships log only glanced at, his accounts taken at face value.

    Still, the construction of a log book that would pass even the most cursory examination was an involved undertaking. Crowhurst had to spend long hours monitoring weather reports from around the globe, figuring winds and currents, time, speed and positions, inventing plausible anecdotes for the margins, etc.

    In the end, all his effort was undone when his only remaining competition, having heard that Crowhurst was somewhere behind him coming home, pushed his boat too hard in an attempt to ensure a first place finish, and foundered, leaving Crowhurst in sole possession of the lead.

    Crowhurst, having already committed himself to the lie by means of fraudulent radio reports of his position, knew he was facing a disastrous unmasking and total ruin. He had been out at sea by himself with limited radio contact (partially by design) for well over 200 days.

    His log entries from these last days are a mess of philosophic and religious speculation:

    "I had a complete set of answers to the most difficult problems now facing mankind. I had arrived in the cosmos while contemplating the navel of the ape..."

    "Now at last man has everything he needs to think like a cosmic being.

    At the moment it must be true that I am the only man on earth who realizes what this means. It means I can make myself a cosmic being..."

    "My folly gone ‘forward’ in imagination

    Wrong decision not perfect Time

    no longer computed Had disorganizes Clocks"

    Then, the last written words of Donald Crowhurst:

    "It has been a good game that must be ended at the I will play this game when I choose I will resign the game 11 20 40 There is no reason for harmful"

    It is supposed that he abandoned ship on the 243rd day of his strange voyage, jumping overboard while the ship sailed on. He left his beloved wife and four children.
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    4. february:

    i watched another movie tonight. it was the kind of movie where, at some point, someone near death cries out "goodbye, cruel world!"
    i disagree. the world is not cruel. society might be cruel, your surroundings may be harsh, but these are only parts of the world, and thus not representative of everything. the world can grant you everything and take it all away, and as such the world is balanced. what keeps this balance, this... good versus evil, something, i do not know. but it is balanced. there is a kind of strange beauty in most things, seeing as i, we are unable to comprehend the vastness of just about everything.
    i'm not sure what the correct definition for "the world" might be, but i imagine it to be our planet and the immediate surroundings. what we know, and what we can investigate. with our modern age, our space-lenses and our technology, the world might be expanding. we see new places, claim new territories, and so on. we presume the universe to be infinite, so... with this constant expansion the world is infinite. the universe is infinite. upon death, are you leaving the universe? are you somehow removed from everything?

    i am still unable to sleep.
    Sat, Feb 9, 2008  Permanent link
    Categories: Philosophy
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    Tue, Dec 25, 2007  Permanent link

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    two thousand and seven is a huge number. a great amount of time. even compared to it’s own amazingly abstract and incoherent everything. everything. no point a, no point b, no alpha or omega, no nothing. yet everything. and i find myself struggling with it, against it.

    i’m eighteen years old. i’m abstract.

    it’s 00:59 now, one more minute and i’m supposed to be sleeping. minutes. they’re nothing. all i should take into consideration is how sleepy i am. that’s something i can relate to. i always find myself being sleepy, but i don’t want to sleep because i don’t want to waste time. or, to put it in other terms, i don’t want to waste existence. i want to do something every day. every abstract, i want to fill this blank void fucking space with motion, dynamic motion. physical things. joy. not thoughts. i find myself doing nothing every single day. or, well, i do things, but they bring me no joy. only the weekends are fun. at least they used to be. all my friends are scattered around everywhere or at home and i’m in volda alone during the weekends. not always, but it feels like it. i want to care about one person more than the rest, if not for love or any of that sappy shit, just for the sake of doing something to fill my days. and it would probably bring me joy, too. i guess that’s what cynics call a girlfriend. and there are candidates for it, at least for me, i don’t know if i’m a candidate for anyone, but there are some for me. i just never seem to take any initiatives, i’m not sure if i want to. i’m not sure about anything. i like contrasts. a laptop screen against the void of a black room, blank versus something. i’m blank and i need something. asocial apathy. that doesn’t make sense but neither do you. argh. someone bring me coffee and warm sweaters, fuck the winter and fuck the snow. white covering every color, whiting out, erasing, fading out. during weekdays it’s cold and during weekends it’s warm because everyone is getting drunk or having sex. or both. probably. that’s the decline of civilization, right there. is this what we’ve become?

    yet, somehow this, us, isn't despair.

    i planned my birthday well. i saved my one and only cigarette given from a friend, walked up a beautiful mountain and shifted into thought just as the day shivered into night. a kind of euphoria.

    Mon, Dec 17, 2007  Permanent link

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