How many more?

This is another late request. This is the second in quick succession. And silhouettes around the companion frame. A frame of light blowing past your edges. The brain recedes. The brain explodes in light. Excruciation.

What are titles amongst friends? The sounds of the past. The hours at play. The soundtrack to a childhood. We all hear the slips and the mistakes. We never forget the soundtracks and the feelings that they convey and embody. they are the most powerful of them all. Before we had the moving images to replace their story telling every tune was a place and an emotion. Every ripple of sound was full of place, time, emotion, feeling, narrative. the most expressive of sounds is the one that emotes an event. The one that tells a story without words. The one that lets a specific configuration of vibrations ring out true and full… the personal, the political, the local, the national.

Worts and all. These nights used to be the special ones. Now we just recover from the week’s damage. Rename the week’s end… Repair and recovery.

The detune is the essence of it all. And we look down hallways known for life and wait for the constructed awkward to pass. This is not how it was meant to be but always known to be the case. Look into that mirror, knock the head back and gaze at the roof. Let’s go now. How many more times this will come and go and come and go. The rhythm of numbers and letters ring true with the rhythm of past vibrations. I can feel the feelings I had then. The rhythm with which the faders and the buttons coincided with the sounds pre-made and lined up. The plans and designs come best sometimes from the end of a finger. No preconceptions, no corrections. Just pure ideas and feeling. The emotions of that time and space. That place you were in when you made it. When you thought like that. When you were that person. Looking at the week like just another. Not looking at a deadline or long term goal. Just looking at the wall in front. The same mirror. The same roof. Thinking let’s stay here and get it right. Let’s never leave. Let’s get up to this and only this and focus and keep it that way for good.

This is how it should always be. This is how I am happy with it. This is how I want it to stay.

But it never will. feeling the flow and the rhythm will never stop but the time and place will grow and develop with the soul/. The body gets older. The body gets heavier. The bones slow down. The mind gets slower. The time and place, will, change. That is inevitable.

And breath. And do it all again.

Near Fatal.

To drive while under the influence. Running through your veins. A compromised pulse. Waved. Inputted. Signal fault. Inebriation.

Nothing heard but the… it breaks the flow. It creates its own. Ownership. They tell you that, looking deep into the spyglass and picking apart the bits that make it up. They tell you that it is there to be taken. One gulp. One long swig. Through two holes born with the start of the world as you know it. Two holes that open the experience. The first experience. Through the skin of another. The feint light of the world not yet perceived. The sound.

The drunk sound. Surrounded by it. Swimming in it. Under its influence, near fatal. The last thing that will matter.

Even when it was in jeopardy. Spelled correctly first time. Phonetic. Diction. Correctly uttered and with fluency. Fluent sound.

It invades.

And the worst that can happen is that you become aware of the quality. And you become aware of the patterns that up to that point were nothing but checkpoints along a pure tangent through time. But curve creates a loop… and the set is made. The heart broken. The sound left behind.

A near fatal loop. Escaped through sacrifice. Decide to bring that out.

I remember a sudden conversation. Decided on but arrived at by chance, with another human at a table in the usual.

A conversation about the patterns. And you have questioned it ever since.

And bring the bigger glasses. Drink it down. And let fly. And give it a swig. Crash it. Regret nothing.

Can’t Crack that Barrier

It sounds how its wanted but the effect will only be achieved when it can be walked into. Ready and waiting to be used. Turned on. Loud.

So much skin. Plastered everywhere beyond your fingers. Deposits. Second skins on second homes.

Dizzy eyes beyond the glass. Standing upright too fast. Rush to the top. Take it easy.

Then it sits uneasy in a silent room. Knowing what it takes but sounds wont escape the void. It is a strange existence.

Feel it in your bones then wait till the space opens up.