at least that’s how they
would tell it

but in truth,
the media gave up
covering the story became second
to the latest reality tryst

to the interested, involved
the fight wages on
in streets and avenues
both virtual and real
occupying the hearts
of every red blooded liberal thinking
free person,
and the oppressed masses
still fight back/stand their ground

this revolution is clearly
not televised

a veritable plethora of minute
and infinitesimal details
scatter across boardroom tables
and office desks
sticky noted and pinned to cork boards
dry-erased with fading ink
glowing in the blue lcd night

but all of this is nothing
without the knowledge
of what it all means
and for that, I strive

hearing you breathe, relaxed,
is cute/annoying
as every sound is like a shot
to the head, keeping sleep just out
of reach

so instead, i brave the winds
of late december
and walk the dogs,
hoping that the fresh air
and moderate pace
will knock me out for at least few hours

The making of, recording of, listening of, cringing from, falling in with sound that permeates the universe. I can go on and on about musicians with whom I feel have the same relationship with sound that I do.

I adore sound and it’s ability to create, destroy and alter moods.

Even with a raging headache, I can listen to music, or just drones, hours and hours of drones. I love firing up my synth and tweaking and shaping oscillators until my eyes no longer remain open.

Beats, blips, rumbles, twangs, splutters. It’s all there to hear. Putting an ear to a closed window to hear the muffled sound of rain on the tarp covering the car in the driveway. Listening intently at a mall, or downtown gathering of people, just all communicating, getting louder with each passing minute as they struggle to be heard, and to hear themselves.

All of these things bring home the fact that I do not create as much as I would like. But now, with some ambient drone on, I record the sound of these keys, and the hard drive clicks, the dog shuffling in it’s sleep. Just capturing it all, an archival of a Tuesday morning, while the rest of the city sleeps.