The percussive thud isn’t from the fan, it’s the heartbeat of my soon to be born niece or nephew.
The download link above is for the audio (m4a) which I sent out for my podcast (I couldn’t justify hitting my subscribers with a large video podcast). The original audio and video | the new video, as part of my Video Compilation.
Episode Link | Archive Item | YouTube | Vimeo
“Stop! You must curtail your bizarre behavior,”
says the man with the stick,
“You really must,” he says
adjusting his hat.
But, he’s not talking to me,
he’s talking to the creature we become—
in the stretch back to the first realm.
“Adjust behavior and commiserate elsewhere,”
says the fat man
“You really must,” he says
poking the creature’s chest.
The creature, call us Communion,
howls indignant turns back to the wall—
string dangling from our slippery hands.
“Non-compliance is unacceptable,”
shouts the rigid man,
“Unacceptable and you must stop,” he shouts
and we pay em no mind
We are disconnected from that world,
there is only blood here and glue and string—
this creation nothing else.
“You, you,” he points at you,
“You can’t be in my audience,”
And collapses.
There are no stagehands here
To shuffle away his bones,
“It’s a one man show!”
He now understands his mistake,
But he’s proud of shrinking
The universe down to a man.
Who does that?
“The Artist!” he’ll inevitably cry
And laugh because it’s ludicrous.
“I took tickets too.”
And he cleaned the aisles
And he built you a throne
With cheesecloth and cardboard,
“And my soul!” Yes, yes, of course.
And there now you are
In the throne he constructed
And he’s not ready to be seen or heard
“Or exist!” No, no, of course.
A recording of an early spring storm.
Edit: 7 March, 2014.
What I like most about this one is the white noise at the end is so loud and so oppressive that when it finally slams to an end I’m catapulted into heady relief. I’m left weightless, numb, and free for the first time.
Hey, motherfuckers, no pain—no gain.
Come suffer with me and be born again in fire.
