hello world;

the word to describe it is not speechless, although we are a wordless collective. and perhaps a pale yet accurate manner to describe this guttural thing fluttering in our stomach is excitement, but some of us agree, it's an understatement.

the truth is that, that entire paragraph is irrelevant.

OFFCUFF is a multi-disciplinary collective focusing on live audio-visual performance centered on structured improvisation. our work seeks to address the visceral and traverse the borders of the conscious and the subconscious.

OFFCUFF is:
wu jun han - video projections
shahila bte baharom - overhead (OHP) projections
mohamad riduan - handmade sound instruments + electronics
bani haykal - clarinet + guitar + live looping

this project is part of our first major experiment entitled "books".

we will be performing at The Substation Theatre on the 29th of January 2012 (Sunday) supporting an eclectic mix of musical goodness from around town. very hardcore.

have a good year ahead. 

the way you, you, you enunciate your appreciation for my

ignorance amuses me. the way you, you, you, you offer

reason, logic and arguments the same way you, you, you

offer happiness and contentment baffles me.

we are nowhere in the universe, not existing, nor relieving a

past life, not dreaming nor spinning new stories, no, no, for

you, you, you, you served us light on our tongues and we danced

to the overtures till the end. and none of us

knew we were deaf.

i'm practicing, unlearning my methodologies and embracing my ignorance.

where i know that i know nothing, i also knew that i knew everything.

i am not listening to music.

i am not listening to the world.

i am not listening to myself.

because all that i hear is nothing.

it's not a problem, it's an evolution, i think, i think, i

think, i slipped on your polite words constructed to tease,

at least you had hoped to tease the world around you and you,

you, you, you scream, yell, hum sweetly to unsuspecting folks,

you, you, you are adamant to convince us of your sorrow, your

wisdom, your secrets, your slouched poetry for bills and pints, oh,

you, you, you, aren't you a pretty thing to see?

spits and splatter shush of quaint phrases to chords swoon

the world wide web, sticks on lips or eyelids switching instances

overtime i'm worn out, shit man, your colliding wishful thinking

is drooling, undreaming of every ounce of sanity, but at the moment

you win a comment, there you are,

revising, revisiting and revealing yourself more than ever,

every single time, shit man, your sticky ambition is incredibly sick.

ah yes, clean up over there, there and there and oh,

yes, please, there, there, where my heart swings and springs, you

tuck me in and i am lulled in that plastic embrace. as i recline,

politely, i decline my god given state and postulate to the scalpel

of your tongue and judgment, conscious of my every flaw,

conscious of your every taste, the graceful stitch of fate draws me

closer to my eden.

i am gasping through the mirror, i am breathtaking, i am

god's desire for perfection, (gasp!), i mean, god's desired perfection

and in this vessel i will transport you, i will move you, i will

drive you up the wall when we're through, yes, yes,

yes.

"dress me up for the party and tell your friends immortality is just across the street."