A minimalist collage in ternary form comprised of analog tape loops, piano, Yamaha CS-5, a few filters, and a Reason mixer.
12 comments on Regnerisch
Tag: Art
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This is an image I took of Cold Water Lake a couple of Novembers ago. Snow was late that year. But it was super rainy, to the point that the rain travelled horizontal at times. Mt. St. Helens (the volcano) is off the frame to the right, over the ridge and across a short valley where it is still, to this day, devoid of most trees. At times, the volcano looks so near that you think you could walk up to its summit rim wearing nothing but tennis shoes. (Click on the image to enlarge) -
Power lines, speed of light shit.
You can hear them in the rain
The ones high up, overhead, straight from the dam
Passing the small towns, you loved
Along those river roads.
Your voice is still there, poking around old man bars
Where my feet dangled from barstools
Lips drooped around the edge of an IPA
Where gambling machines replaced jukeboxes
And barflies smoked outside in the rain.
The wilderness sat next to your bitters and soda.
You feared the river, the animals, their sound
Where the forest ditched the highway.
Scared of the things you thought you protected.
In some places the water is still unincumbered
Streams, rivers merge.
I never showed you
The road was close, so close, just hidden
Behind trees, wild rhododendrons,
Skunk cabbage, and camas.
It sounds different out there.
I remember you running back to the parking lot
In some kind of terror.
That image, stuck in my mind.
I wish I could be scared
Even Lost
But I’m not, I can’t.
I find myself running, further from the highway,
From the sound of wires, speed limits, and your voice
Walking where fall lays down its new carpet.
And underneath those yellowed aspen leaves
Underneath the mix of pine needles
A road appears…again
To another small town
Shaking off the thirsty summer
From its fields of tall grass.
Near The Timberline. A photo by me. -
I’m on hands and knees
Sketching your lips…
Into the dry mud of this meadow.
Wooden steps built here
To cross over the old wetlands.
Useless now.
In the pastWe walked across
This meadow
When mist made trees rain.
We were awkward
Unsure
About our balance
About our steps
Thankful for a rare dry patch.
The path, in and aroundHere
Brought us…closer
To mountain views
Sweet water springs
Where thoughts became lucid…
A lucidness
That aligns the heart
With blood & soul
Shapeless, wordless.
Now,
This beauty, these lucid thoughts
Lie hard beneath me
I stand at the edge of the meadow
As we had
Realizing the wetlands are no more.
We’ve misunderstood
Each other,
The land.
I can only think about us.
It is like
We balance on stilts
For no apparent reason
Poking & prodding the earth
Relinquishing the comfort
We had with one another
I’ve drawn your image into
This dryness.
Maybe it’ll last forever
And all who come here anew
Will see us, what we built
What we created.
What we loved about each other
What we lost between us
Those who see your image
Will be lovers like us
Who
Run with the pack
As we have ran
Eat from desires
Real & imagined.
As we have eaten
Look for the primary colors
As we have painted them
Upon brittle canvas
MoonCat 