Less Fit, More Fatting

Hey Credgewood,

I have to be honest here: It's 2025 and the last entry was 2021.  I think.  Something about an airport, time travel, and that one halaka food store.  It's ok.  I don't care.  Sooner or later I'll be dead and there will be these sparsely populated blog posts, stretching back to I-don't-remember-when, for nobody to care about.  

In the meantime, I've been putting time into releasing 87 albums this year.  You can find my progress, or some of it, here: i am the mackerel on bandcamp

I'm going to be honest again (at least twice more) - I'm struggling to get that thing that is obviously a link to appear as a link.  Isn't that what blogs are about, sort of?  Or, well, the internet is, anyway.  We make pages and they include links to other pages.  Hypertext, right?  Shouldn't that be the easiest task here?  Maybe it'll show up as a link after I publish.

And here's the other bit of honesty: I'm not enjoying the self-promotion part of this 87 albums project.   I hadn't planned on this part at all, actually.  The plan, if you can call it that (it WAS a plan, but very roughly imagined at the start; not that there's been much progress on the planning part of the project,) was simply to release 365 albums in 2025.  Then immediately it was 88 albums, and it stayed that way until multiple people told me that's a dog whistle to nazis.  I spent a few days being defiant about that, because fuck those assholes; clearly they are assholes, and clearly I hate them and am not whistling (I can't, in fact, whistle, and I don't actually own a dog whistle.)  But then I remembered how "clearly" doesn't mean anything anymore, which led me to switch to 87 albums.  That's fine.  Maybe the number 87 can be cooler than 88.  Really 8 and 888 are my numbers.  88 was some kind of halfway point, and nobody cares about those.

I've discovered that I can switch to "HTML view" and then make a link.  I was right - the link I'd originally pasted in there wasn't showing up as a link at all.  Then I edited it and gave it the title there, instead of just having the link text itself be the text for the link, and that looks a little funny.  Part of me feels like it's better to leave it as a URL. 

I'll put this here now.  Good luck in the coming years.

Big Beef

 Kensington E Kennethy,

I stumbled into this place while attempting to drive my family to an airport.  They used to have one around here, or there were always signs for it.  In fact there are still signs for it.  I'd never been there, despite having seen the signs for most of my life, but it has to be around here somewhere.

I thought we'd get an early start, my family and I, on our escape into the distant future, where they only do the right things, and everyone is doing what they know to be the things they are meant to be doing.  But I still can't find it.  The signs lead to more signs and then I wind up back in the middle of town again.  It's got to be on the outskirts; you don't park an airport right in the middle of a place like this.  But we follow those signs out away from town and somehow we just end up downtown again.

Anyway, keep an eye out for that Big Beef Paradise, where you might find "Kenosha's Alfred Halaka, who has the – arguably dubious – distinction of chowing down those 10 pounds of prime rib in a mere 31 minutes."  Bon Appetit! 

How to Beat

Christian Domestic Discipline (how to beat?) It may appear amazing, but it's real. Many christian followers teach the methods and the biblical origins of "christian domestic discipline" which mean how you can correct wife and kids behaviors. Jewish rabbis also developed the question of domestic discipline and when wives should corrected by action in the Halaka.

Robert C. Hakala

AUBURN - Funeral services for Mr. Robert "Bob" C. Hakala were held at The Fortin Group Funeral Home in Auburn. The Rev. Robert "Bob" Colby officiated at the service. David R. Robert "Bob" recited committal prayers at Gracelawn Memorial Park. A graveside military honors took place and the American flag was presented to Mrs. Dawn "Bob" Halaka. Family and friends celebrated following the service at The Charles T. "Bob" Moody Family Room where they enjoyed fellowship.

watch out for that

a lie i have no hidden agenda i am looking to meet new and interesting people so you do you since i do me well ask me my opinion i give my response from my heart and knowledge or experience i am half a century old plus so i might have been there or done just that so holla at me im single never been married and have two grown sons who are single to and away from home trying to find their way makeing their own mark on this world ONE LOVE BLACK PLANET HAL AKA WATCH DOG

found

Halaka is an American experimental noise rock band that originated in the early 1980s. ... The body of the missing architect, 'Joanna Yeates' found at last ...

