With lo-fi precision, songs of love.
hitting the subways here
The following is a recently finished sound collage; please enjoy the work of American landscape painter Thomas Cole while listening.
Native naïve is an avant pop songstress like a lady gaga in the woods
but she’s an owl
singing two notes at the same time playing off each other like a train
horn going off into the distance. She is lilies on the lake if they were
made out of photoshop and oils. –Thomas B. Viola
SOUND IS IMAGE IMAGE IS WORD
1.Hollow hollow log empty tree the crown encircles gold its equidistant sides are we; we wallow below we wallow below. How can that be we know the shape remains perfectly on its own; we mark the world we mark the world. With capitals tie our strings we tie in bows we tie in bows circle change to sphere. It floats in luminescent atmosphere.
the crowd is gone
the crown stays on
remember me when i’m gone
trouble trouble please bother me linger by my side but let them be it it’s not the world it’s not the world. You see five feet in front of you in parrot red and emerald green we lead the doe to verdant green. Leather bound on our necks and in our hands we carve the crown to bind the burdened man drop grains of sand grains of sand.
illusions made by you
refract through me
with every move.
needles in time
ring of jewels watch the wands moving slowly lighted spectrum in the distance color is invisible brightened world you dim and brown and even though I’ll always find you there.
2.“smile my dear we both escaped safely from here. let’s be glad we walked away unscathed.” before my eyes open i know i am awake again. the rock sinks down again. the river flows above and the sky opens up below. the world turns over like the earth in spring because animals move on animals move on animals in heat move on.
we can count on the suns shine to light up your face again even if i am not there to count the hours in the day with you. i pour cement and mark the sundial on your lawn do you remember the times? we never really had them and never will never had them never will all over again.
garden party again with the ferns, curl the years around your fingers smear the spoors on tea cakes. we all dress up to pass the time until the light falls in haze. water plants with spoonfuls of cold tea this is all a joke really
get out the guns we’ll throw some clay in the air and hunt the horizons for game. she stands stalk still in the tall grass though this is not safari by default of being in new jersey. new jersey and the foolhardy. ha try to focus with those cigarettes on your jaw and the cawing of the crows to your back. those crows aren’t even crows. the crowd is gathering to watch how she stands stalk still and can you hit this? these clay games begin and is it dusk or dawn? tipsy on the footworn green in hanging tattered tides that come in unknowing waves and stamping soiled feet. barefoot to surround the centerpiece but that will never be you. how did you get those rips lovely ladies and the pink sequins dribbling down as a little girls collection of bubble gum hardens then falls off the underside of bedside nightstands. inside that drawer the gilt bible pushed to the left corner flipped upside down binding inward binding inward and the gold sides shining upward into your eyes your eyes always show your eyes always show.
lovely ladies are most important at the knees all where the soil has crept up as a thin film and the silk and sequins meet. where have your shoes gone sweet ones? butt to the shoulder and trigger standing tall animals move on animals in heat move on you shoot enough you can’t miss you shoot enough you can’t miss…