It pierces and it menaces and it drives along through various stages, but as distinct as it is, it is also amorphic as it reaches some sort of meaning and communication through the medium of air being moved in order to carry vibrations to someone in order to be understood in some form so that they too can respond in kind.
Sound travels through the air, bending and smashing and reaching out in all directions and bouncing off things in order to go to other things, expanding and collapsing and going through a whole stage of directions for some sort of predilection that cannot always be understood, but if it is reaching out you’re going to go and touch and feel and know the unknowable in some sort of manner that cannot always be known, but always repeats endlessly and tumbles through some sort of stymied growth upon the precipice that you feel and see, but close behind you as you’re told to close the door when you come in and “Don’t worry about the shoes; it’s better if you take them off and don’t stain the carpet”.
You’re of course reeling outside of yourself and into the direction of forward whilst the food is prepared, but the hill has reached its zenith and soon too must begin reeling off the words that can operate the sound into a tangible form but you’ve gone too far and now you cannot turn back so you may as well jump around and into the ocean and swim about for a while, as the vibrations that you can feel are morphing your head into something that is passing through you and you’re losing yourself in a trance as, for a very small moment in time it has stretched beyond all reasonable understanding and you have no frame of reference but you’re there and all is really still and there’s some sort of clarity that you’re perceiving and it is letting you know that this is a moment of clarity.
However, there needs to be things done so, whilst the moment elongates around your very being, everything must once more resume and get on with the living and the breathing and you’re realising that you’re in the middle of a pulsating, throbbing mass of people that are all reaching and sweating and grabbing, for life is being celebrated in a manner not unbeknown to yourself, but form is reaching out in communicative way, even though it is as formed as motion is to the left, but you never know when the first trike will come as the space warms and congeals and yet you can only know the vibrations of the invisible object that you are trying to hold in your hands.
Of course, you reach out and reach out to touch but once more you’re opening the door, then closing it behind you in order to ensure a cool breeze doesn’t penetrate the thick warmth of enclosed buildings that you so lovingly embrace.
The time it took to write five-hundred words: 06:31:56
I was trying to express atmosphere and feel rather than anything more specific, I think.
Maybe I was looking for shape, texture and flow rather than a direct understanding.
Maybe I was trying to build imagery.
I don’t know.
Written at UNSW.