Brian Foreman 7/9/23 Brian Foreman 7/9/23

sir reel iii

O clever kismet, worn by sea

Child of volatility

Cast upon the listless beach

From patterned, fractured poles did reach

With desperate hands on wounded knees

Pickled glands shouting salted pleas

And on and on, it goes and goes

And on again, in anguished throes

Denying that which it already knows

A cunning, baffling disease

Set sail upon the wistful breeze

From wet, cold wreckage souls beseech

Old familiar shoals to breach

O clever kismet, worn by sea

Vessel of humility

🐚 🚢 🌸

It was April 6, 2021. I’d just met up with a close friend at one of my favorite beach spots in Playa del Rey, catching up after a few seasons worth being out of touch. I was about to graduate from treatment and a week away from six months sober. A fragment of a seashell found its way into my hand and I took it with me to remember the occasion.

Later, on a whim, I decided to drive up to the Baldwin Hills Scenic Overlook to take my therapy telehealth session there and wandered around afterward. I paused as I came across this single flower poking out into one of the hiking trails and realized I’d been carrying the shell around, rubbing it softly between my thumb and forefinger. Something compelled me to hold it up to the flower and take this photo, and at that moment the line “clever kismet, worn by sea…” came to me like a mantra.

The line continued repeating in my head through the rest of that day and into the next morning. It was my last creative writing class at the IOP and I felt inspired to incorporate it into the session that day. To my delight, it was a poetry exercise. A perfect capstone to my favorite group! I wrote it down as the opening line to my new masterpiece. To my chagrin, I spent most of the hour staring at the page, my mind straining. Every other week, the words flowed effortlessly, producing some of my best “work.” Why would this be any different?

I left that day frustrated and confused but with the foundation for what has grown into the third and final entry in the “sir reel” series, a trilogy of surreal musings connected to the process of recovery (you can find the other two if you dig through my posts or website). This one presents a succinct, quasi-nautical summary of the progression of my dual diagnoses as illuminated by my step work up through step six. I had to sit with that step for a while.

It’s fitting, then, that the process of completing this one took months, maybe over a year. I kept circling back, filling in a line here, replacing a word there. The word choice, structure, meter, and rhyme scheme just had to be absolutely perfect for it to see the light of day. And I wasn’t happy with the dood I intended to accompany it; it felt like something was missing, or needed some digital transmogrification with the original photo that inspired it to correlate to the weight of the poem. I wasn’t willing to let it go, at the same time discovering a lot about myself I wasn’t willing to let go, because it was all I’d ever known and I was terrified of the unfamiliar.

I’ve come to learn that letting go is a practice, not a single act.

Brian Foreman 9/1/21 Brian Foreman 9/1/21

on intimacy, or something

1/29/2019

what i think, what i want, how i feel

fantasy, connection, shame

well this trifecta doesn’t need to select a

leader for this fever to turn this overachiever into a

picnic case

and what a disgrace

the luminance this vessel could share

but its sense of worth and validation

is rooted in conquest and salvation

(a passion player with a rescue complex)

no one’s gonna save him

because i don’t know how to hydrate

my rider keeps on stopping at the source

but without instructions or a script to rely on

it’s been “yes, i’ll take this anomaly”

because it’s all i can get

and all i can get is what i deserve

but what i deserve is to

feel i belong

feel i’m ok

feel like i’m felt

feel like i’m touched

without pushing away

as i’m melting for this.

Brian Foreman 6/3/21 Brian Foreman 6/3/21

innertia

1/21/2019

Welcome to the realm of spinning

Always searching, never winning

Cycles, circles, round trip flights

On blood wolf nights

A heathen’s plight

Beneath the fog our skin was shedding

And though obscured, our blood was letting

Through a window, along this wall

Into a hall

Like tears did fall

The spinning now is in my chest

It feels more like a sour vest

And though I’m grateful for this sense

It’s too intense

Its mist too dense

This lighthouse may not bring me back to rest.

Brian Foreman 4/25/21 Brian Foreman 4/25/21

sir reel ii

3/11/2021

Still sitting here. Here in this harshly lit room, but at least they’re not fluorescents. My mind often forgets. Forgets the wonder of that which I can’t see. How the lights are able to bathe us in their unnatural glow. How the vibrations in the air interact with the impulses between my ears to generate the perception of that which can never be explained– reality.

What is reality but a single word in a single language generally agreed upon by a select group of individual fragments of consciousness coordinating together in some inexplicable ineffable cosmic dream? We cannot know what cannot be known, or to us cannot be shown. Living life and perceiving present moment reality is an act of faith. Or is it?

These seeds were planted long ago, a sowing without knowing what it would grow into. A single act of surrender, a self-destructive form of faith. I tilled the soil and nurtured my fields as best I could, but who could have predicted the stampede? Even then we carried on, our fever crop our only means of revival. In the mists of survival, we looked to the heavens and saw only brutal clear sky there– an angry canopy devoid of atmosphere. We bowed our heads in defeat as the sun scalded our necks until the clouds gathered to drown us in an acrid acid flood.

