So today I commit to a full day at the desk, at the wheel, at the helm of this great enterprise that is no enterprise at all. Listening back to audio from 6 years ago, the Kosciuszko Bridge captures. They seem inferior to me now but I don’t think I have yet reached the ones that I thought were better. There is a lot of wind noise, at least for my sensibilities. But the rickety sound of that bridge is something that will never fill the air over Calvary or Laurel Hill Boulevard ever again. The old bridge is gone and the quieter new one has replaced it.

I think I posted this one to Radio Aporee, or someplace like that. Maybe Soundcloud? I don’t know where I left these things.

I went out for an hour or so, to walk and get some of that unbaked winter sun. As has been my habit of late I did the walking and talking thing, attempting to channel my inner Joe Frank but coming up with nothing. I went out to Jamaica yesterday, initially with the notion of going out to Baisley Pond Park. But it was too damn cold and I was not properly attired for the potentially uninspiring trek. I’ll try another time but for yesterday I spent an hour or so milling about the area around the Sutphin Avenue EJZ station, which is part of a little transit hub I never knew existed. I must have passed through there the time I took the AirTrain to JFK but I didn’t take notice of what a nice little hub that is. I looked at the departure screens and thought, I could go to Sydney, Dallas, Detroit, Dubai… All those places and countless others are connected there.

Where did I go? I went home. I can only travel as far as a MetroCard will take me.

The day before I wandered about the Kensington section of Brooklyn, discovering after arriving that I had already been there at least once. So I tried for roads unseen, deciding Coney Island Avenue and the Prospect Park Parade Grounds would suffice for my limitless ambition to see every street and alleyway of New York. I noticed KERMIT LANE and thought it was a cute name for a street. Is that where the frogs live? Is Piggie Lane the next street?

The first time I made it to Greenpoint I remember appreciating the interesting street names. Java. India. Eagle. The area made a lot more sense to me after someone pointed out that the streets are arranged alphabetically. It answered the question that only barely surfaced in my mind: How do you know where you are?

It’s interesting to hear audio and remember clearly the place at which it was recorded. No technology exists to capture that sensation of memory rising from pure audio.

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Still listening in on myself. It’s a couple of hours later. Getting sodden from hearing the sound of my own voice. At times I sound like somebody else. My voice is variable from one moment to the next. Much of the time I have nothing to say. That fails to surprise.

The job of listening back to all these hours of sounds has been daunting but it’s not as laborious as I anticipated. I spent a good number of hours scooping up street and subway sounds, for what future purpose I don’t know at this time. I think of them as background material for multitrack pieces.

One interesting spot from 2012, where I walked around Calvary reading and commenting on tombstone inscriptions. I could do more of that.

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Well, it’s been over 3 hours of listening to this stuff. I feel like I gained several pounds in doing this. Can’t stand my voice.