Sunday, December 30, 2018

DF-5 Autumn Rehearsal


Words, photo and sounds by: Rich Sudney

Autumn Rehearsal~
 Thinking of nothing else but the very fact that he is out of the hands of his creators. Free as his envisions of mind and spirit, each step is a rhythmic metaphor of the music pulsating through the ears. Whether it's the sound of the fall leaf's beneath his walking shoes or the melodic chords being struck in even intervals, he's the type of person that can not think without music in fluid formations as the typical person would. This daily journey from the norm  is the only activity with meaning and calmness. His way out of the hibernation from solitude. A relentlessness urge everyday at 11 o'clock in the morning, walking the same route in the same cloths in the same mind set of escapism. The walk is always pleasant, nothing unnatural about it. No, he isn't hurt or sick minded, in fact his appearance towards others is pleasant to the extend of being a very likable guy. Talkative, good natured and playful. In fact the opposite sex thinks he's a very handsome guy. All though there is something about our sentimental stroller that makes woman uneasy. That fact that he's middle aged and single? Maybe? For whatever reason that keeps the ladies at bay, he and certainly we shall never know.

 It is early November. The autumn leafs  are starting to fall from the trees. Feeling the weariness from these centenarian  oaks and maples, as they shed their summers cloths for winters meditative journey underground to the root of all things. The crisp air and deep blue sky is punctured indecisively with pin-point streaks of red and yellow hues of softly descending leafs dancing from side to side on ward down to their final resting spot on the ground, only to decompose and complete the cycle of life. The sun is out. Having a break from the relentless fall rains in October, he's amazed of the pure show of autumn in the morning. The cold air is broken apart by packets of warm air leftover from the summers dry season. As he walks through old neighborhoods peppered by modern 1950's one floor houses, the bright sun enhancing deep reds in maple leafs hanging on for dear life on the branches and reveling rain drops collected by garden hedges with sparkling brilliance from the late morning sun rays. Oh what a grand day to be out.!

Along his daily jaunt, many clues about truth present  themselves to him but only time and time again they fail to awaken the firm mind of a repeat offender of repeated tasks. Walking towards mid-journey, the very high school he had attended as a teenager. Built in the 1920's and looking as if it should be town hall then a school. Ornate in design, it's stone clock tower still chimes it's students to class. Drunk or sober. The bell tolls 12 noon. "Times a wasting in this lifetime!", an old Indian baba once said when asked about the reluctance of growing old. "12 noon ! I better get going back home." our willing walker weighs in on his decision. Passing by a trash can beside the football field, he sees a squirrel picking at thrown out food from last nights homecoming football game. It's paw grabbing food disparately from a plump bulbous torso ripe for winters harsh long cold day's. With one swift movement, the fat of this patch of land rushed up the trunk of a nearby maple tree with food in mouth, saving for a day in need. "Save not want not or was it save for a rainy day", he rationalized while walking past the gold coin shimmed in between the pavement crack by his jaunting feet.

 Continuing on. This peculiar parading person had to stop at a traffic light where automotive turning procession ensued. The bright red "do not walk" right hand flashes in and out along with his pulsating heart beat, synced with up-beat dubbed techno rhythms in his ear's. The chaotic car continuance stopped and restraint of traffic initiated. Like twins, both the white blinking walking dude and him dashed across the street void of any auto-motives.  About three quarts of the way to the other end of the street, a car making a right hand turn, blindly pushes it's way into the cross-walk boundary lines where our prudent pedestrian path crosses. Unaware of a collision, the driver slams on the brakes making a loud screech of the wheels. Shocked, both driver and walker looked at each other in disbelief. Not saying a word but with cursing in his mind. He thinks to himself, "People are to much in a rush these day's." "Just put the cell phone down and drive - idiot ! ".

 Unscathed from the delinquent driver, he continues onward. A mile down the same road he often takes on these brisk walks, in a secluded part of the neighborhood, quiet and untouched by traffic, he crosses a lonely road. The morning air is still just like the silent solitude of this area. Only sounds that are heard is from the migrating geese flying across the skies, southward. At the other end of the intersection is an old oak tree nestled in a ring of garden hedges. Not thinking very much about the tree, there are of course thousands of trees just like this one around town. But, for some mysterious reason he paused for a second to retie is shoe laces. Crouched over and fumbling with wet laces, the kind that feels more like live snakes. Slithering, always escaping from your grip, never comfortable in one position - yeah, that kind. He suddenly hears the unmistakable call of a Robbin by his side in close proximity. Used to the various sounds birds make but this one sounds different. Younger and more desperate sounding . Glancing towards the call, at the base of this grand oak tree in the brushes pops out a baby Robbin. Still wearing it's first malt, looking more like a light grayish fer ball. the fearful fledgling fowl bounced it's way towards him looking straight at him.

