Who is The Tactilian?

The Tactilian is the person holding firm affinity toward physical format. Trapped at the center of a society clamoring, “Mobility! Convenience!” The Tactilian ventures to seek out a quieter eye by holding onto the foundation that was laid down by the past and will be present in the future. When her babies’ grandbabies ask their great grandmother how she used to kick it, The Tactilian will chuckle inaudibly at the ignorance of youth, shuffle over to the direct drive automatic turntable system, oil up the Physical Graffiti, and with a quick wink back at those wide-eyed little honey does, jack it up past eleven.

What is The Tactilian?

It’s an archive of information lost in the shift from physical to digital media, coupled with sometimes-relevant personal thoughts and opinions. It isn’t meant to read as a personal journal so much as a wealth of knowledge concerning tactile media formats. Currently music business is shifting more toward making songs a la carte. Rather than hearing an album as one, congruent animal, it feels like bits and pieces are sewn together into less-than-natural monstrosities. The lead-ins and fade-outs are being chopped; the tin of treble and good vibrations of bass are being pushed together like peas into mashed potatoes. Even the meaty guitar and baritone sax are getting their bloody juices compressed out. So now, instead of a delightful steak dinner, we’re left with a pile of runny, pea-filled starch next to a dry cut.

The sound isn’t the only victim suffering, either – although that is the meat ‘n taters. The artistry of visual aesthetics has taken a downward turn. The proper thanks are being lost. The average listener doesn’t have a clue who was involved with creating the music; there are websites for lyrics, but we don’t see how the writer sees them.

So, here, now, we delve into the dying pit, to shoot a tentacle wrapped about the foot of a dear friend, reach out, and save what we love from being lost forever.

It’s an homage to tactile information being transmitted from the belly of the digital beast.


Et tu?

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A Dreamers Discourse

Late 20s Epiphany

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