File "ray 3 (prism).it"

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Copyright (C) 1996-2016 Claudio Matsuoka and Hipolito Carraro Jr
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Loading modland.com/pub/modules/Impulsetracker/RS3/ray 3 (prism).it (1 of 1)
Module name : ray 3: prism
Module type : Impulse Tracker 2.14v5 IT 2.16
Module length: 65 patterns
Patterns : 64
Instruments : 34
Samples : 18
Channels : 35 [ 8 8 8 8 8 8 8 8 8 8 8 8 8 8 8 8 8 8 8 8 8 8 8 8 8 8 8 8 8 8 8 8 8 8 8 ]
Duration : 7min22s
Instruments:
Instrument name Vl Fade Env Ns Sub Gv Vl Fine Xpo Pan Sm
01 3b 00c0 -F- 01 [01] 1d 40 +105 +23 Pff 00
02 ray iii 40 0200 --- 01 [01] 1c 40 +099 +18 Pff 01
03 prism 07.15 40 0000 --- 01 [01] 28 40 +104 +09 Pff 02
04 40 0600 A-- 01 [01] 12 40 -035 -02 Pff 03
05 RS3 40 0000 --- 01 [01] 20 40 +100 +28 Pff 04
06 40 0980 -F- 01 [01] 14 40 +100 +28 Pff 05
07 shift f9 40 0000 --- 01 [01] 2d 40 +019 +04 Pff 06
08 40 0000 --- 01 [01] 2d 40 +100 +28 Pff 07
09 40 0000 --- 01 [01] 2d 40 +100 +28 Pff 08
0a 40 0000 --- 01 [01] 21 40 +100 +28 Pff 09
0b 40 0000 --- 01 [01] 21 40 +100 +28 Pff 0a
0c 40 0a00 --- 01 [01] 21 40 +100 +28 Pff 0b
0d 40 0000 --- 01 [01] 30 40 +100 +28 Pff 0c
0e 40 0100 --- 01 [01] 34 40 +079 +36 Pff 0d
0f 40 1000 --- 01 [01] 20 40 +101 +40 Pff 0e
10 40 00c0 --- 01 [01] 18 40 +003 +02 Pff 0f
11 40 0000 --- 01 [01] 2c 40 +122 +33 Pff 10
12 40 0000 --- 01 [01] 1b 40 +122 +38 Pff 11
22 triad.darkscape.net 40 0000 --- 00 [ ] -- -- ---- --- --- --

