transLiterate is part of my etherCore series – it’s about trying to make sense of the half-awake time between sleeping and dreaming; the same kind of semi-consciousness that follows hospital-induced anesthesia.
This series attempts to examine whispering and physical reactions to it, such as the controversial autonomous sensory meridian response (ASMR).
This track starts late at night following discharge from the city hospital after an operation. Still fuzzy-headed, language strains to be understood above the hubbub. The man and a woman follow each other out and away through the fields and eventually fall into each others arms, confused but rescued.
Come back to that place with sirens signalling like scattered birds; sceptical, wrapped.
Tranquilizer knees buckle hours before.
Step back. She listened when he finished.
More shock. He let loose a breath and turned off the lights. Night had fallen.
Theoretically I might have done, theoretically.
Obligation tweed jacket, leather gloves.
Figure out what he didn’t worry about.
Coming to my rescue; probably both.
Surprise, play a role.
I couldn’t distract him, temporarily smitten.
Preordained forever eyes met. Froze and vanished – trial and error, perched alone on the staircase, waited a beat wagging her finger at him.
The nod gave no solace in her voice. Defensive tones shook his head. Open with his fingers cupped in his hands, his arm draped around. Enormous smiles.
A moment so intimate it was plain inside.
“Not to go on all-fours; that is the Law. Are we not Men?
“Not to suck up Drink; that is the Law. Are we not Men?
“Not to eat Fish or Flesh; that is the Law. Are we not Men?
“Not to claw the Bark of Trees; that is the Law. Are we not Men?
“Not to chase other Men; that is the Law. Are we not Men?”
“His is the House of Pain.
“His is the Hand that makes.
“His is the Hand that wounds.
“His is the Hand that heals.”