January 31, 2015

The planets welcomed my birth, and it was always so clear to me that they could assert a certain influence over my human affairs. But out here in a war the children come without celestial influence, nothing but a wish that they had never been born. Out here you learn what it is you are made of. It was pink on the inside and it hurt. Children are so cheap; they belong to us so little. If children are the people we make, shame on you all. How dare you bring them into the world?

I see the child, child of war, child of life; walk with broken feet these streets of death. To grow up knowing there was nothing more this lonely planet could take away than that which had already been lost. Little ones in pain by this mans world. Been bent over toilet seats by soldiers, by appalling businessmen fattened as friends, as savages on little souls. Left to whimper on the floor, left unable to feel anything but his tiny surge of worthless power. Body broken, cartilage torn, hidden privileges no longer yours to keep. And remember the smell, their disgusting smell, such that a child cannot become, and some soldiers even wore vile cologne as if they had some need for you to find them attractive. Some filmed what they did to you to gratify some other need. Forced to swallow where sweets should be. Been subjected to a place the creative mind cannot even begin to be found. The non-fiction human is hard to believe and harder to imagine. Are you no more a scrunched-up little kid than the next one? Is this your inner hour my child? Is this what they make you do? Is this what life has in store for you? Have you learned to take what solace you could from this? Does pleasure still exist even if you have never known it? Is every child special except you? I hear you little ones, I hear you say that you do not know what the question is, but the answer is always sex.

But if you can hold on there is a chance it can improve, even a child knows this. They have fresh humanity. Even from a life of bondage, hunger and war; life makes way to reiterate its promise. And then one day you remember to ask another, “And you too my friend, are you ok?” And very soon from beneath the war, beneath the blankets that hide you, you will hear me say,

“It’s ok little one. It’s over now, I’m here”. And I will find the food that you have been starved of. Nothing shall pass your lips now unless you require it.

How dare you pray for the children! There is no action of this earth more worthless and condescending than this. Prayer believes in no one but itself. It is a poor and worthless substitute of intention; it carries your empty soul in lies. How can the terms of prayers for another become the universal action, the flattering symbol of care, love and compassion for mankind? Better throw a penny in the well and wish. Prayer’s only use is to make those who wield them feel the strength of its properties when of course the magic is none. Prayer says more about the person who prays than ever the prayer target. How arrogant of you to believe that you have the power to communicate with the highest power of all. How dare you pray for the children!


That Thing We Do To Silence

January 18, 2015

Music & Film By Dean Omori

In the last 60 years music has strained and roared, it has disowned us, empowered us, released us, defined us and it drives us all home. *Music has given us a soundtrack to live in, the symphony for love, a score for both pregnancy and suicide and a soundscape for happiness and longing. It provokes prejudice, anarchy, freedom and justice. Music can make your skin shiver, your tempo shift and your love organs come to life. It is no better to a rich mans ears than for that of the poor. Music is the choreographer of dance. Yet music evokes all of this without being touched or fully understood; *it is airborne, it is ephemeral, it is dream theory and then it is gone…

But I am scared by the banality of modern music and its reason to be. *They’ve stolen its honesty, rendered it superficial, a commodity worthless, a gameshow, empty gesture, a competition, an advertising tool, *Money makes you God or irrelevant.

But what of music’s utter sublimity, it’s profound tragedy, its hedonistic glory, the treasures that come not immediately, but brew upon your soul with time and love. *The music that forces you to pull over and cry unashamedly, to fill you with the full force of life, and in time music shall return you to a moment with intense accuracy. *Our musical collective of this world is enormous, life affirming, varied, vibrant, grinding, intelligent, sad and wild; *so filled with dreams and instinct that it burns with the self same energy *that once lit mankind’s greatest journeys.

But if music is anything, then it is defiant. *It is stitched into the lub-dub of every heart. Music is quite simply our greatest gift to the world. *And I hear it alive and inventive in cafes, in clubs, on street corners on rooftops, online and offshore, deep inside your head, on your lips, in the harmony and disharmony of lives and our loves. *Our musical presence is emanating through the walls of motel rooms on bad speakers, on the low end beats teenage cars, handed around on earphones. *It lives for us on the curves of her rhythm, the gravel of her voice and on the bass of his words. *Let it be invented in bedrooms, in prison yards, with attitude and reason, make it without time signatures, play off the notes, dream it, live it, bend it, break it, offend God, don’t apologize, turn it up, record the cries and the agonies of love. *Bang buckets, spit bars, scream, sing, slam, damn your soul and condemn your body, *let your music be free!

