Moj cowboy uncle (January 2009)
Deep voices of Tibetan monks emerge out of nothing and drawn in a noise ... while the procession passes by the goats and kids.
I imagine passing through here. The space suddenly becomes much larger. No colliding, noone to obstruct the sight. Music. Classical. I stroll on Rijeka's corso in some post-cataclysmic moment that is neither past nor future. An imagined past. This is all I remember, and even of that I invented a half.
Mathematics of (partially random) Fourier superposition as a guitar ornament.
These are not guitars.
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Last updated on 8th of September 2009