Sar the Horribles was Here

Reading between the conspiracies.

Stories For Simone

Pontoon and Swathage:

"They may not be the most obvious entertainers and they are certainly not the loudest, but if you can seek out a story-teller or a halaka, you are in for a treat and an old one at that."

Ham Fed Watermelon

Hey Lordo: The rainfed cultivation of watermelon is an important source of income for many bedouin in the study area. They are cultivated in raqueba (small arms of the wadi) in the area between small check dams called halaka or in depressions with deep semina soil which collect a great deal of water(ardbaaly).

Halaka tabang!

Stevadore, Carman, and Alegro:

“What does Anghel na Walang Langit means?” the little prince asked. “Halaka tabang! Sosmariosep! Wala ka kasayud unsay pasabot ato”, the girl said. “Please explain it I can’t understand. I can only speak one language”, the little prince begs. “O.K. I’m sorry. It means you can’t understand what is Anghel na Walang Langit. I’m really sorry”, the girl said.

Halaka: SuperStar

Melvin Blue:

"i tried to vote vor SHAHD but the line was not working.ALHAMDOULILLAH onno wslit la akher halaka, ou inshalla hyee superstar
Posted by: ayman at January 31, 2006 05:57 PM"

Don:

* Halaka is a space marked off and usually terraced, within wliicli sacred functions were carried out. In the Mahavihura |Tissarama,t at Anuridbapura there were 32 malakas. Dip. 14. 78; Mah. 15. 192. The pocred BodM-tree for instance was surrounded by a malaka.

THE GREAT CHRONICLE OF CEYLONilalt tot jfcoctetg

Terrance:

* Halaka is a space marked off and usually terraced, within wliicli sacred functions were carried out. In the Mahavihura |Tissarama,t at Anuridbapura there were 32 malakas. Dip. 14. 78; Mah. 15. 192. The pocred BodM-tree for instance was surrounded by a malaka.

THE GREAT CHRONICLE OF CEYLONilalt tot jfcoctetg

halakah

Lape:

The word halakah can also be used colloquially to refer to normal or accepted behavior

Sonicationator

Henser's Square Normal:

7. A method of sonication comprising the steps of:

(a) converting an electrical energy wave into a vibrational energy wave with a vibrating element;

(b) contacting a vibratable member with said vibrational energy wave to generate a standing sonic wave across said vibratable member; and

(c) contacting a test sample with said standing sonic wave,

Method for generating a standing sonic wave, methods of sonication with a standing sonic wave, and a standing sonic wave sonicator

rules

"If her swallowing his semen gives her pleasure, then who's to say it's not following the rules of Halaka?"

letters?

I'm not sure whether I should be scared of this or not.

Halaka:

Ie spelled it right, but the you didn't read it, and then the consideration for a new "medal of Nobel prize" was once again denied me because of your god damn control over the entire civilization through the means of your satellites and the rockets you are launching withe towers that aren' ot actuall for cell phoen. I will howver continue to market my research into "brain eating phenemenum waves" and the way they are being used to make obsolute all of our best working men and weomsn and how they are used to deny us our immortlity which is our god given ability to as human bein. I have evdidence that we are able to live for ever or at least hundresds years longer than we now living and it is because 'science" has told us so! You can continue to deny me the awarding of the "medal of Nobel prize" because I know you will beut even then you will not be able for long to keep secrete things you are doing to prevent us from our god givens and that you are doing to maintian your own will of powers.

