The Poison Pie Publishing House presents:

April 1, 2021
Although it felt like three months, Periboea had entered the swamp only a few nights ago. In that brief time she had encountered three residents but had made no progress toward her ostensible goal of taking vengeance on those responsible for stealing her from Athens and imprisoning her in the mine. One could argue, in fact, that she was now even further from that goal, as she had obligated herself to the incidental, though non-trivial, task of slaying a beast. Still, it seemed to her part of the same story, though she could not at this time deduce the logical connection between the two tasks.

written while listening to:  Alexandra Grimal & Giovanni Di Domenico - Ghibli (Sans Bruit, sbr014, 2011, France, cd, discogs.com)

April 2, 2021
Alone, Periboea breathed deeply. This was how she was meant to be—facing her challenges without assistance but without fear. She steeled herself against the terror of the days ahead with a grim determination. She desired to declare, "I do not fear death," but was unsure of its truth. She espied an owl, idling away the daylight hours, in the shadows of a high bough. "Am I afraid?" she asked the bird from below. In response, it opened one eye and glared at her, a rhetorical gesture if ever there was one, for, of course, the only individual capable of answering Periboea's question was herself.

written while listening to:  Brigitte Fontaine, Areski avec Art Ensemble of Chicago - Comme à la Radio (Saravah, SH 10006, 1969, France, lp, discogs.com)

April 3, 2021
Periboea sought a tree bearing directions to the temple. The marks proved difficult to identify at a distance. The natural crevices in the bark created shadows easily mistaken for carvings. All trees seemed to harbor manifold directions pointing in every direction. She resisted the temptation to become exasperated.

As dusk approached, she spotted a stately plane tree. It possessed a nobility that might attract travelers to rest beneath it. An ideal place to leave directions, thought Periboea, or, barring that, for her to set up camp for the night. It became increasingly advantageous for her actions to have multiple purposes, so that at least one of them might yield fruit.

written while listening to:  Muhal Richard Abrams, Roscoe Mitchell & the Janacek Philharmonic Orchestra - Spectrum (Mutable Music, 17536-2, 2009, United States, cd, discogs.com)

April 4, 2021
Periboea's intuition proved correct. Indeed the plane tree had suffered the indignity of having marks cut into the gray-brown plates of bark at its trunk. As had been the case at the archway, these symbols were warped into forms that called to mind figures bent in terror, agony and despair. Having observed firsthand the manner in which her arrows had been twisted, Periboea believed herself able to decipher the navigational intent of these ideograms. It did not occur to her that her own traumatic experiences might have made her more receptive to the hidden message.

written while listening to:  Tamio Shiraishi - Sora (Relative Pitch Records, RPRSS003, 2020, United States, cd, discogs.com)

April 5, 2021
She did not depart immediately. After all, the plane tree was no less welcoming than she had anticipated. Long ago, it had found a relatively high spot upon which to root itself. The ground was soft and dry. Periboea leaned against the tree and imagined staying in this single spot for a few hundred years. It seemed a not intolerable future. The world could come and go. The beast might pass by intermittently in the ensuing decades. She would be in no hurry to confront it, biding her time until the perfect moment presented itself or she lost interest.

written while listening to:  Caktus - Under Solen (Barefoot Records, BFREC064LP, 2020, Denmark, lp, discogs.com)

April 6, 2021
She allowed these idle thoughts to occupy her only momentarily then remembered that she had accomplished all the waiting she would ever need in the mine. She was ready to act, but wisdom bade her delay the search until morning. Lacking the tools to start a fire, she prepared for another cold night. She ate again from the supplies provided by the custodian. The dried blood of the frog man remained in the crevices of her hands and around her fingernails. She was hesitant to wash it off, as he had claimed it would hide her scent. Retaining it also had the advantage of enhancing her reputation for ferocity.

written while listening to:  Myra Melford's Snowy Egret - The Other Side of Air (Firehouse 12 Records, FH12-04-01-029, 2018, United States, cd, discogs.com)

