#eye #eye

 



home iii, 8/7/20 – 20/7/20

9.45am, recorded in and above the water where the canal flows into the harbour. i collect and transport the canal water home in a discarded coffee cup, submerging the tape in it later that day.




you could not have wished to be born at a better time than this,
when everything has been lost...to rediscover that pact
between body and soul.*



watching the light flicker on moving water, thoughts slow and dissipate as i move.
clearing out my body, like how Shota told me the oysters clean the water.

i’ve frequented this walk these past months.
canal to harbour, desirous, somatic yearning, for connection with a body of water,
like my own.



up close the water is grimy.
a plastic red ball, two plastic water bottles and a rusty aerosol
can cling to the rocks amongst the oysters (too big to filter through the oyster gills).
sounds of seagulls and wood pigeons, tiny water bugs gnattering,
waves lapping, deep car engine rumbles vibrating through the bridge and under the water,
the water allows only the low frequencies to filter through its depths.


two young girls and an older woman ask me what i’m doing 

– i’m collecting long, low sounds –
they do arts and crafts too, but they haven’t used sound as a material   yet.
sunlight glimmers on the water, the oysters in their extraterrestrial* topography.
(*also heavenly/ethereal/sublime)


walking home i hear the wind moving through and against things
tousling the leaves of (red ash?) trees, tossing rigging against masts,
lapping waves against canal walls, whistling through my hair and thudding against my ear drums.

the wind brought with it smells too
salt from the harbour, ash from the construction site, dirt from the wet earth,

and feelings, cool and fresh on my exposed skin (hands and face),
strong and thick against my body that braced it.

what is essential, what is not essential?


the water from my cats bowl and the water from the canal
sit side by side in jars on my desk, one clear, one brown and milky.


*Simone Weil, First and Last Notebooks


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