from rampions notes

i get closer and closer all the time

the zenith algorithm

the gossamer cord that holds us here

the reason for right

the reason for wrong

i have discovered new combinations

i have stumbled upon a new pattern

during improvisation

during meditation

during composition

during love with excelon

during contemplation of ordinary things

observation of condensation

clouds which move like spirits through the skies

the intangible etheric caress of new music

music rushing into the voids of my head

music waiting patiently to be written

the exaltation of a thousand rhapsodies

the clash of huge orchestras crashing into agonising dissonance

whirlpools of reeds and strings

harp mirages in shattered shards

the ever insistent chatter of the percussion

turning to a rawer flavour

and every sound brings forth images

images of light

images of saints

images of nymphs in their nakedness

and then i see right through it all

through the flood of information

through the symbols through the masks

through the maya which distorts and mocks

through the obfuscation of matter and mind

through time through distance through memory

and there behind everything

a delicious empty place

there is nothing then suddenly there is everything

from where are these things springing….i wonder…?

so i stand back in my mind

small and tiny and hidden

the music continues to materialise

the visions continue appear

oh memories but not mine

all possible music all possible worlds

the horizon of perfection a black line of silence

then rise blazing stars stabbing glorious melody

chaos into arithmetic into energy into purest love

i reach for my piano

my fingers so white against the black notes

the room so still though humming with potential

a dome in my brain is reverberating a drone

tuning into that steadfast note

locking on to the power of that sound

then my fingers with even the barest impulse

glide across the keys i gently coax the beginning

the beginning of what…i wonder as i watch myself …?

i stop and i prepare a cup of nepenthe

i take a deep draught

and i my fingers moved in strange combinations

and in strange times

as my fingers played variations on the theme of the beginning

my head was clouded in other sound

like marbled veins of music shot through with crimson or blue

the struggle for life and more sweetness

trumpets blew down walls

lyres summoned angels

lutes invoked lush green gardens where were courtly maids

drums unleashed inferno and fleshpots

i hurl down bass

i slap on harmony roughly

i drag the music from my head screaming

i herd the trampling noises through my brain

i capture the vanguard in one suite

some things arrive intact miraculously

other things must be patched and repaired

but i realise these words are meaningless

music doesnt happen in words

music doesnt reside in pictures or glyphs

and it hurts as it comes through

it burns up as it enters my mind

then it slips smoothly soothing

then it murmurs its name

then it so warm

then it so calm

then it travels at fond speed

illuminating planes and spheres of darkness

this music i have received somehow from somewhere

and i often laugh

who knows how long has passed

one minute or one year

this feeling is sustaining and yet killing me

i am combusting on myself yet always remade

and music surrounds me like the sea

and i breathe it in

and i move on