when words, sounds, guttural or otherwise, quiet but essential, surface, buoy up, how does their underbelly feel inside, below, those waves, invisible but mighty, how loud must they get before crossing that fluid threshold, becoming audible, particular, waveforms, when does an object become its own echoey shadow?
sipping coffee on a Tuesday afternoon, the roasting smell rests against your hoodie, it’s a normal day, an average beverage and eventually – a simple sundown to come as time trickles bluer, parallels permeate through your thoughts – and she holds your hand, somewhere else across the timeline, maybe Millenium Park, a distorted reflection of you two amidst hundreds of others or on the High Line, your elongated shadows racing ahead of you, and hundreds […]
winter on its last leg, spring tunes through my earphones regardless. the jacket, decreasingly fitting, still on my back – longer days are back, Mondays ahead now glimmering adventures no leaves sprung yet, but no longer . the struggle it had been.
shades of sounds of chunks of life keying in, in precise intervals. ringing through the air. what happened here. a recollection. a manufactured memory. the indistinct temperature of the ivory against her skin. the keys invariable raise back up, line up. precisely. even after sometimes chaos is rung the ivories line up.
a platform on a newly constructed line. . a silhouette against maize acrylic tiles engraved with a name, repeated in Johnston or Gotham . a sound floor – persistent mechanical murmur, mur à mur, he listens into the tunnel, predicting which side the next train would arrive from . or walks down the platform. up the platform. his exit will be closer to this end, in this direction . in some cities subway cars loop even on lines that have […]