a detailed breakdown and clarification of the
various sound/text pieces used to make up the complete work
00:00 to 01:42 Construction 12 (JW)
01:43 to 02:58 Laptop improvisation(JW) Voice(AR) Reading from his own written text.
Improvisation applies only to the sounds generated on computer.
There are NEVER any “streams of consciousness” when the voice is heard.
The words are fixed and all from Alex Rodgers written texts.
Their meanings are flexible.
02:59 to 03:41 Construction 13(JW)
03:42 to 07:05 Laptop improvisation(JW) Voice(AR). No title
07:06 to 08:51 Construction 14(JW)
08:52 to 09:45 Laptop improvisation(JW) Voice(AR). No title
09:46 to 11:28 Construction 15(JW)
11:47 to 13:22 Laptop improvisation(JW) Voice(AR). No title
00:00 to 00:03 silence
00:00 to 00:41 Laptop(AR) “ununameur“
00:42 to 04:42 Voice (AR) ” Fingerlessly Asleep”
[at 02:52 sound (JW) added to original recording]
04:43 to 08:29 Construction 20 (JW) “BitFracModify“
00:00 to 00:03 silence
00:00 to 01:10 Construction 17 (JW)
[ utilizing sound samples that were used in the following piece ]
01:11 to 02:53 Laptop improvisation (JW) Voice(AR). No title
02:54 to 03:17 Laptop improvisation (JW&AR)
[ heavily edited to function as a sound bridge to……………
03:18 to 05:07 Voice/Laptop (AR) “me washing’s all fucked up”
05:19 to 07:03 Construction 22 (JW) “Organ”
07:04 to 09:02 Voice/Laptop (AR)
09:03 to 09:31 Construction 23(JW)
00:00 to 00:03 Pause
00:00 to 00:50 Laptop improvisation (JW) Voice(AR). No title
00:51 to 02:04 Construction 34 (JW)
02:05 to 03:34 Voice/Laptop(AR)
03:35 to 03:58 Laptop improvisation (JW&AR)
extreme edit taken from 21.09.10 session.
03:59 to 04:19 Construction 24(JW) function as a sound bridge to
04:20 to 06:06 Voice/Laptop(AR) “Horn-ed” [Laptop(JW)added/edited in later ]
06:07 to 08:30 Construction 16 (JW) “8thru(metasin)”
deserted rookery nook.
cawing or whining.
arguing or roaring.
attention of any sort,
no skein or froth.
no hook or drill
no clue or
up thrusting,(no hole for ye either.)
not even any
feets the notch
astride the perch
‘we have no licence’
you dont know unless you try eh?
Freedom reigns a miasma to stultify the them
and their steerage.
You need light to pay,not to scratch.
The uniform fissure extends in the pall,
the bruised crucibles tethers tremble,
writhing with the mouth eh?
An hour an ‘e’,a month a hedge or fence.
What does it do?
You dump the ‘armchair’
‘You carried on your subtle debates’
Softly damning an archaic torrent..
No easy task.
horn of the tampon.
An unravelled ligature stuck on a wild thing.
the sport of our forebears.
Their teasing their landscape
on their metalled trail,
(a socketed cityscape?)
To facillitate the sanctioned shedding
of light in pools.to play beneath
lowest combed pitch on
yellow we see.
Though deeper goes the pole,
upper ambergris in fungal wheals.
Subtle captive states of dull hue and that
A chance inconsequential dapple rises up to overhead.
But from a breech
an opening in their coated earth-
‘Here is your horn,your tooth your tusk,
Here through the punctum, through the encrusted hole.
fox on a heath.
Made grey in mist
slinks the briar and fence in air.
How its gait keeps artefacts from instances it
lost a tooth.
That made its nose
what it is today
The fox,on the heath,in the rain,on the planet
Lattice of face accellerated in the halflight-
‘I remember you and you and you……………’
wavering,a cane,a wand
in wind,in rain
etched in gills
you know,asserting sort of,
comes the horse in
the horse,nivir gone aloft though mad in the light.
says,brays it has things to say-
‘your teeth stamped out,kerb biting or
skeleton in dunes
with no fingers’
(how these stories play out on
wherein,miniature gesticulations as a degree,one of the degrees of ,er, loquacity a certain underdone
vista above and around ‘o.k.s’ and the ‘wanker’ as is done latin-
pulling at nose,
waving in town.
How about the squirming tongue bieng?-‘the seat of the self ‘-
bending back at brian to survey the calculus in the amygdullas own henge
‘henge all its own’
a frantic fitting in front of whosoever does the rules,an elaborate cowtowing,cap doffing
a balletic curtsey,over minutes
Having ‘given ground’
what is there?
The steppe is interminable
I have looked and looked
having been ‘once great’
this afterlife is dependant on the
brute paradigm paying out-its artifacts so ripe in me
and ripening even as I go out
the unscourged spurs
all knotted up
so affects the ‘other thing’
The they would say ‘the opposite of labour,as such’
Mr Hughes moral hectors
bieng ‘subject to’
the whims of that without
the kernal that is ours
that ruins everything,’when appraised’-
in wind,in rain.
At the foot of a menhir,
In repose in ones barrow,
A buildings concrete footings,
Asleep on a beach,
The angle, you guess is dark.The faces,at right you find
(gravel on nail,the other one sharp-
erm…… its not one!)
through your tender nape
shingles or bristles
Like you fell for some faux muscular bunkum!
It was NOT you,you fell and don’t trust the middle.
Call it a ‘whirl’ or ‘squall’
a yaw too far for now,
You could live without it!
About this entry
You’re currently reading “WORK.2006-2011,” an entry on jwarwork
- March 3, 2011 / 4:29 pm