Mono (Bell)

One movement is forward. It’s the movement of time and life. Days are gliding along and they disappear or exist like piles of glimpses in always aging hearts. Metallic timbres and the constant pendulum of sunshine and nights slice up the time. It becomes possible, straight up important, to fill it up with productivity, with rest and occasional ecstasy, piety or hedonism. Simply: with a certain sense of meaning. Forward is a wish and a destiny for everything living. What needs to be done is being done to the sound of devout bronze. Every hour. At first: a beginning. A dawn, a seed, a crispy ouverture. And from here, time is chimed onwards, things and lives grow, they continue and they look familiar and then they culminate. Their pinnacles have the loudest rings. And so it ends. Every day, people and daylight are being belled into the earth, everyday both things return anew and the bronze gets old and it sounds like sexy future too. And the coming hour is always new.

The view from my bedroom window

One movement is upwards. It’s the movement of transcendency and blue. What is the sky if not the ultimate human magnet. Eyes pursue it and make pictures. Societies pursue it and build tall houses. Any person is tied to their asphalt meadow mud jobs habits therapy survival; bells push lives ahead in non-stop loops and the overarching blue is a relief. A groove is a relief. Impossible not to long for. Skies are so delicious, they look drinkable, they look like spring water or drinks for seduction. Golden edges and chilly like holidays and salvation; they offer the most candied romance. Like ecstasy. Obviously, longings and desires have their home up there. A bell tower and a tower of speakers ring down some sky into yearning ears, or it rings earthly desire up towards its destination. Isn’t the heavenly one of the hottest possible things. In here are bronze beats for different kinds of submission, this urge to devote oneself to something higher than a body on the floor. In here are bells and pillows for the ascension. Up high is a freer place for the submissives.

Mono (Tower)

One movement is inwards. It’s the movement of spirit and sound. This one must be invisible, bound for the chest and the heart inside of it, and it might take place at night. It might not have anything to do with light or darkness, it exists behind the gaze beneath the skin alongside the pulse within the excitement. The labour of the spirit is obviously intangible and veiled, though the bells are soaring and the skies are beaming and electricity is amplifying. Deep inside is the brightest place, perhaps the most inaccessible too. Secrets and lust can exist in there and be concealed – or suddenly bulge out. Perhaps a cord and a deep bass are able to pull the heart out of the chest and open it to something that resembles the sky but isn’t blue. Erotics for something more than the sex. Scores say: closed eyes, air all the way down into the organs, fill up the body with vibration and maybe sense that they travelled far. Through centuries, through materials and channels. From long before days, from metal and towers of stone, notes are poured into new days and new towers. All the way into a human where its heart feels bottomless. Into surrender.