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 (nobody)...and 80 guests Last 5 registered Oplandisks nothingstar N_loop yipe foxtrotromeo Browse members... |
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Members 8025Messages 2613865 Today 5 Topics 127525 |
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http://www.diesel-new-art.com/upload/works/images/image_726 9.jpg ^-- ps: this is an awful, nsfw image, don't look at it. |
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Born 1975 (Essex, England), Tom "Squarepusher" Jenkinson makes experimental drum'n'bass with a heavy jazz fusion influence and a lean toward pushing the clichés of the genre out the proverbial window. Rising from near-total obscurity to drum'n'bass cause célèbre in the space of a couple of months, Jenkinson released only a pair of EPs and a DJ Food remix for the latter's Refried Food series before securing EP and LP release plans with three different labels. His first full-length work, Feed Me Weird Things (on Richard "... |
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http://www.diesel-new-art.com/upload/works/images/image_726 9.jpg |
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your resume |
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underworld_-_born_slippy_2007_remix |
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Caroline was born in Oss (the Netherlands). She moved with her family to Germany in the late 1970s. In 1980 she was a member of the girl quartet "Optimal". After that (starting in 1985) she cooperated with Dieter Bohlen under the name C.C.Catch. Dieter Bohlen was the driving force behind her records, writing and producing all the songs. This was the main reason for the ending of their collaboration in 1989. Caroline wanted to participate in the creative process by contributing her own material, but Dieter did not agree. |
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http://www.myspleen.net/download.php/3510/TSOYA%202005.torr ent |
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Paz Lenchantin |
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Nice to see you, mrgypsum. F.A.Q My favorites Edit your account Logout Now online (24) mrgypsum fkd_bmd marlowe w M w Wolfslice optimus prime retape big Sano OK CS2x rogu rarebit xceque oyvinto horsefactory Fah gerbik dariusgriffin HmND tolstoyed Ophecks b6662966 Phresch roygbivcore ...and 27 guests Last 5 registered joshbhr fkd_bmd trasheris inf3rn0 wigglin Browse members... Members 5314 Messages 2078286 Today 269 Topics 96354 More stats... andor »» menu MAIN | DISCOGRAPHY: advanced or browse | AERMX2003 | AFXRMX | GALLERY DOWNLOADS (BITTORRENT) | OLD APHEXTWIN.NU »» current poll Do you like The Chemical Brothers music? - Ends on June 15th New member? Say Hi! (582) Phobiazero 2007-06-27 12:08 XLT VIBES #21 | Squarepush... (158) staz 2007-06-23 16:05 XLT VIBES #18 | Psychedelic (154) zero-cool 2007-06-20 10:58 XLT DISCOGRAPHY | UPDATES (244) Phobiazero 2007-06-18 06:28 XLTRONIC | RADIO 24/7 (403) Phobiazero 2007-05-15 11:36 remix me you slags (16) aphextriplet 2007-06-28 19:47 the tuss (632) staz 2007-06-28 19:47 R.I.P. Chris Benoit (57) marlowe 2007-06-28 19:47 first good vsnores (10) vlari 2007-06-28 19:28 New Grand Theft Auto IV trail... (24) Ophecks 2007-06-28 18:59 Transformersssss (1) retape 2007-06-28 18:57 whats up with chemical brothe... (9) binyamin 2007-06-28 18:40 Ventrilo harassment. (13) stilaktive 2007-06-28 18:30 � (19) staz 2007-06-28 18:20 New Modeselektor album (9) mortsto-x 2007-06-28 18:10 New Ø-Ikuinen (2) mortsto-x 2007-06-28 18:03 The Ctrl-V thread (908) pomme de terre 2007-06-28 17:38 Bjork's new album (40) olaabaza 2007-06-28 17:22 Torrentleech Invites Here !! (81) b6662966 2007-06-28 17:21 perfect albums thread (78) optimus prime 2007-06-28 16:58 I believe in god (16) Monoid 2007-06-28 16:37 Sports (9) CS2x 2007-06-28 16:34 Post Your Art! (515) |
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Watch the sun, As it crawls across a final time And it feels like, Like it was a friend. It is watching us, And the world we set on fire Do you wonder, If it feels the same? And the sky is filled with light Can you see it? All the black is really white If you believe it As your time is running out Let me take away your doubt You can find a better a place In this twilight Dust to dust, Ashes in your hair remind me What it feels like And I won't feel again Night descends Could I have been a better person If I could only do it all again And the sky is filled with light Can you see it? All the black is really white If you believe it And the longing that you feel You know none of this is real You will find a better a place In this twilightWatch the sun, As it crawls across a final time And it feels like, Like it was a friend. It is watching us, And the world we set on fire Do you wonder, If it feels the same? And the sky is filled with light Can you see it? All the black is really white If you believe it As your time is running out Let me take away your doubt You can find a better a place In this twilight Dust to dust, Ashes in your hair remind me What it feels like And I won't feel again Night descends Could I have been a better person If I could only do it all again And the sky is filled with light Can you see it? All the black is really white If you believe it And the longing that you feel You know none of this is real You will find a better a place In this twilight |
