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I. An Endless Ringing in My Ears
At the limits of my hearing, at the deepest and highest pitches, a familiar song is playing.
An endless ringing in my ears of rumors and minor love stories.
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2. |
Night Waters
06:08
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II. Night Waters
Looking at myself in the rearview, I am alone at the entrance to the parking lot. Alone with purpose, alone by design. I’ll get out of the car, I’ll walk down a dirt path to the edge of an unnatural pond. Resting on my elbows, I’ll slowly lean over the concrete ledge, and again see my reflection.
This time, I’ll study my face on the night water’s surface. Watch it shifting over and over to a new unnameable expression, and I will choose this likeness as my most accurate representation.
It’s this feeling that I’ve followed out here. It's the recurrence of a vague sense of possibility. The same as before, as when I hoped for a chance meeting with a crush on the most poetically overcast days.
Through the dust on the windshield, the bulbs of the lampposts have split into lines in perspective, leading somewhere within the thickness of the glass. The low electrical hum of the lot rests against the static of the radio, and bears a resemblance to waves crashing in a cassette of stock recordings.
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3. |
Formless/Familiar
02:20
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4. |
Between Cities
06:52
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5. |
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6. |
Wear Away Patterns
04:46
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7. |
Through the Windshield
04:57
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8. |
The Walking Man
04:52
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VII. The Walking Man
Walking between cities.
Walking between cities, down a street lined with tree limbs flickering in video grain. I remember older entries about mountains, about the lights dotting the runway at the airport. Studio portraits against a photoreal scenic backdrop, some other things I’m trying to unthink.
Walking between cities clutching an expired ID. I turn to catch the glare of a passing car’s headlights on the plastic face of it, and run through half-formed versions of how my dad told the story.
There’s one from when he was almost robbed driving a cab, still in school.
Driving at night he’d come across a passenger who was directing him further and further out, who kept changing the destination as if repeatedly crossing some new and disappointing threshold. As the passenger’s behavior grew more and more suspect, my dad thought of the small knife that he kept in the glove box.
When they pulled over, the rider opened the door, climbed out of the back seat, and slid a crowbar out of his sleeve. They both waited for something to happen. My dad held his knife low at his side, obscuring the nature of the object. Then he hit the gas pedal and sped off, the crowbar striking just above the driver’s side window.
Walking between places, I mostly wait for a unit of measurement to make itself known. I start to think there is a shape silhouetted by scanning the waves and frequencies and miles and years and other things I don’t understand.
But now there’s a blank sign ahead. A weathered plywood surface hastily brushed over, with laminated layers separating at the edges. A place marker that has taken on a new, poorly defined identity.
It’s the work of a plein-air painter blindly sketching in the dark, all rivers and horizons blending into each other in a grey rectangle of a thousand beautiful sunsets.
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9. |
Flat & Dark
05:51
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Cody Boyce New Haven, Connecticut
Cody Boyce is an artist, composer and musician based in New Haven, CT. He has composed for dance, film and installation, including collaborations with his sister, choreographer Esmé Boyce, filmmakers Joseph Barglowski and Robert Orlowski, and light artist Matthew Schreiber. ... more
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