Cold and violence 2

This post is in way an extension of what I wrote yesterday through some real examples of how violence can manifest in ways that aren't always obvious. 

Today I took one of my shorter regular walks, out to Carrington Moss and back. Partly just for a walk, partly to record my next long-form Friday vocal sound improvisation. Carrington Moss is a large area of peat bog with a number of paths running through it.

All the violence I'll describe is violence against the moss itself, sometimes with the potential of actual harm to people. The first two examples were early in my time on the moss. The rusted frame of a bicycle perched on an embankment, which I don't recall having seen before though I'm sure it's been there a long time. Then the large, jagged remains of sheets of glass, pointed edges to the sky, and cutting downwards into the earth. These I am familiar with, incongruous and threatening, like several inverted guillotine blades haphazardly supporting each other, waiting for a careless walker or dog to impale their foot.

My next Friday vocal sound improvisation will be as much an abstract essay with vocal sounds. For the first time in a long time the main improvisation was recorded in more than one section, in itself perhaps an act of violence against an expected structure and against the audience. The essay element starts by talking about the sound of footsteps on icy ground. Later it uses the idea of the sound of footsteps to address the violence of states against others from the perspective of soldiers, boots on the ground as it were.

There is some work being done on the moss which may or may not relate to a larger potential violence in the shape of a proposed relief road. Those works create a violence of mess, heaps of stone and brick and mud, and a primitive compound to protect the heavy plant, topped with razor wire.

As you've no doubt already understood, the improvisation (at least that bit addressing the violence of states) originates with my response yesterday to the US attack on Venezuela, and on listening to commentary on the same by people far more knowledgeable and articulate than me.

On Sundays, and perhaps other days, motorcyclists ride around parts of the moss, tearing up the ground, and blasting fumes from their exhausts. Their off-road riding often conflicts with other users of the moss: walkers with or without dogs, cyclists, and horse-riders, with all the attendant risks to one or both parties. 

In the past the moss was used as a dumping ground, and when I first started visiting I would see large holes that had been dug up beside the footpaths. This was the work of bottle diggers and is much reduced now. All over the moss are signs warning bottle diggers not to carry on their activities as it's hazardous to others.

My walk was thankfully free of any violence, and my recording was likewise uneventful. The day was again cold, and there was even a brief but heavy flurry of snow. That's all for now, I'll see you next time.