April 7, 2021
The sounds of the night swamp—the splash of unseen creatures emerging from the water, the rustle of vermin crawling through the underbrush and the skittering of movement in high branches—surrounded Periboea. As she lay beneath the aged plane tree, she recalled the words of the faerie, who had claimed that the followers of the beast had been granted immortality in exchange for their fealty, though at a steep price. Periboea attempted to construct a narrative in which the dispatching of those otherwise freed from death possessed a nobility, for she could not imagine that such a host would stand idly by if she threatened their lord and master.

written while listening to:  ISKRA 1903 - Buzz Soundtrack (Emanem, 4066, 2002, United Kingdom, cd, discogs.com)

April 8, 2021
She rose with the sun, rejuvenated by an unexpectedly sound sleep at the base of the plane tree. Although the carvings on its trunk had become no less harrowing, something about the dawn light coursing through the foliage to glance upon the still, murky waters filled Periboea with an energetic resolve. She was taken by an unexpected optimism that she would discover the location of the temple this very day. Drinking dew gathered by the bromeliads dampened her spirits not one iota.

written while listening to:  Ingrid Laubrock - Contemporary Chaos Practices / Two Works For Orchestra With Soloists (Intakt Records, Intakt CD 314, 2018, Switzerland, cd, discogs.com)

April 9, 2021
After scrutinizing the ideogram, Periboea determined the direction in which the original, unperturbed arrow must have pointed. With a hand resting on the handle of the knife at her waist, she boldly set off. Because of the imprecise method of navigation, each time she passed a tree within several feet of her path, she paused to inspect it. Her assiduousness was rewarded when she found the next symbol, no less disturbing than the one she had left a few hundred yards earlier. It did not occur to her that such markers might be scattered randomly through-out the swamp or that her path was less determined than she supposed.

written while listening to:  Birgit Ulher & Franz Hautzinger - Kleine Trompetenmusik (Relative Pitch Records, RPR1107, 2020, United States, cd, discogs.com)

April 10, 2021
For much of the day, Periboea wove through the swamp from one marked tree to the next. As she discovered each new symbol, her confidence grew. A sense of uncertainty was replaced by one of inevitability. She began to make plans regarding her actions once she came upon the secret temple. She would hide in the underbrush, spying upon the priests and the faithful until their rituals concluded and silence fell upon the sacred grounds. Then she would steal inside the structure, locate the sleeping beast and...at that point her imagination failed her. She would have to wait until the reality arrived to see how it all played out.

written while listening to:  Nick Mazzarella & Tomeka Reid - Signaling (Nessa Records, ncd-39, 2017, United States, cd, discogs.com)

April 11, 2021
Later she disavowed the role of assassin, which had occupied her imagination. Rather, she would reject stealth in favor of brash action. She would rush into the temple, heedless of the danger. With knife in hand and a wild howl at her lips, she would send the congregants fleeing for their lives. The bodies of those who remained would be discovered the next day by the timid souls who ventured forth to take stock of the carnage. Periboea would be long gone, her goal achieved, the severed head of the beast stuffed in her pack, a trophy to be presented to the faerie as evidence of an oath fulfilled.

written while listening to:  Steve Coleman and Five Elements - The Mancy of Sound (Pi Recordings, PI38, 2011, United States, cd, discogs.com)

April 12, 2021
Upon reflection, Periboea relished the prospect of acting the murderous berserker no more than she did methodical assassin. Carved into the tree bark, the hapless forms of the supplicants knelt in worship but also in terror. In her solitary daydreams, she resolved to spare the disciples who had been deceived into believing that there was no intrinsic sanctity to life save for those granted it by the beast. O, how far from the way that the actual events would unfold did our young heroine's thoughts stray, as she wandered through the swamp toward her unsettled destiny.

