I have more time for dreaming because I stay asleep more. One time—I can’t remember when, because days and hours and weeks and moments now all melt into each other—I dreamt I met a storyteller while walking along a jungle path. We sat under a tree. She took off her head and shook it. Her skull rattled and made music. Seeds, which made those musical sounds, started to pour out of her eyes, mouth, and ears. She put her head back on and told me each seed was a story. I think about skulls and sonority, how women sing, how I like to sing when telling a story; I do a lot of difficult things that knock me out of my center and listening puts me right back to the groove. Lately, I’ve been listening to Pauline Oliveros and have made a playlist for this love letter. In “Horse Sings from Cloud” from the album Accordion and Voice, Oliveros’s long-drawn tones expand and compress from the instrument’s bellows. In “Wolf” from Ghost Dance, come ululations, chants, and vocalizations of animal sounds that remind me of the Wild Woman from Clarissa Pinkola Estés’s Women Who Run With the Wolves. “Slipping Away” from The Roots of the Moment offers turns and shifts in keys, evoking the image of a winding road in my mind. Time became a little feral these past few months. Music, which is noise ordered by time, provides grounding kinship.
Author: Zeny May Recidoro
Zeny May Recidoro is a writer and scholar. She is a recipient of the Asian Cultural Council fellowship grant in 2018 and 2019 and is pursuing an MFA in Art Writing and Criticism at the School of Visual Arts. She graduated with a degree in Art Studies from the University of the Philippines, Diliman in 2014. Her literary works have been published in Lontar: A Journal of Southeast Asian Speculative Fiction, Cha: An Asian Literary Journal, quarrtsiluni, Terse Journal, Unlikely Journal, Kritika Kultura, Queen Mobs Tea House, and Berfois. As an art writer, she has written for the Brooklyn Rail and Degree Critical. Zeny grew up in San Pedro, Laguna, Philippines. View all posts by Zeny May Recidoro