DIRTY SLUT MANIFESTO
Dirty Slut says:
The Glamour has gone from this town. That and back alley sex-not enough of it. So, with the aim of rendering a room full of anal, trainspotting electronica geeks, into a naked, squirming, wet panties with flour and fish-heads fuck of the century, the Slut is launching the new campaign. YOU have been warned and it still won’t allow you pencil necked turd-suckers to get your peasley brains around the stupendous tumescence of my towering sex. My pussy is hot for you, my Limousine has brand new velour and your date with the bang of the century draws nearer.
Atalli writes ‘noise is a weapon and music, primordially, is the formation, domestication, and ritualisation of that weapon as a simulacrum of ritual murder’
This means that all bets are off. Do you understand, fools? I understand the irrelevance of dynamism in functional harmony, we are completely au fait with gestalt theory when applied to psychoacoustics in rhythm programming, but really, all we’re really interested in is whether anybody realises that we fantasise about Raisha Gorbachov when we’re bareback riding the third girl of the night in a vomit strewn alley-way two blocks down from the club. Teeth clenched, buttocks tight and boots grinding in the broken glass - of the underpass. Yeah, yeah. Seen/heard it all before – passion, distance, vice and innocence, crack and pencil cases. Nothing does it quite like exponential instability of personality coupled with extreme amounts of amplification of both the ego’s desires and the resulting outpourings of my much abused sampler. Wait for it you fucks. I’ll have you humping the stacks so hard you’ll get numb-butt.
I, mean c’mon honey – you know you’ve had better mid-dancfloor-hand-down-the-sweaty-pants-of-that-hotty-with-the-glitterbuns action than any amount of thrashing about with tonal gravity, resolution, and directed, developmental form could ever give you.
Yesterday we had speak-easies and beats, low riding Cadillac’s and ecstasy and prozac hotel room parties. Today, a phenomenon with even greater potential to stimulate cognitive dissonance than ever before (with the possible exception of snorting wasabi) lies in the characterisation of media constructs as systems and as chaotic, therefore possessing complex dynamics that are deterministic, yet as fundamentally unpredictable as fleas in a fish tank and capable of exhibiting sudden, catastrophic changes in behaviour.
Attali echoes the sentiments of the futurists, in writing that ‘life is full of noise and that death alone is silent; work noise, noise of man, and noise of the beast’
So full bandwidth sex-core action is the ONLY way to cure that which ails you. You will only find true enlightenment in the totality of ego loss associated with 155 BPM, thrashing around on a peculiar mixture of highly controlled substances, pheromones, High dB SPL, and your mouth around the firm yet smooth sex of a tattooed and pierced 13 year old virgin’s member.
Remember, as Bataille tells us: ‘eroticism, it might be said, is assenting to life up to the point of death’ (Bataille 1962:11).
People tell me of a warehouse, yeah right another Saturday night with a sound system and a bunch of kids waving their copies of Proust around. Constantly performing in the ever-reoccurring frameworks of identity politics has taught me one thing. Everybody wants to fuck. And everybody wants to be fucked. You bring the Marshmallow fluff and I’ll bring the hand grenades. Don’t assume you know what is going on behind the vapid eyes of the bored Cuban whore you’ve got servicing your swollen crack, he’ll be running through the implications of the recorded music medium and the way it has started to move away from it’s function as a reinforcer of cultural hegemony, to where it is intent on becoming a network within which multiple layers of interactions take place. He’s no fool baby – and neither are you.
