A new task, should I choose to accept it (which I did), was given me yesterday. I was asked to help in the creation of:
“…a chamber piece (ca. six players) that uses
spoken text. Each of the players will speak as well as play. the
idea is that the music sometimes obscures the text, other times
supports the text, or even continues the text / takes over. the
effect i had in my head is something like concurrently eavesdropping
on different bits of conversations in a party. like a collage of
completely different but ongoing strains of thoughts.”
This was my first offering late last night:
Yellow radio sits on the bicycle’s handlebars. A quaint system playing that song I somehow associate with you although we are hardly connected. The man riding is making no statement at all, just spinning wheels to facilitate his travel. Portability means different things to different people.
Birds align on rooftops until one decides to take off. A flying circus. I have no place to go and my ears are getting cold.
Split in two, left behind, something like a fork and spoon lies perfectly framed between the cracks. White against the concrete. I’m not sure which exists. To pick it up would be responsible; I chose to make a photograph. Evidence makes meaning. The street smells like garbage.
At home again, or not at all, dust scatters in the light. The neighbor lets his dog bark. I am at a loss.
Me and Mr. Jones 
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