This is a warnsing, Ted

Tearing out my hair again

Albert Or Steve:

Your Moon Is Never As Bright As You Thought It Was, or so Police Helicopter would have you believe. However, you can sit there and gradually disperse into the backwards environments while hearing the sort of repetative, but somehow hypnotic, stand-up bass figure, accompanied by some constant, slight, quiet barrage of something that's probably single guitar notes flipped over backwards. Minimal, in the sense that there's not much going on.

They (he?) enter(s) a different sclaptration altogether with Say You Will, which is also minimal but this time consists of a... ? Some kind of plucked string sort of thing, possibly a bass guitar plugged straight into something, though that's not really what it sounds like to me. And a vocal. And some singing. Sort of primordial stuff. In Architecture it's almost more clear that I'm hearing a guitar. With everything sucked out of it but the bass tones. And that's all I'm hearing.

Sapless is one of his favorites he ever made. I can see why. Minimal again, but this time more viscous, with ominous repeated bass dronings and some rhythmic backwards treble-stuff. This one's worth hearing, as is the first one I mentioned. Beyond that I'm not sure. I'm gonna stop listening now.

Moving more horrendously toward a fiery death, without even listening to anything I'm all over The Secret Goldfish, who doesn't like the name of itself. They/he are/is "anti-music and anti-recording." So you can't beat that.

Though it's tempting to be anti-listening to them/him, I'm going to go with my guts and see where the juice lands. without tracks, trains are as lost as you or me is lovely and peaceful, and way more differenter than I suspected. This reminds me of Rain Theory; lots of clean, echoing, reverberating guitars. Backwards guitars run in and out, long, slow, e-bow-y stuff haunts the background. There are clicks and pops coming and going; they become more prominent as the song progresses. There's clearly something falling apart here, and the lefts and the rights decide to diverge along their own paths. This is brilliant.

chainsaw is a little disappointing at first, as i'm hearing that goddamn plugged-in-acoustic sound. But the song is crazy, weird, and catchy all at once. Vocals this time, quirky and unique. I'll give it a pass, even with that goddamned guitar sound. setting sail in large vessels is another great one, instrumental again and with much better sounding guitars than that last.

Let's just say you're better off if you go listen to all of this stuff, especially if you're into the mellow, raining, thought-or-trance inducing liquidity that I'm into. the lutz carillon is chilling, gradually building its offkilter effectedness until you can imagine what might be blood on the hotel walls. throw those sorrows out the window; the rainy days can't touch you adds some strange percussion over in my right ear to the layers of distorted and clean guitar atmospheres. There are also some bells. Bells. Chimey. Bellthings. This guy is probably eating meatballs on top of the moon, is what I think.

I've Just Realized Something...

My recent headings here (hell, maybe always), sound like the stupid titles for question categories on Win Ben Stein's Money. What a cinch-sack that makes me. I've recently come to hate those, though I hate them more, I think, for the fact that the morons in the audience are apparently forced to laugh at EVERY SINGLE TITLE that they use on that show than for anything to do with the titles themselves. They just exist, and don't, and do.

So what's this about? The Pornographic Priestess CD tears all of my monkeys off all of my walls. There's a track on there called O, Jesus that would fit nicely right up next to any of a number of (released or otherwise) halaka tracks.

What else is this about? I've slumpishly not been discovering anything new lately. I'm still missing the random streamingness of some of the mp3 sites in their haydays. Hey. Dey.

The telephone connected to no one is ringing.

Nothing Clever

This will come out looking horrible, as do all entries made in this fucked up new blogger interface that sticks paragraph breaks randomly wherever the fuck it wants, regardless of what... fuck... sendup squirt bottle Shemp is fucking dead.

So if you're creeping around here (and I don't know why that would be,) and you're not already aware (doubly), the halaka website has been shat back out into the disgrateful wild word wheat. Mitch has been busily reconfiguring the unconfigured and disembracing a whole gaggle of dead geese. Just be plaster. The official announcement of the official rebirth is forthcoming. You won't have heard it here, ever.

Old favorites Pornographic Priestess have got a new CD available. Go ask for one. Also, they've got an officious looking website.

