Zarkoff’s Diary

Zarkoff has been working hard for over a decade to produce his own unique brand of excellent electronic music. Having worked with Petar Dundov, Dekolaž and Le Chocolat Noir, amongst others, he now enters a time in his life where he's back in the studio creating. 2014 sees his "Sumerian Fleet" album in preparation for release via Dark Entries and there are also new musical treats with Popsimonova on JAM Traxx to come. 
So, without further ado, here's Zarkoff's diary. I have no words to describe what you're about to encounter, just read it and be overwhelmed;
At this point in my life, it's hard for me to tell where this self created persona of Zarkoff intrudes into what I consider 'real' self. It's a ride I'm taking, it's me. I'm building my own path and living it, what more could I possibly ask for?
Yesterday I started out with a list of 15 chores. Mostly post festival stuff, returning gear, paying travel expenses, meeting participants of the Synth Lab, also meeting my manager and some friends. A busy day filled with tedious tasks. The last meeting was real fun, we stayed up till the morning chatting, aided by some uppers and home made brandy. I should get some sleep now. A new project starts at 4 pm, and now it's already noon. I'm recording an unpronouncable band called ###. We met last weekend during this festival where I filled up an abandoned chem lab with gear and invited musicians to improvise. Now we're going back to the same building to record in an abandoned conference room. We have shitload of mics but not enough stands. They will show up from somewhere, they always do. Last minute. Stuff often just sorts itself out if I don't interfere.
36 hrs without sleep. I tried to rest before meeting the band but the phone kept ringing. Fuck it. Betty Boop had a silly song that went something like: 'a little soap, a little water and a song, start the day like this you can't go wrong…' Well, Betty, you imaginary symbol of peachiness, you don't know shit. I hum a whisky tune with my worst Tom Waits voice and stagger through endless days. Or nights, whatever. We got the stands and everything, set up the drums and mics and now I desperately need a rest. I read a half-hearted review of the new SF album on RA. It means nothing to me. My friends like the album, that's enough for me. Entertaining my friends is a privilege. Thanks for letting me do that, it gives my existence a purpose.
The conference room is a weird place. Empty and desolate, 70s chairs, all in fairly poor condition, but still usable. Absolutely no decor in that room, it's all business. I love it already. It's raining and the windows are leaking. Acoustics could be better but the band wants to record there for the atmosphere. I totally dig that attitude. True soc-realism to the bone. I have a soft spot for that.
A day without lifting heavy objects, normal sleep, 10 hrs of recording drums and guitar felt quite good today. I can hear a cheesy pop concert through my window. Cheese is what people like. Enjoy, nibble, conform, obey. They live – in a parallel universe, but I can't help feeling theirs is  kind of big and has some upleasant influence over mine.  The majority! I work with talented musicians who will probably never taste any of that atmos of playing a big show because they belong on the wrong parallel. Well boo-hoo. Most people will never have many things they desire. It's probably not such a good thing to desire anyway. It seems like another chinese fingertrap for the ego. Dangerous game.
Finished the recording today. At the end of our work day we found two hungry puppies in front of the building. Boys from the band proved what I already figured out – they are cool and 100% correct. Without thinking too much they simply took the puppies to the drummer's house. They earned my utmost respect with that gesture, especially because of the way they did it, no fuss, no drama. One guy called an organisation that takes care of abandoned animals and arranged free food, others put them in the car and voila, it's taken care of, at least temporarily. Respect! Everyone should be like that. As to the person who left the puppies there – and it was no accident, the place is a half abandoned building in an industrial zone – fucking die, heartless scum. 
Fell asleep last night listening to Sumerian rough ideas and raw mixes. Some of it's ok, some of it's boring. Some of the ideas could be good songs that reqiure getting into to be enjoyed. They're discreet. Pauli and me called them „desert songs“, probably influenced subconsciously by the blue box of Camel tobacco on his table one night. I imagine there's a stillness in the desert, just like I imagine the stillness of my internal being from some earlier periods in my life. Life is scarce and discrete in the desert, reduced to the most resilient. Not much information in the desert media. One has to wonder: „how does the desert massage my senses in this day and age?“. Or better yet – when will my senses adapt to this informationless environment? Will anyone actually go into the trouble of adapting to the cold information grid of these songs? With such a hyperabundance of information, we go for the catchy, gimmicky, whatever captures our attention at the moment. I think substance is in the most resilient things, the lizard brain, in whatever we revert to. It's in reduction. I see a TV commercial (imaginary one), Max Headroom style, there's a title: D.N.A. – Destiny Now Always – reprogram your DNA to live your destiny the way you want to. Use McNanite DNA recoding bots to achieve it now and enjoy forever. I smell a hoax cooked up by M. McLuhan's and Ray Kurzweil's ideas. Would reprogramming my DNA change me, my world or my destiny? Is there a difference? Would it reposition the numbers on the turtle's back, would it shake my hexes? Or would I just become a healthy, docile consumer, a perfect Matrix human battery? I'd probably become a square shape in The Singularity's game of Tetris. Maybe we're all becoming just that. So I see no other solution then to reduce myself to that which cannot be overwritten, if such a thing exists at all.
Finished mixing, more or less. Overdubs are coming on Thursday so I have a day off tomorrow. Of course, there's nothing to do on a free Wednesday where I live, but nothing is exactly what I want to do. Chill. Alone. No talking. I got new SF ideas from Mr Pauli, I'm listening as I write. So far very good, much better than the stuff we did together last time I went to Den Haag. It was after 10 days on the road with Popsimonova and another friend. We played some shows in Holland, Belgium and Germany, which was kind of taxing, although the shows went well, I had no major complaints. I was the designated driver, as usual, so I was already worn out when I came there. Worn out and uninspired, it turned out. I don't think I had a single really good idea. I stayed there for a week and went home feeling I didn't give my best.

snorted the last line… It's over… hello, cold turkey, old friend. I'm not scared, do your worst, fuck you! I can still do a split and 2 finger pushups, I can handle the fever and convultions, the headache and cramps.. although my codeine stash is runnning low and I'm out of benzos. Tapering down is just not my style. Life gives pleasure and pain, so bring it on.

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