received insistent notes passed from hand to hand to
city of quiet: 16 postcards...
eye contact was must have been thousands
...from an imaginary city, where no one has spoken for several years
listening to the wind in the fucking trees
(echoes and memories, mirrors and thread)
veils. The black cloth that covers my face, and now the Quiet
sixteen stories, scattered across a map of the city
cannot tell you how long the run a finger along certain lines on a face
sent to people all over the world
Quiet and my mask has fallen
thick streak of aural muck across auditory fields that were already becoming
in muscle tension, body scents, tiny movements of the eye
(click and drag mouse across blank spaces to read invisible text)
is a high, penetrating sound. Buildings resonate at a lower frequency, often muffled and distorted. Trees are bell-like, with extraordinary range. When it rains, roads become bands of white noise
never silence, all this time we
|