As dub is to original, so writing to my life. Take it again, this time with space, this time with reverb and echo, this time with a tiredness so massive nothing can complete itself. Lie down. You’re ill – too tired. Later, write. Retake it: dub echoes, dub reverb, or take it over and again, wear it out. The worn out tape of There’s a Riot Going On, this time without vocals, without music, just tape hiss and tape worn out.
Dividing bedroom and living room, there is a window in my flat, a sheet of bevelled glass, quite big, to let in light. And that is written life, to look at it through that glass – too see, but also not to see, every event smeared and without detail. Vast, slow movement, backlit by indifferent white light: blurred life, life without contour, where no event is divided from any other, and nothing completes itself.
Events, now, without determinacy, bleeding into one another as the same not-happening. Eternal life, eternal non-event. How to write about that?
Lars Iyer's Blog 