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1. Zero Surveillance - poetry & writing by Peter Mead

Zero Surveillance - poetry & writing by Peter Mead

The Search For A Golden Sun is a personal ongoing project, a collection of writing and poetry I began making around 2010. Predominantly a mix of existential things, streams of thoughts, and times where I’ve felt compelled to record something of them. View the entire project here @ www.zerosurveillance.net

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2. The Thousand Ark {Preludes} - Joe Kovacs

The Thousand Ark {Preludes} - Joe Kovacs

Welcome to sketches and rough exports from the current music project 'The Thousand Ark'. I'm at a stage where I'm bringing all the collected samples from the city and the night, into finished loops and beats. There's a sound emerging that's really exciting to my ears, it's compelling me to write loads and play with my voice a little more on the vocal tracks. You'll hear skeletons of tunes here, no edits, just concepts that I wanted to share to give people listening a taster. Comments in the tunes, like the facebook page and I'll keep you up to date. All much appreciated. Ta :)

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3. The Ghost Series - tr0uble07 feat. Joe Kovacs {Demos}

The Ghost Series - tr0uble07 feat. Joe Kovacs {Demos}

CONNECT @ Facebook In a dusty room an age ago, two hyper-intelligent beings scratched a rough series of tracks into the soul of a dying computer. These tracks perhaps, form the resonant basis of work yet to filter the speaker-wires...the ghosts of these formative tunes appear here for you to listen to. Beats by tr0uble07 / Verbals by Joe Kovacs.

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4. UNTITLED {Demos} - A.I (Israel & Joe Kovacs)

UNTITLED {Demos} - A.I (Israel & Joe Kovacs)

The Artificial Intelligence Demos from Israel (D) & Formula (aka J Kovacs aka xiilabs). Circa 2010.

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5. Days of Plague & Vice {Album Sampler} - Joe Kovacs

Days of Plague & Vice {Album Sampler} - Joe Kovacs

AVAILABLE @ Twelve Labours on Bandcamp or iTunes CONNECT @ Facebook A selection of tunes from the debut 14 track Hip-Hop album by Joe Kovacs aka Peter Mead. Lyrically, Grime-esque New Orleans tracks and apocalyptic love songs share the album's 54 minutes of dense and dirty wordy rants, at the screwed up world Kovacs inhabits. Choruses soak out of the sparser tracks adding crusty melodies and chanted hooks to the layered beats, whilst others drop you into burning eco-sphere where Kovacs stands alone lamenting loves-lost. Musically, Kovacs' production is a tapestry of acoustic samples, live guitar, home-made percussion and traces of jazz, metal, blues, and funk - brought alive by the mixing skills of Germany's Peter Muller. Scrambled library rarities and badly analogue-mashed intros and skits, thread the length of the album, establishing the colour and tone of this twisted world, half a degree or less, away from our own. -- Produced, written, designed by J Kovacs -- Engineered and Mastered by Peter Muller

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7. The Thousand Ark {Prelude #5}

The Thousand Ark {Prelude #5}

Rough track off the forthcoming album The Thousand Ark. Guitar & Rough production by J Kovacs

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8. Twelve Labours

Twelve Labours

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9. The Thousand Ark {Prelude #7}

The Thousand Ark {Prelude #7}

New rough version of a track off the Thousand Ark project

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10. Twelve labours LP snippets

Twelve labours LP snippets

A promo for the debut LP from Sons Phonetic entitled Twelve Labours. Featuring RiRa. 12 tracks of dusty hard hitting beats and heavy flows. All tracks produced by Mook (Rabiah Zaruq) of Sons Phonetic. Don't sleep.

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11. Twelve Labours

Twelve Labours

Just a Greek mythology based doom song I decided to write

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12. The Ghosts Behind the Universe #1

The Ghosts Behind the Universe #1

A spoken word piece from the project Zero Surveillance (Previously A Search For a Golden Sun) by Peter Mead. Visit the project @ www.zerosurveillance.net -- Original music kindly contributed by John Lemke. ---------------------------------- The Ghosts Behind The Universe #1 ---------------------------------- Certain finishes were forgotten, in times where clogged streets shrieked among the mornings, where time was thick and oozed over our wind-screens. An Age of Misunderstanding.

