Creator of music, PICTURES and writing.
Based in Tokyo and Vancouver. (日本語ページはこちら)
LAST UPDATE: MAR 4, 2020
Welcome stranger, to my home in the Cyberverse. This is where I display my favorites from among the many pieces of music, visual art and writing that I produce every day.
But at some point I tire of them, and new favorites emerge. This is when I toss the old work aside callously, and replace it with my new stuff. It is the way of the world for art unfortunate enough to be created by Ruthless Rufus. Transience is an important part of my aesthetic philosophy.
Regarding my main activity, music, some people say that I am attempting the impossible. Now, really, I ask you. Should one use the term impossible, when all I am trying to do is:
1. Discover a young Japanese singer, and force that person to sing English electro pop songs that I have composed and arranged, thereby winning a Grammy, something no Japanese singer has achieved before?
2. Compose and arrange Japanese electro pop songs, record them myself and make a name for myself as one of the very few foreigners singing original songs to succeed in the notoriously tough Japanese pop music market?
It’s going to be a rough ride, but my worst enemies will tell you that I laugh in the face of rough rides. You’re most welcome to come along.
When there is a point of contact, opening a dialog is an opportunity to transform into a point of exchange. Many points of contact wither away without anyone noticing their existence.
Hare-aclitus watching the bubbles of change drift by.
Is it mere coincidence that giraffe and giantess both contain the letter E? I think not.
Nude descending a staircase falls and rubs her bruised shin.
The monk trudged toward Mount Fuji, unaware of the four trees watching him.
A polar bear on a quest for chromaticity.
It was becoming obvious that she would not stay boxed up for very much longer, so I left, never to return.
EDM, chill out, techno, and other electronica from my alter-ego DJ Beat Red.
An incantation to ward off undesirable viruses
A barely detectable wisp of smoke signifies the arrival
Of hitherto sensed yet unknown, minuscule strangers in our midst.
Are they to be feared or fought? Confronted or ignored?
Would we summarily be vanquished?
Yet even before these considerations have reached their natural conclusions, mutation has lurched forward.
To them we say begone.
To them we say unhand us loons.
To them we turn our backs. While we can.
MONSTER OF THE MONTH