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PiaGnosis (TenderKnowledge)

by Mike Heffley

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1.
a round (my brain) and core-dove (spine) re clines a tender mother. She there su Pine sheathes heir, where all my junk resides...the bio of my vitae.
2.
beyond (the lining she provides), a spy (dura) mother weaves our web, where lives the liminal: strands of said junk sur rounding ( ) holes ( ) of ( ) no ( ) such thing...:
3.
Such a tough mother! finely, wombing both the above in their berths a round my selfstuff. All inner life tende Red, all tangled webs woven to ensnare prey, predators, self...all get their sweet comeuppance from that one tough mother when she comes up from heirs with their faces for the world just under, just behind--not beyond my skull and scalp and hair--her.
4.
this trio of mothers--so named by ancient Mediterranean cosmophysiologists who saw them as such--trinitize themselves in t(w)o my Three Meninges. Pealed up art, a 
trin I ty would not be redeuced to a unity thus born; a YouNut(tea) as much (as a trinity) would be torn. They (each meninx) would die...I (unshielded, unsheathed) would dIe.
5.
a soft sorrow? but it sounds so undolorously happy-light. (?) Well...if one softens the tragic, does it not thus lean to joy?
6.
the trinister trick’s stir...: logos, ratio, maya... liminal living, half spirit/matter: morpho genetic field embroidery: Swiss chi’s... | | and the silence is in music, per Cage and Miles, and his twin nemesIs Ms. Monk...: Rag time to know Time...(should be hard time tune [o!] time)...raga’s in the middle...
7.
...until it’s just all in, potentia actude. Tough mama’s no different in kind than sisters pia and spider; her hardness just willed itself so, wild and wily, to protect those two as much as they, with her, Pro Tech’d my brain, spine, CNS. (A thing is per FeckTED, Sabbath-ready, when its creator is sick of working on it.)
8.
is automanic, the place where Toy’ll cease Is; inTent, strategy, planning, scheming all cease--the dura part in Formed by the pia and the spider parts un Harden in ménAge à throis... And here is where I salute my dedicatee, Anthony Braxton: My payback seemed that of a writer, serving your life and work; but hear is more: my music took in your influence, and moved it from the horn blown like you to the keys boarded like me. You did what needs not be done by me; I do on keyboards what does. I don’t know how your mind worked its way into my hands and central nervous system on this 10-fingered contraption, but I can feel and hear that it happened. So thanks!
9.
10.
Animalover + 06:06
Animal lover? Anima lover? Any moll over? I used to have molls...they mauled me out of their/my 9 lives. But some femmes remain: daughters, sisters...images. Memories...new girls born and coming up, to grandfather well. I love them for loving animals like I wished the women I loved had loved me.
11.
MyoPiaNica = 08:01
Well of course we must pay homage, while pondering the fleshly annals of womanhood, to the great Baroness of Monk. Privilege scorned so ethically with love, so far beyond the Pale. I will say more about her in my soontobeeryleast CD of Monk’s music.
12.
Dedicated to Bill Evans' chromatic reflections on Schoenberg's rarefied (post-reified) sonicflower arrangments.
13.
The best is last, and now we come to the heart of this abauriginal sonic art. My sister’s son, rock guitar god Jason Becker (re: the idea of a protective sheath of the CNS, and re: my dedication to Anthony Braxton, my book about whom was dedicated to Jason): like the first track on Angelizing Franya (Franyaphilia), this one spilled out of the depths of my real moment of life. Because, all arcane mind/wordplay aside, my fascination here with the physiology of brain and spinal cord is a visceral life-or-death concern, far beyond my little creative self...

about

All tracks and notes composed and/or improvised by Mike Heffley.

Eric Dolphy famously said (paraphrasing) music, from most profound to most casual, sounds for a moment, then is gone, into the air, forever. True (and also profound) enough--but of course we literate-cum-techie humans have defied that heartbreaking truth, with our scores, lead sheets, and recording technology. My path with music is both that of performer of existing and creator of original music. After a long stint of working the former, I'm turning toward a new stint with the latter, and that more as improviser than composer.

Herein is one of several such events from my archives I'll post on Bandcamp, to be followed with a steadier trickle-feed of similar (along with a smattering of public-domain stuff) over the next open chunk of time. (These tracks are my original improvs, from which I generated the poem/lyrics posted with them.)

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released October 12, 2022

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Mike Heffley Portland, Oregon

Please go to my Community page, scroll down to its start. I use the platform there to post a longoing literary fabulism to go with the music shared here. Readers can reply to it (as I do), but I’m not looking to engage with them. Also not looking to DO “community” there, or to pitch my product. This is mainly my message in a bottle to self, bobbing on its solitudinous sea. ... more

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