Wednesday, March 9, 2016
chihei hatakeyama - you're still in it (tape/digital, constellation tatsu)
the last vestige of night's loner call before light fills in the negative space with the slowest of reveals so that each sentient/semblance of moving material hits view and holds and smokes away from what was moving before, and the movement holds still long enough for a thousand senses to perk up and collect on the collective window, running down in a never-ending trickle cycle, never falling off, regenerating at higher spots, regenerating again higher, overcast or blurry to seem unreal and not of this place, in a new place, and new again, and new again.
processed guitar and outboard roots thinned and pushed to the point of visibility, thinner than a cloud but moving like one with a weight that belies its running/feathered texture. attackless and delayed/sustained to the level of travel once released.
the calmest of waters with ripples in the far-off.
this unfolds like it's not happening, like it's coming from a place where patience topples all else and all other ticking emotions liquefy into heavier parts of being, and i am trying to slow down to meet it, and it is slowing me down to meet it, and you have to slow down to meet it justly, and once let out of the speakers/headphones (total headphone listen) the gravitational-denied trappings double and triple long past the last few exhaling breaths and hang, ever-recharging, light as anything/everything.