Good Vibes HERE
23:54// Probably should start building, babe. I love you.
0:19// Just thought of one of the products the project will produce — this thought as I considered the plants I am going to give to my mother and sister as gifts. I’m rather fascinated by the snake plant. You can just cut it, stick it in soil, and it grows. I don’t like annuals or, worse yet, cut flowers. I think it’s rather macabre and depressing. My bedroom as a tween had dark navy blue Neo-Victorian wallpaper, all dark wooden furniture, including an old writing table that had come in by train some time ago, long before the monumental Interstate (as a kid, I remember hearing the mountains exploding, associating it with the show I Love Lucy in a dream I had, huge pre-fab concrete panels holding up what had once been a mountain — I remember how the roads changed, the highway slicing across what had been a dirt road between the main town and the hollow. Above the desk was a photo from the Civil War, a camp gathered in an opening of the forest. Outside my window, beyond the skeletons of bushes in the terraced gardens of the prairie house, a gnarled tree, split in half by lightening, charred black, but still standing to this day, hung at a diagonal from the mountainside, flashing alive above cracks of blue lightening. That blackened tree was directly across the valley from the other tree I noticed, as we wearing having our breakfast in the pale pastel wall-papered, white plastic veneer early-’80s kitchen, stuck onto the repeating bays of operable windows beneath the deep overhangs — ah how beautiful it was to open the windows, hear the rain, see it dappling down through miniature pine trees, the gentle breeze, cooled by the falling rain, like the mist behind a waterfall. God, I love architecture. Oh, and in the bedroom, from a circular AC vent, a small aperture at the end of the HVAC network (house also had a centralized vacuum system, watering system, ’70s intercom, etc. — revisit: mom and intercoms and radio that would play at the foot of my bed and bounced radio transmissions from some Asian country), two dried roses, one pale pink, the other pale yellow, fluttering slightly when the cybernetic system was switched. The train whirs by, moving more slowly, or lighter perhaps, a low whir, not as dense as the train at max capacity — the elevated train is like a bow passing in a linear motion, subtle variations in pressure producing different sonic experiences in the surrounding chamber of buildings. Oh, and I love you Samuel, if you’re out there.
0:31// Men in yellow hazmat suits and purple-tipped respirators, spraying terraced mountains with neon green fertilizer/seed mix from 2’ diameter blue plastic tubes.
0:43// I love you so much. I am so sorry. I have changed.