This weekend I’ve been working on the pipes metaphor. I’ve just quickly put this little pipe track together to go along with it for now (may change in the final thing).
Connecting felt strong. The borders started to dissolve. Pipes, tubes, tunnels - echoing structures. On the floor, pumping, worshipful, visual power. Questions start, and we draw pipes. A built performance space, transformative power of repurposed elements. Sculptures unfold, metaphorical exploration of human experience. Ellis is manipulating valves, adjusting the airflow. I think of other delicate control mechanisms, I think that narrative maybe is the resilience and creativity of circulatory systems, I think of different religious practices and traditions of proving oneself. The theme sinks in me, the yearning for acceptance.
The slow progression of sounds, the accumulating layers of frequency create a density that makes playing a physical experience. The musician integrates the architecture of the tunnel, the pipe integrates the architecture of the church, the music integrates the architecture of being.
And I think I kind of was drawn to pipes because they are so amazing and kind of rooted in magical thinking because it is like an expression of some kind of… it's an expression of God. It's a really interesting thing. It's like the voice of God, and it's really commanding and it's really beautiful, and they draw you in, but they're also kind of almost scary.
I don’t know, I think I’m also just tired. I don’t remember and I’m tired. Yes, things are connected even if I want them severed. Pipes carry on, despite the clots and leaks. My day is full of parts, I scratch my eyes and unveil layers of sediment. Old body, old friend, back to bed, the little hills under my head, embracing privacy, a usual day.
I kept you waiting in a Roman dream, a she-death, and I heard your scratch. Waiting for you to pass I felt some fear. I ultimately failed, middle-aged on my bed, there was never an easy way.
The sea hath delivered.
So there is this idea, strong idea of blood, maybe from the attempt to kill our nature, and also this idea of something viscous like tar, very thick, but also liquid. Okay.
And then the chapter title became blood thick. So I guess there are themes of maybe coagulation and like tubes being interrupted. I don't know. That's where I want your help. What that sparks in you.
Hmmm, it’s ok if we have big silences?
To have magical powers in my cupped hands but not the creasy brain, no help, no help - that’s where I want your help. Between the big silences I crave for your help to move through the larger rooms - to explore the earlier darker continent.
You suck the larger thumb, you’ve got what you need - Zero London, an empire to whistle through. I’m so flat but I can still be made into a tunnel with enough force and glue. On those days a wistful tune pushes through.
On other days the empire stands on my forgiveness, flush with the hopes, the scaffolding, the waiting, the building of a future lost.
And then when the air comes out of this slit, it's coming at a high pressure and it hits this sort of plane that divides it. And because it divides it, and that circulation of air excites the wood that the pipe is made out of, it then makes it make a noise. So that's why the length defines pitch.
I feel inferior, I always did let myself sit beneath the many branching tree, to watch it grow forth and further from me, I like beautiful things. But the twig here in the deeps, not trusting all the weight that it keeps, cannot bear a single sign of life. I’m deep in my geology, dead and stratified.
The wind blows wherever it wants. Just as you can hear the wind but can’t tell where it comes from or where it is going, so you can’t explain how people are born of the Spirit.
They let me come through and chat to them and stuff. And yeah, the guy kept talking about wind and I was like, what's wind? And he was like, oh, well, wind is in this industry what we call pressurised air. And I like that. It's because it's such an ancient thing, organs. They've been making it for, I think the ancient Greeks made the first organ like 2000, 3000 years ago. Because it's such an ancient thing, they don't call it pressurised air or whatever, or like compressed air, they just call it wind because it's like you're creating wind out of .
thank you for being with me,
ana x