move

The narrative picks up with two characters, male and female, traveling across the U.S.  They have a sorted, on-again-off-again romantic history, and yet they find themselves together once again, this time on a trip through Americana in its most literal and symbolic forms: wide expanses of land and sky, endless driving across miles of middle America, the trailing of dreams and mythologies associated with these kinds of journeys lingering in the air. The couple is not going to stay together this time, as has been the pattern for them ever since becoming involved, and there is a star-crossed quality to their relationship, an inability to sync their individual desires and need for each other.  This becomes tragically clear as they move across the country on what appears to be a mutual journey, side-by-side in a vehicle for hours on end. They’re experiencing the same feelings of love and premature nostalgia for their doomed relationship, yet are unable to communicate these things to each other.

Following the lovers in an imaginary, spaceless realm is Alpha, a 30-something man who travels quite a bit for work, a salesman of sorts.  He’s strange, socially awkward, and yearns for connection and intimacy but is continually stuck on the fringes of his interactions, playing the part of voyeur to his own life rather than the leading role. (In some ways, he serves as a foil for the couple described above, who are able to forge meaningful and intimate relationships, but face other issues such as the desire for freedom, uncertainty, and fateful acts of synchronicity & timing.) In this short interlude, however, Alpha is in a different part of the world (than our couple above), trying to get close to someone. He ticks, twists his body, leers and watches people, unable to approach them, unable to say even one word. The world flashes by, and he moves along in a tunnel of desire, pulled by the scenes around him like a twig down the currents of a large, mysterious river. 

LYRICS:

oh how does your garden grow?

if you understood my language, would i know what to say?

fragmentary awareness

the space between us

the space is wide, swallows me

i feel it humming, in whispers only

it keeps on going

this is longing

it kicks in, i'm feeling it

i can't say what, just feeling this

it might be you underneath my muscles

it might be momentary

fragmentary

awareness

it might be mighty, turning it over

we could move for hours

grass seed blow the autumn mile, forever square of gold

we only ever pass by, places like this not for you and i

useless to mourn the sun now, you're next to me in the driver's chair

static music midwest twilight there and not there

no destination on our way

moving to understand, or the chance to stay

if you understood my language, everything would change

we could reconnect this patchwork railway

wind us into closer range

it would save us from the vanishing point

i see beneath your tender brow

if you knew my language love

you could understand it all

we could find just what we want

we could move for hours

if i go back

we pick up the stones we cast

i cannot face us

lining the only path

no room for the other

versions of this love

no words for each other

too heavy to carry on

how best to say

in the space between us

what i am thinking

this is longing

this is longing

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images by graham hawthorne

words by caitlin scholl

editing by caitlin scholl & graham hawthorne

music by graham hawthorne & amanda homi

music production by fabrice dupont & graham hawthorne

dance by steven reker & adja diarra