This is a Love Letter to RADIOMANCY MUSEUM…which is, like most things, very real.

I am constantly amazed by how strange anything seems if taken out of context. Shifting context is a hobby of mine. It is a form of poetics…so is letter writing…sometimes less in what is said, but in the fact that anything is said at all. (Here is a recent writing entitled Could letters change a life?)

How gracious of you to write. Really, I have to say that my not-secret-at-all transistor self is very pleased to find that I think perhaps I do know precisely what you’re talking about in regard to the serious nonchalance that truly bewildering world-saving anti-force requires. It could be that we share in a dispersed profession…the fine art and uttered science of managing the baffling abundance that comes about from noticing and telling stories…such as this one, for instance.

I can be a bit impetuous in my deposition of enthusiasm over projects and ideas. I tend to fall deeply and immediately in love with the patterns of simple phrasing and broken syntax that says everything in a way that reads as nothing…quite like it, ever before…bits and pieces of a bigger story…crumbs, whistles, sing-song.

I have to tell you that I am, in real life, a mental health professional. I am also, I recently discovered, a developing organizational systems genius. Oh, if this seems an outlandish message, you really ought to see the ones I wrote to (a lot of people) shortly after I decided that I wanted, very very much, to save the world. This was a while back, though I still want to save the world. I mean, who doesn’t?

Yes, I know.

The funny/fab thing is that I’ve happened to find and happened to forge a world that accommodates the thousands of abstractly ethered pages of mad-tragic-beautiful backstory, but that also is a fair-home for the walking-and-talkingness, my Mom-status, my work in non-profits and my burgeoning reputation as a…something or another or another.

I’ve written a lot of stories into my own over the past few years. Radio co-wrote in a manner quite benevolent.

A longstanding habit of mine is myriad content analysis. I learned it in college and through books, but I didn’t realize I was learning it until I realized that I knew it…how to figure out any possible thing that could be Meant and understood…until really anything could be anything else and it is really just a rockingly beautiful and straightforwardly fascinating little bit of wonder to behold, the significance of the mundane…to realize that the world can be so full of messages as to say a simple YES…oh yes, oh no…it’s very big and little.

(I am aware that such phrasing would be deemed paranoiac-delusional word salad by people with little sense of adventuresome interpretation, no sense of the entelechyotic (meaning caught in miasmic loops in the space between actuality and potentiality…I make up words sometimes, out of other words whose meaning or spelling I can’t quite remember. I am all for new words. It has been a somewhat-public campaign of mine for quite sometime.)…and only a dim awareness that I may find all of this quite lucidly hilarious as I sit on my porch quiet, but smiling.)

…what happens when the woman of legendary referential rigor and exalted dismantling spurned and comforted by the playlist of a few select stations…the woman who once left – in the course of her notnormal life – a series of tiny copper birds around a mountain town, presents for strangers – something that could mean anything or be from anybody, the small-but-lasting gift of momentary bewilderment and, with any luck at all, a lucky temporal synchronicity…the woman who has made a public project out of trying to figure out where she fits in…what happens when she pays attention to a program of snowball collecting of sounds transmitted and transmuted by thousands and thousands of stories and waves?

I like the quiet sorts of experiments that arise when one begins to make note of the world around them.

I will be saving sounds and making sounds. I will post them to my soundcloud and I will send them to you. I will not forget. I will remember. 

Radio is a true love of mine. Not in the sense that I “really like the radio” – but, in the sense that the radio seems to really like me, too. We have a deeply personal relationship. It is an endless wonder, what stories are told on the airwaves and in the rhythm between talking and music and ratatat ads that make me feel seasick.

It seems that this got long. That is a well-documented thing that happens with me at times. I will, I assure you, not be anything like a nuisance or an albatross of email. However, let me say that I was truly delighted to have seen your post the other day, to have learned of RADIOMANCY…it’s stunning, like some of my favorite things all in one place, real live strangers and sounds, on the radio.

Thanks for writing and for listening to my experiment in what might happen if I just made the sounds that felt good to make. I am sure that it is, in fact, a language somewhere…and I’m gonna find out where.

Best to you as the sun goes down later, but earlier.


“Why is this so important?”

“Because the world needs more laughing on porches.”

What else could I say?

“Have a great night…”

Click on the Control Panel.

One thought on “This is a Love Letter to RADIOMANCY MUSEUM…which is, like most things, very real.

  1. Is this why they play Regina Spektor in the aisles of the corporate grocery store now?

    These are words from another song I heard on the radio today, and it made me miss my friends that aren’t my friends anymore:

    To be wrong all along and admit is not amazing grace.
    But to be loved like a song you remember
    Even when you’ve changed.

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