All children can sing, make new music, let it lift you, make you better, turn it up, shout back at thunder, move your body and soul. *Lose the company. Find the rebel, lose the pretence and the genre. Be proud, not instructed, be creative. Its only music, learn how to hear it all over again *and throw the whole fucking world at this beautiful thing we do to the silence.


October 11, 2014

Music and Film by Dean Omori

As the bombing campaigns begin to rain down their terror once more upon the earth, the boys with the biggest guns come out to play. This time it’s Syria’s turn to cower to more horror; a country already ravaged by a war within itself.

Since 2011 the world has sat on its hands whilst the revolution fights for its breath of freedom beneath the terror of repression. Even when the nerve agent Sarin was unleashed upon its people, western politics did little but murmur disapprovingly and adjust themselves at distance.

Shame on this race of leaders who are incapable of doing for people what they do for money. And all the time yet another humanitarian calamity is brought on by power and greed at the expense of those in need of humanity the most.

But today’s new conflict requires an alternate approach for support. Our once fictitious Weapons of Mass Destruction can no longer be relied upon to charge our homeland battle cries and get us behind the western cause; we require a new evolution of terror to inspire our hearts in collective support. Not to fight Syria’s bloody regime, but to reiterate our promise to target and punish some or other non-compliant Islamic State.

With Iraq’s failure to surrender its (non-existent) WMD still ringing in our ears, are we all ready to bend over again while they run roughshod over our collective morals with a new pack of hungry lies? Are you ready to believe in their new war on reason, their new war on terror, their new dastardly villain? Are these new YouTube Saddam’s just another scapegoat for our plundering? Just another exercise for our passive aggression. Today the slight of hand politics in a media driven world is out of hand and we are logged on, following and believing.

So now it is the turn of the IS to take the brunt of the most powerful military machine in the history of this war-torn world. But it is already too late; we have already been convinced of their evil before now. An absolute media onslaught is always in place by government via TV, online, politics, in the blogs, newspapers, etc. War so easily makes people hate other people; people we haven’t even met. I regret that war makes racists of those without enough knowledge and this is a frighteningly powerful tool to manipulate. You can see it in the rise of right wing politics. Is the price of a beheading equal to a million dollar bomb dropped from the sky? Is the justification for killing Bin Ladin without trial justified for the sake of mankind? What is the price of Jihad? What is the price for God to bless us? Is this the price of 911 carried into a new generation of hate? What is an acceptable price for the new Christian crusade? Which of the oil-rich Islamic states will pay the highest price? Who do you want to believe?

Governments are what we buy into; their advertising has convinced us we need them. We are the mere consumers. Democracy is an over-inflated currency that we must pay, and in paying, so we become to it inexplicably tied. You can take back your faulty government after five years, only then to have it replaced with another money-hungry machine controlling all the headlines we read. But this we will all continue to do until such time as we become disillusioned with the whole damn corporate, homogenised by-product of what every one of them promised they would be. In time we will cop out, become deaf to it, be cool and turn it off. And in some cases like in Syria, we form a revolution.

The cure for democracy is self-awareness.


March 30, 2014

You cannot be forced to love. We prefer the jobs that disguise our following. Let us over-ride some of the principles we have been told to keep, told not to bend. Let us discard them now on this road. We send Mothers Day cards, but it does us more harm than good, and forces us into tighter corners. Mother will be more upset when you forget to send the card than the happiness that rises when you remember. It is a false and meaningless custom that we are all caught up in. Few people will feel a pleasure or sense the achievement induced by bowing to some or other commerce-induced indoctrination and still we all do it many times a year when instructed to because we didn’t take it upon ourselves to think. Be it. Hanukkah, thanksgiving, birthday, Christmas Day, Fathers Day, Children’s Day, Family Day, Valentines Day, Memorial Day, Presidents Day, all times when we are allowed to act in accordance to certain behaviours. Behave to a certain pitch of market principles. Dance to the allowance of the anniversary. Better donate your organs, I say. But Mother’s Day is a nasty, uncompromising curse. It has sons forgetting and daughters feeling a sense of duty and mothers feeling remembered with a sense of empty applause. Yet still we cannot get away from these things we are tied to with pathetic effect. It has those who have lost their mothers feeling extra dry in a day of pain. If you have to prove your love to your mother one day a year, on the same day as everyone else, with a printed card with a special message some emotional tourist wrote rhyming lover-her with moth-er, then there seems to be very little left there to celebrate. Why not tell her that you will not be buying her one of those cards ever again but will introduce her to something you have done or learned that she has missed of your life’s education, of your inner life? But it’s easier to buy a card.”