 "Well where did you come from and where's your mother?", questioning the baby bird as if it's a human. Rising from his shoes, he stared down. Both looking at each other. Another chirp belted out from baby robbin. "You must of fell out of your nest, right?", exclaimed while he bent back down with his finger extended. Like with all animals, a helping hand is always his number one priority. Placing the finger just inches in front of the baby, unsure as to it's reluctance, the baby did the unthinkable. It leaped onto his finger grasping tight as it could. The fully developed razor sharp claws wrapped around his finger almost puncturing through the skin of his finger. Un-phased by the pain, he gently lifted up the baby robbin toward his face for a better look. "You can't stay on the ground buddy. You might get eat'en up by a hawk.", again talking to it as if the baby was a human. "Let me take you to a safer spot so mama robbin can find you". Searching around for a good spot he turns around and sees a branch at shoulder height on another oak tree across the street. With a smile of relief he said ,"I just passed that tree. I'll take you over there". A careful protective walking stride much like walking with a full pint of beer,  as not to drop the poor fellow fowl, a car drove up to the stop sign as he was walking across the intersection. In it, a young mother with her child looked in amazement  seeing a him walking towards them with a baby robbin perch on his finger. Walking in front of them at the stop sign, the mothers eyes grew wider then a deer in the lime light of a cars head lamps. The mother pointed towards him in astonishment, trying to signaling to her child in an attempt to detour her child's amusement with their electronic "personal distraction apparatus" (PDA). As if the car wasn't even there, he walks undistracted to the other oak tree where he places the baby robbin on the branch. "There! All better now" he said to it as he turned around and continued walking back home as if nothing happened at all.

  Ending his walk as he always has done, with a stretch of the legs at the base of his driveway and on time at exactly twelve noon ? He walks up the driveway to the side door. Noticing a bird sitting on the chain-linked fence that runs along side of the driveway. At a distance it didn't look like anything out of the ordinary but as he got closer and closer the bird didn't fly away as other birds would. Even closer he realized it was an adult robbin, the baby robbin's mother. They both looked at each other for a minute. This gaze between them, almost supernatural in context that spoke more then words could describe. An existential conversation of the most basic emotional language that is mind and spirit. At that moment during the process of non-verbal communication, something akin to a subconscious telepathic connection between minds, he realizes that his mundane walk which has always been the same, was now extraordinary on spiritual level. Teachings of the spirit world and beyond, had come forth in a mundane sense. The helpless baby robbin, was it a message from a spirit? Or was it a simple coincidence that an animal would just pop out of nowhere in a busy city environment, asking for help?



The mother robbin chirped and flew away from the chain linked fence and so he walked in the house, looked at the kitchen stove clock - twelve noon it read. Not 12:01 or 12:43 but exactly 12:00. Nowadays's he can be found reenacting his same mundane daily walks. The same it has been. On time and on the same route. Sometimes with birds following close behind him.

01: Leaf Pile......................................9:00min

02: Seasonal Mindfulness.................5:39 min

03: Winter Solstice Soul.....................6:42 min

04: Helping Each Other......................9:56 min

05: Deep Blue Autumn Skies.............9:53 min

Archive release page

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Monday, April 16, 2018

DF-4 Secret Sanctuary

Words, photo and sound by: Rich Sudney                                 

~Secret Sanctuary~

 Appearing through the thick foliage with determination in it's body. This being of ultimate  mind and spirit, maneuvers around fallen plant-life as if it's floating on air. Searching for the one place to call it's own. Secret sanctuary as you will. A zone of comfort from this all to sensory deluged universe. Having traveled vast distances as a ghost. No other being had knowledge of it's journey but for every step, it gained more and more understanding of the world we had thought was our own. For this simple creature shared the same vast unlimited ancient wisdom of the sky above and all the way down into the deeps of spirit. The "all seeing eye" ? Perhaps the embodiment of the reincarnated Buddha? It might be hard to believe that this powerful mind of incredible comprehension of all pleasure and pain, could cure all of our worldly woes. That is if we only could listen to it's observations?  Yes, the great enlightened one. No wounder the ancient Egyptians worshiped it. 

