immeasurable

i wish i could go back in time
we felt love then

our home was fruition
our sky the truth of the
daydream

your touch is a ghost

dear one-who-swims-through

lonely, lush universe

-

sounds,
the latest incarnation of

my heart's wishes

shipping news - save everything (1997)

angles and rhythms formed out of low vibrations

-

shipping news - "haunted on foot"

three-four (compilation, 2003)

soft, emotive melancholy to
rival what remains
in your absence
-

shipping news - "louven"
flies the fields (2005)

to erase the pictures,

-

charlottefield - picture diary EP (2002)

to hide in Nature;

-

the jesus and mary chain - "taste the floor"
psychocandy (1985)

we dragged ourselves in

.

matin ou soir?

i figured out some music i want to write and sound i want to hear -

it is from the realm the acoustic piano.

a grand piano is best, and an older one even better. you press keys on the low end where the strings are thick, and you don't even need a pedal - the sound is rich, warm, and deep. you hold a note down and it remains unchanging for quite a long while. when the decay begins to creep in you release; the silence which remains feels to me suddenly bereft, yet wholesome... it held something. you are reminded of the emptiness of all space, the vastness of it or perhaps the tangibility of it. it is where sound resides, but only temporarily. it is the everywhere containing all that is and is not.

perhaps i wish to expose the shape of space... make it felt, visible, entered through sound. is sound the opposite of that space,  the "silence" we always speak of?

i don't think it's really about the notes. i want to explore the ringing, decaying vibrations which remain after a key and those directly beside are struck with varying amounts of pressure. i recently learned that the volume of the piano is directly correlated with the speed of key depression. infinite amounts of pressures can be applied and combined with each other, and the resultant echoes reverberating on the sound board is the composition. a painting of varying degrees (of temperature) - it can be visual, but my mind struggles to construct an adequate representation using points, lines, angles, color.

i think i am starting to make sense/become more aware of the jumbled sense experience in my head.

what looks like color is actually sensation, what feels like warmth might as well be

a shape,
a room,
a place,
a memory,
a dream

the whole world could be painted in oranges, purples,

hues of movement and light

.

désintégration

now i think of no one anymore
i don't even bother looking for words
it flows in me, more or less quickly
i fix nothing, i let it go
through the lack of attaching myself to words,
my thoughts remain nebulous most of the time
they sketch vague, pleasant shapes and then are swallowed up:
i forget them almost immediately