We made plans on the telephone. With actual spoken words and purrs and laughs that were cute choppy squeals through the wires. Long bits of silence, but instead of staring at a screen or waiting for a bubble, there was breath. We lived in different cities, and in between our encounters, I went to the music library at school to check out CDs from all the musicians you talked about. But for whatever reason I could never take them out of the library, so I had to listen to them in a little booth with giant headphones and so I did, every night for a week. Emptying myself so Anthony Braxton could fill me up with you. So Laura Nyro could draw me a map of where you have been. I'd sit in the audio lab basement every night for my crash course in you. Then crunch through the leaves back to my pad, praying to the great gods of Cool for a light on the machine.
Text by SM Simões