Rucksack Dreams

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Nigel Ayers

Nigel Ayers (born 1957 in Tideswell, Derbyshire) is an English multimedia artist. His sound art has included numerous audio releases and live performances through his group Nocturnal Emissions.His sound art collaborations includes work with Bourbonese Qualk, C.C.C.C., Andrew Liles, Lustmord, Randy Greif, Robin Storey, Expose Your Eyes, Stewart Home, Z'EV, and Zoviet France.In 1980, he founded the record label Sterile Records, releasing the first records by John Balance, Maurizio Bianchi and Lustmord, among many others. In 1987 he formed the Earthly Delights (record label).In the early 1990s, he performed live soundtracks for the Butoh performances of Poppo & the Go Go Boys. His visual art has been exhibited in the Tate, ICA, and worn by the soccer legend Dieg… more »

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And this then hits the high spots
Such as tors that had been moved in and out
Now, they changed all the roads
Worse and worse
Scuffed and splintered
Trails flow like sands and fall from a sky turned white
Digital land masses
Terraforming twenty feet wide
Created from elements in the planet's crust
Where chemical leaching computers
Intersect it five times
And align the fancy water points
From St. Michael's Mount to the Avebury Stones
So we'll have to retrace our steps with divining rods

So, I suppose, you know
That the elevator was still there
Where it had left me in the old days
When I first learned to hunt for ley lines
And memorize all sixty-four characters
Yeah, in these rucksack dreams
The symbol card catalogue system
I swung away from the mic
And looked at that literate gorilla
While he sent down for whole buckets
Of fiery red angels
Oh no, no
They were not marked or damaged
But they might have been
He probably radioed the discharge
Of radiation-like energy through card files
I didn't find out any more

A layer of sixty-four bit zero point noise music
Dissolved into a crashing solid blare
The volume built up like a wave
Yeah
In a sequence that jigsawed haphazardly
Together across a bare, tiled interior
Everybody stood still for a moment
Caught in it
They swayed back and forth.
Each person murmuring in Greek, Sanskrit, Celtic
Dozens of men and women everywhere
Talked crap about the printed word
And in a few seconds,
The force was growing larger
As the rumble grew.
Rose up everywhere into the darkness
And sometime later
Wailed a slight background sound
A faint rumble before the last reverberations
Ricocheted off
Back into the large tunnel and stopped
Silence!

There was a pool of vomit under the window
And more vomit crusting
On a mass of telex equipment
Phones and electronic calculators
The whole setup in there, actually
All the devices and a hundred others
All those poncy rich kids

Computers won't work
It was a man next door
With a gust of something stale
Networked to a recycling timer
Of exactly once every ninety minutes
This one was a minimum setup
To rid the place of ghosts

The old agent got a geological survey map
The ley line hunter, looking for cutaways
That would put the event firmly into place
Needed mirrors of the present
And grease and sand to throw on it

He stopped, he hesitated a moment
Then shrugged and his eyes shut
A couple of feet from the geological survey map
Naked, surrounded with empty mugs
Fumbling along
Stepped back
Towards the hi-fi stack in the corner
The wooden desk
The pair of chairs and the coat rack
His fist opening

He seemed to be looking for markers
It was very delicate work
A tap dripped
And there was a low whirring from the fridge
The telex machine typed out a message
He took a step backwards
He rapped at the door
He reached into a rucksack
And pulled out a little screw adjustable magnifier

With a few slaps and jabs
And hammering and pounding,
A prolonged period of hyperventilation
Faces flow through the view finder

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