Half six and late evening sun fills the streets. I intended to wake early and write, but I awoke in the middle of a captivating dream. The experiment of yesterday worked, although my writing generally has caused a consternation not unfamiliar. Cara has been uneasy at the mention of her name here. She says it makes her into a real person.
Yesterday was one of music, played and listened. Working towards a performance next week I have begun to build a new set based, as always, on old cassette tapes. Ben has been rifling through skips at the university and last week brought back a haul of audio tapes that has taken me the best part of a week to get through.
Richard and I ventured out of the house to the old whiskey distillery in the valley to go and hear live music last night. Carlos Giffoni, something of an underground noise patron and legend, featured on a bill that also included the free-improv quartet of Gianni Gebbia, Joel Grip, Patrick Farmer and David Thomas. We found something, but could not work out what it was.
There is much talk round the house of Ben’s forays into the abandoned. Many people have been collecting furniture, science equipment and maps from a building on the campus that is soon to be demolished. This was an activity that was at first done without permission and still few know of its location and the treasure within. A select group of friends set off at the beginning of each day with various transports and tools to politely ransack the place. One such expedition brought back the tapes: French language lessons, boys with unbroken voices singing, linguistics experiments, odd reggae keyboard instrumentals – a goldmine.
The building gets demolished sometime this week at which point all its contents, including a piano, will be no more.