written while listening to:  Eyvind Kang - Ajaeng Ajaeng, sides A & B (Ideologic Organ, SOMA039, 2020, France, lpx2, discogs.com)

April 13, 2021
The marks led Periboea to the discovery of a footpath. Although she possessed no training as a tracker, there could be no mistaking the winding trail of matted-down reeds. Her pulse quickened, prematurely it would soon become evident, for she cautiously followed the path for half an hour without encountering other traffic. She did however find footprints where the path crossed through soft mud. Some of the tracks clearly belonged to barefoot human beings. Pressed by a greater weight deeper into the earth were other prints, which intimated shapes that could not be easily assigned to a human anatomy.

written while listening to:  John Coltrane Quartet - Impressions Graz 1962 (ezz-thetics, 1019, 2019 (rec. 1962), Switzerland, cd, discogs.com)

April 14, 2021
Periboea did not suppose that any of the bizarre prints pressed into the mud were laid down by the beast for it was only yesterday that Ridibundus had described the creature as towering above even fully grown oak trees. The narrow trail along which she trod could not accommodate such a giant. These impressions, too wide and misshapen to suggest human feet, belonged to something else. Perhaps the beast was attended not only by mortal fanatics but by a horde of hellish servitors, horned and horrid, besides. She gazed skeptically at her knife, fearing the blade insufficient to pierce the flesh of supernatural beings.

written while listening to:  Roscoe Mitchell Sextet - Sound (Delmark Records, DE-408, 1996 (rec. 1966), United States, cd, discogs.com)

April 15, 2021
Setting her reservations aside, Periboea continued along the trail until the meager light of the sun, filtering through the canopy, began to fade. She thought it unwise to make camp on the trail, lest she be taken unawares by nocturnal travelers. As such, she advanced, despite the encroaching darkness, seeking a secluded spot where she might be able to camp unmolested while remaining within earshot of the path. As if conjured by the mere suggestion, a picturesque site shortly appeared on her left, a small rise of dry land with a hickory standing sentinel and a curtain of reeds serving as parapet to hide her from passing eyes.

written while listening to:  Wadada Leo Smith's Golden Quartet - Tabligh (Cuneiform Records, Rune 270, 2008, United States, cd, discogs.com)

April 16, 2021
In retrospect, the discovery of such a sanctuary was too good to be true. Halfway between the path and ridge, Periboea crossed a patch of fallen branches and detritus, not clearly identifiable in the scant light. It proved a well-concealed trap. She fell through the mat of reeds and sticks ten feet or more into a mud pit. Water had seeped from the surrounding earth into the hole to a depth of a foot, cushioning her awkward landing. She rolled over and leaned back, her knees and shoulders breaking the surface. She gazed up at a fragment of sky like a frog trapped at the bottom of a well.

written while listening to:  Nicole Mitchell's Black Earth Ensemble - Afrika Rising (Dreamtime Records, Dreamtime 004, 2002, United States, cd, discogs.com)

April 17, 2021
There could be no mistaking the origin of the pit. This was not a natural sinkhole. It had been dug with vertical walls and lined, it appeared, with clay that kept the pit from filling completely while maintaining a slick, damp surface. Periboea's initial attempts to climb out of the pit proved entirely unsuccessful. Her hands found no purchase in the wet walls. She carved a notch with her knife only to find that water seeped steadily from the gash. She quickly replaced the dislodged lump of clay, fearing she would drown if the pit filled before the buoyancy of the water lifted her to the surface.

written while listening to:  Tatsuya Nakatani / Audrey Chen Duo with Susan Alcorn - Limn (H&H Production, HH-6, 2005, United States, cd, discogs.com)

April 18, 2021
Who among us would avoid despair if we were to find ourselves in a predicament similar to that of young Periboea? Lost in an expansive swamp, trapped in a water-logged hole, she feared at any moment to be discovered by those who worshipped the beast. What intention could they have in laying the trap but to procure offerings with which to placate their lord's unholy appetite? However, unlike us, this was not our heroine's first time to be coerced into the role of sacrificial victim. She would not easily capitulate. She struggled to scale the walls. With each failed attempt, she slid back to the bottom of the pit.