November 26, 2013

It is always hard for me to believe that we go to war. It is even harder to believe that we accept it so readily, that we are convinced so easily of the mandate of war. Are we informed, do we care? Do we stand on the right side? Who do you choose to believe? Do we know the circumstance, the timeline, the pipeline, the truth behind the fact? The price of life. The meaning behind the headlines, the stink behind the bullshit. Do we remember the Resolution that damned both sides to war? Religion, money or prejudice; which suited your mind? Is it an act of humanity or terror? Did we hear their side in reason and think accordingly? Did you see the movie or the documentary? Do you believe Mr President, the anchorman, the prime minister, the soldier, the doctor, the industry or do you trust a politician? But we do remember those “Weapons of Mass Destruction” don’t we? And behold, war harnesses the power of advertising.

The greedy generation wears “What Can I Do?” sprayed across hipster tight t-shirts. Where is their fight, the stomping, the graffiti; where is their primal urge to rebel? But their acceptance has been sold to them on every device, on every campaign of sale, on every pitch upon this new cathartic life. Social media has controlled us to conform within its polite, political parameters. We can speak to the world now, but only in courteous, accepted tones. LOL. Music, once the gauge of youth rebellion, the temperature of the soul is now lost. It has disappeared from campuses, is non-existent on itunes, empty from the music papers. It is becoming more and more Eurovision and less the temperament of defiance. Music companies, too concerned by sales in a changing market to rock the boat, too polite to sign up a reaction. Music has become a commodity and is no longer a revolution. I spit blood to this! Music has become bland, more sterile than I ever dared believe. The charts are a sham, they tell you what they want you to buy. It has been rounded, perfumed and cauterized of all expression. But this is not the order of the world changing; this is not evolution, this is not the free spirit of young people. This is control.

But it isn’t our involvement with war that frightens me most, it is in our simple act of acceptance. Shall we honestly not care that we kill our own kind? Today we accept the killing of innocent people and make those that carry out such crimes heroes; I shudder at the advertising connotations of this. Look out, we are being sold a war and we believe it. Governments know this.

I say bring on the hackers, the bloggers, the terrorists of convention, a class of redemption, the musician, the artist, writers, the iconoclasts and allow them to give us back our voice. Turn off the television people; it will have you dull and programmed. We have more power collectively, than sedative control allows you to believe! An easy life is a cowards life, and it shall reap its rewards in pointless, cowardly ways.

Letter to Edward Snowden

October 26, 2013

Dear Edward

I hope my letter finds you well.

Lately you have been in my songs……

I do not pretend to understand the legal implications of what it is you have done, nor do I have the will to understand them. Speculation is such a pointless act in the first instance. But I do know this Edward; your courage endows us all with that collective sense of humanity. In so many ways your actions have drawn the world together where politics tears us endlessly apart.

You my friend; you have stood up against the most powerful people that have ever lived and every country on earth owes you gratitude. In the modern age, freedom is indebted to no one more than to you.

I hope that such enormous feats of humanity do not fade from the fickle consciousness of the people. You are amongst illustrious company, as one of the very few who has truly spoken up for mankind.

This short film is my thank you, with my love and admiration.



click below




September 5, 2013


Back at the beginning, I wrote the song Sean Penn. Not as a sycophantic, kiss-ass anthem for a film star but the simple story of a guy who carries out his will, in both his work and his political arena, with both power and humanity. I envy the position and the theatre of his influence. To be hated and adored with equal passion. These are the qualifications of real artist!

This is an 11 track tally of my somewhat drunken philosophy. The vision from a man plundering his 40’s who can only turn to the truth for comfort. This is the verse of a renegade, ant-love songs evangelist…

I took it to bed with me at night in headphones, I dreamt in it as I slept, made pre-breakfast coffee with it plugged into me at 6am and then I worked in the studio with it all day long for three months. And then it was done. Now is a time of perspective.

Sean Penn is all the words that we have forgotten how to say in song. It apologises and preaches. It is a dictator and equally it is our hearts at peace. It will undress before you like a dancer in the dark.



‘Your actions speak louder than the politics of men’


August 23, 2013

Essay in Silence

Unrecognised Legislators Of Man. Those who speak for the world, but have no ambition to govern.

In the last one hundred years of our magnificent intelligence, we have been responsible for the most unbelievable leaps of progress in the history of the known universe. The computer, medicine, philosophy, music, science, cinema, communication, aeronautics, stratospheric’s; people are more enlightened, dreams are now even possible; the canon of our worth is now almost unimaginable. And as much as the false leaders all want to take the credit for these creations, it is has nothing to do with a single one of them; but they can make speeches about it.