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* frals has quit IRC (Quit: [19:59:44] dreams are almost real[20:00:12] surfing[20:00:27] water[20:00:34] |
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Faye nodded, and Sam lay back on the floor, opened her legs, her pink affection, blue eyes full of cotton panties off, stood her up, "this just gets in the way," quickly unbound Nancy's wrists, but held them, and somehow slid her kimono off, and Nancy was suddenly completely wrists. Faye gently pushed Nancy to her knees, and steered Nancy's face between Sam's legs. Sam reached her hand down and pulled apart her Nancy kissed in Sam's inner tropical and "Don't closed her eyes, stuck out her hummed through her when she tongue, pressed farther, "Good huh?" asked Faye. Nancy nodded. "Then make yourself comfortable." Faye released Nancy, went back to the sofa, and watched. "Oooh, she's a natural," Sam like a trout searching for oxygen. "She studied." Faye rubbed her foot against Nancy's reached her toes under her face, looked behind her. Sam complained, "Faye?" Faye slid off the sofa, smacked Nancy on the butt, "We'll address the obedience issue in good time. You will service my sweet Sam until |
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oh damn... I replaced al the dirty words with strips it out of the text as if it were HTML tags :( there goes my joke :( -C- |
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Det är inte många i Sverige som minns Eighth Wonder men denna sida är till för att få er att minnas eller få er att upptäcka denna härliga discogrupp som hade en kort framgång i slutet av 80-talet. |
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Latest BitTorrent downloads: Error fetching remote RSS feed! Warning: strtotime(): Called with an empty time parameter. /home/web/xltronic.com/html/include/js/rssticker/lastrss/la in stRSS.php on line 159 http://xltronic.com/downloads/tracker/ Filename: xltronic-radio-20061124-staz.mp3.torrent Uploaders: 0 Downloaders: 729 Size: 209.08MB Jan 09, 2007 xltronic-radio-20061230-autechre-marathon-part-01-08.zip.to http://xltronic.com/downloads/tracker/ Filename: rre |
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thanks! happy birthday to you in 2 months -1 day |
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http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=o5nZcFIf3qc |
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The Library of Babel by Jorge Luis Borges The universe (which others call the Library) is composed of an indefinite and perhaps infinite number of hexagonal galleries, with vast air shafts between, surrounded by very low railings. From any of the hexagons one can see, interminably, the upper and lower floors. The distribution of the galleries is invariable. Twenty shelves, five long shelves per side, cover all the sides except two; their height, which is the distance from floor to ceiling, scarcely exceeds that of a normal bookcase. One of the free sides leads to a narrow hallway which opens onto another gallery, identical to the first and to all the rest. To the left and right of the hallway there are two very small closets. In the first, one may sleep standing up; in the other, satisfy one's fecal necessities. Also through here passes a spiral stairway, which sinks abysmally and soars upwards to remote distances. In the hallway there is a mirror which faithfully duplicates all appearances. Men usually infer from this mirror that the Library is not infinite (if it were, why this illusory duplication?); I prefer to dream that its polished surfaces represent and promise the infinite ... Light is provided by some spherical fruit which bear the name of lamps. There are two, transversally placed, in each hexagon. The light they emit is insufficient, incessant. Like all men of the Library, I have traveled in my youth; I have wandered in search of a book, perhaps the catalogue of catalogues; now that my eyes can hardly decipher what I write, I am preparing to die just a few leagues from the hexagon in which I was born. Once I am dead, there will be no lack of pious hands to throw me over the railing; my grave will be the fathomless air; my body will sink endlessly and decay and dissolve in the wind generated by the fall, which is infinite. I say that the Library is unending. The idealists argue that the hexagonal rooms are a necessary from of absolute space or, at least, of our intuitio |
