Echo Your Revolution (freshly squeezed 2011 performance)

That won’t work.
It just won’t work.
No, you need to pick them up one by one.
Otherwise it’ll just fill up the space, slowly spreading and take over, until it becomes universal.
Each grain is a singular piece, but together makes a whole.
It’s a splice, a Burrough, reordered and sifted through an object
The way the distortion of vinyl players filters through records
A phone signal interrupts a radio transmission
The marrow squeezing between your bones
As a psychic sorts through your thoughts
Or a code embeds itself in a sentence
Or when your scent takes over a pillow
Like putting warm bread on a rug

Or…

When an object burns, traces of it rise
The smoke is an object
It’s the same object
Portioned smaller
A tangible piece
A being
Thing
Now sing.

Wait, where was I? Oh, smoke, that’s right, in the air.
You see you start with smoke, and the next thing you know you’ve cleaned up 150kg of wheat
And you can’t see the buffalo from the trees
Or the static and flickering torch that you swore you couldn’t see…
And the tar in your lungs may be your favourite thing
Disguised by a shadow dancing in front of me…

The air is filled with tiny particles – millions and billions crammed into a space
Evenly spread and at rest
So when you burn an object, the object disappears, and rises, and moves to a different place
And the smoke sifts through the gaps between the particles, no matter how minute
But when you talk… you cause vibrations and these air particles shake
And they rattle and roll, and vibrate less and less, the longer a sound takes…

Intangibility aches, sits in stillness, the air not moving
There is system, there is order, a natural hoarder of nothingness
Or everything, depending
But maybe we forget that sound, too, is a thing
Every sound is knocking particles together, in vibrations that sing and squeal and continue
Infrequently but at all frequencies, all at once
Any sound will disrupt this settled order, screaming REVOLUTION on impact
An attack on natural apathy
Wave after wave, spreading in every direction, in the shortest time possible;
Hitting hard walls the louder, harder and longer pass through
The smaller ones don’t stop they simply deflect and spread elsewhere
And the REVOLUTION continues
With a scream

But this disorder makes sense, you interpret your ears
Because when you hear the word “revolution” causing this tiny battlefield on infinite plains
You nod, and you whisper… “Revolution…”

And as each sound grows softer
The vibrations becomes slower
And the air particles fight less and less
Until they come to rest

And it’s here that you hear it and it’s your chance to leave it
And when it turns soft, you can then in turn SCREAM it
REVOLUTION! and the battle between air particles starts again
There will always be fighters and rebels and broken voice boxes
Nobody says when

But no matter how loud, or how hard, low or long
No matter what speakers your sound is coming from
How powerful your wish is
How real your need is
How sensitive your mic
Or how long your life
The number of your parishioners
Or how creative your listeners
Air particles will rebel against you with their natural resistance
And the score is then settled and you battle on even ground
You’re getting weaker and weaker, against a constant enemy
A powerful endless apathy

And the sound’s echo becomes softer
Until nothing is left
And you’re out of breath
A pathetic demise
A short and senseless death
Silence doesn’t request to be your guest
It just grabs your ears by their necks
Until it’s like the air never moved at all, But then…
Nothing can stop you from screaming again…

Revolution.

Wait, where was I?
Smoke.
That’s right.
On with the show.

– Scott Sandwich

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