i devote myself to the abandoned suburban woods of my neighborhood. this has shown me what prayer might be like: a dedication to grapple with the incognizable, the fervor of working with and through non-understanding.
things are a lot worse than i thought. we're really out of our wits. i am.
a year ago i presented a lecture on Extraordinarily Beautiful Things and the paralysis of encountering them, the corporeal ineffable. this was in the context of autumn. i would say now that the whole of autumn is a struggle with muteness. when we are forced to confront so much beauty so relentlessly it is like a trigger of spiritual abuse. we are forced to remember how far we have fallen.
what you hear is just a working through of fantasies, of the time i would like to spend in prayer in the woods with these impossible forest sounds, realized by enormous but silent speakers about 100 feet apart - and me very far away, on a hill, for the reverb of hollers and trees and all tiny things that nest and obscure sounds. my fantasies are only ever about the extremely familiar: i want to experience all of my most intimate worlds as from very far away, as with legs in all of them bridging their intractable separation. i just want to see what i know.
you could crack a window while listening, and it would be a little like you are outside. it might actually be a nice suggestion to the imagination. do that. how else might you fill the expectant silences? anyway you see how this music should be listened to as a fragment of an impossible architecture.
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