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intuition of space. They reason that a triangular or pentagonal room is inconceivable. (The mystics claim that their ecstasy reveals to them a circular chamber containing a great circular book, whose spine is continuous and which follows the complete circle of the walls; but their testimony is suspect; their words, obscure. This cyclical book is God.) Let it suffice now for me to repeat the classic dictum: The Library is a sphere whose exact center is any one of its hexagons and whose circumference is inaccessible. There are five shelves for each of the hexagon's walls; each shelf contains thirty-five books of uniform format; each book is of four hundred and ten pages; each page, of forty lines, each line, of some eighty letters which are black in color. There are also letters on the spine of each book; these letters do not indicate or prefigure what the pages will say. I know that this incoherence at one time seemed mysterious. Before summarizing the solution (whose discovery, in spite of its tragic projections, is perhaps the capital fact in history) I wish to recall a few axioms. |
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First: The Library exists ab aeterno. This truth, whose immediate corollary is the future eternity of the world, cannot be placed in doubt by any reasonable mind. Man, the imperfect librarian, may be the product of chance or of malevolent demiurgi; the universe, with its elegant endowment of shelves, of enigmatical volumes, of inexhaustible stairways for the traveler and latrines for the seated librarian, can only be the work of a god. To perceive the distance between the divine and the human, it is enough to compare these crude wavering symbols which my fallible hand scrawls on the cover of a book, with the organic letters inside: punctual, delicate, perfectly black, inimitably symmetrical. Second: The orthographical symbols are twenty-five in number. (1) This finding made it possible, three hundred years ago, to formulate a general theory of the Library and solve satisfactorily the problem which no conjecture had deciphered: the formless and chaotic nature of almost all the books. One which my father saw in a hexagon on circuit fifteen ninety-four was made up of the letters MCV, perversely repeated from the first line to the last. Another (very much consulted in this area) is a mere labyrinth of letters, but the next-to-last page says Oh time thy pyramids. This much is already known: for every sensible line of straightforward statement, there are leagues of senseless cacophonies, verbal jumbles and incoherences. (I know of an uncouth region whose librarians repudiate the vain and superstitious custom of finding a meaning in books and equate it with that of finding a meaning in dreams or in the chaotic lines of one's palm ... They admit that the inventors of this writing imitated the twenty-five natural symbols, but maintain that this application is accidental and that the books signify nothing in themselves. This dictum, we shall see, is not entirely fallacious.) |
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For a long time it was believed that these impenetrable books corresponded to past or remote languages. It is true that the most ancient men, the first librarians, used a language quite different from the one we now speak; it is true that a few miles to the right the tongue is dialectical and that ninety floors farther up, it is incomprehensible. All this, I repeat, is true, but four hundred and ten pages of inalterable MCV's cannot correspond to any language, no matter how dialectical or rudimentary it may be. Some insinuated that each letter could influence the following one and that the value of MCV in the third line of page 71 was not the one the same series may have in another position on another page, but this vague thesis did not prevail. Others thought of cryptographs; generally, this conjecture has been accepted, though not in the sense in which it was formulated by its originators. Five hundred years ago, the chief of an upper hexagon (2) came upon a book as confusing as the others, but which had nearly two pages of homogeneous lines. He showed his find to a wandering decoder who told him the lines were written in Portuguese; others said they were Yiddish. Within a century, the language was established: a Samoyedic Lithuanian dialect of Guarani, with classical Arabian inflections. The content was also deciphered: some notions of combinative analysis, illustrated with examples of variations with unlimited repetition. These examples made it possible for a librarian of genius to discover the fundamental law of the Library. This thinker observed that all the books, no matter how diverse they might be, are made up of the same elements: the space, the period, the comma, the twenty-two letters of the alphabet. He also alleged a fact which travelers have confirmed: In the vast Library there are no two identical books. From these two incontrovertible premises he deduced that the Library is total and that its shelves register all the possible combinations of the twenty-odd orthographical symbols |
