1. |
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The drawing is him, it's of him, he did the drawing. The drawing, the things, they're him, he's in the drawing, the drawn things are him and in him there is the drawing, it's him, it's not him. Is it him? It's just a drawing.
You can be the tree
You can be the land
You can be a body of water
You can be all these things
You can be the horse
You can be the hay
You can feed the hay to the horse
You can be all these things
You eat the fruit, you become the tree. It's proof that you are here.
You draw the fruit, it's just as good. It's proof that you are here.
You talk about the memory of the fruit that you drew. It's proof that you are here.
The conversation you had helps you become the tree. It's proof that you are here.
You can be the thought
You can be the words
You can be the ink on the paper
You can be all these things
You can be the patient
The corridor
The hospital notes
The documentary subject
You can be all these things
The diagnosis based on the meaning of the drawing. The film in the exhibition. The illustrated case-story. The rubbish. The weird things in storage no-one knows what to do with. The revered oddity. The blanket statement. The treatment. A simple, complicated statement. The nameless anecdote. The daily grind. A drawing, biro on paper.
You can be the tree
You can be the land
You can be a body of water
You can be all these things
You can be the horse
You can be the hay
You can feed the hay to the horse
You can be all these things
You can be all these things
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2. |
Domestic Dust
02:58
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Particles of dust floating through our bedrooms, settling on surfaces and moving on the air. We're breathing it in, and blowing it out, we're complicit in the cycle. We can't get rid of it, we can only move it about.
Domestic dust.
This dust is making us itch, it's giving us a migraine. Does this migraine mean something? What does this migraine mean? It's a survey of material existence. It's a record of things from the past. It's food for the dustmites in our beds. It's incredible, and boring.
Domestic dust.
Skin, hair, fibres from clothes, fungus spores, pollen, sand, soil, animal matter, insect excrecia, industrial waste, meteorites, lint from the rug, food, cardboard, wood, minerals, ash, concrete, plaster, volcanic debris, plastic.
Domestic dust.
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3. |
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(ELDON:) - I said your name and the phone rang, do you want to hang? I have avocado it may be my favourite. I took a look at the stone man, his fist was an old plan, I have this sandwich I prepared, I enjoyed the flavours. Me and Rob just ate a salad, then we made this ballad.
Black swan thinking. Race-mixing is communism. Various schisms is what shaped me. Maroon on a mountain face, some place in the Caribbean. I once studied the subtle worries of the Aegean, and that got me nowhere. Afro hair. Please sir, don't go there.
(Rob:) I am of plant feeling. I'm learning through travelling through the soil. And as worms circumnavigate my roots, I flower quietly.
Every stone, a fossil. Every puddle, a lake waiting to happen. It's salad again, it's still nice. Lost in the leaf system. The cracks where leaves come out. The information in every seed whizzing past.
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5. |
Medieval Mind
03:07
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There's cous-cous in the keyboard. I'm waiting for the buboes. Mushrooms are growing silently in the forest. My chosen username is Hildegard Von Bingen. The clicks are taking me for a walk.
The embarrassing stream. Posture, waffle and/or lies. Refreshing the window, dreading replies. Plotting out a map to the seed bank. Proselytizing polemical from a like-farm in Siberia.
Medieval mind
The brain, a hermit, in its cave of a skull. Dry spheres scan the glowing rectangle. Intellectual badminton between reductive contrarians, quoting bogus statistics of the top of their heads. And I'm involved, I'm involved, I'm fully involved. I'm a vole, I'm a vole, I'm fully evolved. You must relax. YOU MUST RELAX!
Medieval mind
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6. |
Long Nosed Dog
03:12
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Preturnatural majestic ingestions, I'm a long-nosed dog, I've got metres of intestines, every bite that I take I'm making an investment, I eat the meal if it's free, I'm not asking any questions.
I'm a ball and I want you to bounce me
I'm a kite and I'm meant to be flown
I'm a table that needs to be varnished
I'm a bathroom that would like to be tiled
Thank God, you're an insignificant speck
Thank God, you're an insignificant speck
A baby foal, just slipped out the sack. Constrained within the skin envelope. Knock-kneed, boss-eyed, kicked-about and hungry. Tasting the air and its potential.
I'm a t-shirt drying on your radiator
I'm the tear in your trampoline
I'm rubble at the base of a pylon
I'm a demanding dog that always wants to be scratched
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Rob Bidder UK
Music by Rob(ert) Bidder. Intermittent chunks, every few years. Including old old music when I making music under a different name. All here for better or worse.
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