The Stratford 4
The Revolt Against Tired Noises CD - Jetset

A thick cable of light breaks through the clouds of Heaven and zigs and sways itself over and around the hoods of cars, in and under dumpsters, across the acreage of Central Park, out and through open door locks and lands upon the grooves of “Within You/Without You” playing tirelessly in some outpatient recovery ward on the Upper West Side. Alas, one glowing strand breaks itself a quick left at Chelsea Piers, dives beneath the waves, ascends atop glistening electric wires, traverses amidst ionized currents, impales itself on the back of a wayward pelican only to be shaken off with the Hudson River sewage coagulating on its feathers and is sent careening into a dark alley on the Lower East Side. The sky above advertises vistas of clear blue, gaseous white and floating operas; between walls of maroon brick face echo remnants of a three-year old argument ebbing in spats like a drainpipe. Dizzied and unfamiliar in its nature, the glowing strand pulsed in a faint impecunious wiggle, confronted with the opportunity of freedom it didn’t really question its medium, nor its consequence, such is the character of bright glowing strands. Indeed, the character of the universe sets things in motion, so this energy too was set in motion, enlisted to exist in a directionless index, drifting in unconnected zags, blending with other light, or temporarily losing itself in reflections, or washed out by a raindrop. Perilous things, the elements, and not to be taken lightly either, a momentary washout is a most familiar episode to a universe or a ray of light, especially while traveling. Indeed, the nature of time has now but to continue, so forward in its discourse and pliable in its destination travels the bright glowing strand, forever guided, forever grounded. Forever past incense shops and camarilla, past book shops and porch swings, past rust and waves, past distance and innocence, past and present, past temperature and compression, past funeral homes and infancy, past new shoes and old heels, past homes and houses, past silence and clamor, past motion and weight, past friction and tension, past sex and death, past temperance and tolerance, past fanaticism and amber, past Heaven and Hell, past nudity and nakedness, past oil and music, past moisture and gravity, past tool sheds and water, past urine and oxygen, past telephones ringing and telephones stopping, past coral and sleep, past aching and longing, past friends and organizations, past bathrooms and dishrags, past loneliness and comfort, past newsprint and newsworthy, past knowledge and information, past language and promise, past time and time again; the bright glowing strand shares with us noises against the tired revolt. (Josh Gabriel)



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