anne elias


Gussie. What? Is gussie?

Gussie is an lp, yes, lp by George Cartwright's group Curlew and released on the Roaratorio Label.Anne did the cover(s) for the lp based on the text by Michael DeCapite. There are 423 covers corresponding to the 423 words in Michael's text. For each word of text Anne drew an object that she found around the house and pasted that drawing on the front of the lp and applied the one word associated with that drawing on the front of the lp. Confused?

Ok. So if you put all the lp covers in order on a , say, wall, you could read, one word at a time, the entire text, lp cover by lp cover. Right?

Here are Michael's beautiful words;

Loud sheets of winter colliding in a dark bedroom.  Invisibly.  Waves: a perpetual succession of events perceptible by repercussions which make themselves understood in lavender and orange, which approach the visible in lavender and orange refracted from clarity.  Still life broken down to steady incremental motion.  Movement, movement: every object moving endlessly forward to stillness, within stillness.  Is it time I'm seeing?  Every object arching, flowing within its stillness.  One a.m., the fog has settled in, is complete.  Do I get the heart attack I deserve?  I yawn again while fiercely awake.  I'm torn by passions yet perfectly intact.


Aah the lonesome curve and all of us who, late night, slide down it.  "How's my ex-wife?"  "I see her when I pass the bar," and so-and-so and so-and-so, so on and so forth, here in the awful hollow arena of present tense, the phone put down and the ear still ringing from another trans-American conversation.  It's night all over: frozen clouds are stamped with wires and rooftops and steeples and chimneypots, vibrating in and out of meaning so fast it creates a different light in between.  All is lost and all is gained and lost and gained in so fast a strobe a sodden bright limbo is created of cloudlight, which is our eternal backdrop at this hour.  Something cries for the excised moments while something sighs content with what there is, and neither outdoes the other but both comprise the systole and diastole——the vibration of the present tense.


All bright dusks

almost midnight, again the variations on pachelbel skirting, trembling, sifting down but never a heart kept open ...a question whose only answer is no answer...and that’s the answer forever ...until you betray the question by answering it otherwise...
how do i always find myself still in my jacket like this?
do clouds mean anything?  no, i know they don't.  but i’ve chosen that they should, i've decided they do.
and so they do.
be careful what you wish for if what you wish is never to sleep again.
dirty tape, our picture on the door, your face close to mine.
all bright dusks mean something, they are the only moments that last.


June 7 & 28, 2002