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1. How to Become a Ghost (Without Dying)

by Disparition

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Part 1 of "In A Walled City"
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Your helicopters will cover me as I fall,
your eyes on every part of my body as I break.

Your helicopters will cover me as I fall,
your eyes on every part of my body as I break.

_

with spreadsheet and latex finger you rub salt into estuaries until they are no longer estuaries

with trowel and folded paper you take from the inside of hills, you toss yourself over your own shoulders and scatter across the pavement

Cartographer of poison, geologist of bound hands, your names are distant constant engines,
struggling and coughing
night after night

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Nineteen truckloads of supplies came with us into the Mountain, our crude and threadbare spells wrapped around their radiators

In their holy shadows we climbed and staggered.

With their thin metal walls we made our circle, scraped of paint and bramble-covered, wires pulled from dashboards and woven into tool and charm.

In those days of burning light we squat behind rocks and bushes and break outselves on the slopes of Angeles Crest, pulling every drop of power from root to nail to make ourselves invisible.

and in the night your helicopters

and in the night your helicopters

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Our captors praised our spirit - they often do; a well worn practice

They had recorded us in the nights.

They had broken morpheme from phoneme, like they might find crystal inside of a stone.

They learned our signs and letters, encased them in concrete, carved them into living cedar.

And in the night, wave after wave of static, chopped signal, unparsed chatter; arrows flung against the ramparts of our song.

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Your helicopters will cover me as I fall,
your eyes on every part of my body as I break.

Your helicopters will cover me as I fall.
your eyes on every part of my body as I break.

-

In the coming months of stone our hands grow numb but the rest of us will reach the sea, while I and other shadows stay to build your tower.

Their glass eyes and our liquid eyes – we both come from the inside of the mirror.

Stricken tower, built from stone of shifting faults and glistening with quartz, I come to you again and always from the sky; a burning, breaking rock – and your helicopters will cover me as I fall.

Your eyes on every part of my body as I break.

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It Is Not A Coincidence

Salt comes to us
in horizontal waves
bearing earthly news
of everyone whose fallen
from foreign and long ago heights.

Cold arrives when motion breaks the shell.

Cloth and skin become nothing
sea weed, sea foam, legions of the decomposed
take strong residence in the sinuses and nostril
dissolved bones of drowned ancestors
trace their faulty maps into our memory.

credits

released May 18, 2020

composed and performed by Jon Bernstein

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Disparition Los Angeles, California

Electronic, ambient, industrial, found sounds, beats, piano.

Inspired by history, geography, travel, occult, fiction.

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