written while listening to:  Evan Parker with Birds - For Steve Lacy (Treader, TRDLP001, 2018 (rec. 2004), United Kingdom, lp, discogs.com)

April 19, 2021
When she had exhausted herself, Periboea paused to catch her breath. At first only the familiar sounds of the swamp night greeted her ears. The nightly chorus of frogs and insects, indifferent to or at least ignorant of her predicament, sang as elegantly as ever. Before long, however, she thought that she detected a human voice. Stilling herself, indeed she heard the voices of not one but several men, conversing in an unknown tongue. Traversing the trail, they had discovered in the moonlight that the trap had been triggered. They stood at a distance discussing the event among themselves as other men might debate the portent of incoming clouds.

written while listening to:  Albert Ayler Trio - 1964 Prophecy Revisited (ezz-thetics, 1104, 2020 (rec. 1964), Switzerland, cd, discogs.com)

April 20, 2021
With bated breath, Periboea listened to the squelch of feet in the mud as the men approached the pit. Standing one aside the other, the three forms appeared as silhouettes against the moonlit tapestry above them. They wore cloaks with hoods pulled over their heads. The particulars of their features were obscured by the combination of cloth and darkness. They appeared unarmed, though one held a walking stick. If there was something inhuman in the shape of their outline, it was hidden by the loose folds of their robes. Periboea feared that she detected a faint glimmer of malice in the eyes, which stared pitilessly down at her.

written while listening to:  Ivo Perelman & Matthew Shipp - Efflorescence Volume 1, disc 2 (Leo Records, CD LR 866-869, 2019, United Kingdom, cdx4, discogs.com)

April 21, 2021
The cultists spoke in a language neither expressly sibilant nor croaking, though, to one in Periboea's straits, it conveyed evil intent. It struck her that they imitated the guttural rasping of Ridibundus, which seemed strange since she had heard the frog man speak only in her own tongue. In any case, as the trio laid out plans for their quarry, the mere sounds of their conversation disturbed Periboea. Whatever scheme they proposed induced no sinister, gloating laughter among them. Rather, possessed of a chilling discipline, they appeared inclined to adhere dispassionately to an established procedure.

written while listening to:  Rafał Mazur & Keir Neuringer - Diachronic Paths (Relative Pitch Records, RPR1046, 2016, United States, cd, discogs.com)

April 22, 2021
Apparently the men had not expected to discover the pitfall occupied for they did not have with them the means to retrieve their prize. Confident in the reliability of their trap, the cultists hurriedly departed together to secure rope and a net. As abruptly as they had appeared, Periboea was once again alone at the bottom of the pit. In a frenzy she resumed her attempts to scale the slippery walls. Casting caution to the wind, she gouged holes in the clay, hoping to use them as points of purchase for her hands and feet. With each new furrow, the rate at which water entered the pit increased.

written while listening to:  Wadada Leo Smith, Douglas Ewart & Mike Reed - Sun Beans Of Shimmering Light (Astral Spirits, AS166, 2021, United States, lp, discogs.com)

April 23, 2021
As Periboea had feared, streaming rivulets formed beneath each cut, further slickening the surface. Moreover, the integrity of the walls weakened. Thrusting her hand into a recently made notch then hoisting herself up caused the underlying clay to crumble. Meanwhile the water seeped from the surrounding sodden earth. The level within the pit had already risen to her thighs. She again contemplated whether she possessed the stamina to keep herself afloat long enough for the water to carry her to the surface. With this thought she stabbed wildly into the walls on all sides, hoping to fill the pit as quickly as possible.

written while listening to:  Tetuzi Akiyama - Thaumaturgy (besom presse, BP03, 2020, United States, lp, discogs.com)

