not a single ending in the whole universe

video: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PgN0BItiiK4 (by eerohz)
photo by moody alien.

"not a single ending in the whole universe" is a combined re-working of "a tiny little bigger than the whole universe [bells]" by eerohz (http://catalogueofwonders.bandcamp.com/track/a-tiny-little-bigger-than-the-whole-universe-bells) and "where Y's end" (where Y's end [disquiet0044-sandy2012] by moody alien) -without the Sandy field recordings.

recorded & initially mixed by eerohz & moody alien respectively, re-worked by moody alien for http://catalogueofwonders.bandcamp.com/album/a-tiny-little-bigger-than-the-whole-universe-cata43.

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old and enormous are the stars.
old and small is the heart, and it
holds more than all the stars, being,
without space, greater than the vast expanse.
[fernando pessoa]

◊ films, literary ficiton, illustrations, poetry and music:
www.catalogueofwonders.org/a_tiny_little_bigger.html
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credits
released 14 February 2013
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“genius? at this moment
a hundred thousand brains are busy dreaming of themselves as genius
like me,
and history will not mark – who knows? – even one.
and nothing but manure will be left of so many future conquests.
no, i don’t believe in me.” fernando pessoa

these words above, were written by one of the greatest poets that ever lived, and thus he foresees his own failure and destiny, erroneously for our sake. it is nice when the poets pretend that they are pretending and fool their own history, rebuilding it in many shapes, labyrinths, peoples and horoscopes. each poem is a denied conquest and a promontory trespassed thoroughly only by persistence and beauty and daring – one poem will die and the other be translucent and another forgotten and yet another be rediscovered in the future. the poet vanishes then to be a past and become the sense and purity of poetry herself/itself . to write and speak too much about poetry is not to feel it.

the challenge we took with ‘a tiny little bigger than the whole universe’ (a poetry line by fernando pessoa) was to compile a solid and mesmerizing little collection of original compositions inspired or related to fernando pessoa and at the very same time to all poets and poetries of the world. so we pretended like the poet pretends and produced this album as palimpsests and tiny labyrinths to be lost on and last on them also, persisting and searching for the allure and gold of the poetry in musical notes and noises. so, instead of talking about pessoa and his poetry, instead of choosing poems of poets since immemorial times we built this fortress of imagined landscapes on its foundations. the artists themselves predisposed an availability of altruistic values and poetic sense, an alteration of words into sounds and then constructed this space to live on and upon. the artists transmuted themselves also into other art forms, illustration, literary fiction, photography.

this project was started and curated by eerohz when he was remixing a tune for tunedin52 and using some field recordings of bells and a line of pessoa kept coming to his mind: ‘the bells of my village...’. being a sucker for bells he disposed of them on the tunedin52 remix and produced the original version of ‘a tiny little bigger than the whole universe’, the first track on the album, using the field recordings he made in mosteiro da batalha in portugal and tintern abbey (monmouthshire, wales), and treating them electronically and even using a copper ashtray with campanabile properties. as he wrote:
"this dichotomy between real/false, true/invented, memory/reconstruction is the pillar of the work: the hands that creates bells are the ones who create solidity from the malleable metal; which respond to the call of the created object into churches and monasteries and which live in the drones of indoctrination. the furnace of the creation of bells is the same furnace of the subjugation by the church(es.) the hands that create also kills in name of the religious dominion.

this recycling of memories and sounds is for the artist the ourobouros, the eternal return and the fear for the loss of the past represented in the hands held in prayer and of the echoing bells calling to mass of his childhood."

camphor cinnamon myrrh
spider fabriquing silk web’s atom’s mazes
grass growing gently whispering violet blues
stone starring sculpture diaries
churches chewing chaps in hopeless devotions
windows wondering behind closed shutters
voices volcanoes dormant viperine vespers
in anger of silent sorrow:
i see the wheels spiraling into oblivion
roads to nowhere but names of sites,
camphor signals oboes of directions:
i see them going hallucinated
the young men of my age
to places
of dark ecstasy cellars, no-where to hide:
i see the wheels of despair on their hands
holding chords and tears, knowing nothing i forecast those aren’t my hands:
my music belongs to another within atmosphere,
solitude my music, steel cathedrals of silence,
stone vitriol turmoil
wind distorted sky.
i am a whisper.

and this is what is here, free to be shared to all the ones of distinct and different sensibilities. we do hope that this project may expand itself and other editions of this kind will surface here in the catalogue of wonders or in other houses and labels.
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