“There are few events which don’t leave a written trace at least. At one time or another, almost everything passes through a sheet of paper, the page of a notebook, or of a diary, or of some other chance support (a Metro ticket, the margin of a newspaper, a cigarette packet, the back of an envelope, etc.) on which, at varying speeds and by a different technique depending on the place, time or mood, one or another of the miscellaneous elements that comprise the everydayness of life comes to be inscribed . . . this goes from an address caught in passing, an appointment noted down in haste, or the writing out of a cheque, an envelope or a package, to the laborious drafting of an official letter, the tedious filling in of a form (tax return, sickness note, direct debit for gas and electricity bills, subscription forms, contract, lease, endorsement, receipt etc.), to a list of urgently needed supplies (coffee, sugar, cat litter, Baudrillard book, 75-watt bulb, batteries, underwear etc.), from the sometimes rather tricky solution to a Robert Scipion crossword to the fair copy of a finally completed text, from notes taken at some lecture or other to the instant scribbling down of some device that may come in useful (verbal play, verbal ploy, play on letters, or what’s commonly known as an “idea”), from a piece of literary ‘work’ (writing, yes, sitting down at the table and writing, sitting at the typewriter and writing, writing right through the day, or right through the night, roughing out a plan, putting down capital Is and small as, drawing sketches, putting one word next to another, looking in a dictionary, recopying, rereading, crossing out, throwing away, rewriting, sorting, rediscovering, waiting for it to come, trying to extract something that might resemble a text from something that continues to look like an insubstantial scrawl…)”

- Georges Perec. “The Page” from Species of Spaces, 1974.

I’m leaving less and less of a paper trail these days. Finding a stamp to pay a bill feels like a terrible imposition (and rarely gets done). I do not know anybody’s telephone number, and the events of my days are stored in a variety of widgets. And yet I doggedly carry around a beat-up notebook in which I always forget to write.

* * *

Lux – Data
(from DeepChord #9 12″. Deepchord, 2000)
Stripped down, super clean, and slightly dubby techno from the secret Deepchord camp.

Digital – Rom
(from Profan 1. Profan, 1997)
Remember when everything was micro and glitch and click? This track captures most of what worked well when techno was in full deconstruct mode.