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13. A Love Song

A Love Song

A spoken word piece from the project A Search For a Golden Sun by Peter Mead. Read the complete poem and visit the project @ www.searchforagoldensun.com -- Original track appears on the album Days of Plague & Vice. --------------------------------------------------------- A Love Song --------------------------------------------------------- I’m crushed by the weight and the enormity, Of this world that’s distorting me, Contorting my chest like a butterfly’s halted metamorphosis, Cornered and caught in the cold and cordoned streets, And forced into the magician’s box before he sawed me in three, I hide my heart beneath a layer of ordinary and orderly, Hoarding more than I need, To protect myself like a fortress from the storms as they seethe in the seas, And when I look at my face reflected in the watery skeins, I see an author staring back awkwardly, that I’m sure isn’t me, But he’s got my stubble covering his jaws and his maudlin cheeks? We’re born interweaved with lust, fortune and greed, Rended impotent jurors in these courtrooms of fiends, And they ignored all my pleas and the chorusing screams, As carousels carried blind riders on white horses with wings, Hung above the unfaltering jaws of enormous machines, And the nights filled with drunk paupers, marauding the streets, And the floors fill with their organs, as storerooms with wheat, And each day a new dawn, for the foremen they greet, To record inordinate portions of lives performed to the beat, Of clocks in glass towers tolling morning to eve, So we sit in the corners, chortle or keen, As the sickly sheened alters grow taller all warped and diseased, While the lessons they preach from the pulpits teach us nought but that war wins out peace, And if we resort to decrees written when men fought with beasts on the mountains’ tallest peaks, We will all become corpses before the autumn of all we could have been, Because we should have learned to restore not defeat, To become our own leaders, not fall at their feet, To summon strength from inside, not steal it from the fallen and meek, And we should have learned to fall in love with the world, not just fuck it then fall back to sleep, Because I am crushed by the weight and the enormity, Of this world that’s distorting me, Contorting my chest like a butterfly’s halted metamorphosis, And I can’t breathe anymore.

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14. Twelve Labours

Twelve Labours

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15. Shapes in the Walls

Shapes in the Walls

A spoken word piece from the project Zero Surveillance (Previously A Search For a Golden Sun) by Peter Mead. Visit the project @ www.zerosurveillance.net -- Original music kindly contributed by John Lemke. -------------------- Shapes In the Walls -------------------- I’ll find you…Noisy fucking idiots, everywhere my shutting-eyes fall. I miss you. My body misses you turning on a hard mattress and I can’t tell if I wish I’d never gained your higher ground, seen the heights of these feelings from a ceiling of clouds for the fact that everything, my whole life feels diminished when I return home again. But the room for reverie is razed so I’ve no choice but to build my hovel on the trampled unholy ground, amongst the rusted canisters and a burning earth. Inebriated monkeys swarm the bulbous mounds, screeching and grabbing their garish balls and cocks, and chattering so loudly my skull would split if it hadn’t already hardened to calloused bone and rotten wood, I would. Above the space two days ago or a month or another life away two white pigeons gusted on vortices across the volume of an empty square between grey monuments, on wings that caught the air so they literally swam on the wind in silent solace. And I felt you there, in their eyes, and their chariots were clouds. But below a street bellowed obnoxious names, watching golden liquids go into mouths and almost immediately stain khaki trousers dark green patched; and there’s too much piss to prevent a deluge of urine from flooding the city. I’m honestly worried what we’ll do when it reaches the ceilings and caves in the walls. Caves in the walls? I know you left strange shapes in the walls. In the halls wolves howl without recourse to their saviour, you are the concubine of carnivores and ravens tear at the windows, let them loose to garnish my eyes with their beaks in the storm they have garnered. Come to me in the corners of a dream, awake I tried to cling to the fleeting feeling of freedom and safety when we met under coursing cumulus curling off the purple hills, storm clouds moaning with deep tongues, whales in the waiting sky punctuating my rapt gaze of you with a retina-synchronous flash of distant lightning. Smelled the scent of flame and fervour, gods fighting for you, I’ll cater to you, shape a hollow for your rain, take my collar in these changed fingers and brace against the crazy squalls with eyes all asquint against the hail until you embrace me. Embrace me tenderly, take me, remember the dawn when you made me cry, when gulls bobbed bashfully on the pinker waters as the sun rose. You are my sun, caught on the gentle river and reflected a hundred thousand times as the day waited and secrets grew in the only time they can find a moment to. Before alarm clocks careen obnoxious. Before the tv set’s boxes cock their hammers and fire blunt bolts into the minds of men! Over and over again. But ghosts bide their time in the formless and sphinxes wait to stretch their limbs in the deeper deserts. And I’ll wait for you with the foxes, as fine as Jaguars, biding and bidding until all are risen to kindle the fire that will burn the city of sticks in furnaces, kilning the windows molten; will turn a lens of perfect imperfection and focus the sunlight hidden in the timber, the purifying fire of enlightenment, a chorus with the lightning’s ebb, focus to a single torchlight pure as the seed from a dandelion. And it will settle on your face and I will find you there, revealed as you are transcendent, perfect. And we’ll dance to the sea settling on the sand and the sound of shingles turning circles in chill mornings, humming to each other smiling.

