“I accept Chaos, I’m not sure whether it accepts me.”
– Bob Dylan

Sonic elusiveness, or obtrusiveness. Amid a surge, in crud, incongruous, searchingly. Sounds that are lily pads that are peaches that are trash heaps.

Coming through the meadow that is a door that is a symbol of love. Of sound seemingly painted. Press Any Key.

In attention in intention, held captive by information. Failure: the goal of electronic music. As if locked into the servitude of the infinite.

From afar: an angel. On a perch, at dusk. A xylophone in the process of becoming.

The question is: is this music? It is in its existence. Like a castle devoid of foundations.

Like actually a meadow. Or an abyss, busy. With its random sphere of floating values, zigzagging.

Like a vibrational space. Like standing on a platform, entire and luminous. Toward a never-to-be future.

Like self-absorbed distracted solitude. Or when the real is either hostile or remote. A body without organs, a soul without a self.

Micro-victories, uncanny alliances, combat zones. Trans-human metamorphosis. This abode that blurs.

“I accept Chaos, I’m not sure whether it accepts me.”
– Bob Dylan

Sonic elusiveness, or obtrusiveness. Amid a surge, in crud, incongruous, searchingly. Sounds that are lily pads that are peaches that are trash heaps.

Coming through the meadow that is a door that is a symbol of love. Of sound seemingly painted. Press Any Key.

In attention in intention, held captive by information. Failure: the goal of electronic music. As if locked into the servitude of the infinite.

From afar: an angel. On a perch, at dusk. A xylophone in the process of becoming.

The question is: is this music? It is in its existence. Like a castle devoid of foundations.

Like actually a meadow. Or an abyss, busy. With its random sphere of floating values, zigzagging.

Like a vibrational space. Like standing on a platform, entire and luminous. Toward a never-to-be future.

Like self-absorbed distracted solitude. Or when the real is either hostile or remote. A body without organs, a soul without a self.

Micro-victories, uncanny alliances, combat zones. Trans-human metamorphosis. This abode that blurs.