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Live at Cafe OTO 29​/​01​/​23

by Malvern Brume & Hesse K

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1.

about

Recorded live at Cafe OTO for the release of 'Pacing The Hollow Path'. Hesse K reads an expanded text on the one that was used as a part of the record

LP out now on TEETH : teethrecs.bandcamp.com/album/pacing-the-hollow-path

'1. sound is the skin of this surface take only at your word the way a granite staircase can be so perfectly eroded by the innumerable
footfalls of people sticking to the left hand side that their route is like a garment something that gets worn down something that emits
the softest abrasion something that changes imperceptibly over time something to be worn /
2. even then the discretion of each footstep, the shape of a heel, the uneven pressure of a weak ankle healing from a nasty sprain,
someone who shuffles meekly or simply takes it slow, someone who gallops up them two at a time someone who tries to rush down the
whole thing doing that tap dance-y-slide-motion someone who takes the lift instead someone who is carrying books // even after all
that, all their momentary pressures {did they drink enough water today did they forget their charger when was the last time they spoke
to their mum on the phone} it all gets agglomerated in the cascading of the stair, the blank multiplicity of the stone’s arching tongue the
stair witnesses its own memory only in the lingering loss of form //
3. I want to lick the stair I want to get down on my hands and knees and lick the routes the minute barely audible deviations from the
assumedly self-evident desire to go up or down but instead the softly melting granite takes on the quality of an armpit in the bath,
something you pass a lozenge of soap over, over and over again as if you’re polishing something venerated as if your speckled armpit
has taken on the quality of marble as if you’ve privileged the pathways of the many over the softest part of yourself while you bend
down low back-breaking to mop the stair with your tongue ///
4. those are the routes, their imperceptible derives, and then comes the destination ~ leave the bedsit cross the crescent spot that same
tatty fox skulking in the bushes pass through the gate to the cemetery it has two hollowed-out skull n crossbones stacked on top of the
gateway leering over everything maybe they’re eaten up from the inside by moss maybe the air is too dirty here even by the river ~ i’ve
been told the skulls are here because this used to be the only church that would bury pirates anyway here’s what you came looking for //
you started reading riddley walker here in 2019 but got put off by the introduction by fucking will self no better book has ever been so
maligned by awful cover art // anyway here’s what you came looking for an undulating spiral gently sown into the fallow soil stitched
together by white pebbles the size of your hand (maybe they are from the river too) ////
5. close your eyes touch cheap biro to paper pad sound is the skin of this surface /////
6. try to dutifully step heel over toe the fragile refrain of this shape //////
7. try to follow the rhythm of your stepping with the biro gripped probably too tightly in your fingers it gets harder as it gets colder it is
February after all feel the pen lurch and catch the paper a few times, you’re clumsy and cold but it doesn’t really matter try to ease back
into it gradually consuming and filtering the unseen line in front of you ~ the biro has relaxed its an earthworm now its eating and
regurgitating the way you find your way ~ think you feel your foot lean into the bulk of a pebble or two as you go hopefully that
doesn’t matter too much but slowly slowly they only seem to get further apart – not closer and closer as you’d expect the closer you got
to the centre – you’re off the map now probably you’re off the grid; the spiral has been scuffed into chalk you’ve untethered the whole
thing it’s unwinding and unfurling it’s tail is wagging in the current ///////
8. open your eyes it's not a total disaster there’s a pleasing asymmetry to everything not just the continuous line you’ve made on the
page but the late-winter lilt of everything the greying slant of the garden around you so to speak ////////
9. burrow home now squeak open the door go upstairs lie on the floor and write this /////////
10. Two lumbering buses, shaking bodily, close off the sky above into a thick mottled strip. As we are funnelled between, the drone of
their cast bones whines outward bell-toll-like - black oleaginous yelling. Destination yanks itself towards us by thick rope, hands stung
by the runaway pace of place-change. The cord rips between our outstretched fingers. They have walked these lines since they were
‘ley’. They walk them now as orange anthropomorphs triangulated by satellite. How they will be traversed in the soon-future only some
will learn. But for each; sound peters inward, waxing in its message, washing over our pathways in a seething tidal hiss //////////'

credits

released February 3, 2023

Recorded by Luciano Maggiore at Cafe OTO
Text written by : Hesse K

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