John Sinclair – Mohawk

Artwork by CHU: www.schudio.co.uk

John Sinclair – Mohawk CD release coming soon on Iron Man Records

John Sinclair – “Mohawk” cd

Released Monday 24th March 2014 by Iron Man Records

John Sinclair, the renegade poet, scholar and cultural revolutionary releases his new album on Monday 24th March 2014. John, has been described as an Archetype of the 1960's art, music and literary synthesis, and who today, is still kicking with both feet on his trajectory for cultural transformation. His new record features ten tracks from his book of verse: always know: a book of monk. Twenty poems planted firmly in a single-shot session, and carefully trimmed down to ten exhibits for this album. Beatnik poems, great odes and personal reflections of the Be-Bop jazz persuasion, all flowering together.

First conceived of in Detroit City, spring 1982, and developed throughout the 1980s with streaks of fresh edits leading right up to the session itself, John navigates some of these texts for the first time in over twenty years, free-styling his energized sincerity and attention to every word, transforming the text on the page into his unique unmistakable spoken word.

The music was written and arranged by Steve Fly who mirrored John’s poems in the music by initially combing the tempo of the original songs recorded by John ‘Dizzy’ Gillespie, Charlie ‘Bird’ Parker and Thelonious Monk.

Steve The Fly is a native of Stourbridge UK, now an Amsterdam resident who plays drums, spins vinyl, writes novels and literary and cultural commentary. He also maintains a flock of websites and works in various other art forms without visible restraint. His other music projects have included New Flesh, Garaj Mahal, Temple Dragon band, of course he is now full time with John Sinclair.

These songs are further utilized by John’s poetic method so that each title and the rhythm of his poetry can piggy-back upon the same song title, and rhythm, of an original composition set in history, for extra rooting. Steve put down drums, turntables, cello-bass, flute, and glockenspiel, shooting to play around the vocal lead lines and diverse expressions from John.

“to take the hair off
the sides of the head

& leave just a strip
along the top,
scalping pretense
for the baldness of statement

building a new music
on the bones of the old”

— John Sinclair from the title track “Mohawk”

The album was recorded diligently by Tim Egmond at Ei Studios, Amsterdam and passed along to Simon Reeves at Framework Studios, Birmingham for mastering.

Tim Egmond is a music producer, engineer and studio whizz, based in Amsterdam, who has worked with scores of international and locally based artists on a wide variety of projects.

Simon Reeves has completed many projects for Iron Man Records already and he has been described as one of Birmingham’s finest independent studio engineers who has worked with bands from Napalm Death to Police Bastard, and a host of other brutal metal and punk bands.

All artwork was cradled and visualized by the post-industrial imagination of CHU; The Black Country, tech savvy, rule-breaking, progressive wordsmith and thinker – an ardent advocate of aerosol painting and its vanguard for over 30 years with global public works and murals, 3D perspective illusions and many group shows, under his Walsall leather belt. CHU’s work has included projects with Banksy and Jamie Hewlett among many others, and he has been described as the ‘Escher of UK street art’ and founder of Graffiti Bastards.

The album is to be released by Birmingham based Iron Man Records whose releases have included The Nightingales, Howard Marks, P.A.I.N (Propaganda And Information Network), and Police Bastard, amongst others.

The album will be beautifully packaged in a double gatefold cd wallet with artwork by CHU in full colour and a ten page booklet. John Sinclair will be appearing in November through to March to promote the new album. Mohawk illustrates the kind of care and attention a John Sinclair record deserves. After all, he kinda helped start this underground art explosion.

All Press Enquiries Sean Newsham: sean@mutante-inc.demon.co.uk
John Sinclair – Mohawk CD released on Iron Man Records 24th March 2014


ARTIST:  John Sinclair
TITLE:   Mohawk
LABEL:   Iron Man Records
FORMAT:   CD  Double Gatefold Sleeve / Digital Release to follow
RELEASE DATE:  24th March 2014
FILE UNDER:   Rock
Cat No:  IMB6022

Steve Fly 33.

Here, thought mutants

 Here, thought mutants

And so we approach the birth of the cyber-magus culture, back and forward to the world of magicians, shaman, warlocks and telepaths. A transtime, trans-space temporary gathering of like minded entities, here, fluttering together in the blink of a eye.