 Six legs to keep it grounded in this physical plain, this invertebrate reincarnates through troubles and stress by rebuilding  it's thick hard shell. The tools of it's trade - a sharp tough pair of pinches, defends against worry and doubt. For those who crosses it's path - a clear understanding of the universe. Fate and destiny, the constant work in progress is the goal of it's teachings. To manifest creativity out of something unexpected, just like it creates itself out of excrement. For a simple being, it is the most inhabited creature on earth. Small in size compared to us but larger in reality then our understanding. This Beetle has a theory about life's journey. Will we listen?    

 Who would of thought a common beetle has such mystical powers about it. To understand and appreciate the teachings of the universe, one has to "be" outside of their self's. Thinking outside of the box as you will. Looking in the mirror or looking at the world through the looking glass. A different perspective. Maybe from the viewpoint of a Beetle perhaps? One of the ways Buddha became so enlightened was that he manifested himself into a beetle. Experiencing reality from the perspective of a beetle, the Buddha taught about the change in reality gives us a whole new understanding in what we call the center of my and your universe. That is to say - You are the center of your universe and I'm the center of mine. We can only understand that single concept of "The center of our universe". What the Buddha did was to change that concept of a singular universe and add an additional dimension. A different set of eyes if you will. This is multi dimensional reality in it's purest definition. So when you hear  stories on the internet about time traveling in different dimensions, the mandala effect, different plains of reality or time lines. It's just experiencing reality through different eyes. That's all. Being a different observer. A beetle, that's rite.

  So how do we feel when we're a beetle. Well the most obvious is the fact that all things are bigger to you. Grass blades become giant trees and rain drops are are the size of buckets (literally). Though the first impression one gets when their a six legged insect, isn't the feeling of in a different body. On the contrary, it's the feeling of rebirth. Everything you see, touch, and feel is a whole new experience. Unconstrained  joy of interacting with the objects around you. Sure you've seen that blade of grass before. You have seen millions of them while trimming your lawn - but you never seen it as a beetle. That's the joy of experiencing through another dimension. That drop of rain water, it now has enough volume to fill an entire bath tube. Also physics tells us that water surface tension at that level is enough to almost walk upon. When was the last time you walk on water?

      Reacting to a drastic change in perception is never easy, especially when your the size of a beetle who's surroundings are bigger then life itself. All beings have a phobia to some extent of big objects. Whether it's standing in front of a massive rock formation or swimming along side the Titanic. There's an ingrained fear of the large universe compared to our selves. Take for an example if one was to fly up into space to the moon in a rocket. Half way between our planet and the moon you exit the rocket continuing towards the moon. The earth looks small as compared to you. Nothing above you or below, just dark empty space. The feeling one gets at this point is most likely solitude and cool but as soon as you travel closer to a near by object (the moon) that's when all solitude vanishes making way for doubt and self uncertainty. So why is this?

  Playing a roll in humanity where our position in reality is familiar, like at home or at work. We have a psychological foundation in the everyday assertive life from expected scenarios. In other words - We like the same thing to happen everyday because we learnt from past experiences of how to handle them and it's just easy to react with familiar problems then to deal with new ones. Though these habits do come with a price of cognitive stagnation. Getting back to our vacation in space. We find ourselves yet even closer to the moon. Say 20 miles....10 miles.....5 miles.  Bigger and bigger we see this immense whitish round rock looking planet with depressions, creators and mountains. The feeling of insignificance, not apart of this grand design envelops the mind. To make the situation worst, no other person is around for hundreds of thousands of miles. Your it ! Experiencing another reality that's not your own nor having someone else to solidify any justification for your experience is truly a lonely feeling. But is it really?

  At first our conscious towards unfamiliar  realities is shear loneliness but as time persists one starts to become more involved as a player in the grand scheme. Traveling in space is just the same as becoming a beetle in the forest. Same consciousness only a different stage. As a beetle, life challenges are equal to those of a business man on the streets of New York. Our beetle maneuvers itself around tall stalks of grass which is homogeneous to the businessman weaving his way around other pedestrians  on the side walk. Although same things are contradictory. Shelter in one way is a given in the insect world by in large do to the fact that shelter in the forest is everywhere and free for the taking. The businessmen has to work really hard for a over priced apartment. But lets not get to far off course!