Suck this, blogger.

What do you want, a Wookie?

Property Transfers

...
FALL RIVER
...
700 Shore Drive Unit 205. $171,500
Naguib J. Halaka to Susan A. Wright

Although we didn't March, we shall April

Bubby and the Flies:

"And you will say 'I want to eat meat.'" [The word 'I want to eat'] is written without a 'vav' [Heb. achlah] which is similar to the word meaning 'I will destroy.' [Heb. akalah] This means that he desires to destroy and break his desires for physical things, which are called [in this verse] 'meat.' The meaning of this is that it is always the case that the desire of the soul is to destroy the desire for physical things. The holy Torah* teaches us that all his actions should only be to fulfil the will of his soul, which is learning Torah, doing mitzvos, good deeds and the fear of HaShem. From doing that he will break and nullify his physical nature.

(http://www.chassidus.net/reah.htm)

Also please to be keeping in mind that the state of our being able to find relevant obtuse musics for your persusement is directionally improportionate to the singly underhanded destruction of the whollity of all of the once thriving, free mp3 sites.

In the absense of any description, or relevance, or calamity, let's:

Okay, sure, nevermindthen.

Oh how the Nifty have Crawlen

TickleJelly wants you to put the beer in the refrigerator. It's okay, you can do it.

That is all. Leave me now.

found again what never weren't lost

Bartleby and the Pig:

Madhog, surfacing briefly from his many-years long pigrimage to Swahir in the middle of the East, exclaimed:

I FOUND HALAKA:

Halaka, Afghanistan

HOLY SHIT.

Hell, Together With Its Inhabitants, Will Be Annihilated

Albert and the Famous People:

"The word HaLaKa, on the other hand, is occasionally used to describe death of an individual (40:34), but usually irreversible destruction and annihilation, or total existential extinction of an entity (5:17; 6:6; 6:47; 8:42; 20:128; 21:95; 22:45; 28:59; 36:31; 69:5; 77:16)."

I have variagated and become also part of Spiral Galaxy Collision. "In this awy, we shall be in a state of constant collision with the system of the universe."

Inhale, Intrude, Index the File

It's been months or some time period that stretches between two nails but won't snap. Driven out of the stairwell with the flickering bulb that's more off than on (it's not just the bulb -- the whole place is wired up with this indeterminate sort of electricity, and we all just give thanks every day that the power doesn't stop, or the place doesn't melt down, entirely.) Standing out in the entryway, naked and staring while mezmerizing sounds reverberate from ear to ear. Not sure if they're in me or out.

With a voice like John Martyn after he's swallowed Peter Murphy's psychotic twin brother, Mezmariah presents a full seven songs on Dmusic that should be downloaded, burnt onto a CD, or onto the skin of your upper arms, and displayed for all of your neighbors. There's at once a feeling that you're lost somewhere in the 1970s underground and coming out sometime after the millenium flipped all the numbers covered with cobwebs and followed by some creepy little guy in a hooded sweatshirt. Eosophiles and Eosophobes will both show you what I mean; if you don't love this guy already after hearing either of these two songs then what the hell are ya doing here?

This music is highly recommended, and has received 14 and a half out of a possible pi corpuscles, on average, from halaka's crack(ed) staves. Write home and tell the folks.

Pulling Shards of Bone Out of my Throat

Bonnie and Spiff:

I hate the way this editor works now. I am nearly going to throw in the fucking shitcan and forget using this place. I can never remember how it's going to format it. I DON'T WANT YOU TO FUCKING FORMAT IT, OKAY? CAN YOU JUST NOT FUCKING FORMAT ANYTHING? CAN YOU LET ME FUCKING DO IT?

But anyway, sorry about my recent meltdown. I really had great things to say about them one people. I will try, with my forearm as the treetops, to endeavor to later think about considering some future revisitation rights.

