collage: G.BEDROSIAN

VILLAGE VOICES

The turbid air is dented by chips of voices. Fragments of phrases, slivers of spoken thoughts resonate into the sun's voracious heat, against the blocks of concrete that pave the city (possibly) with good intentions.

Shreds of human discourse strewn into space reverberate to my window.

What is the message? Is there a message?

I recognize the raw language of fated urgency, in the nude - alluring - with it's pull of vibrational impulses that thrust meaning into my trained ear.

Will this (finally) terminate the rumors that affront my intelligence, arrest the flow of wasteful utterance? Will this (at last) dismantel the sophistry that blurs the line between knowing and ignorance.

The truth of the matter I seek.

The voices grow insistent, jig through the air, soar artfully like music notes of a sharply tuned instrument. Each designed to combat (I think) the messengers of false promises, each intent on booting out (I hope) false prophets and their unsightly fiends.

History, has its moments and in such moments the sum and substance of our existence blossom. Therefore, the moment I must seize. I fancy the emergence of some virginal thoughts. Is it possible to be struck by the breadth of a conception, by the spirit of an abstraction, something with no memory?

Is it possible?

Perceptions unadulterated by venereal minds? Beliefs born out of wedlock?

I persist in my musing. The voices embrace my thoughts. I believe we are being vacuumed out of this age of unfortunate uniformity, into an era of united diversity. The voices accelerate their beat in a profusion of creative rythms. Magnificently inspiring, they ascend lavishly above mundanity to reach our territory of negotiated peace.......... at last.

C. Caminat (NYC 1999)