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(a number which, though extremely vast, is not infinite): Everything: the minutely detailed history of the future, the archangels' autobiographies, the faithful catalogues of the Library, thousands and thousands of false catalogues, the demonstration of the fallacy of those catalogues, the demonstration of the fallacy of the true catalogue, the Gnostic gospel of Basilides, the commentary on that gospel, the commentary on the commentary on that gospel, the true story of your death, the translation of every book in all languages, the interpolations of every book in all books. When it was proclaimed that the Library contained all books, the first impression was one of extravagant happiness. All men felt themselves to be the masters of an intact and secret treasure. There was no personal or world problem whose eloquent solution did not exist in some hexagon. The universe was justified, the universe suddenly usurped the unlimited dimensions of hope. At that time a great deal was said about the Vindications: books of apology and prophecy which vindicated for all time the acts of every man in the universe and retained prodigious arcana for his future. Thousands of the greedy abandoned their sweet native hexagons and rushed up the stairways, urged on by the vain intention of finding their Vindication. These pilgrims disputed in the narrow corridors, proferred dark curses, strangled each other on the divine stairways, flung the deceptive books into the air shafts, met their death cast down in a similar fashion by the inhabitants of remote regions. Others went mad ... The Vindications exist (I have seen two which refer to persons of the future, to persons who are perhaps not imaginary) but the searchers did not remember that the possibility of a man's finding his Vindication, or some treacherous variation thereof, can be computed as zero. |
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At that time it was also hoped that a clarification of humanity's basic mysteries -- the origin of the Library and of time -- might be found. It is verisimilar that these grave mysteries could be explained in words: if the language of philosophers is not sufficient, the multiform Library will have produced the unprecedented language required, with its vocabularies and grammars. For four centuries now men have exhausted the hexagons ... There are official searchers, inquisitors. I have seen them in the performance of their function: they always arrive extremely tired from their journeys; they speak of a broken stairway which almost killed them; they talk with the librarian of galleries and stairs; sometimes they pick up the nearest volume and leaf through it, looking for infamous words. Obviously, no one expects to discover anything. As was natural, this inordinate hope was followed by an excessive depression. The certitude that some shelf in some hexagon held precious books and that these precious books were inaccessible, seemed almost intolerable. A blasphemous sect suggested that the searches should cease and that all men should juggle letters and symbols until they constructed, by an improbable gift of chance, these canonical books. The authorities were obliged to issue severe orders. The sect disappeared, but in my childhood I have seen old men who, for long periods of time, would hide in the latrines with some metal disks in a forbidden dice cup and feebly mimic the divine disorder. |
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Others, inversely, believed that it was fundamental to eliminate useless works. They invaded the hexagons, showed credentials which were not always false, leafed through a volume with displeasure and condemned whole shelves: their hygienic, ascetic furor caused the senseless perdition of millions of books. Their name is execrated, but those who deplore the ``treasures'' destroyed by this frenzy neglect two notable facts. One: the Library is so enormous that any reduction of human origin is infinitesimal. The other: every copy is unique, irreplaceable, but (since the Library is total) there are always several hundred thousand imperfect facsimiles: works which differ only in a letter or a comma. Counter to general opinion, I venture to suppose that the consequences of the Purifiers' depredations have been exaggerated by the horror these fanatics produced. They were urged on by the delirium of trying to reach the books in the Crimson Hexagon: books whose format is smaller than usual, all-powerful, illustrated and magical. |