  Different realities doesn't mean different methodologies are used in handling your reactions towards it. The same methods apply no mater which stage of reality you may choose to be a player in.  Take for an example a person who has been blind since birth. Their experiences obviously are different then a sighted person. When asked - What does a car look like? To a blind person, they will tell you a car looks as it feels to them. In other words the visual concept of an automobile such as color or the material it's made out of isn't present in their reality. No, the shape, the sound it makes and feel on their hand is their reality and it's hundreds of times more acute then to a sighted person.

  So What is learned from the beetle that we can apply to our lives. Is it necessary to explore the ideology behind what it represents in the metaphysical world ? If one is to release it's bonds from this present reality, then yes it's important to educate they self  in an alternative mode of thinking. Creatures other then ourselves have always been the perfect philosophers because of their closeness in sharing the same environment as we do. They are our mirrors into understanding the self. "Mirror, mirror on the wall. Who is - who- of them all?" The big act in the play of life, is the biggest "Wrong actor for the role" scenario because we struggle so much in finding who we are. Do beetle's share the same conflicts? If so, then they are one good actor for the role of beetle.    

  track listing:

01: Secret Sanctuary............................8:45min

02: Line Misunderstanding.................6:05 min

03: Speechless Life...........................11:15 min

04: Mundane Anxiety.........................6:42 min

05: Beetle Theory...............................9:14 min

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full writings in pdf

pdf album sleeve

Wednesday, September 20, 2017

DF-3 Parading Out The Devil

Words, sounds and images by: Rich Sudney                                     
                                      ~ Parading Out The Devil ~
                                                   (One night in the woods)

   He who is in his late thirties, stares out into the open vast waters of northern lake Michigan. Blue sky above him reminds him of past wilderness adventures, hiking, camping, enjoying the company of no-one else but his solitude. As the ferry boat rocks ever so gently with each wave, his stare becomes hypnotic in the anticipation of  traveling to a different world then he's used to. From the cluttered exhausted saturated air of the motor city to the crisp clean everything of  those islands in the middle of this lake. Traveling on a whim, spontaneous plans of going to meet and shake hands with his fears are all in the back of his mind. "You can plan for everything under the sun. But you'll never plan for that banana peel you'll slip on" he recalls from reading mystic literature. "I know I'll make it" saying to himself in a reassuring vibe. Carefully planning every spot, step and strategy to get to a small island by kayak for months now. "Just remember the banana peel!"


 The blue sky...Oh the glory of the blue sky. You give away to your twin, handing off the stage of this world to the sad mask of stormy weather. Relaxing on the balcony of the white and green ferry, I could see my destination in the distance. A small dark band of land ontop of  the razor thin border where the earth and air engulf one another in an eternal battle of  night and day. This,  I could see at this point was much darker. Rain clouds blanketing the island like there was no other place on earth for storms travel too. It was like a mythical story of the ages, telling how and where rain was born. The clouds centralized over my vacation spot "Damn it !" The gentle rocking of the ferry gave way to gale force winds, lightning and torrential rain beating on the windows of this old ferry boat. All of this only one mile away from port. "Well, that banana peel might have me this time", assuring myself as I convince my disappointment that this is only mere set back. "By the time I reach port, the storm should be done".

 .....And it didn't when he reached port. The long line of other passengers waiting to get off the ferry was nerve-racking. Propping his head up above the line looking for any clue as to a glimpse of the outside weather. Shorter and sorter the line decreased as people caught cab rides and other forms of transportation to their lodging for the night, while I strapped on my hiking backpack and grabbed my kayak out in the down pour of rain. As lightning struck ground (out yards away)  he says in a discouraged voice, "I'm nuts to be out here with no place to stay" The port quickly emptied. All there was left was the unmistakable sense within him of truly shipwrecked on an island, only this one had a bar in town. "Nice! I shall wait the storm out with a drink." After stowing his gear inside a shaggy bush to hide the fact that our storm soaked sailor from the south had skedaddled to the saloon.

