This music video is really quite extraordinary.  It’s a celebration of anarcho-primitivism, I think, by a band called MGMT, who want to bring back psychedelic music.  It also strikes me as being the Pulse of the World.

You ought to watch the hi-res version, but if, like me, it makes your computer cry, here’s the Youtube version.

“Some company recently was interested in buying my “aura.” They didn’t want my product. They kept saying, “We want your aura.” I never figured out what they wanted. But they were willing to pay a lot for it. So then I thought that if somebody was willing to pay that much for my ‘it’, I should try to figure out what ‘it’ is.

I think “aura” is something that only somebody else can see, and they only see as much of it as they want to. It’s all in the other person’s eyes. You can only see an aura on people you don’t know very well or don’t know at all. I was having dinner the other night with everybody from my office. The kids at the office treat me like dirt, because they know me and they see me everyday. But then there was this nice friend that somebody had brought along who had never met me, and this kid could hardly believe that he was having dinner with me! Everybody else was seeing me, but he was seeing my “aura”.

When you just see somebody on the street, they can really have an aura. But then they open their mouth, there goes the aura. “Aura” must be when you open your mouth.”

- Warhol, “The Philosophy of Andy Warhol”

All I hear about Andy Warhol is bad things. “I Shot Andy Warhol” sympathises with Solanas, and makes him about to be a vapid, voyeuristic creep who created shallow artworks in the name of fame. I have got a good deal from his “Philosophy” - I really think he was trying to do something underrated, underappreciated, and completely new.

This evening I received mysterious and impromptu communique from a certain alien entity. We corresponded through a throughly disagreeable method: from the mothership a kind of morse code crossed with telepathic braille beamed from his spaceship which made me quite dizzy, and on my behalf, semaphore on my roof with road cones on my arms (those fuckers are heavy). He tells me he is well and his orbit intact. His interplanetary mission to take A and deliver it to B is much the same as always and still only tangentially important. The problem lies in the freshness of the recruits. They’re all stale. It’s been six stardates already and still only seen so many stars… Singstar cures these wounds with the “pornographic orgy” approach to the bonding which occurs only in deep ritual humiliation… of course I am not sure this is the right approach. I suggest that rare conjunction of the celestials which brings those of certain eccentric patterns into appropriate orbit. I still believe in the star-crossed. He sounded well and I sounded well, or at least as well as can be given the mediums of communication. Gusts of solar lumiere winds blew his spaceship back to Reticuli before he lost Team Champion Points. I couldn’t get the road cones off my arms and attempted to write my essay on Fabliaux; I think the broken mess that is my keyboard and the onomatopaeic death rattle gargle all over my screen will work out better than my other plans in the end.