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This is an old-fashioned walking poem, by which I mean to say, it used old technology, and was caught incomplete.

I remember the writing. It was at the end of a day recording a Community of Communities event at SOAS. Those days began at about 4 or 4:30 a.m., to catch the early train to London, and ended with driving back up to the house from the station sometime after 10:00 at night.

As the technician you arrive before the audience, to set everything up and do your sound check; and you finish after everyone has left, breaking down the equipment, winding up the cables, putting everything into the backpack. Everyone else has left, and it's a quiet time. The whole auditorium in yours. The soleness is astounding.

I've come across the manuscript while cleaning the garage, and sad to have left it to mould. I hate mould; I hate what mould does to paper.

 

wp the technician

 

 

 The technician stands alone;

Everyone is gone

The air in the room moves differently;

The sound world comes from a distance where dreams begin;

Everyone is gone

The technician stands alone,

Everyone is gone

 

The technician stands alone,

The morning turned into day;

The room filled up and emptied out again,

The room empties out again

The morning becomes night,

 

 

 

Given a Japanese influence, here is how I would render this now, returning it to the original:

 

 The technician stands alone;

The air in the room moves differently;

The sound world comes from a distance where dreams begin;

Everyone is gone.