  "Can I get a Guinness  please?", asking the bar maid while whipping off the rain from his glasses. "No Guinness only domestic beers here honey", she replied casually with an undertone 
annoyance in her voice. Putting on dry glasses, he saw his second favorite drink displayed on the back wall of the bar. "Ah..I'll take a Corona then". Spending the next hour slowly sipping his drink just to wast ample time to let the storm weaken. "Figure if the rain only eases up a little, I'll find a place to sleep tonight", thinking to him self while looking through the foggy window  in the direction of Main st. in this one police man island town. The down pour of rain steadily diminished to a gentle spring time sprinkle on this day in mid June. "Today's my birthday", he murmured to himself in a depressed fashion. "And I'm stuck here on this island. Wet, cold and longing for sleep" "Welp ! Better get going, it's get'en late.

 Gathering his gear under the thinning grey sky's presented him with an opportunity to seek shelter. Looking towards the inner most part of this island, it seems so dark and ominous in there. The blanket of woods and small houses spread throughout a winding road, gracefully turning up hill into the darkness of the late evening. "I'm going to have to stealth camp somewhere in the woods tonight", he says knowing that the closest camp ground is miles away. Up the hill and around the bend, hoping it doesn't rain again. The warn black top pavement sharply cuts off into dirt and ultimately narrows down to a small path way. Disparately looking for the perfect spot to set up camp, he spots a opening in the woods where the perfect spot to camp the night can be seen lite up in the opening of foliage high above. Stepping off the pathway to his right, he stealthily sneaks in between young saplings of maple, trying to avoid being seen by the owners of the land who's house can be seen a few hundred yards away. Meandering by full grown beech and ceder, the forest ground still covered in last years fall leafs, he quietly worked his way to that opening in the forest floor. These ancient woods, flat, over-grown and wet, presented to him as friendly but it's lack of sounds was making him nervous. No bird songs or dusk chorus, just silent - something our reluctant raider remembers isn't right. 

 After quickly setting up his trusty tarp into a make shift tent by using two tree branches and rope, he stuffs his homemade goose-down sleeping bag into a surplus bivy bag for extra protection against the elements. "Ahh..", he exclaimed in exhaustion while sitting on the wet cold ground. "I'd better get something in my stomach". Sifting through the big wood-land camouflaged backpack, a food bag appears with dehydrated meal goodness inside. Stealth camping is a little bit different from regular camping. For one thing; food preparation without a camp fire is a must if one is not to get discovered. But who says you can't use an alcohol stove. Boiling up water with his homemade pop can stove, he realizes it hasn't rained in a few hours now. The ever familiar song of the Robbin echos in the distance. Sounding like his home during late dusk, this gives him add reinforcement. Looking up into the trees, he sees what looks like a small patch of blue sky. Smiling, he brightfully thinks that the rain has past. The increasing darkness falling upon these woods as the sunlit grey skies make way for nighttime. Distant waves crash on sandy beaches not more than a mile away, like the signaling sounds of Robbins to which the changing of the guards are imminent, they introduce this island to a new.

   Settling in for the night, he crawls into his warn out pee green colored mommy sleeping bag. To tired to read a book he hurry's to sleep. Ah..the time period during eye's closed and dream time is know in mysticism as the Mauve period. The transition between two worlds is a journey where half awake and half asleep beings realizes their bodies are only to help manifest conciseness for the spirit who's travel is between physical and spirit world. This period allows us and helps us gently transition without doing harm to our self's. Slowly, he descends into this Mauve state of being. The wind blowing through the fresh spring time leaf's up above him in oscillating patterns, noise of virgin white and pink grow as the gentle breeze collide into full grown white pine needles. Echoing throughout the forest, this warm sound slowly gets weaker to his ears and ultimately deafens completely. Quiet..shh...quietness and solitude is what the Mauve period has done to this tired tranced transcendent. Shhh........solitude.

 Within an hour he's out dreaming what ever his heart desires. Then - from somewhere. A small rock? Hitting him on the head. Enough to awake him. Startled, he reacts slow. The analytical mind starts to gather information as what had happen. "Where did that come from?", yelling while he rubs the spot on his head where it hit. Not able to see a thing in the darkness, he quickly shuffles his hands across the ground beside the sleeping bag where his glasses are placed. In a panic he mummers to himself, "Where are those glasses of mine? I can't find the flashlight until I FIND MY GLASSES!". After a few tense moments he manages to find both. Scanning out side through the small opening of the "A frame" tarp shelter, still in his sleeping bag, he finds nothing but the usual trees and bushes you might expect. Peering his head around the shelter in the other direction, again he finds nothing. Retracting his body back inside the cramped shelter, he sighs in relief. "Maybe it was just something falling from the tree above?".
Then again - from somewhere. A small rock? " Ouch" Hitting him in the exact same spot on his head, a small pearl white in color pebble. "Who's throwing those!?" yelling out loud while grabbing his homemade skinning knife out of it's sheath. He's silently still, unmovable with fear as he lay's vulnerable in  a small shelter. Slowly, he unzips the sleeping bag, then bivy bag. Slivering quietly like a snake, he gets out of the shelter to investigate. Pointing the flash light in the direction of where he thought the pebble came from. He see's something that isn't woods. "Huh!"

