Filed under: Audio
For my audio tour I decided to gather sounds from the 9th St. Community Garden. Upon listening to the files at home, my instant reaction was to add surrealistic components to the piece. I wanted a lion’s roar, a crashing thunderstorm, horses going wild, etc. BUT, I knew this would all be a little ridiculous w/ no context. Therefore, I decided to have a tangible text accompany my audio piece. The text is five “found” diary entries from a woman thousands of years ago. The entries indicate that her village is undergoing some sort of apocalyptic experience.
Here are the entries:
2 September
Although people dismiss my observations, it’s been different lately. The air smells cool and the wind whispers warnings but I fear I am the only one listening. The children still play, the festivals drum on, but I know something’s coming. Something larger than me, my family, and my village.
Watching my little Jonah play with his peers this morning, I could have sworn I heard the breath of a beast beneath the hum of our small community. But perhaps Richard is right; maybe the insomnia is creating these illusions.
7 September
I knew it. It’s as if nature is turning against itself…or at least against us. Things are reverting to their elemental wildness. The rain won’t stop. I am trying to quiet my intuition but it’s screaming: disaster, destruction, the end.
Already houses are flooded, trees are losing root and joining the raging rivers. Where do you go when there’s nowhere to escape? We wait. But for what?
8 September
Four elders, two infants– gone.
Horses are going crazy. Mysterious mayhem.
12 September
My own Jonah in the middle of the night. Tree struck by lightning crashed through the roof of his bedroom.
Nothing
can describe the emptiness…the unexplained evil of these days.
16 September
Nearly everything is demolished now. What was once such an abundant, beautiful community teeming with joy and trust has been ravished by the Gods. What did we do to deserve this?
I can hear it in the distance.
The silence.
The absence of all that once was.
I can only hope that one day the beauty of this place will live again. Tonight I surrender to the flood.
Soon this shall be a place with no name.
Listen:
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