>
> ray iii
> prism
>
> RS3
> triad@darkscape.net
> and http://triad.darkscape.net (finally)
>
> i apologize for the amount of channels, but i refuse to compromise.
> there's simply no point in lossy optimization anymore.
>
>
> inspiration sources:
>
> grey skies
> the shivering, cold, wet feeling of a rainy day
> unwanted childhood memories
> happy thought #457
> my backyard
> stereoman
> and my family
>
>
> respects and salutations:
>
> #trax friends
> real life friends: garrett, rob, travis, mike, marc, jeff, et al
> alliance friends: ryan, jake, chris, chris, carl, josh
>
>
>
>
>
> i hope this lives up to expectations.
>
>
> -
>
> i guess i took it out on everybody. i wasn't even aware of what i had
> done to people. my life is akin to a sinewave of ever-changing amplitude
> and frequency--although i never know when they hit or how hard they hit,
> drifts of depression and happiness follow one another; and that is my
> only absolute.
>
> it's a cold world in which i live. it has its moments, like any; but few
> people have spent the only eighteen years as yet of their lives hating
> themselves so strongly. this self-hatred, this ugly self-inflicted wound
> in me has no definite root or cause.
>
> i often blamed my father. he is, to this day, someone that i cannot
> relate to; someone who tries much too hard to control every aspect of me,
> fearing that someday, somehow, i will no longer be his little boy. this
> element of control may be a natural trait among parents in dealing with
> their children, but i sincerely doubt that other parents are so forceful
> or so opinionated--because i disagree with what he believes, i am an
> idiot; and not any idiot: a fucking idiot.
>
> i only started to realize recently that he's been this way for years. i
> knew of his controlling nature, certainly, as i was subject to it daily.
> however, i never realized that i felt so poorly about myself because he
> gave me every reason to do so. i argue against many of his points and,
> thus, i am, in his terms, a fucking idiot.
>
> some of my best friends are fucking idiots as well. they don't believe
> what he believes--so i join my friends in his personal hell, forever
> damned by his implied perfection.
>
>
> -
>
>
> -
>
> it is around this time that i realized that i'm bound only by verbal
> chains; that the damage he has done, while significant, can't be worsened
> at any point down the road now. the worst he can do is yell at me... and
> i've stopped listening.
>
> it's morning now. i look out at the blue-grey haze that is my sky, and i
> realize that the warmth of the interior is what makes this day different
> from any other. i tend to the fire inside. i let it burn. i let it
> rage on, unrestrained.
>
> i'm thankful for the distance that has grown between my father and i on a
> physical plane. although not as far from him as i'd like, i am still
> a few hundred miles away; i would deem that sufficient. i can be a
> fucking idiot without living under his constant scrutiny at least...
>
> i'm not going back to college for a while. i am a working-class nobody
> and i'm probably cursed to remain one--but i have no desire to live the
> student life, and i've yet to find a subject that fascinates me enough to
> return to academia. this infuriates him.
>
> he could pay my way through as i live at home, working to pay my share,
> doing my part around the house to keep him happy. i would be as
> miserable as i have been in years past; he paces from one end of the
> house to the other, looking for faults or disagreements in both people
> and objects.
>
>
>
>
>
> -
>
>
> -
>
> he is never happy. he is simply the most miserable person i've ever
> known, and he's done his part to rub it off onto me. i'm always trying
> to fight it, though, and i never give up the fight. that was his
> mistake.
>
> it's not my fault he lived a rotten childhood. why did i have to?
>
> granted, i didn't face much loss or hardship when compared to the tragic
> lives of ill-fated people, but i was cursed with near-constant
> unhappiness. the best memories of my childhood are ones in which he was
> thousands of miles away--in korea, in spain, wherever the air force took
> him. during those trips, i would meet with grandparents.
>
> i have no grandparents now. they've all died. however, i remember
> distinctly the smell of their houses--both sides of the family. i still
> abhor my father's side of the family in this respect...
>
> my grandfather utterstrom's house was very white, very ornate. it felt
> so pure and grand that i felt as though it were my own cathedral--being
> one of no organized faith, i have very unusual alignments between places
> and spiritually-significant feelings.
>
> i still visit that house in my dreams. it was heart-wrenching to visit
> it in its bare and empty state, devoid of the life and spiritual energy
> it once had. however, in my dreams, empty as it may be, it still feels
> warm and decent.
>
>
>
>
> -
>
>
> -
>
> my grandfather sefton's house was putrid and odiferous. the stench of
> rotting organic material lingered in the air and intertwined with stray
> dust. the piles of garbage and useless papers were all-too-similar to my
> father's own. both are bitter men; misers with abrasive attitudes and
> dark minds.
>
> i sometimes wish i were not born a sefton. i feel as though the name has
> been thoroughly dishonored by such people and those that make up the
> sefton family today fail to understand me. i am, essentially, the ugly
> duckling.
>
> i have faith that such a parallel will hold true to the end--that this
> ugly duckling won't remain such. time will tell, of course; and i'm here
> to the end.
>
> effective one month from now, i'll be living with utterstroms, completely
> separated from the sefton clan. it can only get better from here.
>
> in essence, i wanted to apologize to those of my friends whom i have
> given the wrong impression to. i don't hate any of you. i don't hold
> grudges. i love you guys and i don't want you to ever think that i
> retain any degree of malcontent or hatred in my heart.
>
> i feel that, if anything, this is a part of me i can finally leave
> behind. leaving it all behind... something i've romanticized in my mind
> for years and i can finally realize it...
>
> /r
>
>
> -.

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