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We've had a number of goes at podcasting for over a decade. Not that we had any grand informative belief systems to convey or a burning itch to interview our best friends, the thrill of podcasting was always this idea that one could become one's own radio station, meaning, record-and-play-back-whatever-sounds-happened-to-be-concurrent-with-the-temporary-autonomous-zonal outlook. Back in the Myspace daze, there was a sturgeony rendering of a sort called "Ergonomic Disc Tenderly" out on Podomatic. When that went away, or rather, boredom took over, formats changed, nobody gave a shirtless shirk, the next emergence was a more thoughtful patter going by the title, "Codcast for P". This one had a decent run, spooling out a handsome handful of full length collage fritters on Mixcloud right up until a couple years ago; and at the same time was supplemented by burp-n-fart record-everything-on-your-iPhone thingie-hoo going by the name, "Portable H & Lair", which had its own separate intermittent gasps on Spreaker. But dammit, quick as a furtive wink, passwords go away, formulas once again transform, and worse for the wear, information simply disappears. What's a person to do? Don't look back too poetically; fast forward to the perpetual state of shoulder shrugs and keep on with the deeds. And so dear husophone, gaze thy nodules towards this latest entry into digitizing our schlupst. We hope it hears you well!



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Coming on up, right down the midsection!



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Working on a thought dispenser as a means of sidestepping certain digital tendrils. 100% analog, mind you, although not entirely secure from attributes spawn from the corporeal realm, what with all this talk of near-ubiquitous penetrative instances and incursions of a most nefarious hue and cumber, dew droplets, whatnot, sour dispositions, tiny classified mads, certain spoils inferred, ie., topical (implied), whether indicated elsewhere on pages prior, a priori, poster pried, oh and rent.



PS. Click the pic to catch it in action.

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Currently boiling these tubers into needless hems. That being said, smirks do their curtain calls at some of the cacophony rearing up from the orchestrated pitting. Here's an instructional we'll never actually be able to replicate, at least under any duress.



And this little moot has been finding friends in pitch decay.



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Fair sails and mercantilism!
Behold the Mini Mono SP, now available for consumption on our Etsy shop. This contact mic is very much along the similar dance steps of its forebears & rotor-rooters, the Plug SP, Plug Ugly, et al; this time marrying a terminal input of the 3.5 mm variety. Application-wise, the Mini Mono's usefulness speaks truths beyond appearance, hailing from the netherworlds of monophonic cassette recording to neverlandish eurorack noodle-dom & spaghetti wrestling.
Click the pic for a look at this rook.



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In keeping with the nonsense, older less-sensical mussels more than unlikely needn't their hay in the pun. By tapping the flaring nostril below, we assure you appearances into a lasting and perhaps forgettable passage of time that showered umlauts on the state of Massachusetts. And please, for a bested interference, use the plug-in friendly Firefox. All sorts of nuisance and myspace coding can worn on that velveteen habit of yours, and ours will grin a salmony.



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Good gravy, that previous entry was grumpy. We're seriously not curmudgeony types herein, despite the archaic underpinnings of our namesake and/or otherwise objectionable PR campaigns, self-martyring-deterioration-proclamations, and additional ramblings and inclinations towards a decay that might be construed as negation vs. cheery. Mind you, one isn't in this to be a pollyanna nor that of a pariah, which is entirely another topic, and potentially objectionable pursuit; sort of prurient even, in its self-flagella-ish (and by that we don't mean method of propulsion), er, anyway. Point being, well past the pointed head of entry, beyond the teething and weening of milky entrance exams into this here existence, truth be told, there ain't a load of doings or boohooing's of grandiosity in which to perplex the matrix quotidian. Instead, we're chugging along. Here are a few items of soothing seance, read into that what you will.

YouTube has been given a wee boost. We tried to do it daily, now it's back to the irregular weekly here or there, meek, oblique, and other wides



SoundCloud too! Seems to be a nice way to posit some schema that pocks the E-Z upload manifest



Started working on a book with our pal, Marcel



And other schlupst ruptures happening hither and thither, in no particular order, but sort of a backlog of malfeasance & ribaldry



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The last year or several, dwelling in and occasionally fleeing from the myopic lens of hereparts and thereabouts:

Summarized by algorithms, our heads have been have-been's, by in large etched in the splatter of if & when, sequenced by tides unbeknownst, with meals served on the backs of an indefatigable bad breath knell, purging up grubs with mirroring effects, ad agencies, turncoats, and bombastic sixes. We'll take nine more to the hilt, quit for a hot liquid minute, and then cast the rest for our forebears to cycle up another sabbatical neverolution...

So spun the great pinwheel.