4 minutes 5 seconds| A man awakes in a house to find his caregivers have been brutally murdered. He is in search of his "diabetic" cookies, although what he surely means is "diatetic", since there is no such thing as diabetic cookies. (Diatetic, in labeling years ago, used to be confused with food intended for diabetics.) The remainder of the piece deals with train wrecks, natural disasters, and "The Hypersurface of The Present" as conceived by mathematician Hermann Minkowski.
This is one of my favorite compositions. The best time stamp shows 7/25/11 as a start date, which puts it uncomfortably close to Rapprochment, especially given the slower turnaround on later pieces. Logic sheds no light, but the Intro to the SWF includes a separate soundtrack, which was made 11/08/11. (That Intro surivives as a stand-alone SWF in the animation pages.)
Novel-in-Progress, excerpt 9| Lucien visits a sleep clinic recommended to him by his cousin, and meets with several strange occurrences:
The volunteer thought his guide an unlikely character, more prone to scour vending machines for left-behind change than embark on a career in science. He was disheveled and, with shoelaces untied in his sneakers, poked like roach antennae down the dim corridor.
The two men walked down a half-flight of stairs to a humid subbasement, and then through a series of confusing passageways. The escort stopped at another door and waved him through it. A formidable desk, covered with peeling wood veneer, occupied the middle of the windowless room. The fellow stepped around the rampart and parked in the chair provided. A small pillbox was removed from a squeaking drawer on misaligned rollers and placed in front of the test subject; a pencil and piece of paper were taken from a second drawer and laid beside the box.
Missing the point of the choreography, Lucien was preoccupied with a prominent grease stain on the researcher’s white, knee-length coat. When he next glanced at the man’s face, he was the one standing and the recruit was sitting. A hand was raised over the items on the desk, as if trailing the path of a lumbering winged insect; this left the facilitator’s arm stiffly extended. Seeing the intrusion into his personal space, Lucien leaned away before fingertips clipped his nose; the back of the wood chair snapped loudly with pressure.
“As we speak, someone is at a nearby location,” began the dramatic instructions. “Your task is to swallow the tablet in this container, wait ten minutes by the clock on the wall, and draw what this person sees.”
“Isn’t this a drug trail for sleep medication?” Lucien grumbled despairingly.
The question apparently fell outside the parameters of the experiment, though an oracular answer was supplied. “It is said, in some cultures, that when you cannot sleep, it is because you appear in another’s dream.”
Lucien found the reply needlessly mysterious. “I am not an artist,” he stressed.
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