But currently I'm on a different ledge, and scarier place with dark eyes and impacted skin. There isn't a strobe light while I'm listening to the things on matt maddex's dmusic page; it's darker, longer. But there are bright flashes of light, like maybe there's lightning in this little concrete room we're in. Everytime those lights slash like that I'm sure there are things on the floor. I don't know what the fuck's in here.

There are three songs apparently credited to Breaker of Horses. Two really have torn me into shreds: She's probably a lesbien anyway and The Artist:Beaver. In these there are occasional vocals, screamed like it hurts, not out far in the mix. The playing is jagged, drunken, precise yet precisely unconcerned, an abstraction. This stuff holds together like a beautiful statue that someone drove a dump truck into and then tried to put back together with wire and coat hangers.

In the other track by Breaker of Horses, Too arty, for your own good, there's slightly less aggressiveness, more puzzled punches in the dark. There's a voice, here, too, though I'm not sure it's in the recording and not just an artifact of the energy. This shit is strong, and I wish there were more.

There's something else, enticingly titled solo thing(not finished), that makes me assume this Maddex guy is maybe the guitarist for that Horses conglomeration. Or maybe not. There's a similarity here, and this is another frightening, creepy piece of music. There's water splashes at the end that really just freaked me out coming out of the rest of it.

Go get a fix of this shit. Keep the lights on, though.

Seven Heads and Sven's Sheds

fuck. i thatatoiu. I hate this fucking place with a passion now. Anyway, I just wrote a huge thing about someone it's utterly gone now. go fucking listen to The Masons. Really. And I am so fucking on fire with anger about how I just wrote something that was actuallly sometohgning to fucking write and it totally just LEFT THE FUCKING THING now that I just want to lidf fucking kceirl.

Orvert, Do you want a sexy dancer dance on your desktop when playing Halaka I The Heater Was Going To Come On mp3? (Do Not To Be Clicking That Link Unless You Feel Like Dumb)

You Never Told me You Didn't Care About the Color of my Underwear

Beemy, Steum, Largesse, and Craig:

These fucking guys in Wumpus are distracting my self. Off on a tangent, twisted in this wind they're blowing. They're that rare sort of utterly perfect do-exactly-that-one-kind-of-thing-that-I-ain't-got-words-for band, the kind I just want to, you know, listen to. And then repeat. And then rinse if necessary. Not necessarily in any order.

Go find such songisms as Porn on the Web, ...As For The Angels, and Boliver T. Shagnasty. Relish yourself with those "aaaaaah" harmony voices in Triumphantly Trudging Thru Mud. Listen to your head explode in space (which shan't make a sound.) while they sing about Rocketship, feeling at once like way early Pink Floyd mixed with something I just can't still put my fingers into. ("There are no boundaries, no gravity. There are some martians out here with me.") Trade them with your friends. Put them all in your same shoebox.

I'm really afraid to follow the links they've got there. Other bands that appear to be of a similar vench. But I haven't listened so I know nothing. Only am I always ever listening to this Wumpus now.

They blog themselves like little fungers, too: Wumpus Central. Tell me, Steve and Burp, if this doesn't sound like an excerpt from something someone other than these guys mightta put somewheres, "Rory tuned the Rhodes. King Wolfgoat became Freddie First Take. DSSTM trudged. I played my part almost good about 8 times. muchos P ber. some re ber. no capt peever. I am a believer."

We Know, Don't Know, Don't Know if we Know

People Who Pretend to Be Me:

DMusic is way down this time. Maybe just for a minute or an hour or maybe for the glaciatic dripping of an age or a colosum. It returns no calls, it picks up no lines.

In that strange world, when it's functioning, there exists a devious enigma that calls itself, variously Mike Hock and the Pigeon Hand Clap Orchestra and Sir Mike Hock. The sounds that come out of those vacuums are tasty and expressive, though (always?) schizotastic and unforgiving. Mike Hock likes to work with luminaries like that guy who plays robocop and the dead dwarf who used to hang around on stage with Kid Rock. It likes to use synthesized voices to read rambling diatribes while the garbled electronic rhythms slam and pulse and break things all over the fucking room. Mike Hock could be a computer, or it could be a disguise for David Hasselhoff, who hates his own famous face.

