Friday, November 21, 2014

gretchen snakes

i spent today strolling backwards on lush properties in the Southlands area of Vancouver. Backpack blower strapped upon my back—making piles of leaves to be raked, thrown on a tarp and carted back to the truck.
                                red, rust, coral, yellow birch, the ones from the tree that smells like brown sugar—so many colours—so many new tree names to learn.

a couple of months ago Gretchen Snakes performed the song sour cream at the lido in Vancouver—an 8 hour epic.  My friend Alexi visited me soon after when I was sitting at the gallery one sunny Saturday afternoon. He had just received a copy of the recording and we sat and listened to it between cups of tea and conversation.

                                        5pm came around quickly

only a few hours in—sun streaming through the windows—bicycles and an outside adventure called—it was a wonderful afternoon.

Lucky for me Lex sent me the song and today—last day gardening for the season/first day with music on the job—sour cream was the soundtrack to the leaves dancing in the wind before me.

For 8 hours a whole body in time—the leaves ahead—sound in ears—4 bodies recorded in time—ahead of time—leafy lines meet distortion time.

                   it's 2.30am—body still pulsing with rhythm—in time—with time—spent outside moving line—stuck inside rhythm line—another time—a guitar line—guitar line—many lines—bass line—one time—a weaving line—kick drum keeps time—bodily line—leaf line—pulsing time—
                                                                                                                             sleep line

Here's a taster—they rule

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