This piece began with a prompt at a writer’s improv group last August.
The prompt: white night – light bulb.
In the allotted few minutes for stream of consciousness, I came up with this.
ice abounds – ice surrounds
white ice hangs from the nexus
the rain falls soft then hard upon
the white ice-covered exit
green with envy, white face of terror
a slouching time bomb of dualistic surprise
an accidental tourist looking for her train to nowhere
shoving it off to the side
the light, tho’ small will lead
cornered by white lengths of wooded anxieties
where stools and grass abound
Yeah, full of holes – very sketchy. But I kept twitching about it over the next weeks, finally getting it sorted out around the beginning of December. Here’s the final text:
ice abounds – ice surrounds -
white ice hangs from the nexus.
rain falls soft , then hard upon
the white ice-covered exit.
green with envy – white-faced from terror -
a slouching time-bomb of dualistic surprise;
an accidental tourist looking for her train to nowhere,
shoving him off to the side as she spins
in the wake of the icy blast
and cowers behind the mattress
while those mocking taunts through lips tightly curled
curse her through 1000 hours.
the influx of wayfaring participles
was a necessary consideration
within the context of never ending pleasure.
the joy of sleeping on a blue corduroy futon
was lost amidst the sheer effusive cheers
of the participating lost and lonelies.
the traveling carnival could have merged
with the waiting, wanting, wondering masses
of silly putty-faced gremlins and ghouls.
it chose not to.
grey walls and stucco weren’t much use
when the lips of staunch ivy
peaked with curiosity
through every cracked crevice.
thoughts in the margins leave no clue for a heading -
none left here can provide that.
shedding what decision claims extraneous
leaves her empty,
without definable cause.
I was struck with understanding just putting the words on paper was incomplete. Then the real work began.
The background/accompaniment/music bed has a little bit of voice in there, but it’s mostly field recordings. Some I’d collected over the years, some I recorded for this piece. Mangled, manipulated, massaged, and mauled. Lot of work – LOT of work. At the same time, so much fun.
The result isn’t a song. Isn’t spoken word. Isn’t an atmosphere or soundscape. But it is all of them. Hope you like it.