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We also know of another superstition of that time: that of the Man of the Book. On some shelf in some hexagon (men reasoned) there must exist a book which is the formula and perfect compendium of all the rest: some librarian has gone through it and he is analogous to a god. In the language of this zone vestiges of this remote functionary's cult still persist. Many wandered in search of Him. For a century they have exhausted in vain the most varied areas. How could one locate the venerated and secret hexagon which housed Him? Someone proposed a regressive method: To locate book A, consult first book B which indicates A's position; to locate book B, consult first a book C, and so on to infinity ... In adventures such as these, I have squandered and wasted my years. It does not seem unlikely to me that there is a total book on some shelf of the universe; (3) I pray to the unknown gods that a man -- just one, even though it were thousands of years ago! -- may have examined and read it. If honor and wisdom and happiness are not for me, let them be for others. Let heaven exist, though my place be in hell. Let me be outraged and annihilated, but for one instant, in one being, let Your enormous Library be justified. The impious maintain that nonsense is normal in the Library and that the reasonable (and even humble and pure coherence) is an almost miraculous exception. They speak (I know) of the ``feverish Library whose chance volumes are constantly in danger of changing into others and affirm, negate and confuse everything like a delirious divinity.'' These words, which not only denounce the disorder but exemplify it as well, notoriously prove their authors' abominable taste and desperate ignorance. In truth, the Library includes all verbal structures, all variations permitted by the twenty-five orthographical symbols, but not a single example of absolute nonsense. It is useless to observe that the best volume of the many hexagons under my administration is entitled The Combed Thunderclap and another The |
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and another The Plaster Cramp and another Axaxaxas mlö. These phrases, at first glance incoherent, can no doubt be justified in a cryptographical or allegorical manner; such a justification is verbal and, ex hypothesi, already figures in the Library. I cannot combine some characters dhcmrlchtdj which the divine Library has not foreseen and which in one of its secret tongues do not contain a terrible meaning. No one can articulate a syllable which is not filled with tenderness and fear, which is not, in one of these languages, the powerful name of a god. To speak is to fall into tautology. This wordy and useless epistle already exists in one of the thirty volumes of the five shelves of one of the innumerable hexagons -- and its refutation as well. (An n number of possible languages use the same vocabulary; in some of them, the symbol library allows the correct definition a ubiquitous and lasting system of hexagonal galleries, but library is bread or pyramid or anything else, and these seven words which define it have another value. You who read me, are You sure of understanding my language?) |
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The methodical task of writing distracts me from the present state of men. The certitude that everything has been written negates us or turns us into phantoms. I know of districts in which the young men prostrate themselves before books and kiss their pages in a barbarous manner, but they do not know how to decipher a single letter. Epidemics, heretical conflicts, peregrinations which inevitably degenerate into banditry, have decimated the population. I believe I have mentioned suicides, more and more frequent with the years. Perhaps my old age and fearfulness deceive me, but I suspect that the human species -- the unique species -- is about to be extinguished, but the Library will endure: illuminated, solitary, infinite, perfectly motionless, equipped with precious volumes, useless, incorruptible, secret. I have just written the word ``infinite.'' I have not interpolated this adjective out of rhetorical habit; I say that it is not illogical to think that the world is infinite. Those who judge it to be limited postulate that in remote places the corridors and stairways and hexagons can conceivably come to an end -- which is absurd. Those who imagine it to be without limit forget that the possible number of books does have such a limit. I venture to suggest this solution to the ancient problem: The Library is unlimited and cyclical. If an eternal traveler were to cross it in any direction, after centuries he would see that the same volumes were repeated in the same disorder (which, thus repeated, would be an order: the Order). My solitude is gladdened by this elegant hope. |
