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love

using fairly rudimentary editing capabilities (FCP is on my list of must-have-next) i sliced up a dance sequence and retimed it, used various effects, transitions and treatments to create a visual partner for this original music, called "love". composed with programmed sheet music and played/recorded a la synthesizer, the fourth in a series of classically inspired ballads,
note that it is often blue
and that the melody asks for nothing (tipota)
and tells something simply (tin karthia tis elpithas)
i have certainly found a world
where love comes in various shapes and sizes, i think this piece is about the compelling
ultimate over-the-top tenderness of it all.
its directly related to the previous post 'peace'

S.B.T. 296

many thanks to mark alvin for his impeccable ear
and generous help and support during the process of music

composing and mixing for 'peace'

S.B.T. 295

science, or

what became of that thought?

curious circuitry

in visible

power less persuasion

with no foresight

or bracket theory

my server waits

til the fresh brew bubbles

they wont tell, any fate

behind the carbon

gravitate

a pocket inside

black penrose pants

holey hypnotized

sure as sugar

snaps

S.B.T. 294

dusk drive

the moon has a slender smile half-cocked and pearly white

colors fade azure to indigo and lavendar pink to copper

every star a giggle practicing scales for a concert of laughter

the bare lacy trees flatten to black licorice silhouettes

for some reason i think of gumby

S.B.T. 293

natural hunter

there was a time before the dark, whistling soft under my teeth said the popcorn man

and the little monkey dance kicks up clouds and jangle bells.

is it a ghost

can you see it

gone

closed in this black space there are still many details discerned in the glow of phosphor us...)

we can try infrared + subsonics he says. the screen flickers. the burning white

button smooths edges between it and nothing slither flashes on his patent.................leather.......................shoes

the room is not distressed at all, no antique antic or attic about it. maybe just a touch of zone, twilight. surely no cotton bandanas around here

S.B.T. 292

one old year frightful as ice road trucking and tonight kneeling, a soundless corner in the dark anteroom she gathers from memory roses budding and leaves falling and roses budding

in a goodbye bouquet ax scented with pine and eucalyptus. the sheet rock is chipped, a foot square round hole in the wall clear through to the next room from which dust blows and circles over her bowed head. am i praying she wondered distracted by winging banners of three airplanes caboosed outside the window overhead lit up with red and white and what words they spell and what it said raggedly and waving in flowing ribbons. a message she thought and smiled at how much work there is, for no more like this again but

quiet quiet now as an outstretched arm emerges n beckons 'come forward' draped with shadowy folds of fabric a loose embrace bell sleeve and the sound of silver bracelets jingling and trembling a heartbeat seems remote but deafening. 'good bye' she said, 'old year in time'

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Thank you very much

Y