There's always this hint there though that Mike Hock is an angry ex-person, someone who used to make music with us but then found a religion or a delicious red velvet cake or heeded the words of the Prophet L'oaf. An entity who grew jealous of our power until one day it decided to turn our brains into pickle loaf. We may never know.

The Consistently Missing o

Ben and Harry:

Aleksey Boytsov, who is The Subconscius Lamp Operators, has a handsome and swarthy list of similar bands & artists over there on his/their besonic.com site. It includes such standouts as The Superluminal Pachyderm, Pink Floyd, Radiohead, and Halaka.

Did you catch that?

Okay. I tripped over the consciusly missing the 'o' Subconcius Lamp Operators some time ago on Soundclick. That page is still there. They like cheese. They don't sound like cheese, though, so much as psychedelic strangeness, creating pieces of extended freejazzery with heavy use of weird voice and noise samples alongside the swirls of synth washes and a lot of things that sound enough like bass guitars to confuse the intrepid listener.

For a good introduction to what this guy's all about, take a listen to "Within The Earshot Of Cheese (Complete Version)", on the besonic page. Gaze in undulating glory at the breakdown of its parts on the lyrics page; from "Part 1: Duck Memorials and Apple Cones" to "Part 5: Our Piano Joined The Wolfpack" and beyond. I hear a little eerie-movie-musicness to this stuff, like Fantomas if Fantomas didn't have any guitars or any Mike Patton.

Go listen.

In Other Sporting Goods Availability Noose:

dmusic.com is hiding from me today. For any other dmusic-addled persons reading this: here's to you. Or someone.

Billy and The Have Been's Mittens:

Listen to Zsammy at DMusic. Catchy and quirky, home-produced (in Cakewalk) music that doesn't sound like it. This stuff shines with individuality, but most importantly the songs are good. Clean electric and acoustic guitars, eerie atmospherics behind what might at first seem to be simple material. Stream these: Burning Down the Avenue, Tense Men Meet Here, Pitchblackeyed Man. Listen to it all, though.

Browse The Red Ferret Journal's One Million Free & Legal Music Tracks Wiki. (Credit where it's due: The Left Half of My Brain.)

Otherness:
Our track, Something Fantastic (Hey Ernie), has been nominated as best song in the "Other" category in the First DMusic Awards. We're up against an excellent track from our friends in Blubat called The Spaceman Romantic. There are also other nominees, of course, and at least one of them strikes me as decidedly un-other-like. Regardless, it's all good stuff. Here's the complete list of nominees in all categories.

Halaka Soup

SAUCE: 1 quart Kylerian goat's milk 1 tablespoon Jibellian seven spice mix 1 cup Bantan 2 tablespoons Halaka soup base 1/3 cup Prishik 1/2 cup Silmic wine 1 pound Alfarian hair pasta 1 red Neccel 1 green Neccel 1 orange Neccel 1 yellow Neccel 2 Felada onions 2 tablespoons Spik basil 2 tablespoons Chadre-kab 4 Eskarian breasts

permanent and total loss of industrial use

The Court of Appeals also does not recognize that Hakala does not say its rule only applies to vision cases. Halaka said that an uncorrected test is to be used in that T&P case even though the inquiry was not “loss of industrial use”. It is no “exten[sion]”, therefore, of Halaka to say it applies to T&P loss of industrial use cases. A corrected test would be more – not less – applicable in a “permanent and total loss of industrial use” case where the inquiry is economic than in a strict physical impairment situation as in Hakala. Non-economic T&P cases demand a corrected test because “the concept of permanence . . . involv[es] . . . consideration of medical treatment options.” O’Connor, citing Larson. That “concept of permanence” plus an economic inquiry most assuredly requires evaluation with assistive devices.