The Radio of the Heart
of the music, an older of the music, an elder of the music, primordial of the music, authentic of the music, authentic of the music, primordial of the music, an elder of the music, an older in the air out of it wyoming susquehanna river dike river-side chorus added thunderstorm front just off the radar furious light radio astronomy o angelic orders your streamers descend your streams steams your stems towards earth of ravished bounty astronomical astronomy i have yet to hear such beauty elsewhere as below above not anything this has moved me to tears, an unabashed recommendation more fantastic than the visible universe, tremendous praise and of the worlds thereof i give you copy of the stars spectral grit. in the near future you will hear new sounds they are coming from the ghosts hovering near the old covered bridge cows on the hill turned their backs on us early the electricity failed in large parts of the region there were violent thunderstorms and near the house, a crackle the crackle continued at regular intervals interspersed were the moans, they were murmuring to us few of them as something jostled for our attention moan, crackle, moan, crackle, crackle, sometimes a sheet of sound haunted they were, these hills haunted the bridge, haunted the dismal brook haunted the bullfrogs speaking and hearing the moans hearing the moans by the side of the pond we were radio radio radio by the side of the pond we were hearing the moans, we were listening the radio, we were listening, the aerial and the recording we were radio radio radio and the recording of it, the sounds, sooner or later on this site of the haunting, something moving through the bridge something there and moving, we were sure of it anomalous events within a morgantown recording very low frequency there are spherics and others near a covered bridge of which i have already spoken a farmhouse in the distance the moans i have already spoken of are these the ghosts of the dead i am certain these are the ghosts of the dead a poverty film of two frames two flickered images, there are others i am very sorry the waif in the garden who had so much wrong and yet she still wanted me because i am an american and she owns my monies which i have paid out to everyone but her and you can tell her clothes are very sorry but she will be very wealthy i will service her breasts on a sunny day on a cloudy day too my music is my soul i am revealing my soul to you I wanted to capture the grandeur and agony of the landscape! I have succeeded! yes yes full of the natural world we will build next to the mountains we will make the forests flourish again they will be better than ever each tree will have its tiny homeland with nothing to interfere with its life yes yes the natural world improves with every tree the natural world improves (i feel sorrow for the tiny tree the last of everything and surviving alone it speaks to all of those who are lonely and feeling despair at the mounting world) "the machine wrote, 'thoughtless the thoughtless words the that words are that spoken are here. spoken we were we with were electric-antenna-azure with / electric-antenna-azure landscape the 'was electric' electric' and and she she flew flew (moved/clogged/danced) (moved/clogged/danced) among among the particles 'was almost inaudible always swirling inaudible around swirling the around world world our in direction our almost direction always nothing all may of be this, made nothing, of however all there this, others nothing, nothing however may there be others of which and is unknown, unseen nevertheless unknown, us nevertheless in grips the us world against will thank you, thank you you're probably tired of these by now i'm hungry for your (absent) replies it's hard enough to get myself motivated much less you i try to respond to work i like mine is unlikeable though i work hard at it making it pleasing for you what it must mean to receive tender commendations while we travel across the united states whispering every stop through worldwind, thank you nasa you can meander the highways and the high lonesome places where vlf signals blew in from the outer reaches and you could follow the world in the world but you're probably tired of these by now these tired landscapes repeating themselves over and over again feeding the hungry is more rewarded than any replies i'll push myself until i die perhaps not soon enough for you yes yes i like no i love your work much better than mine (of work, yours / mine) always speaking is so unpleasant the tenderness of all interstates and tiny wayfarer's lanes we are here for you, they signal and nothing utters response universal plasma is never angelic but you have listened to every reply with considerable patience across the street is an electrical substation beneath the ground there are wires the building passes wires through brick, steel, and wood there are radiating pipes everywhere vlf broadcasting the roar of sixty cycles machines switch on and off i played music on a plant tenderly moving its leaves, the leaves speaking in my soft fingers, and for a moment floral murmur barely audible, the presence of the oldest world the choir of the forgotten fatal redundancy of all life on earth of the residue, speaking of the remnant, fatality well, the second is a surprise, the first is a surprise, almost constant chirping here close to inaudible with post-processing I desired more than anything even than the presupposition of the chirping so listen with earphones, all of these require them, you miss everything without them, and the second, well, this speaks for itself, or rather the confluence of grounded signalling requiring slowdown, you may feel you are hearing the world for the first time, this is true, you may feel, on the other hand, you have already heard too much one is always encumbered by war in the world in these moments of peace, listen to the collapse of invisible particles I render them within the spheres of enlightenment you are hearing me, you are hearing you without sun she speaks under the moon of the wood still owing and asks him i will service her breasts on a sunny day We have the start to finish scalpel, rain or sunny, funny? plenitude fecundity transformations cornucopia of accumulations vortex universe of wonder "for those who still believe" I'm really happy with this music. I play it over and over again.
