At the top of a mountain summit, covered in fog, sits a solitary shack, leaning sleepily against a rock wall spattered with patches of green moss and tangling vines. Stumbling in from what was surely a long climb, a lone figure pierces the rolling gray and enters the lean-to. The figure removes a hat, sets it down in the dark, and after some fumbling, lights a small oil lamp, revealing himself to be a tired looking man, bearded, with greasy black hair, perhaps in his early thirties. He absentmindedly tosses a sack from his shoulder to a dusty table, and pulls up a matching dusty stool to sit down. He reaches into his bag, knowing hands removing two items and carefully placing them on the wooden tabletop below his face: A green glass bottle, shaped almost like a wine bottle, but slightly smaller, with no label, and a dark purple liquid sloshing around within, then - after a slight pause - a book. Bound in crackling and peeling brown leather, with golden designs down the spine and in a more central formation on the cover. No text whatsoever, only the darker brown traces of being carried for a very long time in the form of oily residues and slight indentations. Rain begins to fall, tapping on the tin roof in a steady dribble of noise. He opens the tome to reveal a bright white light beaming up onto his grizzly features, so bright that it is impossible to tell if the book even has pages. As we inch closer to look over the man's shoulder, we too stare down into the brightness to see a vision of a landscape, devoid of any figures or trees. A barren horizon of perhaps desert or grassland, impossible to be sure about given the twilight-colored lighting provided, surrounding a solitary stone. Not a particularly remarkable formation, to be sure, but what the stone lacks in character it more than makes up for in size. Like a giant pyramid that has been eroded for thousands of years until only an egg-like shape remains. One monolithic grey oval, a silent stone God to cast dominion over this empty plain. Or is it a plane? Could we be seeing something from another Earth? Or some alien world? Somehow, it feels heavy, significant, imposing and important. It commands the attention of our mind and the man's mind. Suddenly, after what seems like forever in waiting, another burst of light pours forth from the massive stone. It simply blasts pure white fluorescence for a moment, like an eye that has not been opened (or awakened?) for eons. Then, after its own consideration has been sated, we're shown what we are apparently meant to see: another figure, this one a man who looks remarkably like our mountain visitor, only perhaps living a few centuries later. He is sitting at a table, inside what looks to be a carpenter's work space, and he is asleep with his head slumped into his crossed arms. The same green glass bottle sits empty beside his head, with a blue candle that has recently expired next to it. As if he suddenly becomes aware that we are seeing him, the sleeping man wakes up, and our vision through the stone closes abruptly, leaving us again with that solitary rock. Satisfied, the man on the mountain closes his strange book as well, and somewhere, perhaps in another world or time (or both) another man is trying to remember a dream.
released March 13, 2014
W/P by Brian Grainger. Recorded at 114RKD, 2007-2008. Mastered by The Analog Botanist, Botany Bay February 2014. This is Milieu Music number SD11, and eleventh in the 24-part Sun-Day set.