Swarm intelligence practised by real Indian swarmi, ferrymen for other entities wishing to pass into the rivers of timesplace. Here, outside the usual channels of communication, here, await the time-lords, the masters of astral projection, and the arts of mind transference prose comedy.

Here, in the everywhere but nowhere space are the new cryto-kids, those who have mastered ADHD and schizophrenia to produce fantastic cloaking devices for entities based upon an altogether, different series of identities, each unique, each potentially threatening to authority, each with a familiar trait of somebody else. Here, the new space cadets, operating on the other sides of time, in here and out there, swarming throughout the matrix, the holographic film, bleeding around all edges, are gathered for play:

Play: That age old vitalizing verb that combines experiment and co-operation, the rules come later. Here, in the noplace-place the heads are gathered, those who can talk and write out a paradox without whigging out about it.Those who see negative entropy and making new art forms in a similar frame of reference, here it is playtime, beyond language or category, here in the primordial ooze, the womb of all creation and destruction, the digital cloak room of the electronic man's overcoat, the damn sentence i put to you. Here we stand or sit as shaman, warriors upon the electronic frontier. Invisible martyrs out of the physical world, thought mutants here.


--Steve Fly 23.

prince greenwald guardian of the ice poet of snowdon by Steve Fly

oh just damn it
poetry
fucking spies want
my eggs

help from
green world
snow'd on

pine trees
ice glaze
stinging tea tree
of truth

 emerald green
secrets of snowdon
hermetic secrets

prince greenwald
guardian of the ice
poet of Snowdon?

--Steve Fly

 

 

Steve Fly at the drums

Steve Fly 33.

Pot Illuminati Musings

PI boiling down

ideas into angel PI

no step, sign or handshake

just milkshake, rattle bell

book and roll makemake

make up your own holy trinity

Krassner, Sanders, Sinclair

4 and 20 love bombs

baked in a PI

one for the earth and one for sky

one for waters and one for the fire

twenty imagination flows

feel free to take em' higher

for illuminating tea ceremony

use sacred pot

with bell, handle and spout (mind, body, spirit-snout)

strong light sources of natural sun and

crone moon

for push and pull forces

sing, dance, praise the light

spare a thought for the pottless

and incarcerated warriors

present the pot,

pour tea into pot fom the pot

admire the pot

meditate on the top of the pot

cure your tea methodically

now, in your writing...

remove the 'is' of identity

rhymes spill from bowl of improv

splashed to wall, letters

pulled apart, colors and contour

bloom burst and blop
out
and fly

through our cannavas

the temple is left clean.

fly out.

Steve Fly23

Fly Panorama:Tropen Museum Exhibit

Tropen Museum Exhibit in Amsterdam Steve Fly 33.

July 2013 free flow wronging of Steve fly

Friday, 5th July 2013....

My mind at sea on Hennessy writing silent essays about the silent NSA. Back to the letter, going out to all the people who hold freedom in their dome, stand by certain right to do whatchalike in your own home. Your own dome on yer’ neck, playhouse of a shuffled deck. Psychological scramble  letters through all channels, the backspeech of one who goes for sound down the cellar door rather than Pounds in the vault. It’s not your fault, you touched the web and got shocked with a mega volt. The electric man in the high castle, at the top by way of muscle and the hustle, gift of the gob, and ill -defined like the blob.

Heads nod in agreement, the government must undergo movement, rotation of different leaders
may slow the gears that churn earth into mud with crocodile tears. Beneath the layers the turf turned inside out, the only life found underground, beneath the surface, in the darkness and damp places, spaces where all races congress in unity, away from the masses, the fake living lie of life top side. In a topsy turvy world scurvy is gold, disease the cure, money manure.

The eye of providence on the dollar bill, what you thought. They store and watch everything, they track and tag, run and rag, slap and gag, punch and jab, note and tab, like and list, fix and twist, bend and brake, smudge and fake, steal and take, snitch and squeal, sign and seal. May the 30 seals of Amanta Mcara release the positive open forces.

