Vertonen (turntable, various audio), Elastic, Chicago, 8/13/10

If stone doves could speak-- gravel-beat rotation coos into the cupped of your hand as she rolls over in bed. The night-shakes at their sheet-tangled, most twisted; oscillation, tuned to sweating hordes of toads converging in the grass outside. Their sounds self-stone, self-grate, turn on the autoimmune audio, all that's left as film between your fingers. Screw your eyes, inward-oscillate your rough-way through the night; the world bleats beats, coos stucco drying, croaks the gravel-passing of each nanosecond. You are a cementing jack-in-the-box, we are the handle; excreting chunks of granite as the world turns (down), as it grinds (to the ground), like the ocean alarmed at a Gorgon's onset, yet refusing still to cease fully to wave. Incorporated, though, the water rock-weeps, rhythm transformed into self-ossification, a Gorgonite cosmology, served raw on a turn-table.