 Ten yards away, a patch of thick bushes with it's green rain soaked leafs shimmering in the flashlights beam and behind it a shallowly figure. Dark, oversized and unfamiliar. It's arms, legs and upper body was visible through openings in the vegetation but dark. An immense  seven or eight foot tall shadow, even though light was shined upon it, no definition another then darkness was visible.  This is the only way to describe the figure. Having a split second witnessing such creature, "I didn't realize at the time that I was looking at a seven foot tall humanoid. I thought it was just a deer", he recalls day's later when writing about his experience to a friend. Just as this creature presented it's self to him, it quickly without a sound dive-down into the thick foliage to hide. No sound at all. Leafs, branches, arms, and body were moving - but no sound at all.

 To tired to think, our lazy laid-back layman of the land felt a shivering sensation up down his back. Fear, now turned into anger. Thinking to himself "If what ever is out there leaves me alone to sleep tonight, I 'll leave it alone". Visually with his eye's, he lay's an invisible boarder around his camping grounds for the night, exclaiming to the creature, "Now don't you cross this line and we will not have problems. GOT IT!" Satisfied with his demands and his anger wearing off, he returns to the shelter. Staring at the sleeping bag on the ground inside his shelter, he contemplates whether to stay awake outside or relax inside the nice warm mommy bag. Doesn't take long for him to decide on warmth. Also doesn't take long for his sleepiness to take control.

 The Mauve period passes and once again our torpidity tent tenant is dreaming. Shh....solitude.

   The once gentle breeze that lullabied him to sleep, (now an hour later) strengthens and whirs around as the mist of before thickens into rain. Faint sparks of light grow brighter in front of rumbles of thunder. A storm is brewing. Cloud too cloud lightning gaining speed and intensity, his grapple-hold onto deep sleep is being compromised. The pleasant nature of the gods from above are turning and their slumber is being compromised as well. Zeus has awakened and with one swift throw from his arm, a lightning bolt from above hurtles down to the physical world with the strength of  a thousand horses. Striking the ground only yards away with a mighty explosion, the crack generated from  thousands of volts is felt within every bone in his body. Cat like reflexes, fast and disdaining about sleep-headness, pushes him out of his bag with the speed of a frogs tong catching it prey. White face and scared, he stands outside in the pouring rain - again contemplating whether to stay or not. Another loud crash in the distance pushes his decision making back inside the shelter. "I made it this far not to run away",  speaking to himself in a encouraging way. Taking a deep sigh and unzipping the sleeping bag, he craws back into what seemed like the only safe spot on the his shelter.

  For hours the storm unleashed it's violent terror of light pulsating inside the clouds high above him. Distant thunder vibrated the very ground he laid on, magnifying the experience of sleeping through a storm. With every lightning strike - I saw. With every thunder boom - I felt. It was like being in the front row of concert performed by Zeus and I was the only spectator in the arena. Poking his head out of the small opening of the shelter, he lay's there looking up towards the heavens. "I swear, I've seen the same storm cloud an hour ago" he mutters to himself while looking at storm clouds through the opening in the forest canopy."It's like it never moves" Persistent, the constant chaos of light and sound dance together in a story of the ages, this mingling of energy once still is now full on psychopathic in it's actions. The storm never lets up, stationary to an extent, never letting go. This is what it did for five and a half hours throughout the night. Only until the sun peaked out from the other side of the earth, did the storm dissipate into a mist. A gentle late spring morning mist?

