what lies beneath?
Side 2, Groove 4: [audible]
the stones memorialize the stones entomb
the stones are the threshold through which the beginning embarks upon its end
the stones are the threshold through which the end returns where it began.
the stones’ mass warps the field so that a journeyer setting out in any direction with any goal will quest his way back to them. the stones.
above hawk soars scanning the damp field for food.
below, a burial ground of childish things. let the rapture resurrect them with child-like wisdom.
to the east a wild horse, spiral horned, departs through the shell shellac of dawn, in search of dark.
to the north, crow remains always crow for the wolves are hungry but easily outsmarted.
to the west a stag retreats in the deep blossom of the ever-dying sun.
to the south a pleasure garden, fragrant and fruitful, walled with fire.
in the middle a stone laid on its side maybe toppled maybe placed that way who knows? and what matter?
she sits there, in her afternoon gown.
Cursus, too heavy to speak, cotton-mouthed and miserable, drags himself towards her.
The toppled stone is not hers, but she has done her best to dress its dark mourning for pleasant repast. here find flowers grown in the pot of her hand, basalt for three, silver spoons to hold tongues in place, claw-edged tongs to pick words, desiccated lumps of sugar, from his dry mouth.
She has her pitcher of cream, and knives, too for piercing or spreading thin.
Cursus heaves himself upright and collapses on his table.
his mouth is parched but his heart is drowning.
Side 2, Groove 3: [inaudible]
Side 2, Groove 2: [audible]
Castle to making art found as soot and burnt paper. Drawings, texts, and handmade books all untitled. Artists look at life, bear lyrical remembrance, fix time/narrative, now/the self, use print to produce highly romanticized portraits, indelible relationships between past and present, people and everyday objects…
That trouble real can do a lot of damage.
Groove 6: [audible]
here there are stones. stones that were books that were songs that were warm hands warm from weeping. black silk worn deep blue by years of weather, macabre tablecloth on a slab of stone. sacrifice who? it is done. stones are not hungry nor do they thirst. flesh nor blood.
where the stones are there was a forest.
the winds are harsh and the ground stays damp without roots to drink from it.
night is wholly visible, they say.
Groove 7: [audible, hidden]
stone time a dream marvel impetuous f/light streaking across night sky
deploy fire icy dust because core changed very little and still in icy depths
the mission ends [
Groove 5: [inaudible]
in childhood recall reading books that seal fate. Selections will be displayed in the MUSIC ROOM (above).
childhood simplicity: a lover of artifacts.
Mourn the commonplace. Stitch the embroideries (depicted ). Hold
the black silk, unassuming, over the beloved.
Groove 3: [audible]
Cursus tells about fire and smoke, excavated understanding operating in light and dark, day and night.:
we can now understand because we know where things are
dig holes, know what you’ve got (an excessive numb)
It’s going to take years.
Nowhere comes close. [Cursus clenches his fist, throws devastated glance at sky then lowers his head, clenching shut his eyes]
The clouds shift in front of the sun, dappling the landscape with shadow.
reaching toward the stones on the horizon, Cursus becomes
Groove 2 [audible]
below remains a mystery
a four-year virtual underground more than astonishing.
have found buried more than previously known or understood.
it was an area to which few were admitted. inside something extremely mysterious.
put a spade in the ground. verify the painstaking structures and objects below the surface.
THE JOYS AND FRUSTRATIONS must mean something BUT NOBODY CAN TELL US WHAT
each advance yields more questions, know is always dwarfed by never know.
take the big questions: was it a healing ground?
know the provenance of the stones. but cannot say, with certainty how did the stones arrive? land or sea?
(image: special-mysterious end of Cursus.
Groove 1 [audible]:
He walked the avenue, the ancient route along which the stones were first dragged.
The only hint of existence was an indentation or two in the tall grass.
We could be
were it nor for the ghostly monument in the near distance.
Faint hustle as if illuminated.
He knows this landscape as alive: has walked it, breathed it, studied it for uncounted hours.
Stopping to fix the monument and reaching toward the stones on the horizon, he becomes