Here I end this reel. Box—(pause)—three, spool—(pause)—five. Perhaps my best years are gone. When there was a chance of happiness. But I wouldn’t want them back. Not with the fire in me now. No, I wouldn’t want them back.
- Samuel Beckett - Krapp’s Last Tape
We record our thoughts all the time.
By thinking, we are writing. We are recording. We are etching meaning onto the fabric of our bodies. We are re-ordering our unconscious, re-directing our drives. Our mind is a recording machine. A piece of wax upon which we write and rewrite the process of living. Eventually, the wax melts.
This site arrives out of the frustration with the recording-mind. It is an attempt to exteriorise a thinking-process, so that, through monologue, a new process is formed in a host-machine. The site is named after Krapp, with the full knowledge that external recording media -tapes, bits, switches - also decay and melt over time.
Recording is risky. It invites ghosts. Recordings return when least expected. Maybe it won't happen this time.
I have also included here, in the spirit of tapes, selections of music from my since abandoned work as Loop Dreams.
For enquiries, comments, or conversations email: email@example.com.