so this should’ve been the usual uncontextualised splurge, an impenetrable abstract of noun adjective verb. to describe this impenetrable abstract of pitch rhythm dynamic. but right now everything feels impenetrable, abstract.
watching people you love unpick the knots in their lives of someone they’ve loved for forty seven years. watching people you loathe pulling at the thread of a country till there’s nothing left but a hole waiting to be filled.
dichotmised. involved / uninvolved. powerless / powerful.
funerals of people i know and places i don’t anymore. a penniless billionaire landing a helicopter on a field showered in swastikas. crumbling, like old teeth.
sometimes broken can’t be fixed. sometimes broken is fixed.
it’s getting harder to not to retreat into yrself, into smaller and smaller states, and smaller and smaller communities. so i’m taking the circuits of an ever decreasing circle and making something of them. with them.
consider this a reflexive exercise. i haven’t listened to this disc. not really listened. it’s muttered at me, sometimes loud and harsh through walls, earphones, a corner-of-my-eye distraction. an osmosis, gauzed inside and out.
it’s been a diversion and, in itself, diverted.
rhythm’s gone, busted, fractured.
things in pieces.
pieces of things.
it fits but it doesn’t really fit. pointillist parts of (other) connected pictures. cobwebs tangled in hair and fingers. filaments that might be repaired or lost in the arbitrariness of clumsy fucking hands.
an un-iamb or maybe ur-iamb. a patchwork of guessing and asides. a non-sequitur of assemblage. i’m not looking at this on its own. i’m assuming that everything is its own.
so these are sketches (in calcium hydroxide or amber). dwams. cats hissing in the dark. sparks and snowflakes. noise that crepitates.
it’s messy, and everything is. time to regroup. recontextualise. rebuild. recreate. get some dirt under fingernails. dance about architecture.