I was making things up while Michael had the tape rolling. I think it is better not to bray like a donkey, but I wasn't listening to my higher self. We have since re-assembled this piece and it no longer has the animal sounds in the beginning.

bottles half full of water, voices and dreamers, sleeping and breathing

I recorded these sounds and rhythms and Michael manipulated and composed them.

Michael Willis on the piano, screen door on the screen door, and the dogs in the distance made the dog sounds. When all is slowed we are closer to the octave of the note pulsating around the rim of a black hole.

Calling voices fly to the moon and then tumble back to earth.

When the wave crashes over the field of clover, with open arms, I will meet you at the Space Station.

Sounds are recorded on the back water of the Tallapoosa River and in Michael Willis's bedroom studio.

Waves beat upon my boat as the wind picked up and pushed me back into the hollow. Here was the good fight which I needed, neverminding that I would not win. I paddled over to the shore, got out of the boat, and then pulled the boat along.

I was running in a figure eight upon the oriental rug in Michael Willis's bedroom while playing the kazoo, reciting my horoscope for the day, which was a Tuesday.

Birds in thick air and trees upside down in the water, distant dogs echoing and eggs being whipped, water being patted with a wooden spoon, daily vibrations which we will leave when we are soon off to the space station.