忘れない、忘れたふりだけ。 — we do not forget, we only pretend to.
読まれない手紙の方が長く生きる。 — letters that are not read live longer.
録音は記憶ではない、症状である。 — a recording is not a memory; it is a symptom.
うすい声で書く。 — write in a thin voice.
名前は仮のもの、住所も仮のもの。 — names are temporary, addresses also.
小さな機関を建てる、小さな機関を解く。 — build a small institution, dissolve a small institution.
774339 は数字ではない。 — 774339 is not a number.
plaster casts of pianists' hands have been reproduced, mis-attributed, and sold as relics since the late nineteenth century. the cast we keep nearest is labelled liszt, 1886, in a hand that is almost certainly not from 1886. it is small, and the index finger is broken at the second knuckle.
we are interested in the moment a relic is pressed against an instrument it never touched. an authenticity that depends on belief, paper, and the tilt of a museum vitrine.
the same nine bars, written for two years, in pencil on lined paper, photographed at the kitchen table, never edited. the resulting record, when it appears, will be 23 minutes long and will not be sequenced.
tapes that were never released, only described in letters. one of them is said to begin with the sound of a fridge being unplugged in another room and the voice of a child counting backwards from seven. there is no recording. there is the description.
a slow, partial index of things we wanted to keep nearby.
