Obscured Inductions

One day I saw the Abode. The unrelenting lethargy of the manicured fields and geometric forests of the countryside had shifted for the elsewhere of night. Cities drown out most of this incommensurable no-space, though not all, for all blasphemies are limited by necessity. I walked the silent road and was glad; only a single streetlight cut orange in the distance. I lay on the pavement where its profanity was obscured by a hill, and looked. And I saw the Abode.

Spaces. Each one sang, each shimmered and strayed into dust. Stars? No stars. Name the game and you lose it. This was before the rules, after the name, spliced when the time was right but it was not. No drum, still, that came later. For me, I mean. I did not know the drum, I just saw it. Knowing came later. I saw the Abode.

Voice is very much alike to this. I knew it beside me as I sang the first harmonies and my bones vibrated to unquestioned overtones. Starting at the nose and throat, then learning to lower it, deeper, deeper, past the stomach into the base of the spine. The music came after listening to the masters (and there are many¹), and following. No rules, this comes later. A song is no name for a game and the stars. A song with a name for the dead. I saw the Abode.

Recording equipment used for The Ashes of the Dead. There is a microphone inside the cone.

I walk upon ashes is voice and only voice. It is a question of method. Severity yields structure which is beauty. My beauty is of bones and stones and grey and mist: space, of course. One body and many deaths. Many deaths and no-space of bones crushed by necessity. Necessity has no sides but voice is different. This I knew when I saw the Abode.

The bones of the city.

Neither outside nor inside. I can say the words now, for all words are dead, yet all reading is alive. Kill, kill, kill. All bridges burnt after crossing. The ashes? Scattered in the winds of elsewhere so that I may roam free. Do I? Roam, yes. Free?

I saw the Abode.

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1 David Hykes & the Harmonic Choir (Hearing Solar Winds), Keiji Haino (Wisdom that will bless I, who live in the spiral joy born at the utter end of a black prayer), Jargalant Altai (compilation of music from Mongolia) & others