The following is a short story called Aimlessness to accompany or to reflect my reaction and my interpretation to a new album by Dntel called Aimlessness. The formalities of the album are posted at the bottom along with a small peak in the eyes of Seeds.
I got up from a seaside town sleep next to the seaside and ventured towards my home, a 10 mile walk, a 4-o-clock-AM-journey. The sun laboured and relaxed hard on my back but was no extra burden; rather a merely startling sensation to my skin. My eyelashes seemed to bake in the heat; my early morning eyes pricked in the morning light, their tears quickly flown away into the air. And i walked. In my head danced the many faces who paint my life with emotion, they danced, tongues hanging out, heads rocking like branches frenzied in the June winds.
Dntel – Trudge
One particular face of a particular friend was there with ears gyrating particularly. I could see green white buildup flowing through his skull, I could see the tatters, the insides of his head, this buildup was like some infected country ditch squelching and squeezing through hundreds of imaginary and spindling passages through his head. And all the time rocking back and forth, to the rhythm of my walk, my early morning walk in the hot sun in the hot countryside that fortifies seaside towns like they do.
It was 15 minutes later, after i had inadvertently hitched a lift with an old barnacle of the country back home, when i, sitting on my bed looking dazed at the tongue-flailing sun, became frustrated. Frustrated at life, where is this friend? Somewhere high, oh somewhere high, escaped from the pace, the still-tounged pace of a life with 2 feet on the ground. I could not fathom my frustration nor could i express it adequately, it was a green buildup somewhere beneath my tonsils, an unmoving mass, an unmoving purposelessness, it was an ugly mass yet I could not taste it, could not consume it! “For it to move away” I thought! So I turned on the heating in my room, I turned on the fire, I lit up all the phoney furniture I could find in one lurid fire; the green smoke emitted in armies of crafty-looking seeping green/white mass (sludge particulate). I bowed my head, the sun looked on, its tongue hanging, I bowed my head over the phoney combustion and I, I desperately tried to suck it in with my nose, I forced the motion of inhaling and I forced it upon the fire; “for it to move!” This thought ran through my head and settled somewhere in the university buildings of my brain, it made itself at home, sat on the grey matter sofas in a ball, a sleeping ball of non-human excitement. And there the thought began to mount, to build-up in alarming proportions as I continued to force green sludge particulate through my small head. The mountain of thought was now more capable than simply to inhabit my head; it began to create, it began to form, with its peak, imaginary spindling passages through my head. Hundreds of spider web passages through my head, imaginary, created. The once non-moving green/white buildup beneath my tonsils began to sense opportunity; it took to the passages, a deployed army of aimless matter filling out my head, moving, it was moving. I, still sitting on my bed in the full laughing-tongue-rolling face of the sun, began to move with it. From that moment, I became less conscious, I could not recall or record my existence or any experience; it was all caught up in wonderful beautiful fluidity, a unit of life with green sludge moving through constantly. What the sludge does is unclear and difficult to pin-point, some have compared its complexity to a small compiled clump of sleep on the side of your eyes so that every time you try and look at it, it moves away. Some have not.
The album, released on 5th June through Pampa Records, is available to buy EVERYWHERE.
Listen here though