an overcast day muddles surfaces. weak light whitens then darkens porcelain. the clouds sunbathe and turn over to tan their backs. below, we stumble down dark stairs at night.
a music library holds wax recordings of extinct voices. the harmonies and choruses are etched in black vinyl, captured like a wood carving. a needle pricks the wax and sound drips. the scratchy plops collect in amoeba-shaped pools on the floor. when poked, a soft dulcet center yields to the touch.
one dimensional echoes swirl in canyons with indian ghosts. three dimensional echoes bounce off nightclub walls, eroding voices and hearing. a two dimensional echo is a single film frame. 24 echoes per second produce an illusion of movement, catching the eyes attention like a peripheral predator.
