I only wish there was a tracklist for this mix, but I’ll take it as it stands. It’s fire and I can’t tell the difference between TECHNO and MINIMAL TECHNO but that’s all just words. Anyway, this is a hotter groove than my usual morning Chillwave or Sovietwave. It’s just more about where I am today and how can I deny a Quarantine Mix in Radio Quarantine?
It’s ironic in a way that techno never actually inspires me to dance. It’s just never been what gets me up and moving. What it calls to mind for me is driving, or even riding along by high speed rail. It’s too frenetic for dance. My body doesn’t move that way. It never has. The beat in techno doesn’t catch me in the hips. It’s more of a cerebral thing or a mindfuck.
Sitting here marveling this morning that we’re halfway through August. You’d never be able to tell from the tropical air, but autumn is really right around the corner with whatever it brings. It’s going to get quiet again unless someone unloads a vaccine on us soon. The Russians claim to have one and they may or may not, but it seems suspicious to me that only two weeks ago they were busted spying on American and European companies and now they say they have the answer. Despite my fascination with the Soviet Era I’m not all that eager to get injected by the same people that brought us Donald J. Fucking Trump. Nothing against the people themselves but there is no rational reason to trust Vladimir Putin’s Science Club. It might be better to take my chances with ‘Rona. Am I donning a tinfoil helmet on this one? Not quite, but a healthy dose of skepticism may get us all further than a dose of what they’re selling.
I will trust the Eastern Europeans with music though. No doubt about that. They’ve gotten me through five months of lockdown.
Let’s leave this one here though. Not much to say today. I spent the wee hours combing through old photos rather than meditating. Same effect overall. A certain peace came over me, seeing the photos now as opposed to when they were taken and removed from whatever drama was ailing me at the time. The peace seems an indicator that the things I was sweating then have either never come to pass or simply passed on their own, as I’ve always been told things do. You can’t ask for more than that.
All things must pass.
Thank you, Mr. Harrison.