Draft 1—1/19/2013. ACID.
I was playing around with some of my sounds last summer (6/11/2012) and then forgot about it.
Today (1/19/2013) I deleted most of those sounds, tweaked a few things, and decided that Dream House was the right text. It's not a dream. It's a summary of the many houses my dreams have occupied.
After recording and processing the vocal (done in Sound Forge) I added several loops from David Torn’s Splattercell.
My ideal house is a dream house. You know the one…when you walk into the room it’s small and simple, maybe leading into another room, also small and simple, perhaps a few doorways leading off to yet more rooms, but when you turn around to leave there is a hallway you didn’t see as you came in. Just a simple hallway not much wider than the wall that was there as you entered. But the hall has door after door and each door opens to a room perhaps as large as the original room. Possibly each of these rooms leading off the hallway lead to other entrances, other rooms, stairways to attics and basements, another door or window opening onto country or city vistas not surrounding the original room, which might have been in a tenement, skyscraper, or out in the woods. These other rooms also have doorways that could open to other times and places. You never know.
And you never know if any of these other rooms will be safe or comfortable, so you usually hesitate to cross the threshold and turn back to the original room, which was perfect. But can you ever get back? Any hall you enter, any threshold you cross is probably one way. Only by going forward do you have any hope of returning.
Each room has a character of its own but somehow ties in with all the others, designed by a subtle mind. The decor could be sumptuous fabrics or spider webs or a forest or machinery, yet they all belong to the same house. Maybe the room is occupied by a forgotten family member or a prospective lover or a strange animal. You never know.
And each door you open could lead to another story or a continuation of the one you were already living. It could open to sleep, vitality, death, or boredom. You never know.
If you stay long enough you will cross mighty landscapes but also, maybe, you will find a small place that accepts just your body, a crevice or nook that could hold you forever. You never know.
Even when frightening things are chasing you through this house, room after room, and you’re not sure if any of these rooms will be safe, a refuge from anything and everything, you still manage to find comfort in the fact that it’s your house and not someone else’s. In a very desperate way, it will always be home.