Brian Foreman 3/24/21 Brian Foreman 3/24/21

dreamtox

1/28/2021

It took some time to realize the film we were viewing was our present reality — a theme park filled with vivid, emotive characters performing daring feats of fearlessness and sharing vulnerable accounts of struggle and triumph. The electric, eclectic, ecstatic energy was palpable, drawing forth from us our own sense of feverish, kinetic, blissful surrender. We could do anything, be everything, slip inside another or face each other in our starkness and never be less than held, coddled, and tenderized in our enchantment.

Then the torture parade came. At first we were entertained by the provocative displays of gruesome indulgence, the screams we heard held harmonics of hedonism. But as the floats lumbered past, we saw the blood, felt the fear, beheld the gore, and smelled the corruption. We stared with cold curiosity at the pleading eyes of those drawn up in spectacle, the realness of our realization pulling our hearts toward shock and dismay.

We turned to our counterparts for empathic consolation, and found some semblance of alignment there, but the others’ eyes were rapt in sadistic, salacious satisfaction. It was at that moment we saw the full scope of the scenario before us — our playplace was but a single symbiosis in a vast human ecosystem, where benevolent healers and nefarious necromancers roamed as nomadic, egoistic agonists.

Brian Foreman 1/20/21 Brian Foreman 1/20/21

ridging

1/20/2019

Hiding in the darkness

Beneath this vast filtered landscape

Behind the plaster and adhesive

Beyond tense fragile reflections

Bent by rippled distortions

These proportions are neither truth nor

Sincere performance

This charade may give way

To reveal what is lurking

That dark wild in between

And within all at once

Impressions formed upon

This volatile treasure

Plush walls to embrace

Its ever thinning shell

If this sundry cargo could hatch

What stories would it tell?

Or would it recede and and fester further

Into sabotage and mis-entropic

Holo-genic fragments caught in momentary breach

Fermented shame and melted seals

Dripping hot clues and breadcrumbs

Follow this trail beyond the bliss

The innocent gift of unbridled risk

To jump

and pour

and fall

and splash

and climb

and slip

Above this saddle

Beyond frozen fingers

There are snowy peaks that taught me how to feel.

Brian Foreman 1/14/21 Brian Foreman 1/14/21

sir reel

Sitting inside this cold stone chamber lit by placid, blue, iridescent pools, my mind begins to conjure spirits of broken reminiscence on the luminous sculpted walls. The music of my mentality wills the shades to shift, showing their cosmic connections in reflections of riveting dramas of divination. My memories made manifest stretch across eons of elastic moments, so fragile and brittle that one timid tone could cause the tender tendon to snap.

Written on this ribbon are coded coatings of my addictions— not the physical, but the feelings of pleasure, lust, anguish, secrets, belonging, empowerment, and devotion. I see threads of golden obsession, fragments of stories interwoven out of this flat circle we call time. We would give up anything to be with her, have her, hold her, and be forever lost inside her– that mother, sister, daughter, lover Earth.

Fuck the sky father. We shall lean upon our bardo brothers and sons until death pulls us back to the reaches of sweet sacrifice and sorrow.

Brian Foreman 12/29/20 Brian Foreman 12/29/20

The Story of StagNation

bandcamp | spotify | youtube

This is the story of the journey of the creation of StagNation from conception to release.

It began in a journal and ended in psychosis…

seasons lyrics

The lyrics for the first stanza of “seasons” are derived from an Autumn 2010 journal entry. They describe the horror of feeling trapped in a cycle of dependence while harboring a fervent desire for something more meaningful:

I’ve been having nightmares spinning round my head somehow I know completely that there’s nothing to be said about the habits I’ve been making or the damage I’ve been taking for the fire I’ve been hiding here.

The second stanza was written in Spring 2013, and presents the hypothesis that self-analysis and engaging with one’s pain creatively can be a path to liberation:

We must remove the hesitation from our awareness of the infinite within to elevate our consciousness and turn heartache into inspiration into creation til creation brLiEnTgS us rest.

The third stanza has its roots in Summer 2009, and is a resignation that passionate submission to curiosity seems to inevitably lead to self-destruction, misunderstanding and interpersonal conflict:

The flow I go with has no grip on reality and your disappointment with the flow I go with has no grip and it comes as no surprise.

The final stanza is intentionally constructed to obfuscate and means whatever you want it to mean (as with all my lyrics, really), but the gist is that meaning is derived as much from how the act is done (or not done) as much as the act itself:

How you do something is what you mean and sometimes as you do something what you mean is what you do sometimes has something to do with how you don’t.

jungleman lyrics

The lyrics for “jungleman” are brief and poignant. They describe the struggle for survival in an environment that is dense, overgrown, tangled, and unpredictable:

get you in

make sure you’re in

move you along

hot seat in head

use the space within

don’t be an island

The remainder of the tune is an instrumental mask.

lostflight lyrics

Like “jungleman,” “lostflight” is mostly an instrumental mask. These lyrics are about the inevitability of descent and the stories we weave in defeat:

we never asked to lose

reality can be a desperate place

hanging by a thread i realized

consciously we aren’t as in the cinema

inside our head

seasons music

The first half of “seasons” is an original composition for Javanese gamelan Kyai Doro Dasih (“Venerable Dream Come True”) ensemble, under the guidance of Pak Djoko Walujo and Matthew Clough-Hunter. Javanese gamelan music is structured around a core melody (balungan) that exists within an 8 to 128-beat cycle, always ending (and beginning) with the lowest gong in the ensemble. The other instruments ornament based on a set of elegantly constructed and tightly organized rhythmic and melodic patterns, while the lead drummer guides the ensemble through a set of changes in tempo (wiromo). Typically, as the tempo slows, the rhythmic density doubles and the count of the cycle expands. These core theoretical concepts were expanded and augmented with the addition of electronic beats and synths tuned to match the Javanese scale.

