Eli N. H.

There is a space around me, and outside, through the window, as well as beside me in the next room over. Additionally, there are the spaces before, and after. A little drummer keeps time outside, as well as reggaeton seeping into the alleyway onto which my window opens, from some passing car. The drip outside taps persistently, atop a cloud of fledglings sparkling in a higher register. Near silent footsteps address the floor as Werner the cat walks through the door and onto my bed, where I sit. I’m reminded of the dog, Ozzie, who breathes very lightly behind me, occasionally wheezing and readjusting his resting position with a shuffle. There is a cooing morning dove, in seeming conversation with the white, damp sky. My roommate Malcolm issues an occasional sniffle, alerting me to the nature of the space outside my door. The drumming pattern, on some resonant surface of wood or plastic or metal, continues. A sweet-sounding tone arrives unexpectedly. At first from outside--but, no, it’s from the room through the door. It seems to be music, inexplicably sourced. The room I am in is quiet. The birds’ chatter and the dove’s lamenting song seem to fill the air here, from outside. The dripping water, on the other hand, falls clearly on the other side of the open window. At last I remember the pencil, scratching out on the page in the notebook. And the voice in my head, irrupting in silence.

11:43-11:56 am
April 11, 2021

To my left, a soft, grey sound. Occasional silences, which interrupt a patchwork of low-fidelity recordings emitted from speakers at the front of the room, towards my right. Gurgling.

January, 2021

Crying tickling gushing undivided mass. Trinkets from some other place, formants made into unfamiliar patterns. Su, su. La la la la la blah. Occasional translations. Or breaches. Horn -sneeze- from the reflective basin. A mass that holds the loud and far travelling sound. Intimate and clumsy wind. Careless with fine frequencies, all smushed together until the grass tips slightly. Sniffling sniffle. Scratching. Somewhere at the circumference a thin border of overlapping chatter.

1:49-1:54 pm
September 14, 2020

A small purring confused with the air outside, given away by its regular rhythm, whittling away at the sign of life. Saturated air, crosshatched by domestic drips and substrata. The door slicing through this medium, language and measures of distance seeping in before the sluice gate creeks shut. A melodious dim chord, quaking impacts. The chord, suffering through planes and airs, each taking their tribute. Cyclic metallic raps duet with the leak in the sink. Quacking, through the windows; metonym for the anarchic quiet outside.

1:09-1:19 pm
June 17, 2020

A high uneven whirring and a tumultuous growl resides behind. Mixed with almost a cranking. The first floating to the left, very quietly. Mild friction crunches between the hands and the book on the desk. The whirring persists as does the quiet digestive growl. From this slate a machine carves a chord, beginning with a small click and establishing itself. First the low dimensions, which then massage out a hovering whine. This whine oscillates between something sine-ish and a slightly more complex harmonic tone. The sine wave disappears and then emerges periodically-- proportionate to a wave lapping the shore. There are the edges of breath just in front. Two small drips round off in the distance. The windows are silent and bright. Minor tremors emerge from the phone in my hands on the book, coordinating with cognitive activity. Crack in the bone in the wrist. The sine wave laps. The chord continues furtively. It has drowned the growl and the whirring now beyond the pale of audibility. A scratchy nasal inhale and warm sigh. Two minor chirps filtered by glass. Creaking friction between the jacket underneath and the weight of the body adjusting itself. Low muffled fart. Tremors continue near the hand. The sine-ish wave changes in character when it reaches its apex, warbling slightly.

11:21-11:34 am
March 11, 2020

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