Carlos R: Recent Episodes
Carlos R
A drummer and a thief
25 years of drumming experience, interested in on-line projects to collaborate. Percussion, electronic drum programming, acoustic drums.
sleeping, waking the emptiness of my mosquito net
Chiyo-ni was born in the Ishikawa Prefecture in 1703. She began writing haiku poetry when she was 6, and her ability was soon recognized even though haiku by women were often dismissed and ignored at that time. Chiyo-ni was strongly influenced by Basho’s poetry (probably because her teachers were his students), but developed her own unique style.
Seven days to make music in response to the assigned haiku: to participate visit https://www.naviarrecords.com/about/naviar-haiku
Deadline: 25th March 2020
haiku by Fukuda Chiyo-ni http://haikukan.city.hakusan.ishikawa.jp/english/about/index.html
picture by Ömürden Cengizhk https://unsplash.com/@omurden\
Decided to go for the C chord, I believe it rules them all! Used a series of acoustic and electronic samples to fill the different layers, mixing string, winds, percussion, pianos and synths.
More on this 191st Disquiet Junto project (“One chord to rule them all — on several instruments”) at:
http://disquiet.com/2015/08/27/disquiet0191-heldchord/
More on the Disquiet Junto at:
http://disquiet.com/junto/
Join the Disquiet Junto at:
http://soundcloud.com/groups/disquiet-junto/
Disquiet Junto general discussion takes place at:
http://disquiet.com/forums/
Image associated with this project by Max Nathan, and used thanks to a Creative Commons license:
https://flic.kr/p/3aL7nK
Poem by Mav http://crp-nctm.tumblr.com
Picture by Don https://www.flickr.com/photos/amarcord108/
Making love with a woman and sleeping with a woman are two separate passions, not merely different but opposite. Love does not make itself felt in the desire for copulation (a desire that extends to an infinite number of women) but in the desire for shared sleep (a desire limited to one woman).
Poem by Akif Kichloo http://akifkichloo.com
Picture by Michael Yan https://www.flickr.com/photos/nicemichael
Radio Silence | Deadline 01.07.15
36,400,000. That is the expected number of intelligent civilizations in our galaxy, according to Drake’s famous equation. For the last 78 years, we had been broadcasting everything about us – our radio, our television, our history, our greatest discoveries – to the rest of the galaxy. We had been shouting our existence at the top of our lungs to the rest of the universe, wondering if we were alone. 36 million civilizations, yet in almost a century of listening, we hadn’t heard a thing. We were alone.
That was, until about 5 minutes ago.
The transmission came on every transcendental multiple of hydrogen’s frequency that were listening to. Transcendental harmonics – things like hydrogen’s frequency times pi – don’t appear in nature, so I knew it had to be artificial. The signal pulsed on and off very quickly with incredibly uniform amplitudes; my initial reaction was that this was some sort of binary transmission. I measured 1679 pulses in the one minute that the transmission was active. After that, the silence resumed.
The numbers didn’t make any sense at first. They just seemed to be a random jumble of noise. But the pulses were so perfectly uniform, and on a frequency that was always so silent; they had to come from an artificial source. I looked over the transmission again, and my heart skipped a beat. 1679 – that was the exact length of the Arecibo message sent out 40 years ago. I excitedly started arranging the bits in the original 73x23 rectangle. I didn’t get more than halfway through before my hopes were confirmed. This was the exact same message. The numbers in binary, from 1 to 10. The atomic numbers of the elements that make up life. The formulas for our DNA nucleotides. Someone had been listening to us, and wanted us to know they were there.
Then it came to me – this original message was transmitted only 40 years ago. This means that life must be at most 20 lightyears away. A civilization within talking distance? This would revolutionize every field I have ever worked in – astrophysics, astrobiology, astro-
The signal is beeping again.
This time, it is slow. Deliberate, even. It lasts just under 5 minutes, with a new bit coming in once per second. Though the computers are of course recording it, I start writing them down. 0. 1. 0. 1. 0. 1. 0. 0… I knew immediately this wasn’t the same message as before. My mind races through the possibilities of what this could be. The transmission ends, having transmitted 248 bits. Surely this is too small for a meaningful message. What great message to another civilization can you possibly send with only 248 bits of information? On a computer, the only files that small would be limited to…
Text.
Was it possible? Were they really sending a message to us in our own language? Come to think of it, it’s not that out of the question – we had been transmitting pretty much every language on earth for the last 70 years… I begin to decipher with the first encoding scheme I could think of – ASCII. 0. 1. 0. 1. 0. 1. 0. 0. That’s B… 0. 1. 1 0. 0. 1. 0. 1. E…
As I finish piecing together the message, my stomach sinks like an anchor. The words before me answer everything.
“BE QUIET OR THEY WILL HEAR YOU”
Story by bencbartlett http://redd.it/2j3nxz
Picture by Daniel Spils https://www.flickr.com/photos/danielspils/
Soundbook 011 | Deadline 03.06.15
Once upon a time there existed somewhere in the world, nobody knows where, a school which was called the Black School. There the pupils learned witchcraft and all sorts of ancient arts. Wherever this school was, it was somewhere below ground, and was held in a strong room which, as it had no window, was eternally dark and changeless. There was no teacher either, but everything was learnt from books with fiery letters, which could be read quite easily in the dark. Never were the pupils allowed to go out into the open air or see the daylight during the whole time they stayed there, which was from five to seven years. By then they had gained a thorough and perfect knowledge of the sciences to be learnt. A shaggy gray hand came through the wall every day with the pupils’ meals, and when they had finished eating and drinking took back the horns and platters. But one of the rules of the school was, that the owner should keep for himself that one of the students who should leave the school the last every year. And, considering that it was pretty well known among the pupils that the devil himself was the master, you may fancy what a scramble there was at each year’s end, everybody doing his best to avoid being last to leave the school.
It happened once that three Icelanders went to this school, by the name of Sæmundur the Learned, Kálfur Arnason, and Hálfdán Eldjárnsson; and as they all arrived at the same time, they were all supposed to leave at the same time. Sæmundur declared himself willing to be the last of them, at which the others were much lightened in mind. So he threw over himself a large mantle, leaving the sleeves loose and the fastenings free.
A staircase led from the school to the upper world, and when Sæmundur was about to mount this the devil grasped at him and said, “You are mine!”
But Sæmundur slipped out of this mantle and made off with all speed, leaving the devil the empty cloak. However, just as he left the school the heavy iron door was slammed suddenly to, and wounded Sæmundur on the heels. Then he said, “That was pretty close upon my heels,” which words have since passed into a proverb. The Sæmundur contrived to escape from the Black School, with his companions, scot-free.
Some people relate, that, when Sæmundur came into the doorway, the sun shone upon him and threw his shadow onto the opposite wall. And as the devil stretched out his hand to grapple with him, Sæmundur said, “I am not the last. Do you not see who follows me?”
So the devil seized the shadow, mistaking it for a man, and Sæmundur escaped with a blow on his heels from the iron door.
But from that hour he was always shadowless, for whatever the devil took, he never gave back again.
Picture by Bob Vonderau