The world is a fundamentally different place than it was before the Great War; you remember the one that millions of innocent people got shot in. Today sees just another leader, another effigy, another fool on the hill; but we’ve seen it all before, it’s all the same, new logo: same design. Don’t let them hold us back, don’t let politics or religion stifle or take the credit for our unrivaled prowess! Mankind stood on the moon, not a nation, not a religion not a political party.

Today’s governments are old school, preaching to the old world on out-moded media; on televisions, on our radios and in our tree fallen daily newspapers, with sound bites and bullshit. But the Internet generation shall succeed politics and religion. It follows a different command; its very design is of the order of progress. It is very difficult for the email generation to believe in holy water, as it is difficult for the YouTube generation to believe in party political broadcasts. Today the computer age owns the world. The young are in control, and if you don’t believe me, you just try and ignore them!

So how are the dinosaurs that control us doing today? We grow enough food to feed the world but most of its people are starving. We march for peace but the world is at war. (The US alone have a fighting or “Helping” presence in seventy-four different countries.) We have struggled to take back our freedom for so long but today your freedom is set by the amount you get paid. The markets have spread poverty and ignorance further and further and shared the wealth and influence with itself. Gods political wing is not uniting the people but pushing mankind further and further apart. All over the world women are still fighting to take back the rights they have been stripped of. In a post-racial world why is racism rising? Human rights, pollution, welfare, justice, hatred, torture, land mines, the death penalty and the thirsty refugees. Just because you believe in it, that don’t make it right!

We want to believe in God even if we don’t. We all belong to politics but we don’t believe in it. Religions eventually become mythology and politics are eventually overcome by revolution.

But humankind is a believer, a follower en masse, a pack animal; seldom an individual. Screaming your political or religious views and opinions to yourself or into the abyss means less than nothing. Yet, whenever two or more people discuss politics or religion its existence is confirmed. Thinking alone means nothing until someone credits it with approval or disapproval, and by the very act of others joining, it gathers momentum and is born before us all to believe in. This is advertising at its most dangerous level.

From the earth came man. From his inability to control himself came God, from the love of his own design came Kings and Emperors and from our social indifference came politics. It appears that each significant form of control takes less and less time to fall. Are you ready?

But don’t tell anyone….




August 19, 2013

Man On His Own

Just let me be. Leave me alone to write my music: to write my blog and to be in love. Leave me to intervene with my own bucktoothed philosophy: to be inventive and foolish and to find expression in the low bow of trees and in the reluctant corners of eyes. I had begun to use the words that nobody spoke of; the ideas that nobody came with. Those that knew me disowned me and crossed the street, and those not of my acquaintance hung down their heads and let me in. As time passed I told the truth as I saw it and eventually nobody but my love came to my door. So now I hide in the cleft of music that resonates beneath words. To find that which should not be said, and say it first. There is of course considerable juicy pleasure in scratching your ass, but very few would like it recommended at table. We are all born stupid. Written on the wall of my studio it states ‘In this room I am free’. People have commented poorly on this but it is true. Freedom is that which you do alone, it is individual at its source. Do not confuse loneliness with being alone; they are not the same thing. Being in love and being alone; now, this feeds the artist where they are their hungriest. So I drift into the opportunities that guitars have to offer, the voices obtainable from my piano and the words in my head that stitch these things together. And she brings me rice noodles and fish when I become famished. This is the view from my room and it is universal.

There is one unifying factor that binds nation to nation and people to people. You can hear the answer in the street, on the voices that spill from downtown kitchens; you can feel it in the yearning for individuality in every crowd that surges together; it is in the distance, and it is also inside your heart. What is it we all crave but can never receive enough? You can feel it profoundly in the ugly, you can see it if you examine your own image, in bikinis and in suits, in porno, the baby, the lover, the lonely; it sprouts from the teenagers loudly willing to be heard, to the voices of nightlife saying come and get me; it rises from cigarettes and coffee like quality French girls; it is in prohibition, in censorship, in the elevator chatter on the fourteenth floor, to the subterranean rumbling behind locked toilet doors, from pimps to pushers to pullers; from all of hospitality to philosophy, in music, in violence, in lipstick, in humor, in the denouncement of god. And no it is not sex! This thing we crave shines for a light when we already have one, it’s in the taxis, the paperboy, and in our dreams, it rises in the hush of longing, from the edge of the tightrope, at the lip of the cliff, in funny and in tattoos, in the lost and in the found, in painting and at temple. It can be transmitted through our five senses, through sight, sound and touch, and increasingly provocatively through scent and taste. The flow of our world is identified upon the self same thing. Everything we do we do for attention. Read it again.