The second half of “seasons” is a mostly improvised section of a North Indian raga called Madhuvanti. It is traditionally played in the afternoon and is said to reflect the foundation, eternity, and colors of love. To my western ears, it has an air of mystery, even eeriness, which I exploit as the section develops. As Will Marsh was playing it during our first recording sessions for Cirquelectroexotica at CalArts, one melodic shape in particular stood out and eventually became the basis for each gat (refrain).

“seasons” is also the first time I hop on drumkit on Cirque, from the first gat through the solo at the end. I had this idea floating around in my head for a long time and finally recorded it in February 2018 with Brian Saia in one of his Art Institute classes.

It wasn’t until I brought it up to Cathedral rock in Sedona, AZ in December of that year for a little private vortex session that I finally made a breakthrough that brought me in sight of the finish line.

jungleman music

“jungleman” is unique to Cirquelectroexotica in that none of its compositional elements are directly derived from any particular culture’s music. It’s pretty much just a simple vamp/funk beat that alternates between 6 and 4-bar phrases, making it the simplest and arguably most accessible tune on the album. I’ve always seen it as the centerpiece– the “lead single,” so to speak. The original groove was also the very first sketch composed for the album in December 2012. Tomás Canseco’s original scratch guitars and vocals even made made it into the final production; their earnestness and intimacy essential to the final arrangement. Granted, there are a ton of additional layers of acoustic and electric guitar, but although we re-recorded the vocal lead a few times, the original scratch recording remained “the one” all the way to the end– “imperfections” and all.

The tune also features the return of Jamal Moore (aka Sa Ankh Djed), this time on tenor sax, as well as Dan Ogrodnik on congas throughout. These dudes always kill it!

Next comes the “SHARC Attack section,” which is combo of a nasty bass drop/drum solo performed by the incomparable Amir Oosman. The tapestry of bass sounds was originally whipped together during that pivotal Sedona trip in Dec 2018. I situated myself with my laptop, headphones and Subpac in the Airport Mesa “masculine vortex” for maximum nutsack energy and proceeded to Serum it up. The meticulous editing came later.

The closing guitar solo on “jungleman” is one of my favorite moments in all of Cirquelectroexotica. The foundation of it is actually from the original scratch guitar tracks too! The swirly filter/delay/reverse fx were executed during a single night of maximum feels during my first New Years’ cabin hermitage at Awakening Spirit near Pine, AZ, 2014~>15.

lostflight music

After a minute of luscious pads, a chorus of birdies, a murder of crows, and some words about the Wright brothers, “lostflight” commences with a ripping tabla solo by “Big Boss” Vineet Vyas. In contrast to the opening tabla solo in “grandchasm,” which was warped and mangled to sound something like a basilisk, this solo has no additional fx processing, allowing Vineet’s monstrous chops to shine through.

The tune continues in raga Yaman with a glorious, vibrant solo from Will Marsh on sitar, followed by a very sweet, emotive solo from Darian Smith on sarod. I selected this raga for “lostflight” after I’d heard Will play it absolutely beautifully at one of his concerts, and felt it matched the bittersweet tone I intended for the finale of StagNation. It corresponds to the Western Lydian mode, using the notes C, D, E, F#, G, A, B, C.

While improvising on Yaman during our first studio session for “lostflight,” Will played a series of experimental “chords” in a curious, syncopated rhythm that grabbed my attention. The use of chords is not customary in Hindustani Classical music, but I found this “extended technique” to have an unexpected depth and sonic richness that I loved. Later, I transcribed these “chords” with Tomás and we discovered they made up a subtle harmonic progression in E Minor (e-9, Dadd13, CM7/E). It clicked that E Minor was modally equivalent to C Lydian, so we turned it into a repeating riff, creating a perfect sonic bed for Tomás to solo over as the tune draws to a close.

A spacious layering of flight sounds provides an additional layer of magic to an otherwise intimate track. Over the course of the tune the listener is treated to an aural history of aviation– from birds, to Kitty Hawk, to propellers, jets, rockets, space, moon, and beyond– including a variety of sounds taken from NASA’s free sound library. The final soundbite, slowed and pitched down to be almost unintelligible, has been edited somewhat, as if to say:

“our computers… now have primary control… of critical functions…”

seasons artwork

The original artwork for “seasons” (pen, pencil, highlighter on legal pad sheet) serves as the right panel for the StagNation triptych. Its primary color is YELLOW. Its alter-ego color is BLUE.

In the foreground we find the Stag’s left antlers and ear, in front of (and also intertwined with) what could be perceived as the outline of a tree trunk. The deer’s ear, which could also be seen as a frowning whale face, is integrated with and enveloped by the outermost essence of a fractal shark’s tail. Running along the buck’s largest antler is a portion of a deer fact:

“...newborn fawn can stand within twenty minutes, walk within one hour, run a bit within...”

