Saturday, 30 May 2015

Noise-Storm

The squiggle of interference as we twiddle the dial, the red needle floating through Luxembourg, statics and squelches and extra-terrestrial interferences, ghostly voices from other centuries a sudden crackle turning into operatic song. Then through the spectrum of cosmic background noise, as if with the sudden depression of the red squelch button i have no more knowledge of the fact than the Devil has of the jackdaw the rippling tide sounds coming from a murder of crows, their arguments restricted amongst themselves constructed out of fibres and mosses, strips of bark, dead leaves, old newspaper with a base of clods of earth and a final cup of hair and feathers lining our bedroom chimney. We will not dig for worms these intelligent rogues, stealers of eggs, corvine congregating in chimneys, the cokes and chars, hydrocarbons sooting the brick lined darkness creating their eerie noise-storm.

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