Much of a Muchness

I. Apoplethecary There were days when, fettered by the combustion engine, tick-tocking toked-up daze Of an electric, lithophane, plugged in life, Honed by a thousands hints when so small things became wrapped up in skin, So begin to fester underground in the belly of the beast beset by newsfeeds Of felled trees and ever more

The Acoustic Commons

Every Sunday, and every day between 22:00 and 6:00, Berlin is peacefully quiet, or is at least supposed to be, yet sounds remain. Some recklessly, and some with permission. Construction halts, but the birds step in to fill the empty sonic space. Trams hum. Outside my window voices carry on. I wake up many a