But our need for attention in the modern era has gone berserk. The superficial has never been so seriously taken. Our children’s desire for fame is to be recognized not for what they can do but out of a desperate need to be loved, loved not for what they are but what they want to be. Fame has superseded the product it peddles. Will we ever match the attention we crave? How much do we need, how much will it cost and what are you prepared to pay for it with? How much is too much? Are we all just setting out our meds readied for disappointment and depression? But what is the cause of our junky obsession with attention? Is it our parents, is it femininity, masculinity, is it money to buy a boat and a sack of cocaine to bring on better quality attention, is it in your subscribers, your re-tweets, is it the fear of loneliness, is it the longing of acceptance, is it to be idolized, fantasized, recognized, close your eyes and smile that you made it all the way to notoriety? Is it the shallow mark of modern validation? Is it only a publicity tool that the marketing strategists exploit? Or is it real? But only those of justified attention shall know what it really means. Your life is yours for the giving away!

Love is her who makes silence for my noise.




August 16, 2013

The Art Of Protest

The epoch of modern music is upon us and it is steadily coming to an end. In the last 50 years music has strained and roared, it has disowned us, empowered us, released us, defined us, challenged us and simply made us happy. It has given us a soundscape to live in, a soundtrack for sex, for love and for longing. A dream you could live, as provocative as tears and as wide as the heavens themselves. A blame for both pregnancy and suicide, it provokes both prejudice and freedom, makes your skin shiver and your loins come to life. It returns you to the emotions of the past and is a portal through which we can bypass the tedium of time. Yet music requires no qualification to hear it, no understanding of form or counterpoint to dig it. It doesn’t ask for your forgiveness or gratitude, it is simply above language. Yet all of music can evoke this without being touched or fully understood; it is airborne, it is ephemeral and then it is gone… Until the needle returns to the start.

But modern music is boring! I am scared by its banality, by its reason to exist. The media have stolen its honesty and made it superficial, made it irrelevant and left us hungry and short changed. Music has been rendered a slogan, an empty gesture, a sound bite indeed; it is dressed up without substance, it is superficially bang tidy. Today music is being engineered without passion; it treads a bland monotonous path as if all that paved the way to this moment has been no more than a wasted passage of time. Yet the musical collective of this world is enormous, varied, vibrant, exciting, intelligent, life inducing and wild; and so filled with love and humanity that it burns with the self same light that once filled our greatest musical journeys.

So if music is still alive out there, grinding with youthful, inventive, uncontrollable verve, why is it so dull? Switch on your radio and receive a snapshot of today’s musical poverty, fit only for mainstream turned down minds. They are promoting what will sell, regardless of its worth. The multi-million sellers today have stood on the shoulders of greatness and passed it off as their own and we continue to be fooled that sales is a sign of worth. But it is not! It is like judging the happiness of a family by the price of the house in which they live. It is all a farce; as is the positions of the charts or the best sellers list, they are just slots paid for by the record and publishing companies, to make you believe what it is you are buying is approved.

Music doesn’t care what you look like, even if you care what it looks like, music, it is no better for rich mans ears than for the poor. The more perfect the voice, the less it usually has to say! If you listen to music through bad headphones, you never get to know how beautiful it really sounds. At the same time if you only listen to what they want you to buy you will never learn of music’s utter sublimity, you will remain deaf to how rich this thing can really be. Modern music has become a manufactured commodity; pop stars are just the peddlers of snake oil.

But defiant change is coming. Where our creativity is not blighted by the record corporation. I hear it now. Music is alive and inventive in cafes and clubs, on street corners and rooftops, online, deep in your hearts; in your head, on your lips, in the harmony and disharmony of lives and loves. Our musical presence is alive; it lives for us on the curves of her rhythm and the gravel of her voice. Let it be invented in bedrooms, in prison yards, with attitude and reason, released by those in love with music not money, make it without time signatures, dream it, live it, bend it and break it, offend god, don’t apologize, turn it up, record the cry of freedom and love, screw the control of commercialism, bang stuff, scream, sing, damn your soul and condemn your body to let your music be! Music really can set you free!

Make music, make new music, don’t allow the shallow marketers to robe you of your musical heritage or more importantly our musical future. Lose the label. Find the rebel. Lose the genre. Be free, not instructed nor frustrated. Let your prejudice go. Learn how to hear it again, listen to it all and throw the whole world at it.

Life is boring which is why we have art!




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