The final ride

He sat there taunting me.

He begged me to do it.

Knowing full well the injuries that mounting the horse would incur.

I did it anyway.

And it sounded like this.

Park yourself in my shoes

The street continued to twist and curve, and eventually the wind led me to a quiet park. Unfortunately, no one else was there to play. So I did my best, and hopped on the swing set. Take a look.

I cupped a microphone in each hand and grabbed onto the chains, and began pumping my legs. The wind that I had been following now blasted past me as I smiled with glee.

It amazes me how terrifying it still is to jump off the swing set.

Experience the exhilaration here.

Wet shoes and the siren's song

The wind turned me off the Green Circle path, and led me back into the humble, sidewalkless streets of Plover. I reached another fork, and the wind asked that I head forward, and the shoes abide. Boredom set in. Was there anything left to capture?

There was. I came across a sprinkler. Yard work; the staple of any suburbian home. Keeping everything fresh and beautiful.

While listening and recording the back and fourth of the sprinkler, the suburbs called out to me with a wailing 11:00 tornado test.

Listen here.

My shoes knock on wood

The path lasted a while, and before I got to a turning point at which to consult the wind once more, I found a neatly stacked pile of logs in someones yard not far past the private property sign you viewed in the last post.

This is what they sounded like.

Supported by the ever present highway in the distance the aural scenario twisted through my head as leaves landed on the logs gently. It was at this point that I realized just how gentle everything I was experiencing was.

Listen to my shoes

My wind device dictated that I take a right from my home. Knowing that this resulted in a dead end, I sighed, groaned, and took the path anyway. When I arrived at the dead end I remembered that the Green Circle Trail ran through my street, and, luckily, the wind spoke to me and demanded I enter, taking a left at this crossroad.

I was greeted with very soothing natural sounds that seemed to speak "backyard" and "backwoods" to me. Cars could be heard traveling the busy street in the distance, bringing me closer to both nature and civilization.

Gathered here.

Listen here

The wind guides my shoes

A soundwalk is primarily characterized by a predetermined route, which is entirely up to the individual. This is so that a person will not exhibit any personal cognition while determining their path, greatly increasing the chance for a greater variety of unheard, new, and unique sounds to experience.

At first, I armed myself with a simple algorithm: Right, second left, second right, right, repeat.

I quickly discarded this almost immediately after thinking of it. Why would I want a pattern to dominate my life? Why should math tell me the direction I am going when my main goal is to capture the essence of nature in the suburbs? In short, it shouldn't. I decided instead to go wherever the wind takes me.

Only one device was necessary: A which-way-winder, a device that tells me which way the wind is blowing.

Here is a link to the complex nuclear schematics that I used to build that device

Look into my shoes

What you are about to see is the product of many years of labor. You may not know what it is after a brief glance, but read on, read into the abyss of the soundwalk.

The following is a map of a recent Soundwalk, an adventure through the suburban familiarity of my hometown, Stevens Point, in which I attempted to document the environment via two self-crafted microphones. As later posts of the noise I encountered will indicate, I was greeted with a plethora of sounds that are emblematic of life in the suburbs.

This is my path, follow it.


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