Album Notes

There is an arc to the flight through this life. This curve deceives us, it betrays us, and it calls us out to abandon us with visions.

And so it is with my musical diary. When I wrote these, in the summer of 2008, I was attempting to recover from a terrible wound I had suffered - and seeing my own capacity to wound all over again. My desire to flee was great, so, as I often do, I turned to reading novels. My psychic walkabout took the form of riding Harleys up Olympus Mons on Mars, of dashing through sulpher geysers on Io like so many lawn sprinklers, standing on Mercury shading my eyes from a Sun grown monstrous.

Finally I fled to the coolness and repose of the Oort cloud where I kept watch with comets colder and quieter than I, and sought death. Yet I was compelled, perhaps because I had become beautiful and mad in the cold and dark, to a final dissolution amidst Lovecraftian aurorae in the deep places of the earth.

So, with apologies to Edgar Rice Burroughs, H. G. Wells, and Ben Bova, who prepared my imagination for these journeys, I present these twelve explorations of bliss and madness. The flute wanders naked and lost among electronic wonders, somemtimes clothed, sometimes fractured beyond recognition, and then, finally, transfigured to quantum foam.