On subvocalization, the voice in your head, and the music of sentences.

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I think I cracked the code. Not to Morton Feldman’s, For Philip Guston—I don't know if there's a code to be cracked there. It’s all timeless and primordial, liminal and alien. Listening, I imagined myself in a petri dish, germinating, widening, pre-conscious and pre-linguistic, waiting to hear the right phrase and only then would I explode into sentience. Stuck in the petri dish, scientists in lab coats sticking their noses in my “face,” measuring me, whispering behind my bac

Self explanatory.

I didn’t sleep much last night. Nodded off around 2 a.m. and woke up at 4:30 with Cameron Winter’s,“Vines,” stuck in my head. I listened to it a few times mentally, then in my headphones. I called my mom, the earliest riser I know, around 5. We talked, I got back in bed around 6, and tried to sleep—no luck. At 6:30 I got up, showered, changed, ate, and by 7 I was out the door, soundwalking. I generated two prompts. First, to follow someone as long as I could, then stay in th

Lovely, as I skip a stone and break the surface, circles working their way across the stream to either side.

A review of Talkshow, an avant-garde project by musicians Steph Richards and Qasim Naqvi.

I leave and I return and I feel less and less like a person of a place every time.

We were always doing things together, him and I. In harmony. Always predicting the other's next move.