23 October 2010
21 octobre/the roar of things constantly breaking apart and falling into “the past”
I’m acquiring the sense of things falling away, of the fracturing of the present as it breaks up—like a glacier sloughing its thawing flanks—and the minute fragments of this dissolution becoming particles of sound, light, the very pixels of what it is we call perception, sight or hearing. It constantly roars in my ears. I see my improvisation as this also: of being in the moment of movement—which is in itself a contradiction—and yet already moving on. I am initiating the vibration yet riding its anticipation, accumulation and aftereffect at the same time. It roars through me. (Merce’s Roaratorio—with the Cage/Joyce Finnegan’s Wake sound score??) This is perhaps my fascination with the Paris Accelerations: when does stillness or arrested movement fracture or fall away into movement, transition, or activity? I can listen to the sounds outside my window, the slow rumble of the Metro far beneath me, the hammering of the workman in the apartment building next to mine. What are they but remnants of some action that I catch aural glimpses of as they echo across space and time? Or as they become space and time, or the only evidence we can hold onto as the illusion of such a reality?