Viscous elastic bass tones surround me.
Paint my face with a frown of joy.
Clicks and glitches make my nerves twitch,
my limbs fail.
Intermittently I let out ecstatic klaxon like wails!
Factory noises whir and pound, the soundtrack
to reactivated, defunct production lines
deconstructed, reimagined and put back together in the wrong order.
Neatly sequenced, like Ford intended.
In a post industrial society.
Strobe pulse projects cast their stark, blue, prints on the walls
exposing all that´s worth revealing.
In sharp contrast.
The reductive condensed power of that small box is obvious,
individuals cut rhythms and shapes
Atomised traits that are masked
by the consolidating paced white flash.
Strokes, stomps and claps appear in perfect unison.
My eyes roll skywards, and I listen intently
to new tracks, weaving their way into the composition.
I scan the waves, for hidden renditions,
seek out familiar snippets
that glint briefly, like jewels buried in sand.
It satisfies me to reconnect estranged audio artifacts
and remember the structure these clips had
when they sat back-to-back.
Remove time stretches in my mind
and fast forward bars of rewind.
Past glory is restored, for a second.
I rejoice in my obscure find, but let the moment drown me.
Fill myself with the present form.
Staring into the darkness, content
that although nothing else makes sense, this does.