I will soon begin a series of vignettes to promote the excellent band, Special Dental Team, which will be releasing a 5-track EP at some point this year. They began six years ago, in 2002, and have since split into three separate parts of the world, but their upcoming EP will continue the music.

Concurrently, I have begun my fiction workshop class with Pinckney Benedict at SIUC. In addition to suggesting we begin crafting work which we will share with the class in a few weeks, he has assigned us a project of “ludic writing,” which seems to be an experience of intense play that is used to inform writing. While he did not say so explicitly, I gather this experience to be a return to the imaginative play I indulged in as a child: back then I completely lost myself in the characters and situations I put myself in. He had a couple suggestions to begin: he suggested running through the woods with a partner, alternating hunting and being hunted, but his primary suggestion was to enjoy games with specific rules. He suggested taking these games seriously, imagining them as if we were acting the roles we represented in the game. He had significantly more to say about the topic–more, in fact, than I could grasp quickly enough to note–but my immersion in his lecture did not make me an expert. Giving me this basic idea of the concept gave me inspiration to try it whole-heartedly, though, and use it towards this Special Dental Team project.

Before I start, I essayed with another technique he mentioned in class: ekphrasis. “Ekphrasis or ecphrasis is the graphic, often dramatic description of a visual work of art. In ancient times it referred to a description of any thing, person, or experience. The word comes from the Greek ek and phrasis, ‘out’ and ’speak’ respectively, verb ekphrazein, to proclaim or call an inanimate object by name” (Wikipedia, 8/21/2008). Inspired by these techniques but unsure of where to start, I sought random Special Dental Team music, and came up with the track “Mumei Yume.” I closed my eyes and indulged in the music, using it to craft a situation in my mind which I will soon put myself in:

Having risen, I arrive at and stroll through the woods, carrying great importance. Spirits of my people accompany me; I have left them for life. I have passed forever from them for a corporeal body. I cannot touch or feel them, but I know they feel me. I remember. I seek them through meditation in the day, when they are most active: for hours I quiet myself near a nurtured tree, feeling to feel them again.

I moved slowly in death. Life is fast and assaulting, and I cling to our careful processes: sprouting the trees and tickling them with our threat. They resist and grow. Death was before time’s distinctions: there was only selfless attention and its connected subjects.

Darkness flows gentle from light, but not now. Having closed eyes under bright sun, darkness slams urgency at my eyelids. I’ve lost myself in meditation and fruitless search; the night offers everything to me, but I must grasp it. I’ve forgotten everything, especially the way back. Life is everywhere, mocking me and the concentrated pace I’ve led, so I speed, frantically, in every direction.

I tried to imagine myself as some sort of creature, but the music points away from this. Its lyrics suggest “octopus eyes” and “octopus mouth,” but I see this as more metaphorical than anything else. The music does not play to a creature with these attributes: the music plays to a human. This human may be more in tune with his or her spiritual self than anyone previously or consequently, but he or she is not a monster. Perhaps in attempting this imaginary game and adopting this role, I will discover what these eyes and mouth indicate. Perhaps they will follow and salivate after me as I run. Perhaps they are the image of urgency I fear.

I hope that the keeper of The Eyeslit-Crypt will provide information relating to the words “mumei” and “yume,” as I could only find mumei: “unsigned, nameless, anonymous (a-no), anonymity” (EDICT, 8/21/2008), and I don’t entirely trust an online translation. I’d much rather trust someone who participated in naming the track, especially when that person speaks Japanese constantly throughout his day.