disc one track four - 10:00
writing to sound
A Crystal ball opens up like an orchid,
is cut, exposed to gushing breath, ticking clocks, sawing materials,
a bell tolling... is cut, is fallen.
Some dust on the floor slowly curtsies by. You're caught in a
a dream, as she moves in slow motion, this dust, this mass. Is
carried off, is faded. You as well. Faded, as a black and white
movie fades, to black, to dreams, to reality.
The train comes in... Is followed everywhere by optimism, a great
gala success, and blue hues spread out across the night sky.
The dim light approaches, as a circle opening up.
The horizon is penned in by diagonal lines.
The train slows, or disappears. One doesn't quite know... in
The focus is now on the atmosphere. The gloom, the romanticism,
of the space just passed so unnoticed, to the colours of success
and technology. The human affect.
Footsteps, all too crisp. Synthesized voice and ambience... always
commotion undecipherable. Noizes, dogs, breath. Fear. Uncertainty.
The vault shuts, the man moves confused in his chair at the dreams
he has just had.
The environment he now finds himself in, how he is unable to leave
by simple refocus.
The Night. The Night Stars. How far off they are? How thick
is this glass?
How to measure speed? How to defy subjectivity, the things that
come to be.
As the clock ticks, swizzles, is taped up, is placed alone in
a deep room at the end of a very long hallway, technology tells
us to comply by the theoretical ideas in our heads...
made for theoretical people.
Taping ourselves up, with massive thick plastic, transparent masking
Stretching our mouths to its shape.
Blues enter every where, shimmers, and symbols
of perfection with nothing left to do but perfect.
And we count our imperfect breaths.
Green in the face of stars.
visual representation (drawing to sound)
analysis by Sophia Male
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