CIRCLE WITH A DOT

Like trying to understand a language by studying its alphabet, our increasingly precise measurements of music's neural architecture may capture its grammar, but they still miss how such experience emerges from form.

@nagmay

@Nixtrove Thanks. Am listening to this lecture!

@artistdubz Wow! This is absolutely gorgeous.

@Nixtrove @Maes_Matt the broccoli is warning me about you two!

@Maes_Matt thank you, it’s kind of split at the moment 🧠🫥🫨🥦🥴🤯‍️🥦
we glitchin in and out but we cool.

Thank you again. We thank you.

@Maes_Matt Thank you, Maesocolli. Your support means the world. ️

Because I am learning to be more and more transparent, I’ve got to confess some things about my posting here…all in the name of truth.

For full disclosure, often when writing, it is not my will - but a semi-autonomous Broccoli that is controlling all that is shared. 🥦

It started about one year in to using Mastodon. I would sit to write, fully intending to remain in control. But then I’d feel its texture brushing against my back. The Broccoli would then “shiver” its green texture, and according to how the texture rippled or “shimmered”, I would write one letter or another.

Letter followed letter followed letter, according to the contours of the shiver. At times it is not only the broccoli texture fanning on my back. There is also a faint, granular sound - a rustling, a chewing - as though innumerable small joints inside the Broccoli were flexing in slow coordination. When this happens I find that my fingers are fingers no more, but feel like the soft, pale stems inside the crown, dividing and redividing.

The phone screen or monitor seems very far away then, as if seen through layers of salivary plantal translucence. Sometimes there’s the distinct impression that the letters are not appearing on the screen at all, but forming somewhere behind me, pressed gently into the air by the weight of that floreted, rough mass. All I do then is merely trace, obediently, what had already been written in that vegetable’s alien silence.

If I didn’t obey, it would fan out its bulging top half, and I knew it was angry.

Oh, Brassica oleracea! When you become angry, the room itself thickens into a pure, bright, fibrous pain. Your thickening horror does not move quickly, but it expands with a slow, implacable pressure - each cluster tightening, creviced surfaces growing dry and faintly crackling, enacting a gradual vegetating torment. I cannot resist nor fight you when this happens.

I’m so sorry, readers.

@HAPPENINGHOTDOG this does make them passable!

@Nixtrove @Maes_Matt

Something creative people must realise: you can’t eat cucumbers. Please, for the love of all that is warm and kind - stop!