Maybe the melting ice caps are the source of recent intelligence leaks. After just a few weeks and some tweaks the cold stream turned into a river, now boiling oceans have moved continents, stars line up and do not line up, asteroids spin, my pen died for this keyboard.

Take up a chump and drop a tasty lump on a sad kid that walk in Nike pump. Nobody jump.
You think I’m a grump, check my trump in your trunk, jazz smudge wickedness, test test test.
Strike it nice, be bright and don’t fight, feel, spinna reel, peel the seal from the sign, be mine. Fly.



Jump a land mine and make a notch in the road,
run like a motherfucker and leap like a toad
judges can’t test me in my super out mode
quick on my feets because I got a light load
in my humble abode all the voices flowed
out my house to place that makes people explode

When im watching TV, all my brains are feeling weary, and all of its not really, not nearly!
Better bagga book, better than yer’ bling, badda thana brudda, bitter fly ting. Up early.
bit your ear, byte your there, I nibble on the feet of the legs of your chair.

I got mad lures to pull you into my sewers, where brewers are doers and grow sweet fluwers
it may smell like manures and an old gang of pooers, but this shits truer than thruers, ma’ brewers.
Through and through you can rake up the stew, and force fuck the people to chew on the poo
Just say no and don’t do, what the eye tells you to do, them spies up the liffey are in a leaky canoe

on the whole thing TToTT

...the whole thing
a life work in progress
a poem from one wo/man
to harness the spirit
of everyman

here is the local basis from
which all else follow
the center of the human being
the whereness of time-space

the unwobbling pivot
the author in time
writing spaces in the writing
for the unknown

the rise and fall of man
the tribal dynasties and empires
come and go, leaving language
beings to make what they can

put it all back together again
in a whole rag bag of history
resonance with likeness in
timespace

morphogenetic fields of
cause and effect
cycling eddies and the vortex
time space history life
intertwinned

June 10th 2013
1939/1969/1989
everywhen and its whyness?
what general trends
which families and
nations prosper
which fall away in the dust?
why

attention to the source and
who distributes it
how?
economics and banking practice
who struck coin, who valued it
how?
are economics the measure
of a nations history or fastest route
to the source?

or
outer totems and sovereign
metals, sacred digital credit?
things and stuff of the material
world
are they our artefacts to deduce
facts from flights of fancy?
only a part of the story
a snapshot

or
inner psychological
insight, in-wit and
mapping by poetic method
of our history?

what humble author
can lift this great ball of light
carry nations and races on
their backs, speak with authority
yet conscious of the limitations?

Wittgenstein, confucious
Pound, Stephen Fry?
the universe is much bigger than
any one of us for sure
we can only see our slice of the giant
pie

to communicate meaningfully among
these stubborn facts that tease
maybe we should adopt a humbling
gramar and linguistic habit?
e-prime, NLP, and poetry
the keys

and so with minds divided by
truth and fact
organized groups can approximate
using rigorous scientific and mathmatical
methods
to deduct...
history?

HIstory such a human endevour
the individual journey into time
to discover oneself among the
others
your first contact with history
is the second contact with the
events that you choose to visit

each unique individual
exploration touches the past in
unique and special ways,
your life experience impacting how
you see the maze
each new discovery a chance to
be it

think like a writer
if you do not write,
imagine plot scene character
twist narrator and author
soundtrack lighting and
camera

you carry billions of souls around
inside your own universe and
constellation of entities
some born the moment of your
conception, some your birth
some picked up throughout
your life

and so the gods and their
family all are welcome
the spirit must move
treat all wisely and with
grace
slowness is beauty
simple truths

try telling that to the empire
builders architects and
contractors

the novel versus twitter
is it the end of the book
and the beginning of a
whole new ball game
look

GTA style narrative interplay
you the protagonist, exploring
the virtual universe in a game interface
here we are
10'000 Novels awaiting activation
upload into the gaming platform

and the crowdsource flows
into collective tales made product
movies games and albums
combined to tell the whole tale

with Pound at the Helm
Joyce on the canons and
McLuhan at the rudder
all bound for mu-mu land

and set keel to breakers
from bend of shore
into the ocean of messages
language frothing and
splashing

--Steve Fly
10th June, 2013

Freestyle 2013

by Steve 'fly agaric 23' Pratt
7/04/13. Amsterdam. NL

53 quid a week

Who sits before the judge for that?

what justice, what law

trial, society trial paid off

who’s throwing rocks,

what flowers and plants

may day, mayday

--SBD.

