‘The world is full of snapshots representing a vast archive
of untold things, suggesting innumerable histories whispering…’
– Mark Alice Durant, ‘The Material in Question’, in Marco Bruer. Early Recordings

Songs, ideas we knew, keep coming back into view,
bobbing up from forgotten pasts like internet friends
from school. Do we know anything about each other
any more? Why does music do what it does, squeeze
memories, emotions out of us all? These endless drones
and synthesizer songs are time machines, black holes

of childhood or despair. I am under their spell, become
enchanted, have no compassion for myself: my building
is on fire. In the strategy room, the aerial wilderness is
crisscrossed with pins and string: the future is not a given.
Unleash the horses now; scrap civilization, career advice
and sleep a little while. The fugitives have won, vultures

circle. I am six pounds of dynamite impatient for my fuse
to be lit, am far too young to die. Past and language have
not done with me yet, I must dance into the goodbye land.
Nobody’s perfect, although the cyclops can see more clearly
than most what’s wrong with the world. Unfocused moments
sail by: we are rotten fodder for the future, who stay hungry

and still do wrong. Thanks for sending me this music,
echo, tremelo and delay. Everything means something,
nothing means everything. All I understand is that you
don’t understand. The unbelievable truth is not easy
to comprehend. I am closing down my house and
getting ready to leave, will take the maps and run.


© Rupert M Loydell
Illustration Nick Victor

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