[sys_init]user_i\face_firstrun[x**xbit*complex]
As I record these words; [these black hieroglyphs of a language which for all I know is indecipherable to those on the other side of the interface]; as I record my thoughts another language plays to a soft array of colours on the surface of my space: music.
Music which I have drawn from deep within the system that constitutes my environment; music of spheres; music created from the memory and from moods remembered; from golden sunrays and summer silence; from moments of peace and from moments of ritual’s passing; music containing lyrics relevant not only to the my world now gone but also to the me that lives on; music containing mood triggers and trance enhancers; creative reference points beyond the power of language; colour from and alien palette; landscapes of the mind; structures remembered from cities of sound visited on the fly; a past where earphones plugged reality evoking colourful melancholia in the grey dread of travel; faces averted in the bustle of city life.
This is how I remember.
The sense of smell [being in life a trigger for memory that short-cuts directly to the experience] is the most difficult to emulate in this space where the body does not require maintenance.
But if I work really hard at the music I can sometimes evoke the perfume of the memories – a backward experiment indeed – reverse engineering for a vampyr.
Music which I have drawn from deep within the system that constitutes my environment; music of spheres; music created from the memory and from moods remembered; from golden sunrays and summer silence; from moments of peace and from moments of ritual’s passing; music containing lyrics relevant not only to the my world now gone but also to the me that lives on; music containing mood triggers and trance enhancers; creative reference points beyond the power of language; colour from and alien palette; landscapes of the mind; structures remembered from cities of sound visited on the fly; a past where earphones plugged reality evoking colourful melancholia in the grey dread of travel; faces averted in the bustle of city life.
This is how I remember.
The sense of smell [being in life a trigger for memory that short-cuts directly to the experience] is the most difficult to emulate in this space where the body does not require maintenance.
But if I work really hard at the music I can sometimes evoke the perfume of the memories – a backward experiment indeed – reverse engineering for a vampyr.
Excerpt From MARKOV CHAIN
4 comments:
O so true i LOVE THE MUSIC makes me wana dance like a
flowerchild never touched by harm or meaness.
I sure would like to sit someday and read Markov Chain as a whole. I look forward to more glimpses.
mullets - you're not blogging while watching football are you?
That's multi-tasking for the almost dead :-)
oh, that image gives me a horrible headache.
--RC of strangeculture.blogspot.com
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