Transmission

The first of the codes was transmitted in the early hours. I received it in my bathroom after the dawn rose. I was taking my ablutions when my device began buzzing, the mirky bathroom glowing blue as I contemplated my profile, preferring the light on half-dim. By the following morning I was transmitting myself, along with all the others, the code flowing through me like automatic writing, filtered through everything I perceived. I became a mouthpiece, a living conduit, revealing and configuring rhythms and textures of a world hitherto hidden from me, now haunting my every glance and stalking each infinitely divisible moment, from the hail that ricochets off the roofs of the cars to the detritus that colonises every iota of space: cola cans, crisp bags, coffee cups empty – rumbling in the breeze. I surveyed the skyline from the shadows and the flickering flames below the Mancunian Way; through the gaps in the fence, the panels of city and sky between the crossing wires, the luxury of the spaces between the notes.

Powerplant
Royal Northern College of Music
Manchester
October 16th 2015

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