Sonic Catharsis Institute
As research pays dividends I will post up new chapters and snippets of the Glass story, so hopefully the reader can start to make sense of it all.
Sifting through the loose leaves of the water-damaged journal, it’s hard to put them into a great deal of context. However, I discovered this snippet which may give some insight into the video and audio I’ve come across over the past few weeks. January 3rd Our initial test-run of the apparatus had a most alarming malfunction tonight. Indeed, father’s hands
Dear Edward, My sincere apologies for not writing sooner. As you know my recent trip overseas encountered complications and I was not able to board my planned ship in return. I will keep this missive brief, and as always I’m afraid it is with regard to your son Anthony. I appreciate that you do not wish to divulge the full
After my last post regarding the cassette of strange noises I received anonymously, commenter ‘Thedaveyk’ kindly emailed me, this is what he said: “Hi Alexander, I thought I’d heard that music somewhere before and I had! Took speaking to my wife to jog my memory tho – basically when she was at art college in Bristol in the late 80s,
Yesterday a cassette tape was pushed through my door – I don’t know exactly when, it was lying on my doormat when I arrived home from work. The cassette was unmarked, Â and the envelope was blank. Although the sound quality is very poor, you can just about make out what appears to be music. I’m not sure if this is
Further developments – I’ve discovered the remains of a journal, sadly fire-damaged, in amongst the inherited detritus. From what I can make out, it’s the journal of our protagonist from “Chapter One” (published earlier). This leads me to believe either Chapter One was a self-penned work of fantasy, or a dramatised account of Philip Anthony Glass’ actual deeds by another
The boy surveyed his work. Three years of his thirteen crafting, bending, filing, sawing and polishing and the results lay before him like a sleeping dragon. Almost every corner of his father’s library was filled with pipes, pistons, bellows and wires – grapevines and tendrils in a forgotten greenhouse. It was New Year’s Eve, 1916 – 1917 would see the