Data stash dormant in tis' up-mash

Make a dash with footnotes and hash

upload rhymes like bits were dimes

the empty fist fighting crimes

chatter bot spitting greensnot

dribble through the firewalls

compromise your OS
system/kulture

the newer the technology
the more relative my mythology

The great old ones lie
close to my teeth

sparked

into being lung and spliff

gobbing colours from a rainbow
cloud clear coral reef

strange fish fade from
the surface lights,
and swim underneath

Bread line to crumb street
to flour avenue

what to do to stop the hating?

to slow global mating
and the finance masterbating?

The bend of days

send of time

bigending of nothing much

re-pocalypse

re-maggedon

re-crash

re-war

re-wind of change?

Who can take the position
of the lowest

the old man on the street
in India or

somewhere in Asia or
Africa? Greece, Spain, Ireland
Italy, Cyprus the UK?

Review the backstory

reread the foreword

predict your future past particles

practice kung future presentism

Now is the time

make it new

fake a fake

paint a lake

Man imitates nature

sure things certain forms

recognized by domesticated

primates, a plates a plate!

self assembly

other controls, self and other

reference and identity

reflected in a black mirror

filter to the sympathy please

the compassion program

to feel with others, and

everything watches, listens and

records, but you knew that

Cateracts in the all seeing
eye

be-bop jazz to fight
drones

look out there'll be flat out treble

update peace to your
mobile phones

networked matter and

clones of clones of
clones

homes that build themselves
homes

Bucky Fullers worlds emerging

like Supermans smart
assembly crystal housing?

For solutions the poet keeps on dowsing

punched in the face daily
by the empty fist

each time the willow trembles

dreams of carbon 60
molecules assembling

sentences of cities

off world civilizations

pop-out space cities

easy grow self-flowering gardens

the geometry of chemistry in

Joyce and Bruno?

The googlarity
moment has come full circle

under moonlight
the web reflects

all things that are
lights

Peacock spiders dance and

i throw up my arms

hello!

The lemur sits watching

an Owl reading Amiri Baraka

whoooooo?

Tardigrades gather round

plotting the next trip

on the back of a carbon 60

nanotech spaceship

A Panda sneezes and

the whole world laughs

 Babies cry, cats fall

birds fail and people watch it,

observing high Dada,

life in mosaic, as Escher

as Coltrane

men mine minerals to make

better toothpaste for whiter teeth

a tangle of tongues toast their

hosts hospitality.

The bats hang

dying from fungus

over-investment

Pesticides are killing the bees

just doing what it sez'
on the can, besides

pesky bees, we want
more nice butterflies
and beef burgars

Billionairs

see bitcoin and Claude Shannon

and centepedes

Aha, spring

another euro crisis

austerity cuts and no common

horse sense: horseterity

Ships of salty sensations

sink in the gyres, the black twisting

vortex

no light can get out

news black hole

One hour spent typing

two just looking

where do i post this stuff,

blog, FB, tweet a bit, or

churn into some other work?

Distractions and exploding churches

robot dogs, drones, 3D printing and

lawyer run capitalist chicane drain

drip droopy in my ears

back to the trees

back to nature, we must go

sometime

soon, do what you will,

honor the local gods

question the scientific models

learn from your elders

be quarkitex and quantum dot

welders

Elephant trunks sway

this way and that

to the beat of the street they walk

Cats talk to birds

in a charming chatter tongue

penguins cough and splutter

and the warbles sing somewhere
afar

to reverse engineer an ear

sounds good to me,

right back to the big bang

cookie monster
where are you, author?

with chips and souvenirs, sexy socks

weed and beers

a frozen city of a high society

invaded by the other classes

begging, buying or busking it?

All the usual junk on show:

coca-cola, Mcdonalds, Burger King

ING, Rabobank, Starbucks,

but in between these

coffeeshops, smartshops

and sex-shops and live
sex shows and,

temporary live sex partners

so what next, the pigeons cou'

--steve fly (freestyle)

Steve Fly