“And just like that, the fistful of words, the ones you let go all those years ago, they come sliding back to you from over the horizon. The words are covered in moss and tattered at the edges. They are barely recognizable. A few of them have broken down into even smaller words. The others have dissolved into little more than phonemes and indecipherable bits of data.
When you hold them up to the light they are opaque and don’t reveal any of their secrets.
Most of the words just sit there, dull, listless and occasionally slipping out from behind your lips.
A few of them however resist easy categorization. They pursue you in your dreams and hunt you while you sleep. These extraordinary words have somehow managed to escape the tethers of their Latinate roots.
These words have come back in the form of a mythical bird that wears the emblem of immortality and reborn idealism…”
Roy of the Ravers Emotinium from 2 Late 4 Love (slow)
“Is the morning a time of festivity?”
“Is the dress you’re wearing a garment of celebration?”
“When you escaped did the light hurt your eyes?”
“Is this music?”
“Is it too much?”
“And am I your secret vice?”
“Sometimes by moonlight and sometimes by starlight, she stared at the light where the water ran over the sand. He never came. She got out of the car and walked up and down the beach hour after hour. The water ran over the sand, one wave covering another like the knitting of threads, like the begetting of revenges, betrayals, memories, regrets. And always it made a musical, murmuring sound, a language as definite as speech. But he never came.”
“Slowly the evening draws on its coat
Held out to it by a row of ancient trees:
You gaze: and the landscape splits in two,
One part lifting skywards, while one falls,
Leaving you not quite part of anything,
Not quite so dark as the house, the silent one,
Not quite as surely invoking the eternal,
As that which turns to star, each night, rising –
Leaving you (indescribably, to unravel)
Your anxious, immense, and ripening life:
So that, now bounded, and now grasped,
It becomes, in turn, stone in you, and star.”
Evening by Rainer Maria Rilke
Jethro Buck Little Big Bang
Jethro Buck The Night of the Glowing Sembar
“I live my life in widening circles
that reach out across the world.
I may not complete this last one
but I give myself to it.
I circle around God, around the primordial tower.
I’ve been circling for thousands of years
and I still don’t know: am I a falcon,
a storm, or a great song?”
my heart open
a little red
my heart open
a little red
–shinzo no tobira, mariah (Yasuaki Shimizu)
“I have walked behind the sky.
For what are you seeking?
The fathomless bliss of blue.
To be an astronaut of the void, leave the comfortable house that imprisons you with reassurance. Remember, to be going and to have are not eternal- fight the fear that engenders the beginning, middle and end.
Mughal-e-Azam (1960) featuring Madhubala, song by Lata Mangeshkar
Ask: the hum of branches ringing in the body,
a nervous shimmer, change inside a frequency. Therein
a tone, blood red.
Listen quietly to the storm, until we turn away,
The pattern of the wind twisting, a theory of everything: a rush of heat to the face.
Ask: gravity, radiation, making it visible.
To accept that, is music. Notes from a meeting:
Giving. Is central.
Wanting to ask. Not answer. And the universe expands.
“We thought we could control the night.” And it continues:
From Astroecology by Johannes Heldén
in Hinduism the ringing of a bell is said to engage all the senses, stimulating the inner ear. the moment the bell rings, the mind is disengaged from thoughts and becomes more receptive.
“heroic dose: the narco-imaginary establishes a circuit, maps an ancient course. The mystique that surrounds the narco-imaginary concerns it’s mystical beginnings; intoxication names the cypher through which mere mortals correspond with the gods.”
a pleasure or a poisoning or a vision of the future.
“what happens when the immediate familiarity of the present overwhelms the ability of the subject to frame his or her experience in language? What happens when “what is” appears to be exactly like what just was. When the “new development” appears to be an exact replica of the old development, relocated? Take a simple reburial, for example, the same old bones.”
bird bones may be hollow, but they are also heavy.
“a map of desire works like discourse; it fails to account for marauders that attack from unmarked territories. To understand it’s terrain you enter; or rather, already inside, you try and find your way out.”