Sakamoto | Borges | Basile | seek further into the intra-place

we lost ryuichi sakamoto this year. he left us with 12, a wrestled arragment of piano pieces that extend into the ultimate vision of his late-career desire – to make music outside of time. the pieces are grounded in the earth, they rustle sound and speak at a geological pace that might fulfill his desire. though his time is the time of all humans. nonhumans, like rocks and tables, behave differently. albums like 12 exist among them. it is with hope that we conclude our thoughts on the work of this brilliant musician.

i wish to return then to a profoundly human time scale. a song, in an otherwise largely instrumental lp, that is so sensitive and intimate it has to be spoken in a handful of languages. a song then for humans, not humanity. ‘fullmoon’ is first and foremost a poem (like all work where capital b beauty is the chief concern) repeated by various speakers in their mother tongues. here goes :

because we don’t know when we will die
we get to think of life as an inexhaustible well
yet everything happens only a certain number of times
and a very small number, really
how many more times will you remember a certain afternoon of your childhood
some afternoon that is so deeply a part of your being that you can’t even conceive your life without it?
perhaps four or five times more
perhaps not even that
how many more times will you watch the full moon rise?
perhaps twenty, and yet it all seems limitless

a heartwrenching admittance by a composer yearning to extend the realm of his consciousness by conceiving outside of mortality. sound then as prolongation. sound not as wave but as matter itself. here though we have a complete recroquevillement into the human stratum. the poem operates like a laurie anderson poem, or a björk lyric. it is plainly apparent – the joke is that there is none. the gift is that it is all yours. it is all yours. and if you listen closely you’ll note that each reading gives, by the various language structures, entirely different tones. begging then to forever wonder how well can one text hope to keep its integrity? who’s to say? and yet, ryuichi sakamoto is clear. it is memory that lasts, not our ability to maintain its sanctity. i hope he was well aware of how much reached out to his listener, and how warmly his listener embraced his music. how solid his grasp was on matters of the heart.

continue the journey into intra-place with a link to an actualized, albeit digital, library of babel. here, the inconceivable magnitude of borges’ celebrated thought experiment is contained to within the maddening pace of a single screen at a time. in jonathan basile’s ever so thoughtful digital rendition find also the exploratory purpose that the edifice of the story itself corrupts in the human soul. you are not alarmed, you are here. find firm ground in totality by reducing the effect of the accomplishment. it is not geological scale that dictates this monument, it is the atomic scale. you are here and will never get there. rest within yourself the pride that drives you to peruse the stacks that populate the shelves.

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