Someone promised to wait.
To wait beyond.
Beyond the hourglasses and the mounds of swollen flesh.
Beyond the cuneiform codices, the spiral labyrinths, the bone flutes of extinct birds.
Past the pyramids of time and the colossal granite dolmens slumbering beneath Antarctic glaciers.
But no one came back.

The song is the lament of those who still hope to say goodbye.
To say goodbye fiercely—with their eyes, with their hands, with everything that exists beyond the body.
To part with such violence that reality thins, and the blazing ground of grass takes on the texture of dragonfly wings.
The voice of the one still waiting calls out, demands, roars through the wound that a heavy slab carved with the word “LOVE” can barely cauterize.
The slab of a forgotten grave, in a windswept cemetery on the Atlantic coast.
At the edge of a cliff where—warmed by magma beating to the phases of the moon—earth, ocean, and sky fuse together: into amber, into lead, into cobalt.

When those who wait begin to sing, their voices pierce the unyielding concrete of nuclear reactors, the crust of the earth, the frozen core of the gas giants in the solar system.
Their voices rattle dead loudspeakers, tear through the white noise of radios lost in the ether, whisper in the echoes of abandoned cathedrals, and sigh in crackling exhaustion through the worn-out waiting rooms of hospitals.

You can’t stop their voices from rearing up inside your eardrum, nesting forever in the synapses of your auditory nerve—so you can carry them far.
Perhaps all the way to the one who never received the goodbye.

Pictures: Lht
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Alguien prometió esperar. Esperar más allà. Más allá de los relojes de arena y de los montículos de carne tumefacta. Más allá de los códices cuneiformes, de los laberintos en espiral, de las flautas de hueso de pájaros extintos. Allende las pirámides del tiempo y los colosales dólmenes de granito que dormitan bajo glaciares antárticos. Pero nadie volvió.

La canción es el lamento de los que esperan poder despedirse. Despedirse intensamente. Con los ojos, con las manos, con todo lo que hay más allá del cuerpo, despedirse con tal violencia que la realidad se adelgace y el suelo fulgurante de hierba adquiera consistencia de alas de libélula. La voz de quien aún espera reclama, inquiere, brama a través de la herida que una pesada losa con la palabra "AMOR" apenas logra cauterizar. La losa de una tumba olvidada, en un remoto cementerio azotado por el viento del Atlántico. Al borde de un acantilado donde, calentados por un magma que late siguiendo las fases de la luna, tierra, océano y cielo se fusionan; en ámbar, en plomo, en cobalto.

Cuando cantan los que esperan, sus voces atraviesan el hormigón implacable de los reactores nucleares, la corteza de la tierra, el núcleo congelado de los gigantes gaseosos del sistema solar. Sus voces sacuden altavoces desconectados, rasgan el ruido blanco de las radios perdidas en el éter, susurran en las reverberaciones de catedrales abandonadas, y suspiran crepitantes en las extenuadas salas de espera de los hospitales.

No puedes evitar que sus voces se te enjirafen al tímpano y aniden eternamente en las sinapsis de tu nervio auditivo, para que las lleves bien lejos. Tal vez hasta quien no pudo recibir el adiós.

Llévame lejos

Inspired by the usual electronic 90'd suspects with Youtube video https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HRMj5aQeHCo

A life of credit

back in the everyday life

enigma

PEST

[ Albums ]
https://negativeheadphone.bandcamp.com

[ Youtube ]
https://www.youtube.com/c/negativeheadphone

[ Spotify ]
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Bandcamp

Follow that swallow

Blood Stalactite

Jacques Lemaire : synthesizers and tape
Marco Lucchi : synthesizers

The Path

Watch this piece being created: https://youtu.be/Oe3l1F4mfaU
A live performance for the Disquiet Junto #0721, built from the same patch used in the recent Badiou x Beckett sonic torment piece: https://soundcloud.com/half-unusual/half-tormented?si=3390f301411545e0aac521e547afb785&utm_source=clipboard&utm_medium=text&utm_campaign=social_sharing
This time, Badiou’s voice gives way to a thunderstorm I recorded in 2019 —
the same comb filtering and pitch clusters now sculpting rumble and rain into something more filmic and reflective.
A short meditation on resonance, weather, and thought.

🎧 Performed entirely in GRM Tools Atelier

More on the 721st weekly Disquiet Junto project, Well Weathered — The Assignment: Play along with a storm — at https://disquiet.com/0721/.

enigma

ste rozza