Mike DeCapite's Liner Notes for Curlew's  lp  Gussie



_____Loud sheets of winter colliding in a dark bedroom. Invisibly. Waves: a perpetual

succession of events perceptible by repercussions which make themselves understood in

lavender and orange, which approach the visible in lavender and orange refracted from clarity.

Still life broken down to steady incremental motion. Movement, movement: every object

moving endlessly forward to stillness, within stillness. Is it time I'm seeing? Every object

arching, flowing within its stillness. One a.m., the fog has settled in, is complete. Do I get

the heart attack I deserve? I yawn again while fiercely awake. I'm torn by passions yet

perfectly intact.


Aah the lonesome curve and all of us who, late night, slide down it. "How's my ex-wife?" 

"I see her when I pass the bar," and so-and-so and so-and-so, so on and so forth, here in

the awful hollow arena of present tense, the phone put down and the ear still ringing from

another trans-American conversation. It's night all over: frozen clouds are stamped with wires

and rooftops and steeples and chimneypots, vibrating in and out of meaning so fast it

creates a different light inbetween. All is lost and all is gained and lost and gained in so fast

a strobe a sodden bright limbo is created of cloudlight, which is our eternal backdrop at this

hour. Something cries for the excised moments while something sighs content with what

there is, and neither outdoes the other but both comprise the systole and diastole——the

vibration of the present tense.


All bright dusks

almost midnight, again the variations on pachelbel skirting, trembling, sifting down but never

settling...like fog...like a heart kept open...a question whose only answer is no answer...and

that’s the answer forever...until you betray the question by answering it otherwise...

how do i always find myself still in my jacket like this?

do clouds mean anything? no, i know they don't. but i’ve chosen that they should, i've

decided they do.

and so they do.

be careful what you wish for if what you wish is never to sleep again.

dirty tape, our picture on the door, your face close to mine.

all bright dusks mean something, they are the only moments that last.

June 7 & 28, 2002

-Michael DeCapite