 Hearing the dawn chorus chanting throughout the forest. The early morning doves announce the beginning of a new day. The ever present "pitter patter" of rain drops falling from leaf's high above, crashing onto other leaf's down below. This morning quietness is still and welcoming to a sleepless victim of last nights storm. The gray clouds, thin with a blueish tint, floating just feet from the very tops of  the tallest trees, casually wonders pass by. Rubbing his eye's, he puts on his glasses to see the surrounding forest and compare it from what he remembers from late night in the bushes. "Looks the same", he exclaimed. "Maybe I was just seeing things?" "Oh well, I think it's time to leave before another storm hits".

 Quickly packing up his stuff in the morning light, he leaves for the port where another ferry is waiting to go back to the main land. With the second half of his round trip pass, he presents it to the ship hand. With defeat on his face for wanting a perfect vacation, he shrugs his shoulders and say's "Wow. What a night". Overhearing some locals on-board the ferry, they mentioned how devastating last night's storm was - Tree's down, power outages and flooding. As the ferry departs port, he stares at his backpack leaning on the seat across from him. Realizing that he has not eaten all morning and left a half eaten fruit bar in his packet. Reaching for it, he pulls out instead a pebble. A small pearl white pebble.  Looking at the pebble he thinks.......and then say's to himself, "I'll be back next year"



track listing:

01: Tree House.................................10:42min

02: Tree Energy Line........................8:22 min

03: Leaf Entanglement....................11:34 min

04: Auditory Fiber Transfer..............8:19 min

05: Parading Out The Devil.............8:13 min

download album zip

full writings in pdf

pdf album sleeve

Friday, February 24, 2017

DF-2 "4 am"

Words, photo and sounds by: Rich Sudney

  The silent world of night beholds the bearers of the slumbering animals. As most of them meditate collectively in alterative realities guided by deep thought, a few of us work the midnight oil till the dawn hour where by the rising Taurus believes all was a dream. Restless and weary, the hours after 4 am calls the end of our nightly duty. No one sees nor can relate to works of hands on the floors of reality as many forgets day's past events in love, anger or neutrality. These streets empty, dark, and sometimes inhabitant by floating spirits conversing with cold sub zero winds, are gently painted in white light equally erased by deep darkness. Store front buildings undercover by this darkness are reveled by second floor apartment lights, assuring their vacantness to the world. Silhouettes in the windows, we can only hope there living. Silhouettes in the windows, living is our only hope.

  Guided by double yellow streaks, this driver holds on to existence. Rumor has it that the low rumbling taos hum, the product of over stimulated minds during day light (chaotic thoughts), is harmoniously a single pattern as people dream. With windows down, the wind blowing across his ears diffuses road ambient noise in a colorful sonic waves of motion. The signals of greens, yellows, and reds collides into one mess of violets and blues. The window on  the sidewalk reads "MERRY" in black bold letters. Lighted by fat round marquee blubs, a white lace shade cloth contrasts it like nocturnal ideas of  beauty in the eye of the beholder. As rain drops on the surface of the road, headlight reflections dance in suggestive movements over cracks and ruts only to be cutoff by the splash puddles from car wheels racing to catch a free red light. "You know the chicken got to greedy and danced across the road" he confessed wearing a rubber trench coat, as he pushes his youthful enthusiasms in a broken grocery cart back to where he found them. A hand written sign taped on the front reads, "Bottle collecting lessons - Bring your own cart". In a half drunken voice, confirms that, "He was run over by the very egg that hatched him". Smiling under a novelty children's duck umbrella, the man dissolves into water, leaving behind a cloud of oneness. A cloud we only can see and not touch. Like our thoughts.

  This ride in the country side, split between reality and the left lane, as proven by orange growths along side the tree line where our world meets with theirs. The darkness constant and forbidding, grows out of it's wonder as dawn approaches. Time. Time has it ourselves. Considering it's embodiment where as it's origin, placed in our minds to remind. Remind of what? That we have all the time in the universe beyond the grave? Maybe so, but let us revisit the muted environment. Peaceful, empty, and feeling of unconstrained freedom. This is your town, city, garden or second floor window.

