In squarren street, beneath bog-dark: what puddles lurketh, slither; and lanterns, barren with earnest vacant glares, tell of comings home— perceivings not merely of senses, but they too of mind-wrought stone.

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The pieces (both literary and musical) here enclosed adopt a somewhat significantly different interpretation of the term ‘bog’ than do either conventional or colloquial parlances; notwithstanding the former’s association with musky mires and marshes, the character of which (if ecological phenomena can one claim to have any such character) somewhat loosely resides herein.

Perhaps owing to peculiarities of language of a strictly western disposition, the term ‘bog’ fascinates, and signifies to me, with its unique phonetic impact, not a mire of moss, but one of the mind— a sort of dank subconscious swamp tucked away beyond vast, dull plains of sober rationality; a swamp only really accessible to travelers hypnagogic or hypnotized.  Thus is the bog a largely nocturnal biome, in the mire of mine imagination— hence the rather piquant double-reed darkness of the music employed to describe it.

And if there exists any desired aim for such music, which otherwise lacks typical narrative or structural goals, it is, I posit, merely to construct some oblique sonic facsimile of the bizarreness of the bog whence it— along with innumerable other paludal productions, as in, for instance, the word poem above— indeed, whence it slithered forth to briefly scorn the quotidian sensibility of the sun.