Portions of shark facts (blue) are written inside the shark tail, and portions of shark spirit animal traits (purple) are written along its outline. They read (from top to bottom & left to right):

“…us and inquisitive”

“calculating”

“...ge like a tree”

“aloof”

“...upside down”

“steely”

“focused and efficient”

“distant”

Behind (and also inside & in between) the Stag and tree trunk is a window, rotating ever so slightly counterclockwise in time. It looks out (or in) on four separate scenes of the four seasons from which the core vibes of “seasons” are derived:

TOP LEFT - AUTUMN 2010

A Jack-o-lantern sits nestled in between two of the deer’s antlers. #doodsdontlie is written on its forehead. A black and red X is drawn over its face.

TOP RIGHT - SPRING 2013

A scene of springtime flora is largely obscured by the buck’s largest antler, but their roots can be seen inside the antler. A tree and several flowering bushes can be spotted, as well as an early morning sunburst in the bottom right corner of the panel and an owl’s eyes underneath the antler.

BOTTOM RIGHT - SUMMER 2009

Sunset at the pier. A lifeguard tower growing out of another, larger tree. A single flowering bush in the waves. Several more on the beach. Rows of agriculture outside the panel. #doodsmightchangeyourlife

BOTTOM LEFT - WINTER 2011

The whale face is a projector screen. A figure watches in awe of what is swirling on and around it.

jungleman artwork

The original artwork for “jungleman” (pen, highlighter on legal pad sheet) serves as the center panel for the StagNation triptych. Its primary color is BLUE. Its alter-ego color is RED.

Here we find the Stag’s face in full frontal, with portions of its innermost antlers on the outermost edges of the frame.

One of its right antlers contains the inscriptions:

“grows new ones each year”

“often used to fight for the attention of does”

and, toward its base:

“HUNTED FOR THESE”

Several other deer facts are inscribed across its eyes, nose, and one of its left antlers:

“310° vision”

“jumps high”

“swims well”

“VERY GOOD NIGHT VISION”

“power”

Two deer spirit animal traits brush softly against the right side of its face:

“strong and sensitive”

“highly intuitive”

Tropical vegetation sprouts from the right side of the buck’s crown (#doodsdevelop), a skyline of skyscrapers rises from its left (#developingdoods). A figure stands between, leaning slightly toward the natural jungle, away from the concrete. Fixtures of red, blue, and green light shine from and within the city, mixing together when they intersect.

The Stag’s cranium is penetrated, its cerebrum permeated with big shark energy. The shark’s body is cluttered with various shark facts and anatomical traits:

“no bones”

“sees colors”

“ampullae of lorenzini (AOL)”

“dermal denticles”

“VERY GOOD NIGHT VISION”

“first appeared four hundred and fifty five million years ago”

“goes into a trance if flipped…”

“science has said I a…”

Shark spirit animal traits emanate up from the shark essence’s back and dorsal fins, increasing in intensity as the rise up through the city:

“observant”

“peaceable predator”

“strong and aggressive with opportunities and challenges”

“SUPERIORITY”

“AUTHORITY”

“RUTHLESS”

“SENDS CLEAR SIGNALS”

“RESISTANT TO CHANGE”

“VICIOUS”

“MANIPULATIVE”

…and a few are tucked along its belly and tail:

“patient and self restrained”

“protective”

“curio…”

lostflight artwork

The original artwork for “lostflight” (pen, highlighter on legal pad sheet) serves as the left panel for the StagNation triptych. Its primary color is RED. Its alter-ego color is YELLOW.

The lostflight panel was the first created for StagNation, and began without the intention of it becoming anything significant. It started from the top left corner as a Fibonacci spiral thing I messed up, and somehow grew into a convincing heart shape. After months of making doods for no purpose other than art therapy/stress relief, this one felt shareable. That first #senddoods post set off an explosion of doodage that would grow into the StagNation triptych and beyond. #weneedmoredoods.

Here we find a fractal heart spiraling through space and smashing through the Stag’s right antlers, carrying shards and fragments into the dimension of love and heartbreak. The largest antler’s outline has simultaneously transformed into a figure reminiscent of a reclining Egyptian goddess. A murder of crows materializes above one of the smaller antlers, which carries the inscriptions:

“Sparring is the reaffirmation of the status quo in each fraternal group”

“Sparring is an activity we partake to test one another for dominance”

Pouring from the heart is a warped checkerboard, which transforms into a quilt as it flows towards the buck’s right ear, carrying with it several faintly distinguishable deer spirit animal traits:

“fresh perspective on old issues”

“in touch with life’s mysteries”

“…twenty four hours, and outrun a man within V days.”

“Vigilant”

“moves quiclyk [sic]”

“trusts instincts to get out of triceky [sic] situations”

“magical ability to regenerate”

“in touch with inner child/innocence”

“determined and gentle”

“power to deal with shit/challenges with grace”

seasons story

Cirquelectroexotica takes place in a dystopian alternate reality where the StagNation government has determined (with the support of groundbreaking research by Dr. Megalodon) that the root cause of all domestic terrorism, assault, murder, and mayhem is when lonely, shy, single, horny hetero men get too angry.

The StagNation government has partnered with Megalodon’s Sensual Healing and Recovery Corporation (SHARC), providing the necessary funding to set up surveillance methods to detect when these identified patients are becoming activated, as well as various clinics where these men can be treated for their illness.