 Songs of cricket's fly past his ear, high up above in the tall elder oak trees lining this lonely side street. An orchestral conducted by lazy eyed thoughts of retirement of the day's work and struggles. Synthesizers buzzing and humming in the distant night, grows and weans in unison with mixer's of warm and cool breezes from the lake. Time? Where did it go? "It went to bed like the rest of you", the voice on the radio said with confidence. "...and now a word from our sponsors - Time rap. The only time traveling blanket used by the NFL"

  Engine hot as  hell, wheels on spin dry, windshield wipers time synced to the atomic clock, we are leaning over the steering wheel in deep though of the next 4 pm.

track listing:

01: 4 am......................................17:43 min

02: 4 pm...............................................15:57 min

03: Three Fifty Nine AM..........................4:02 min

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Tuesday, February 14, 2017

DF-1 Nothing To Fight About

words, photo and sounds by: Rich Sudney

  Bless the all great American slacker. He not cares about the big picture around his finely manicured classic sports car, as he lovingly applies liberal amounts of car polish on the front bumper. Carefully missing the cheap plastic headlamp with a dirty used sock in one hand, and in the other a can of cheap watered down beer. A warm early Saturday evening, as the sun just begins to drop below the tree line, he works meticulously polishing his car inside of his well equipped garage. The last few square inches are all that's left and a half empty beer. Wiping the hands clean, he takes the last great gulp out of the can of beer. Stands back to admire the mirror finish he created on this 40 year old, 350 hp, turbo charged, low mileage beast of a automobile. Imagining riding it on some quiet winding country road, he utters the most heart felt and thought provoking statement only fit for a Shakespeare play..."Yep."

 Tossing the empty beer can towards a pile of like beer cans in the corner of the garage, he stumbles out into the sun lite cracked and uneven driveway. Dodging the tall weeds planted unyielding between those cracks as he makes his way to the back door, squinting his eye's from spending way to much time in that dark garage. The only thing on his mind now is entertainment. "Ahrrr, see what's on the computer" talking to himself in a half drunken voice. Forcefully pushing the dirty wooden back door open, he runs to the bathroom through the kitchen. As roaches on the floor scatter towards safety, a stack of dirty dish in the sink (with mold growing on them) call out in loneliness to be cleaned. Retiring to the bed room, our prodigious hero lays on his well warn-in bed. The laptops screen glowing brightly onto a darken stain area of the wall where his head is usually rested upon;  his only communication to the outside world is through this bargain no-name brand computer. Scanning some of his favorite political and news commentary video shows, his anger starts. Conceived with disapproval from some politicians for whom are featured in such videos, the commentators tisk, tisk's them in outrage. Having the urge to shake his head along with agreement, he throws out rages of bitter anger. Discharging resentments for the problems he faces on a daily basis, blaming them for it. Exhausted by his own rant, he calms down. "Ahh! I'll watch something funny!", he exclaims with the sound of defeat in his voice. A swift stroke of the mouse, up pops more videos of people doing stupid a dangerous stunts on camera. As darkness falls, we see him laughing with enjoyment of watching people getting hurt in his dark dank room while the big picture around him fades away.

  This is Al, the great American slacker. Prevailing collector of grubble. Fine connoisseur of the single malt elixir. Trained devotee to secrete knowledge of the rebuilt, rebored, and reground "V block" engines. Able to multi-task collective mystical philosophies of todays gossiped political news, all with beer in hand. Yes he is the guru of all that is slack. Not having the slightest care what so ever of the world at large around him but will argue with any opponent that he's the man for the job in the oval office. He's Al, a person who could be anywhere. A guy in a small town or large city. He's your annoying tool borrowing neighbor. The young do nothing hipster down the street. He even could be the mailman delivering your junk mail. You see, everyone is Al in some small sense. We all have that ability to shut the world out. It's easier now more than ever with the accessibility of entertainment. T.V., the internet and sometimes reading, it's all designed to distract the mind. Don't look over at the starving family down the block! Here, watch this new episode tonight only on FOX and don't forget to check out this viral video of a starving family down your block.


  The Al's of the world had lost their sense of accord with the environment because of this, lacking the will to fight for what's true and completely disengaged with society. As far fetch as it might seems, just look at how much time per day you spend with T.V.s or computers. Devices like these are everywhere. In your room, in your pocket, at the gas pump, in the doctors waiting room - Give it time and they will be in your head. They tell you what to watch, what to think, what to buy, what to eat - Give it time and it will tell you how to be. It's relentless commercial ads, forces to sell your soul to imaginary beliefs, imaginary promises, imaginary lifestyles - Give it time and you will become imaginary.

  Don't become an Al. Because you will have "Nothing To Fight About"
track listing:

01: Nothing To Fight About......................................5:56 min

02: Forest Walk................................................10:32 min

03: Distant Birds..........................9:01 min

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full writings in pdf

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