Caroline on Crude Drawing of an Angel
“‘Crude Drawing of an Angel’ was born, in some ways, out of me thinking about jokingly having invented the word ‘scorny’—which is scary and horny at the same time. I have a playlist of scorny music that I'm still working on and I realised that it was a tone that I'd never actually explored. I was also reading John Berger's book on drawing [2005’s Berger on Drawing] and thinking about trace-leaving as a form of drawing, and as an extremely beautiful way of looking at sensuality. This song is set in a hotel room in which the word ‘drawing’ takes on six different meanings. It imagines watching someone wake up, not realising they're being observed, whilst drawing them, knowing that's probably the last time you're going to see them.”
The lyrics to this song turn the concept of "drawing" into a scene; to draw the bath, draw the curtains, draw the blood... All in preparation to actually draw someone who's asleep and slowly waking up, slowly becoming conscious that they are being observed. It was time to contribute my own to the genre. The fretless bass in this one is actually digital, it was meant just as a sketch, but Danny L Harle and I loved it so much we couldn't replace it. This album has a lot of blurred lines between acoustic and digital - we didn't think about it much, all that matters is the feeling. Between the verse and the chorus, I wanted the lead vocal to "leave the room", go next door to wail in the bathroom, then come back and sing the chorus while looking you dead in the eyes. Singing and drawing are really the same thing, it's a line in space instead of time.
What had first struck me about Catherine was her immaculate cleanliness, as if she had individually reamed out every square centimetre of her elegant body, separately ventilated every pore. ... the perfect forgery of an Ingres.
For some reason I had expected it to be a detachable latex structure, fitted on each morning along with her spinal brace and leg supports, and I felt vaguely disappointed that it should be made of her own flesh.
A semi-circular bruise marked my chest, a marbled rainbow running down from one nipple to the other. During the next week this rainbow moved through a sequence of tone changes like the colour spectrum of automobile varnishes. As I looked down at myself I realized that the precise make and model year of my car could have been reconstructed by an automobile engineer from the pattern of my wounds. The layout of the instrument panel, like the profile of the steering wheel bruised into my chest, was inset on my knees and shinbones. The impact of the second collision between ==my body and the interior of the car...like the contours of a woman's body remembered in the responding pressure ... after a sexual act.
On saturday, september 24th, 2022, my summer had come to an end. at cherry beach along the toronto archipelago's shoreline we (pumice raft tetc and event attendees) dug holes. we were just kids relentlessly prolonging summer with the wasteful act of playing, sand castles wash away. away. away. no one spoke (except for occasional exacerbated yelps in hopes of digging far and wide, hurling and hoisting oneself deep into the earth with great desire to not be.) I started digging where the sand was wet solids and worked gradually to dryness but it don't matter. only the surface dries. tide was low but then high again, crimson and clover over and over.. crimson and clover over and over.. . then gravity pulls the dry entropic sands that move into the wet, so i kept digging. keep the sand out of my newly exposed wet holes. having an open heart and tending to it is not easy. so i kept on digging. and digging . over and over . crimson and clover . over and over
i went from one place after another and sometimes i feel my heart harden. like sand it's surface dries but tide washes over. over and over. I went from one place after another and some other times i feel my heart pulsating against its hardened sandy crust when emotions wash over, over and over. Like the tide it's unrelenting. waterfront to la seine to the grand canal to river thames, against the current, borne back ceaselessly. A marée haute I took a trip to see the beautiful things. Change of scenery. Change of heart. And do you know?
They’re still there.
Ah, but they won’t be there for long.
On the night of september 24th 2022 Akira was on in Fox Theatre, 20 minutes of car ride away from Cherry Beach. A friend had an extra ticket and so i went after digging holes. light washed over us over and over. penetrating, pervasive. whoaaaa oh your hair is beautiful... ooooohhh tonight. Atomic. infinite amount of choices to be made and infinite amount of futures we could have; and yet in 2022 we sat in a theatre watching a 1988 sci-fi film, and yet the tokyo olympic went on amidst the chaos like how it did in Akira. slow cancellation of the future and eternal returns. against the current and borne back ceaselessly. as for us choices are still to be made but how,