SHARC’s treatment plan is simple:

1) Lure the patient to the clinic with a super sexy call.

2) Treat him to a horrific psychedelic freak show circus performance to unearth his deepest traumas.

3) Sedate him with a mind-blowing sexual encounter.

4) Administer a heavy dose of the drug Amnesium so he can wake up in his own bed without any memory of the experience.

Megalodon’s theory is that the combination of emotional shock therapy and the physiological benefits of sexual release will be enough to reset each patient’s anger clock, which will in turn prevent them from committing violent crimes.

The story of StagNation is told through the medical journal of Madame Mistress Doe, one of the most highly respected freak show impresariesses/licensed clinical psycho-sex-therapists around. She has been called to Clinic C to investigate an anomaly- a former patient known as ST4G has shown signs of remembering his previous experience at the clinic, and has been called back. SHARC plans to fix this with an experimental treatment code-named R3K4L1BR4T10N, trusting Dr. Doe (M.D., M.S.) to respond appropriately given her skills, expertise, track record, and discretion in her field.

Dr. Doe’s Pre-Show Report, including background research, case studies, SHARC summaries, analysis, and vignette synopses can be read in its entirety here.

jungleman story

Madame Mistress Doe’s Show + Bonus Report describes in detail the plot of the performance as outlined in the Pre-Show Report, as well as its effects on Patient ST4G when executed. Each vignette is examined using the scientific method.

In VIGNETTE #1, our hero Adonis is pampered with praise, gifts, and orgiastic oblivion until his submissive slave Mikro stabs him through the heart.

VIGNETTE #2 mirrors a harrowing experience from the Patient’s past, revealing the shocking truth that it has been written about him.

SHARC’s R3K4L1BR4T10N experiment serves as VIGNETTE #3. The patient is forced to watch the hidden security camera footage from when his private writings and belongings were stolen from his bedroom.

In VIGNETTE #4, Dr. Doe (M.D., M.S.) uses specialized techniques to rouse the Patient’s sensual desires and lure him to her chambers for comfort and consummation.

lostflight story

Madame Mistress Doe’s Extended Bonus + Treatment Log documents the therapeutic techniques Madame Mistress Doe administers to Patient ST4G during his extended stay at Clinic C, along with his responses and reactions.

Our prelude is the lyrics to a common song sung in the Hindustani Raga of Yaman:

Hey friend, without my lover

i don’t find peace

at any moment of the day;

since my lover went away

i spend my nights counting the stars.

ST4G’s extended bonus treatment begins sweetly but is ineffective. He remains catatonic for just over a week. Suddenly he regains consciousness and experiences a day of infatuated indulgence. This leads to an error on Dr. Doe’s part, and SHARC takes control of the treatment plan.

What happens next will be revealed in Part III...

processing seasons

Cirquelectroexotica as a whole is by far the beastliest project I’ve ever undertaken, but StagNation has stood out as the most difficult of its three component Parts to navigate, manage, and engage with, for reasons both practical and existential. Lyrically, it is relatively laconic, but behind its weighted stanzas is a surfeit of emotions centered in sadness, fear, and confusion. In truth, the onerous challenge of producing and mixing StagNation was the #1 factor that held up the whole operation. SmokeClouds stood relatively complete for years but I didn’t want to release it without StagNation following soon after. The emotional weight that these three tracks carry has made completing them a self-conscious, sluggish process.

The title of “seasons” directly refers to the four experienced on Earth, with each of its four stanzas relating to autumn, spring, summer, and winter in turn. In a larger sense, however, it refers to the seasons of life, and their ever-changing, often volatile, yet trackable and potentially predictable weather patterns.

In an autobiographical sense, these four snapshots depict four analyses of pivotal periods in my life, staring in fall 2010, then jumping to spring 2013, summer 2009, and winter 2011 respectively. Each serves as a case study in a despondent theory of entropy documented in a nihilistic night of journaling from October 31st, 2010.

^^^ That collection of cryptic, big-worded sentences basically says that this song is about how whenever I put a lot of energy and passion into something, I get carried away and everything falls apart.

“seasons” is the most chaotic, complex, and densely orchestrated production on Cirquelectroexotica by design, and consequently has been the biggest burden to master sonically. Javanese gamelan music can have a relaxed, even sleepy vibe at times, but I wanted to turn this on its head into something menacing. Its drum beats are also nuanced and asymmetrical, far from what would be considered “groovy” to most western ears. After the unconventional rhythms in “oneeyeopen,” I wanted something that listeners could at least attempt to bob their heads to, so that’s where the idea for the lurching “grind-hop” and uptempo dark techno/psy (or whatever) beats came from. Getting this all to make sense and work together required extensive editing, side-chaining, and various other yada yada, but it’s one of my proudest accomplishments yet on the album.

