01/27/19 the magazine i’ve been reading suggests that i choose between: option 1. cyclical chiral accretion, contraction, cohesion. option 2. entanglement, error-correcting code. option 3. i don’t suppose i could ever really know. if my mother hadn’t had four children, she’s always said that she would’ve liked to have become an astronomer. my father’s guitars, my mother’s love of the stars, telescopes and cups of tea. and then, somewhere in the middle, there’s me. kansas city’s auyon mukharji is singing silk and sticky spun sugar, clay and cast iron. a gale blows over, and then breaks, the birdfeeder, slams heavy wooden doors shut, lessens for a little while and then strengthens again. somewhat similarly, my thoughts go speeding. sunday morning superluminality, but i did have birthday cake for breakfast. victoria sponge, two iced and caffeinated coffees, clementine juice. Advertisements
i crossed the great western deserts to get here, and now i am standing on the shore of some semiotic, or synodic, sea. veiled grey horizon, fine mists rising and separating me from the sonorous. there’s a scattering of sandbanks, shoals, islets, atolls. and something’s hiding, behind them, it’s not all oceanic expanse. i think sound is emergence, it urges a certain sort of person to dip their toes into that primordial water.
this place is drenched in divinity, it’s hidden just under everything. my thoughts split themselves into infinity, as if cabalistic commentary. meaning, direction, escaping me. so, i’m 2am tiptoeing threadbare carpets, scattered haphazard on creaking oak floorboards, tealights in lanterns glow soft gentle yellow, and i’m whispering prayers to the ancient and spectral. (i’ve always adored just how light behaves, how it moves through the world in mysterious ways)