UNDER THE AFFECT OF HIGH ALTITUDE

Writing music as a language - not so much a process of pulling out something from nothing, a turn towards doing-away-with, of destruction, deposited. I know that these melodies I'm humming are not coming out of the landscape, they are coming out of a center real or imagined, yet only to the extent that the landscape has me, that I am held within it, undifferentiatable from it, functioning together as a compound user, using each other, me and the mountain, me in the mountain, me on the mountain. Meaning emerges out of the center, a rhythmic undulation emanating from a metaphysical point somewhere beyond my own frame of comprehension, rooted in a proprioception - my body - so why not put my body or being into any other frame besides this limited form, in order to feel myself unfold there, to sense the unfolding on that place, sense the space, tell the time as a demarcation of my own being? This is less a tool-process, of feeling through the process of feeling, of processing feeling, tooling my self as though these cuts sliced out of the face of the rock to craft a better arrow head. The singing, the writing, the music composing, must happen in a place/space, not nowhere but here. This is the importance of continuous documentation: it must be measured continuously along with the writing. To use memory as an undulation alongside the resonation of the funament, as a tool for tuning to the attuned fundament. The text forms out of the image of dissapative forms, gestalt flow of the river carving out the stone stage, as I sit beside it to thit. It is more of a source than I am, I just sit close to feel its power because I have such a difficult time feeling without an object to orient myself-in-relation-to- (hyphens left open to the space of what might come forth), without another flow to immerse myself in. This river is creating the time allowing me to sense myself as a relation, insinuating always a hissing wholeness so that I can keep singing. The music comes first, the lyric out of the poetry always flowing underneath - subterranean river. All those other forms, ways of speaking, will follow in suit - they are also necessary but must not be confused for a beginning, a source, an ontogenesis.