Ohhhh shit, ya there’s a whole second half to this song too, fuck! This time it’s Indian and I wanted to add strings, some even fatter beats that tie back to the beats from the first half, which, shit, there’s supposed to be drum solo here and I’m gonna have to play it… but fuck ya let’s do it! Ooh but there’s a tabla solo at the same time too… well, let’s make it work. Gotta get that Sarod and Sitar right out there in front… oh got dam all them vocals… ooof garsh this is a mess well let’s put it away for now and come back to it in like a year, *sigh*...

completing seasons

In December 2018, I took a solo trip to Sedona seeking solace following a debilitating bout of depression that had lasted eight months with no end in sight. This sojourn would prove to be a StagNation Renaissance. I made the personal commitment to pilgrimage to one of the energy vortexes in the area each day, where I would sit with my laptop, headphones, and Subpac and work on a StagNation track.. My hope was that each “vortex session” would catalyze a “charging” of each production that would carry to its finish line.

Cathedral Rock was the first stop for “seasons,” chosen for its feminine energy. I’d been afraid of “seasons” the most due to its density, mystery, and complexity, but I opened up the project file and my curiosity was rekindled. The sultry lurch of the “grain drums” guided me through a tightening of the first half’s arrangement, and listening to the second half inspired a vision of transformation for the second half. I arrived back at my airbnb with willful determination and worked feverishly through the night scrambling together a mess of elements that would become nearly all the final layers of the tune.

I made some minor progress through the spring of 2019 but “seasons” was more or less shelved until until Sept 3, 2020 when I took a deep breath and dove in.

On “seasons,” I made many classic production “mistakes” that turned into mixing nightmares down the road. Between kick drums, subs, wubs, and gongs, there are about a dozen things that go BOOM in there, each with its own character and timbre. A lot of instrument tracks and fx chains were left in their original, unprinted form up until the last minute. Freezing tracks was not an option in many instances due to the complex side-chaining going on.

The sheer quantity of individual layers on seasons (114) was perhaps the biggest burden. Trying to pull out the lead voices in such a dense and chaotic arrangement was especially difficult, particularly in the climax of the second half. I ultimately had to rebuild the arrangement from the ground up, carving out space for each successive layer until everything fell into place.

presenting seasons

“seasons” was sent off to Dan at Little Castle Mastering on September 10th, 2020 and I premiered it on the very first b4strm on September 15th. Setting the tone for the presentation of seasons requires some context.

I have a disease. Some folks call it “the ism.” In a modern clinical sense it is addiction. For me it has manifested in many different ways over the years, but the pattern is always the same. It is an obsession of the mind, an allergy of the body, a malady of the spirit.

I also have bipolar affective disorder, which for me is characterized by externally triggered bursts of recklessly creative exuberance followed by prolonged periods of inconsolable sadness. After decades of struggle, denial, confusion and concern, I finally received these diagnoses in October 2020.

At the beginning of September, I did something very dangerous. After experiencing at least 5 mood fluctuations of increasing intensity throughout 2020, I was completely convinced I had bipolar and frustrated with my PNP for treating my issues with a precarious cocktail of Prozac, Trazodone, and Adderall. I couldn’t afford an appointment to check in with her, let alone see a real psychiatrist, so I voluntarily let my Addy prescription run out and attempted to navigate the consequences alone.

After a week-long withdrawal of catatonic stupor, I felt on the mend and motivated to prepare for StagNation season. As my anticipation and excitement grew, so did my energy level, and I felt myself shifting into a familiar upswing that still felt manageable (a clinician might label this ‘hypomania’).

The euphoria of hypomania comes at a cost. For me when I’m in it, everything seems great, like nothing can go wrong, but I nevertheless struggle with burgeoning anxiety and managing my expectations. I often self-assign way more tasks than are realistically feasible, often concerning my friends and loved ones, whom I tend to dismiss and ignore.

I felt discombobulated and self-conscious of these warning signs and did my best to play them off during the “seasons” stream. The night went well and the response was positive, which began to feed the beast...

processing jungleman

Previously, I referred to “jungleman” as primarily an “instrumental mask,” but what the hell does that mean? It means that the emotions and sentiments embedded in this portion of the Cirquelectroexotica story were too painful and complex to be expressed lyrically, so they dive beneath the surface after briefly gasping for air.

This is how I explained the meaning behind “jungleman” on my CalArts MFA grad recital program:

“There is a culture of evil that exists in various forms throughout modern society, supporting the exploitation of others for personal gain, financial or otherwise. This reality can prove to be potentially devastating in the lives of those for whom the importance of material wealth will never be more than secondary. Nevertheless, those of us who are lucky enough should feel grateful to have loved ones around who support our vision.”

Looking back with cynicism, this explanation is in itself a mask. Autobiographically, “jungleman” captures the essence of a tumultuous time in my life (2010-2011) where I was living at a house we called “the Jungle.” The first two sentences express the surface reality of what I was struggling with at the time (career, interpersonal relationships, and “getting burned”), but the final sentence reeks of naïveté. It was indeed a righteous thought to think I was leaning on my friends and loved ones for support at the time, but in truth it was a façade: a mask of pleasantness I was putting on while dying more and more inside.

With all the emotional weight that it carries, “jungleman” stands out as the feelsiest number on Cirque, and I dare say one for the ages. I’ve heard such feedback as “this is surprisingly mellow,” “ooh I hear be beachy vibes,” “mmm this makes me want to think” and even, “this could be a hit!” For those who have read the narrative, however, the responses have been more like “wow, I wasn’t expecting that,” or “holy shit that’s fucked up,” to which I say, “well, now the mask has been ripped off.”

completing jungleman

After b4srtm.001, things took quite a turn...

