Untitled (code) Before the code is light whisps of hair stuck between s held tight breathing in reply – – – Untitled (sands) Force of the waves to be guessed at message unknown but received sands pulled back, into the sea shoreline decreased a punch erased but boiling – – – Untitled (million) A person or a place or a plant eight million things happen today on a graph in a chart on a board and you among all the variables are finally accounted for

You are fine, what did you say your name is again? Mm. You got a way aboutcha, no lie. I like the way you cuuuuuuuurve so seductively around massive objects, baby, and I am dying to see how much you curve around this. You give me different looks, I like that, always something new to discover about you. I feel I can dig pretty deep into your mysteries and oh lordy do you have mysteries. You’re charming but you’ve also got depth, underneath the surface there’s something so consistent about you. Dependable. You’re not a flake is what I’m saying,…

(To listen to mp3 file, please click here – 9.7Mb) I based the composition upon a tonal row consisting of six diatonic notes, using familiar serial composition techniques which allow only strict variations of the tone row (direct, retrograde, inversion, and retrograde inversion). The composition was originally scored as a twelve-bar, twelve voice sketch in the Finale program, then exported via MIDI to Reason 2.5, where the various rowforms were cut, pasted and fed to synthesizers for arrangement and manipulation. The only instrumental exception to this scheme is that I allowed myself the luxury of importing a finger cymbal sample,…

The umbrella is open but the rain is not ready to fall. It shies and waits, waits until is already late to come. Spring is near and I feel shy of the sun. I kneel down by a flower patch and the dry sidewalk feels cold against my hands. I keep thinking of bees, buds and umbrellas, all in one thought. Flower memories slap my face like a blast of winter storm. I scroll down the images and my brain is smitten by the possibility of love within thought. Images come, go and change me slowly like spring opening its…

During Atlantis’ eighth invasion, When that island nation had exhausted Its supply of metal, the gardeners Left their greenhouses, went to the warriors And said, “We’ve made you coastal defenses— Blades six inches long, divided triply, Coarse-toothed, spine-edged, deep-rooted. They’ll tangle In the wrathful crab-men’s chitinous claws Rip the bellies from the Devil’s dolphins When they force their landings upon the beach.” “These are wooden weapons?” asked the warriors. “They are flowers,” came the gardeners’ reply. “How are they named? How were they created?” “We name them not at all, as is our style. Nor dare we share the secret…

Bury me again So that this time, I may die Maybe I’ll come back a tulip in your garden and you’ll pick me Or a drop of water finding its way to your spring from which you’ll drink I’ll grow back a weeping willow shading you when you’re blistering Or a morning glory wrapping myself around your lyrical dreams A sunray to your sighing flower on that dawn Or the rock that fills the gap preventing you from slipping Maybe I’ll be that star and realize away your solitary A child holding your hand to cross that stream I’ll come…

Through the constellation of a lily My eye wanders. No further than my garden For the universe. Just a moment, to look Down, see the heavens reflected in A flower. I find myself again.

An evolutionary pop song, to the tune of 1985, with apologies to “Bowling for Soup.” (includes audio) Australopithecus Looked a bit like us Had a smaller skull Was relatively dull Its life was day to day Just tryin’ to make its way We’d call it ape-man It had no way to plan It was gonna be successful It was gonna change and grow It was gonna send its kids To populate the globe Its novel upright stance Gave rise to speech and dance It had an average life But so much Has been So right since A species in slo-mo…