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The Underside of All Asymmetries

by Sergio Satélite and Chris Carr

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about

a journey into the musings of Sergio Satélite .. philosophic quandary and observations of the human experience.

spoken word.. poetry..

The lyrics were recorded at Gamba Forest and the instrumentation was constructed as a sound bed for the emotions conveyed in the music.

lyrics

SOLA SALIVA
09/15/2021
Alone
Solo
Lonely
Solitude
By yourself
In front of your mirror
Different levels
Different depths
Different angles
Dimensions, longitudes
Hard squares
Tight circles
Circus routines
Visible if at all
only around
three months later.
Isolation as self-alienation.
Isolation for self-preservation.
Different origins.
Different consequences.
Like with silence. In a song.
Or in a brain. Or in a room.
Or after crying. Before exploding.
Or to stop the explosion.
Or as a form of gratitude or resentment.
There is no single silence.
You’d have to ask around.
You’ll find a multitude of meanings.
The same is true of touch and of taste.
But this time it was an entirely new animal.
More absolute. Ultimate anxious unmasculine uncertainty.
Sure. This time it felt more like sensory deprivation.
I wasn’t able to survive it. So I began to write it.
Journal entries. Emails. Old phones. Old awards. Dead recriminations. God, celibacy, and epistemology. Teenage obsessions. Innocent flames. The traps of validation. Chronological puzzles. Recurrent, unforgiving flaws. Special talents. Optimistic leaps gone wrong. Self-investigations. Self-Inquiries. Poorly trained therapists. Pre-suicidal ideation. Sola Saliva.
And Salvation, salvation came by Novelty Alone. A George Carlinesque desire to live just to see how it’ll turn out. But I’m afraid the final file will be too big. I think I’ll have to learn what’s relevant. I think I will have to learn how to open my hands. Appreciate what stays when they are open. I think I better brush up on my friendship skills. The spirit of the age is trying to turn me into a statistical ghost. Waiting for the near future to tell me what to do is not strongly advised.



THE UNDERSIDE OF ALL ASYMMETRIES
12/30/2021
There are no losers among us.
They told us there could not be any losers among us.
But we know we exist. And we know
That being lost is also a position.
And lately we are always positioned
On the bed in the second floor
Always accepting ourselves a little too much.
And we don’t even dream about flying outdoors anymore.
And Christmas trees mean nothing to us.
And lately we had to force ourselves to masturbate.
And lately we have Nothing to look forward to.
Oh, but the quantity and the quality and the length of failure.
The narrative of failure. The logic of failure.
And So. Much. Shame. And our railing against the culture.
Well, we are organic creatures
Forced into inorganic activities.
And we live and die not knowing.
Sure, but how can a person
Be a Naturalist about defeat
And still hide under a sheet?
Yes, undoubtedly, but how can a person
Be a Pragmatist for so long
And still never get anything done?
Through lack of presence came lack of memory.
Through lack of memory came lack of continuity.
Through lack of continuity we’ve become
Subjects without experiments.
And everywhere the world is now
Remarkably and relentlessly locked.
Looks like We have protected our autonomy so much we’ve killed it.
Looks like Now, we cannot change our desires. Only indirectly.
Looks like We’ve gone from Adderall to disposable.
Looks like We are now on the underside of all asymmetries.
Looks like Self-respect is gonna be a painful process.



PEOPLE PURSUING PROJECTS
02/13/2022
People pursuing things
People pursuing projects
Comics looking for laughter
Poets begging for acceptance
Painters stabbing the color of flatness
Mothers consolidating debts
Mothers dreaming of retirement
Mothers fearing minor dementia
Fathers buying GoPros
Fathers bleeding dialysis
Fathers buying groceries for mothers
Mothers married to projects
Projects pursuing fathers
Believing everything’s sacred
Drunk and high and laughing
Broke and linear and too sober
Brothers punching teeth in dreams
Sisters working for jewelers
Sisters releasing poison
Thinkers interconnecting structures
Feelers groping against suicide
People pursuing things
People pursuing lovers
Lovers believing in el mañana
Lovers in pain lovers in joy
Lovers trying again and again for something
Friends separated by space and time
Friends dialoguing about art and life
Friends being there with
their laughter and their grudges.
Willpowers praying for a revival
Willpowers believing in god and
tomorrow and friendship
One-eye actors hoping to perform better this spring
Twisted anti-victims forging their identities
Love as a stream as unpredictable as Casavettes
Love as a stream that doesn’t stop
Love as a stream of obsessive compulsive Columbos
Optimism exposed by waking up naked
People looking for things there
People pining for projects here
And I in the middle
I in the middle of my bones
Dancing the rumba
Like a stylish and empty
Clint Eastwood.


THIRD POEM WITH NO TITLE
02/22/2022
I’m co-creator of a fate with hubris and innocence.
Co-creator of a fate that taunts me with eggs.
With eggs and a woman who cries puzzled.
The years have paid me with disinterests
On the investments I’ve unmade in the dark.
Blindly I’ve unmade so many investments.
Though some weren’t so blindly.
I guess I just never did believe.
Or maybe I always did believe but believed badly.
And now the years have made me co-owner
Of a fate with suspenders and disinterests and eggs
and tears hurled against my monstrous nature.
I who own nothing but a labyrinth and a few books
And many crates filled with wasted potential.
I who can’t shed the weight of dead titles
and all my historic dread of the future
and the best of intentions of the blind.
How I might get out of this fate I own
Aún queda por verse o quizá por no verse
But one thing is certain:
At the other end of this river
There is no therapist and no family
no friends and no poetic colleagues
At the other end of this river
I wait for myself.
I who never romanticized the hand of the government
The only arms that now hold me.
I who always believed in mutual aid
Of a highly delusional kind.
I am now justly rewarded like a virgin
Who follows a fake limp
Who promised him a prostitute
Only to fade into the grinning night.
One day of course I shall have to thank the blind
For a love like the love of god
A love that burns the brightest
In the evidence of its effortless absence.
But for now my love eternal
My eternal debt of gratitude
Is to be paid only to those
who are prompt to pay their taxes.

credits

released May 5, 2022
lyrics and vocal performance - Sergio Satélite
Instrumentation - Chris Carr

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Anarchy Rap Brooklyn, New York

hyper creative -anti corporate.. been making music for over 20 years. Its an expression of self and connectivity to the universe. My goal is to spread love - the music is a conduit. you and I are one in the same..

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