I’d been reveling in the impact of the positive feedback I’d received in response to “seasons,” while simultaneously revisiting the profusion of old trauma that lay dreadfully dormant at the heart of it. A careful analysis of these life-defining experiences was required to complete chapter 4 of the narrative, which was published on September 17th.

I felt raw and unsettled moving into the weekend, and knew I had a long way to go with the story. I was nevertheless proud of what had come out, and a novel performance art concept took flight in a flock of ideas.

The star of the show described in “seasons” and “jungleman” is a character named Adonis. Adonis is cast as a caricature of Patient ST4G’s narcissistic qualities and is brutally murdered (literally) in the show’s first vignette.

In the StagNation universe, Clinic C’s freak show ensemble is a collection of addicts and outcasts subjugated by SHARC to fulfill their therapeutic services. Method acting is compulsory. Adonis is well aware that this show will be his last and has submitted to his role for the greater good (not that he has any choice in the matter anyway).

For “jungleman” week I chose to embody Adonis, giving myself fully to what his thoughts, feelings and antics might be as he prepared for this suicidal swan song in an artificially elated state. Filtering in with increasing intensity was an earnest portrayal of a persona in full-blown mania as imagined by the hypomanic version of myself. I used both as a means to give myself permission to lean into my neuroses, aggressively blasting myself all over the social media “$hit$pace” as a darkly humorous and cynical commentary on the state of the nation, relentlessly documenting my life. This experiment rapidly turned into a compulsive obsession.

The final mix of “jungleman” was completed by this character and sent off for mastering on September 19th. The next few days were a blur of terrifying triumph fueled by nights writhing in ecstasy listening to the final version on repeat, crafting feverish plans for its premiere...

presenting jungleman

Something snapped around the autumn equinox. I lost control of my “character” and my mania escalated into oblivion. I somehow managed to pull off b4strm.002, the “jungleman” premiere (b4strm.003), and completing and posting its chapter of the narrative, but surrounding this was a whirlwind of chaos.

Here’s a smattering of what went down:

I canceled my therapy session because I only had enough in my account to make the appointment or go get more dabs.
In the last few moments before b4strm.003, I decided that my character would rather take a bath, so I put on an Uncle Roger fried rice review on repeat & periodically interjected with random bits of code on a black screen.
Once I decided to show my face, I intentionally set the volume of my mic to an absurdly low level and ignored the complaints in the chat for almost 2 hours before I fixed the sound so that the “jungleman” premiere would have “maximum impact.”
I edited highlights of random segments of my Twitch streams, gave them cryptic, vulgar, all caps titles, divvied them up into random, vulgar, all caps playlists on YouTube, then posted them all individually to Facebook with cryptic, vulgar, all caps commentary.
When a YouTube video with my music in it was flagged for Content ID, I would dispute it and “filibuster” the text field in the required form, maxing out the character limit describing every detail in the track, and telling YouTube how much their system sucks.
I had aggressively vulnerable conversations with friends, colleagues, and acquaintances, ranging from giddy, to ecstatic, to embittered and/or hyper-cynical.
Whenever someone reached out to express their concern, I would tell them not to worry about me, playing it off as a guerrilla marketing strategy to get attention so they’d check out my music, and that the act would be over soon.
My Instagram story became an endless feed of meandering selfie videos on music production, plants, my roommate’s cat, trips to target, unboxing groceries, how to make soup, unemployment, shark people, the social media $hit$pace, loneliness, sex, porn, mental health, private dance parties, and more.

processing lostflight

“In those rare moments in life during which we are allowed time to reflect, we can easily draw the connections between certain experiences and subsequent decisions. Our heart may have not been feeling what our mind was thinking, or vice versa. The goal moving forward should be to align the heart and mind and encourage them to work in harmony.”

- lostflight description, Brian Foreman, April 2013

“the last flight is a flight of lostness

it’s about light, and flight

flight from birds through the wright brothers, propellers, jets and war and rockets, moon, space shuttle, mars…

it’s also about losing.

what’s to come with lostflight is something really sad.”

- lostflight description, Adonis, September 2020

That is the essence of “lostflight” as expressed by Adonis on the eve of his death. In other words, the “jungleman” persona, still in mania, is coming to terms with his psychosis and is about to crash. Hard.

Loss is something we all experience, but never ask for. Pain is inevitable. Suffering cannot be quantified. How we choose to grieve is our choice.

completing lostflight

The crash began on Friday, September 25th. The plan was to “kill” Adonis and disappear from the internet through the weekend. I thought I could use that time to recover and reflect while completing the “lostflight” mix and story in silence. I’d emerge triumphant for a successful “lostflight” premiere on Tuesday and resume a peaceful existence.

My disease had other plans, however. I’d been averaging about 3 hours of sleep for two weeks straight and was up all night Thursday. I helped my roommate load up for a road trip and as soon as I was alone I cracked. Instead of going to bed for a few hours before therapy, I watched This is Paris and broke down in empathic convulsions.

I collected myself as much as I could but scared my therapist anyway. Resistant and defiant at first, I quickly realized how deranged and delusional I was and seriously needed help. Instead of going to the ER, I white-knuckled it until Tuesday when I finally saw a competent psychiatrist, who prescribed me a mood stabilizer that saved my life. Needless to say, I missed the scheduled stream, and didn’t complete the “lostflight” mix until much later.

