THE AFTERWORLD
for speaking solo percussionist
​
It is over
But it has not ended
​
Sometimes it seems the same
​
In the residue
​
6/8 in the left hand
4/4 in the right
​
or
​
I can play 5/4
With my right hand
7/8 with my left
​
Permatemps on trial
That's 5/4 in the right hand
​
Scum at the top
7/8 in the left
​
5/16 on the bass drum
Is the grave of reality
​
Map my blood
​
More and more minutes
Are shorter
​
Chaos in abundance
​
Separating from the universe
To rent a small room
In the code?
​
OK
​
so 5/4 in my right hand
7/8 in my left
and 5/16 on the bass drum
​
This is the story
of a refugee
​
He lives at home
​
You know
It doesn’t matter
That you know
​
People are dying
Of immunity
Words have gone missing
The letter ‘p’
Wa abandoned
‘R’ will be
The next to go
There are no more commas
​
In the residue
​
Laughter
Seems to end abruptly
As if it’s been
Badly recorded
​
Then you realize
You’ve been waiting
In line
For 2 years
​
And nothing has lasted
Long enough
To make a world
​
If I could play
5 rhythms at once
​
astonishment
caring
beauty
celebration
awakening
​
But I don’t think
I’ll get there
​
Though I practice daily
an earnest and enthusiastic
engagement with illusions
​
A screen
life
Flickers
Language
maiming reality
​
How else can I say it
​
If it were any louder
You wouldn’t hear it
​
I didn’t even dare think
That SHE was the ONE!
​
(phone rings)
​
Excuse me
​
(phone)No, I know
You said
Not to call you.
​
I didn’t mean
To call you
Especially now
​
I’m playing a solo
Concert
On stage in front of
An audience
​
I have 4 rhythms
Going at once
​
Why on earth
Would I call you now?
​
No, I never said
You were my 9/8
9/8 is what it feels like
to be starving
​
You came to my mind
And you were called
​
It just happened.
The technology is beyond me
​
It gets more and more crowded
as things get further
And further apart
​
Are you still there
I can’t hear you
Can you hear me
​
Hello
Hello
​
How many 5 sixteens
Can you play
How many 3 eights
7 fours?
​
I hit shake pound and scrape
​
Like a first responder
​
But beats abandon the measure
​
Everything
built by ghosts
​
Words
stop halfway
between the speaker
​
and the listener is not listening anyway
​
She's swimming in pictures
In Pictures of the river
​
She snaps a selfie
Where The bridge ends
Halfway across the flood
Of burning water
​
But suddenly you notice
There are no more hyphens
​
Apart from that
And an almost
Imperceptible change
In the color
Of apples
​
Everything seems the same
​
But what’s the point?
​
Sleep
​
Or resist
​
There are no more
Question marks
​
It is over
But it has not ended
​
This is life
In the Afterworld