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Out of the exaggerated ruin of a disastrous past come
nineteen esoteric fragments, once part of a lengthy document, perhaps a
letter, prepared by an unknown "she" for an equally arcane
"he". The
"question" has not survived the ravages of time. The fragments gain in mystery from the question's
vagary. A theme can be gleaned:
"verse, austere, less pleasing and pathetic"
versus "wistful dreams" of a kiss, a supper table, a happy time.
Time has humorously excised the original: the
manifesto [fr 6], once several
pages long, now trails into uncertainty. The first song to life [fr 14], originally in many verses, survives in only one
darkly ironic word.
Other redactions are elegantly
sparse. Her sleeping potion [fr
15] is as austere and poetic as any Greek
ruin by the sea. The second song
to life [fr 17], pits paper and
grey filings (eraser dust? filed papers?
the plastic dust of laser printers of the
period?) against a viscerally "aortal time", with little reward: "a few
words left...you'll be lucky" or "to be loved...is not
long."
Regardless of what became of he, she, and the question
between them, these few words have survived thus far. The spaces between them, "expand or compress", "so complexly
present" [fr 18: Epitasis]. Omission transmogrifies the prosaic.
The question each of us finds the fragments reckoning with can be
surely identified only as the question that is our own.
--The Editor |
LISTEN:
- Voice & design by L. Courie.
- Recorded by Chris Boyd in Athens, Georgia, July 2009.
- Music from Inhabitants, a free improv by Dan Nettles'
Kenosha Kid: Dan Nettles: guitar, Dave Nelson: trombone, Rich Ianucci:
accordion, Jeff Reilly: percussion.
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