A wash in the distance. It sounds like a quiet stream dancing on top of the river beneath it. A large brushing expands outwards from the green to my left. Points suddenly illuminate everything around me. I need to move.
Underneath now, cascading white and translucent sheets fall everywhere. Except, I am distinctly below and behind, or in front of them. Thus their texture is available to me differently from this distance, or intimate shelter. Arhythmically a piece of metal sings, and the sheets expand into massive, soft shapes that ring out everywhere in a din. Muffled amplified passages occupy the stones and architectural copper that encloses my ears. Steadying, and unyielding. The noise begins to hide in the mortar of my imagination, both receding and seeping in everywhere. Its color is less white now, approaching a quiet shade of blue, or a low pellucid plane atop a green field. The scent of rose petals cuts through the noisy mist. The inflowing torrent reverberates and settles between the floor and the ceiling. Who knows when it will end.
June 4, 2021
Washed out and grey hum. Breathy like an interminable exhale. Shuffling dots the room, "I was never here." Crackling brittle paper. Muted tapping on the hollow desk met with rubber. Pasted together formants. "What you working on?" Children in the space outside the room. "I was never here." Folding paper. Bang. Click, clock, stop. Shuffle. "More, more." "I'm tired." Hard and reflective walls cloister and inflame each sound. Squealing hinge echoes through the door. Whispered little section of the room.
May 18, 2021
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.
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.
a fan moves the air slightly, its inaudibility accentuating total motion. When the air does not impact the nerve curled inside the cochlea, or my bared thigh and ass, it assumes the shape of a vessel, flirting alternately with the walls and my skin. The winds on the other hand are relatively anti-social, batting my eyelids shut, piling on in sheets so as to obscure their provenance, bursting as they do on a whim when the pressure shifts, imparting little save brute direction and windburn.
October 1, 2020
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.
September 14, 2020
The whirring, indistinct as though scratched. Suddenly a duck. Then another, diminished sequence. Dim through the glass. Perhaps a ripple. Everything a surface etched by the noise above me. Symetrical and warm, periodic breathing near my feet. In concert, the breath beneath my hands, rising and falling each voice sliced - more quacking - by the lateral - a gust of wind, high sheets rearranging below - woosh. The sticky tongue by my feet lubricates the upper end of the spectrum, each lick an ornament to the nearly imperceptible tumult that engulfs the room.
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.
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.
March 11, 2020