The next 3 weeks were hellish and traumatic. Creatively, I was too frightened to engage with StagNation during this time, and my auditory sense was fucked. I couldn’t stay at home without binging dabs and whiskey, so I survived off the hospitality and loving, compassionate support of friends in Marina del Rey, Oakland, and the Glendale hills. Doodling doods during this time was also incredibly helpful for channeling my insanity into something therapeutic.

My final stop was my former home in Buena Park. It was so comforting to reconnect with my cherished Canseco family, and cuddle and play with my “sobrinitos.”

It took a lot of courage to step into the studio, but I was ultimately able to pour all my feels into completing “lostflight” during a single marathon session. A few last-minute tweaks were needed to perfect the mix, but Dan came thru in spades with the master. Its warmth and majesty brought forth tears and goosebumps.

presenting lostflight

Tuesday, October 20th was a proud and poignant day. I took my time prepping for the premiere of “lostflight” (b4strm.005) and was ready to go just in time to pop out for a quick dinner with some friends.

I did the stream, and it was good 😌

I checked myself into treatment the next day.

Brian Foreman 12/13/20 Brian Foreman 12/13/20

on the ineffable, exhibit b

Who was I to say you weren’t always there? Who was I to say you weren’t a part of everything? Who was I to decide who you were and who you weren’t? Who was I to say you ever stopped teaching me, even when the lessons were unclear?

I didn’t worship you, I worshiped my own mind. What I thought was you was my own shape-shifting projection. Threads of curiosity were only gilded with gold if they brought me joy and power.

But the truth was always there. I could feel you through it all, even as the cacophony of thoughts and feelings was drowning out your voice. I could run away from fear, numb myself with indulgences, overwhelm myself with obligations until I tore myself apart, but you would always catch up to me and point out the pieces.

It was impossible to accept, I thought, that control could not be achieved. I resented that I could not exert my will to guarantee that I could turn my convictions into reality, so I gave up on will and submitted to the idea of a predetermined, chaotic universe. There was a semblance of faithless trust in this, that what was meant to happen would happen, but entitlement is a bitch. There was much left to be desired from meaning derived from perspective alone.

If I could just generate enough good karma, I’d get everything I wanted. If I was selfless and kind enough, I’d receive the connection I deserved. If I was successful enough, I could have all the pleasure that I craved. But I never stopped to listen, really listen. And when I thought I’d slowed down enough, I misconstrued the message.

Well, now I’m here, and I can hear. This time I’m all ears. No projections, no objections, just trust, love, and connection.

I am yours for the shaping.

Brian Foreman 12/12/20 Brian Foreman 12/12/20

on the ineffable, exhibit a

You have been elusive, nebulous, fair-weather, fleeting– always taking a different form. Easy to feel in times of joy and peace, but easier to question in times of struggle and confusion. I could push or let you slip away at will, only to find you again in some new curiosity or sense of wonder. As the seasons changed, you changed.

You started out as absolute truth– father, son, and spirit. It was easy to define you and sit in awe of the wonders of your love. Your plan and teachings were simple, a story and script that were easy to follow. As long as I obeyed and remained devoted, your plan would unfold and all my dreams would come true. Yours was the truth of duality– right and wrong, good and evil, darkness and light. The light, the good, the right was where I trusted I would stay.

I came to expect a lot from you, and there was darkness anyway. Dreams fell apart, angels turned away, destruction took hold, anguish drowning out all else. All my prayers you wouldn’t answer, or would answer with the opposite. Voices, influences, realities and questions swirling around and within me. I lost you, gave up on you, turned from you, embittered. I simply couldn’t prove that you were real, only my existence and my consciousness.

If I could carry my consciousness into other realms, I could unravel the mystery of self. Pleasure, ecstasy, death of ego– kicking down the doors and blasting open the walls of perception became my new spiritual calling. I found you in the lips of a new lover’s kiss. I felt you in the visceral impact of sub-harmonic frequencies. I found you in collective celebrations of humanity. I found you in the wonder and beauty of nature– in quiet forests, stark desert landscapes, beaches at sunset.

It was never enough to satisfy my yearning. All these experiences and stories I was collecting could never make me whole. But then I took a yoga class. Started meditating a bit. Read some books. Discovered some faiths, traditions, philosophies and practices where I could catch a glimpse of peace. If I just filled myself up with that stuff with discipline, I could fix myself and show everyone else they were wrong so they would do what I do.

But there was never any consistency. I’d fall in and fall out, worshiping and blaming the practices or lack thereof for my triumphs and persistent problems. How could I have trust or faith in a power such as you?

The answer is simple. You were me.

Brian Foreman 10/21/20 Brian Foreman 10/21/20

chapter 6 : lostflight

Hey friend, without my lover

i don’t find peace

at any moment of the day;

since my lover went away

i spend my nights counting the stars.

SENSUAL HEALING AND RECOVERY CORPORATION

SPECIAL CASE FILE FOR REMEMBRANCE PATIENT ZERO

EXTENDED BONUS + TREATMENT LOG / MADAME MISTRESS DOE

22 DEC 2019 / DAY 1