Story Behind the Song
This poem was inspired by a friend of mine who just so happens to have Autism. About 3 years he became very intrigued, if not obssessed with the concept of time. Most if not all of our conversation was based in his attempt to understand time. We both began researching time. I began jotting down some of his observations and spinning off some ideas of my own. At the same time I became interested in the cut-up method that has become the compositional method of choice for "Third Mind's Eye". I consolidated and copied all of the text and began applying the scissors. I worked with these anonymous clippings for weeks, manipulating the words like puzzle pieces until everything seemed tight. At that point I left the project behind. A few months ago I began producing the piece as an (ambient)spoken word piece. I reformulated the "Third Mind's Eye" piece called "Moving Shadows" to create and evocative atmosphere complimentary to the meaning and feeling of the words.
Lyrics
UnWeaving Webs
Cut word-line and hear the writer's voice,
this one sounds like the present.
So cut it open
and allow the future to echo to infinity.
Unweaving webs
you are who you really are,
just another unpredictable random pattern
of organized indifference and rigorous confusion,
a mind game so filled with paradox
savvy players quickly discover
that their most timely metaphors
are ineffective and meaningless
to those who have forgotten point zero
as the starting point of unpredictable spontaneity.
Holding my tongue
I have nothing to say and I'm saying it.
Shining my flashlight on a sundial in darkness,
I'm here to go.
Speaking the unspoken
and reading between lines,
now is the time to wax prophetic about the full feeling of emptiness.
Writing about writing
I tread the slippery slopes of Escher's infinite regression
That strange and tricky loopty-loop world
Suspended in an abyss of endless illusion
Where no one ever arrives.
Going up when I think I'm going down,
moving forward backwards,
moving backwards forward,
going down when I think I'm going up.
With my hands on the invisible
I take once upon a time and spin it both ways happily ever after.
I place my sundial in the fog,
throw my watch to the wind
the middle is now and I'm saying it.
Cutting wordline I locate this writer's voice,
a vector beyond brain
it travels faster than the speed of light and allows the future to present itself.
NOW, I consider that a gift.
Constantly holding my ear to the ground
my patience belies my contempt
for the incessant march of time.
This day, so far, I wish it could last forever.
There is no present like the present,
cut it open and reveal its treasures, there will be gifts for everyone!
That's life, spin it both ways, and we will be having the time of our clocks.
Use caution when you follow Mr. Escher.
Walking strange loops,
He will warp your watch,
Twisting and turning and spiraling time onto itself
Until all of the futures and all of the pasts
find you over
and over again.
No smoke and mirrors,
just dejavu, and suddenly,
I'm dreaming I'm awake, again.
With my hands on the scissors
wordlines divide and dissolve
as tiny anonymous clippings
into a teaming chaotic quagmire of simultaneous time.
Forgetting point zero,
Finding my path paved,
The hand speaks as the scissors play jackhammer
and breaks the grip of the wordline.
The scissors free the random voice
providing the unmanifest a source for calculated spontaneity.
Pursuing paradox,
focusing on the (invisible)
I have nothing to say and I'm saying nothing about it.
Honoring emptiness,
Cutting wordlines,
Unweaving webs,
You hear the writer's voice.
This one sounds like the buzzing static of the telephone,
The sum of all the faint murmurings
of the dead blank voices of missed connections
echoing to infinity.
Listen, hear, because this part will undulate forever,
you have found the writer's voice,
and its saying:
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Third Mind's Eye
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