Synaesthetic Monk's Blues

Phantasmagoria, magic lantern shows, spectacles without substance. They achieved complete sensory experiences through noise, incense, lightening, water. There may be a time when we'll attend Weather Theaters to recall the sensation of rain.

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Location: Ithaca, New York, United States

The main thing a musician would like to do, is to give a picture to the listener of the many wonderful things he knows of and senses in the universe... I'm using the insides of sounds to move around in a very subtle way which, I think, ends up being inevitable. I feel it's the only solution to that particular problem that I presented myself.

Saturday, February 28, 2009

every phenomenon (external or internal) that manifests itself within an individual's collective experiences; whether it be a raging storm, the gentle caress of the soft rain, the highest high and the lowest low, the silent gasps of hidden pleasures... or the blood flowing from an open wound - each lives out its natural course and fades away into the nothingness that gave birth to it.

the only things we will be left with, is the cross-chatter of words unspoken, memories locked away, secrets hidden and feelings sacrificed -

these are the intangible things left to us with which we are inevitably and maddeningly pushed to give shape to the story of our life, and the means by which we are driven to tell that story -

and even though the stories will be forgotten, pages of music misplaced, writing burned into ash, photographs discolored and technique and ability lost... the traces will survive, just like the scars we accumulate (seen and unseen).

Even as form and structure are broken, the ink will spill out of the page and color your fingers - and some where, some place you'll find a blind blues man with no name, playing that old guitar (maybe your guitar) - strings too rusted, tuning barely held - whispering a prayer that you had written in a time that you cannot recollect.

and somewhere, some place, all our stories; yours and mine too, will be washed upon a vast beach of virgin white - words, symbols, signs, notes, oaths of love, cries of rage, laughter and tears, scattered and thrown into each other's presence, until they crystallize into grains of sand... serene, melancholic and timeless, bathed in the light of an undying star -
that is until their eternal return to the womb, when they are forevermore swallowed by the sea.


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