Standing beneath high voltage electricity pylons, the air is filled with a constant hum, a drone, a frison. The air is slightly electrified it makes the hairs on your neck rise slightly and exerts a meniscus of pressure. It reminds me of a vacant room in a rented house due to be condemned, just a bed a carpet that seemed to shred underfoot, a wall with holes in it and a naked light bulb that seemed to have it’s own hum and drone. Empty, vacant, like the way I try to make my mind by humming Buddhist chants of Ommmmmm, the drone that reverberates around inside my skull, moving through the frequency range until I find the resonant frequency of my head , the frequency that blocks all consciousness and the constant barrage of thought and image. For some moments these halt and I find the space between worlds.
Walking into bar with a neon sign hanging over it it in ultra real colours it drives through the night in a colourful hum. The refrigerator at home clicks on and off like my attention. The thing with all these drones; the power stations, diesel generators at rock concerts, the high frequency hum of cathode ray TV’s, they’re all tasteless and boring, lifeless. Tastelss as Zuccinni [courgete], tasteless as cabbage or cauliflower. these are the power drone vegetables that need to be dowsed or fried in interesting colours of garlic or mushroom or cream or something to make them register on the culinary ladder. Other wise they’re just dull lifeless plasticine on your tongue, grey, formless – droning over your pallet….
