bird

home

grass – we used to hide and come.
sand – the pain still in our bones today.

grass and sands –
of home

at night we lie on aching backs
thighs open to the skies
offering ourselves to
some other home imagined.

the old man on a bike.

bird songs

the bird songs are complex

and simple.

the bird songs are fine.

you hear yours,

i hear mine.

the bird songs are fine.

(texas 2008)

flowers and empty stairs

jorgen teller & the empty stairs ft lazara playing the festival of endless gratitude pre-summer blow out, copenhagen 20120505

[Show as slideshow]

first a power outage of which we have few and the fact that i notice it as something how spoiled we are as i read the tweets about homs again then very low fast clouds a pink sky things written while listening to john cale thanks friends for reminding me but unsaved and lost by mistake mm that feeling of having really liked something but not being able to remember what it was precisely then how important can it have been anyway?

it might come back. power did.

the birds and the old fool

and the children were playing and running round and the birds were singing in the trees, singing beautifully –

just an old man, sitting on a bench, he could not smile –
he kept pointing at the birds, saying

“that song is mine! mine!” –

the children could not even be bothered to argue with him –
they glanced at him briefly with eyes saying “oh! you poor old fool” then dashed off again, playing.

they left him sitting there.
one day he died.

the birds were still singing.

( http://yro.slashdot.org/story/12/02/26/2141246/youtube-identifies-birdsong-as-copyrighted-music )

paint

joyfully riding into that open square –

that turns into the western plains.

remember to cherish what you see –

you know we burn that which we paint.

the knife and the swan

i lost my army knife.

i left it in a swan.

the swan got up and ran.

(for fly it no longer can.)

all

all my friends are in soundland.

fredericia and the geography of sound

david thomas talk very enjoyable …

geography is all, space and time.

the drum does not make a sound, it makes a mechanical wave travelling in air. the sound is made entirely by mind, inside the listener. and nobody knows the sound the other is hearing.

nobody knows.

he built a house on the bottom of the sea.

… uh i hate poetry, there s so many words …

he contradicts himself, first explaining the fracturing of scale through recording techniques and later postulating space/scale in folk musics, e.g. by saying that true reggae should be from jamaica.

hey we all grew up with fractured space.

i hope i didnt offend you. are you japanese? but it s true … ah fuck.

… the water outlet pipe above the lake as symbol of distance later experienced in hotel beds and homes … almost shunryu suzuki .. almost liverpool eight … almost horses …

lotus tea. number of the beast.

caring words distorted by auto completion.

organes des canales