Dad, Drums, Doldrums.
I voice memo-ed my time in a drum studio, and admit I have zero confidence in the quality of either my playing or the recording and am scared shitless every time I post something musical—I’m extolling horoscopes to astronauts—but I am doing it because YOLO fuck it, and this isn’t music so much as an existential enema. Tangentially, I got a massage on my birthday that ended with the masseuse applying a tuning fork to my sternum to open my heart chakra, and when I told Christian about that I said “pitch fork” instead of “tuning fork” and he was very alarmed, but a pitchfork in my heart also feels apt.
Anyway I am going to take snippets of the “way too much recording” to accompany Dad’s bricolage—this video represents 30 seconds of still relatable sound.
I notice in my fucking around in this studio that the drumming always turns into summoning, but this time, as my head became overwrought with the words my dad used in the first letter this week (“I am filled with regret reading a fraction of your thoughts”), I found myself screaming for a brand new person. Not you.
The first image is obviously of a knit couch from the 1970s with an Asian family lying down on it.
Second image: I told my dad to stop sending me pictures of empty landscapes of beautiful nature scenes accompanied with texts about all the peace he finds when he is alone inside nature, because when he left us to spend the rest of his life in the outdoors “to find peace and learn how god moves in me” and told us not to ever look for him again, I interpreted it as, well, you know… Anyway, I told him his nature photos scare me so what does he do? Starts sending me print-out selfies.
Third image: In his latest letter he goes on for several paragraphs about the difference between Japanese and Korean moxa incense. He encloses a print-out photo of Japanese and Korean moxa incense side by side.
Fourth image: In the middle of nature, alone, finding peace, staring at a fire and learning how god moves in me. Moxa