Outside my window a white manuka stands and whispers
"who
has
done
this?"
The insane, twisted vision of the murder by innocent proxy as the delights of the singularity close in.
*
I am bequeathed a piano; not exactly bequeathed, more like I am the adoptee of some past cherished orphan who has forgotten their birth name but wishes to speak it again. The piano is heavy with iron, a little lonely but intact with all his keys. The tone is spectacular though, over the months that it takes to acclimatise he even retunes himself, at least somewhat, and I find his sound to become more and more appealing, easy on the ear and organic, plus I don't have to switch anything on, I can just play.
Unlike a stringed instrument, the keyboard has set tones. An electronic keyboard will digitise the commands of the keys. The processor in the back of the unit will translate the hitting of each key to zeroes and ones sending the resultant combinations of data to the amplifier and speaker/speakers via an electric current. More sophistication built into the system will add volume, echo, reverb, pitch bend and nuance, however, the initial signal is digital and the sound is collected that way.
So? The thought occurred to me that by digitising sound a crucial element was being lost, like the third strand of a dna sequence, unseen yet ubiquitous, a kind of holy ghost of vibration, a modulating spirit or presence without which no wailing, wandering preacher, no reading of sacred scriptures, no requiem, fugue, fandango, waltz or haka could truly completely resonate.
We are hijacked by the electronic arts. There are no limitations on the gore/smutfest allegedly for those over 18 years of age which seeps into our collective consciousness like rising damp. Parents are traumatised by the lengths they have to go to in order to buttress their childrens' worlds against the predators of innocence. The dark arts of electronica do not just inhabit the raves and gatherings of our reigning culture hedge fund managers, it is blasted everywhere from fee paying speakers in supermarkets, stores, stations and churches, all of which adds to the price of your ticket.
There is a bee on my kitchen window. He scrabbles at the glass and buzzes in frustration at not being able to reach the light through the glass; I have to pick him up with a tea towel and chuck him out of the other window which was open all the time. Then I have to run for the flyspray because there is a cockroach hiding on the windowsill, plus several spiders. Are we like the bee, trapped in our own conception of what is real music, when all the time an invisible and potentially deadly governor operates to restrict, choke or even poison our lives, like a recalcitrant lover? Digitisation is all over the world like a rash, crushing the boundaries between realness and fantasy. Digital tech captures our brainwaves, our thoughts and creativity, our passion, feeling and most intimate function. Government representatives, lawmakers and bureaucrats shrug their shoulders, already captured in their own corporate welfare bubble. Police no longer protect the population at large, neither do they prosecute bullies, they are tied by their well known misogynist/racist culture and rewarded with fantastic pension plans, holiday homes, cars, consultants etc. Doctors are ruled by the pharma-state while 'psychiatry' is a bogus profession of charlatans, imposters and ner do wells who just love the thought of sticking semi-conductors into children, adolescents and anyone else considered useful enough to be captured by the state.
The state is electronic. All queries to be handled online. The state has no empathy ~ that's just a borrowed idiom. It is people, people who generate empathy. People who make the smallest gesture, a smile, a nod, people who acknowledge the human in another, people who own and must protect the empathy that is theirs. It