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A feature-length documentary film about hip-hop DJing, otherwise known as turntablism. From the South Bronx in the 1970s to San Francisco now, the world's best scratchers, beat-diggers, party-rockers, and producers wax poetic on beats, breaks, battles, and the infinite possibilities of vinyl. Written by Doug Pray |
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yamaha qy700 |
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mement |
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Messageboard index |« « 14 15 16 17 18 19 Personal Finance|Credit Card|Myspace.com Glitters|Mortgage Loans|Loans |
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Fauntleroy |
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grabble |
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http://img253.imageshack.us/img253/4858/greetingsuserrv6.gif |
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Variety Lab - |
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JivverDicker |
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Jetée |
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http://zoomquilt2.madmindworx.com/ |
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http://xltronic.com/member/profile/188 |
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Muhaha Are you on brug5? |
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http://xltronic.com/member/profile/188 (two minutes later, nothing changed) |
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# $rand1 = rand(0, count($letters) - 1); # $rand2 = rand(0, count($letters) - 1); # $rand3 = rand(0, count($letters) - 1); # $rand4 = rand(0, count($letters) - 1); |
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the tuss the tuss the tuss the tuss the tuss the tuss the tuss the tuss the tuss the tuss the tuss the tuss the tuss the tuss the tuss the tuss the tuss the tuss the tuss the tuss the tuss the tuss the tuss the tuss the tuss the tuss the tuss the tuss the tuss the tuss the tuss the tuss the tuss the tuss the tuss the tuss the tuss the tuss the tuss the tuss the tuss the tuss the tuss the tuss the tuss the tuss the tuss the tuss the tuss the tuss the tuss the tuss the tuss the tuss the tuss the tuss the tuss the tuss the tuss the tuss the tuss the tuss the tuss the tuss the tuss the tuss the tuss the tuss the tuss the tuss the tuss the tuss the tuss the tuss the tuss the tuss the tuss the tuss the tuss the tuss the tuss the tuss the tuss the tuss the tuss the tuss the tuss the tuss the tuss the tuss the tuss the tuss the tuss the tuss the tuss the tuss the tuss the tuss the tuss the tuss the tuss the tuss the tuss the tuss the tuss the tuss the tuss the tuss the tuss the tuss the tuss the tuss the tuss the tuss the tuss the tuss the tuss the tuss the tuss the tuss the tuss the tuss the tuss the tuss the tuss the tuss the tuss the tuss the tuss the tuss the tuss the tuss the tuss the tuss the tuss the tuss the tuss the tuss the tuss the tuss the tuss the tuss the tuss the tuss the tuss the tuss the tuss the tuss the tuss the tuss the tuss the tuss the tuss the tuss the tuss the tuss the tuss the tuss the tuss the tuss the tuss the tuss the tuss the tuss the tuss the tuss the tuss the tuss the tuss the tuss the tuss the tuss the tuss the tuss the tuss the tuss the tuss the tuss the tuss the tuss the tuss the tuss the tuss the tuss the tuss the tuss the tuss the tuss the tuss the tuss the tuss the tuss the tuss the tuss the tuss the tuss the tuss the tuss the tuss the tuss the tuss the tuss the tuss the tuss the tuss the tuss the tuss the tuss the tuss the tuss the tuss the tuss the tuss the tuss the tuss the tuss the tuss the tuss the tuss the tuss the tuss the tuss the tuss the tuss the tuss the tuss the tuss the |
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Error fetching remote RSS feed! Warning: strtotime(): Called with an empty time parameter. /home/web/xltronic.com/html/include/js/rssticker/lastrss/la in stRSS.php on line 159 http://xltronic.com/downloads/tracker/ Filename: xltronic-radio-20061124-staz.mp3.torrent Uploaders: 0 Downloaders: |
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Technotronic is a studio-based Belgian house music project formed by Jo Bogaert (a.k.a. Thomas De Quincey) in 1988. Together with Ya Kid K (born Manuela Kamosi, 1973, Zaire), he produced the hit single "Pump Up The Jam" which was originally intended as an instrumental. An image for the act was put together utilizing Zairian-born fashion model Felly (allegedly without her permission) as its album and single cover art and "singer" in the music video. Ya Kid K went on to provide vocals on several other Technotronic tracks. |
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vetchick |
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http://rapidshare.de/files/15441214/melvins_the_bootlicker. rar.html |
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oh |
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