Richard Chartier
Interior Field

[fade in]

One must be ready for all departures.

Sunday morning. The wall as a tombstone and the sofa as a grave.
I open my eyes.
Two flies contend for my knee. I smile.
I close my eyes.
Did I really smile? Thoughts like nails and legs like stone.
I open my eyes.
Semi-open shutters. The ashtray is on the chair. I smile.
I close my eyes.

[Interior Field. Part 1]

Something stirs. A palpable, earthy, soaked sound.
Musique Concrète of contact.
Sounds that reproduce words of dead languages. Secrets.
Reversed onomatopoeia.
Are they really secrets? Fine-grained microtonal drones sway like waves of the sea.
Ethos and pathos in contact.
Organic evolution. The voyage of Gordon Pym towards the unknown. Secrets.
Reversed ars oratoria.

[Interior Field. Part 2]

The darkness of a cave. Uniform, suspended, foreboding silence.
Monochrome ambient.
A black tulle that shows precisely by what it conceals. Non-Music.
The "Field of Grano con Volo di Corvi".
Is it really non-music? The dance of an obsessive dripping arranged like a symphony.
Polychrome field recording.
The known seen from alt(ernative) perspectives. A child watching a river. Non-music.
Crows flying over a field of grain.

[fade out]

One should not resign themselves to any arrival.