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16. The Thousand Ark {Prelude #6}

The Thousand Ark {Prelude #6}

Another rough version of a piece for the Thousand Ark album.

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17. Terror City - Days Of Plague & Vice, Joe Kovacs

Terror City - Days Of Plague & Vice, Joe Kovacs

From the debut hip hop album by Joe Kovacs @ Twelve Labours. Iron mic with the eyes of a daemon's spawn, Transmute the mic-chord to barbed-wire, pierce the sun, I minus vitamins, skin slickening, Virus afflicting the hybrids of the sickest kin, Tongues black and swollen on nicotine, Time waits for flesh, my restless mind preys for death, Ride on the gloom of the solstice tides, And the white of the crested moon with it's altered guise, Pressing blood deep into dermis corpus, And walk the castle keep where the hawk-winds feed on fortunes carcass, Feverlight, shattered beam green as an emerald, Envy is my brother now, he will never sell me out, We will never come to blows, he will never force me down, Choking my lungs on the smoke from these heated valves, Furnace orange glow in the deep of the nights breath, Breathing in the sulphur like a knife to my tight chest, I lie awake shrouded in a blizzard of my violent thoughts, Son of an Incubus and Minotaur, Slaying mages in the halls of kings Minos's fort, And drown in the waters with Poseidon’s fork through my heart, All aboard cause this evil islands losing me, Trapped between the devil and the vile contused and fuming seas, Take flight escape the lunacy through Houdini’s dreams, And ride on the heals of Ulysses. So you sit there boasting to your oafish kin, Till your brains are turned to mush like oats soaking in, Swollen and Bloated on petroleum and opium, floating on the locust winds, Hope is a broken thing, Twelve labours of love, lost in Hades, with gods trust, Regain the way to Babel, scaled it and touched god, Then overdosed on Serotonin, There's hell on earth now, only soldiers know this and the dead will never notice. Focus on the pitch within the cracks and crevices, Burial edifice, crippled by the wind-chill, tracking edible predators, It's ransack or stand back and attract the terrible mantraps to sever bone The grate is starting to glow, The fires are sparking and starting to take, escaping in plumes, This is doom, plain and simple, this is doom right here. Wind whipped drifting snow, And it’s so cold in my bones in this no mans zone, Unhomed and alone cause our homes aren’t our own, Double or quits, sick and huddled in pits, Hugging the crissed crosses that’s studding the covers of dozens of crypts, Kissing with death, lips locked tight, Shudder and slip to the juddering skip of this clock's chimes, Caught slaughtered and pinned like a butterfly, Eyes record the spring, but autumn minds never touch the sky, I breathe fire and swallow myths like a toxic dye, Indeed I cry these tears for this rotten life, I need the touch of an angel, to unlock my soul, I need Geppetto sculpting shapes into my boxwood skull, I need a sign in the waving of the reeds and the stalks, But all I hear on the wind are screams as these daemons talk, It’s driving me crazy, I wished that I’d stayed same as the day before the day that god made me.

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18. The Thousand Ark {Prelude #2}

The Thousand Ark {Prelude #2}

Welcome to sketches and rough exports from the current music project 'The Thousand Ark'. I'm at a stage where I'm bringing all the collected samples from the city and the night, into finished loops and beats. There's a sound emerging that's really exciting to my ears, it's compelling me to write loads and play with my voice a little more on the vocal tracks. You'll hear skeletons of tunes here, no edits, just concepts that I wanted to share to give people listening a taster. Comments in the tunes, like the facebook page and I'll keep you up to date. All much appreciated. Ta :)

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19. Terror's The Etiquette - Joe Kovacs & Israel {Demos}

Terror's The Etiquette - Joe Kovacs & Israel {Demos}

Israel & Formula (aka Kovacs) present demos from their upcoming album project, under their combined moniker of A.I. The two friends, writers and verbalists spin a set of complex poems and criticisms over the rough head-nodding beats and jagged foundation of tunes-in-the-making. Keep your eyes open for the finished work, sign up to the Twelve Labours Mailing List or watch out for updates on the Soundcloud page.

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