April 24, 2021
The driving force caused by the hydrostatic pressure of the water-logged earth diminished as the pit filled. No matter how many ragged slices Periboea carved into the wall, it appeared that the trap had stopped filling at a depth of about seven feet. This created a dire situation for neither could she keep her head above water while standing on the floor of the pit nor could she reach the ledge and pull herself out. She saw no option but to tread the murky water for as long as her strength held out. Indeed Periboea conceded that she was soon to drown.

written while listening to:  Comfort of Madness (Helge Hinteregger, Franz Hautzinger & Kazuhisa Uchihashi) - Thixotrop (Innocent Records, icr-010, 2004, Japan, cd, discogs.com)

April 25, 2021
When it appeared to Periboea a certainty that she should perish, she cried out in the darkness. "Help me! Help me! I am drowning!" Perhaps the urgency of her calls would summon the cultists in time to drag her from the pit before her energy failed entirely. Better to survive, a captive in the hands of evil men, than to die in the next few minutes, or so she told herself. Safe in our warm homes, we should not judge Periboea's cries as a plea of surrender, for she had been delivered unto death once before and had managed to escape alive, if not unscathed.

written while listening to:  Samara Lubelski - Partial Infinite Sequence (Open Mouth, OM64, 2020, United States, lp, discogs.com)

April 26, 2021
The musicians and vocalists who performed the nightly song of the swamp continued their merry melody. They seemed not especially disturbed by the desperate shouts of Periboea, for truly the eternal struggle between life and death was long woven through the fabric of their song. Few of the nocturnal amphibians, insects and birds, who happened to notice her cries, adjusted their tune. If there was any accommodation at all, it was to insert, in pianissimo, a mixed sigh of commiseration and relief, acknowledging that there now prowled in their midst one less predator with an empty belly.

written while listening to:  Derek Bailey & Cyro Baptista - Cyro (Honest Jon's Records, HJRLP207, 2019 (rec. 1982), United Kingdom, lpx2, discogs.com)

April 27, 2021
The response of the inanimate world appeared no more sympathetic to Periboea's plight. A cool breeze from the not-too-distant sea billowed above the canopy. When opportunity presented itself, a wisp of wind slipped through a gap in the foliage, rustling greenery and spreading chill in the occupants of sheltered nests. Remnants of fallen leaves on the swamp floor were blown into piles against the backstop of tree trunks. From their dry cracking arose an indifferent choral accompaniment to the repeated refrain, "I am drowning!"

written while listening to:  Henry Threadgill Zooid - This Brings Us To Volume I (Pi Recordings, PI31, 2009, United States, cd, discogs.com)

April 28, 2021
Periboea slipped for what she supposed was the last time beneath the surface of the muddy water. One hand at the end of an out-stretched arm remained visible but for a moment. In that instant, a shaft of wood was slapped against her palm. Instinctively her grasp closed around it. Whether the cultist's walking stick or some other branch, she seized it with both hands and was dragged to the edge of the pit. When her head broke the surface, she dared gulp a breath of life-giving air though as much water entered her mouth. A man grabbed her beneath her armpits and hauled her out of the trap.

written while listening to:  Hafez Modirzadeh with Kris Davis, Tyshawn Sorey & Craig Taborn - Facets (Pi Recordings, PI87, 2021, United States, cd, discogs.com)

April 29, 2021
She lay with her cheek pressed in the mud, gasping and choking out the water that had sought her lungs. She found a temporary solace in not knowing the identity of her rescuer. Propping herself on her elbows, she kept her gaze focused on the ground, postponing the moment when she must confront the man, who stood beside her and waited for her to regain her breath. She allowed her eyes to sweep to his mud-splattered boots. From there her gaze shifted to the round, wooden stick, lying in the earth. Her eyes traveled its length until it ended in the head of a mop.

written while listening to:  Korekyojinn (Tatsuya Yoshida, Kido Natsuki & Nasuno Mitsuru) - Isotope (Tzadik, TZ 7257, 2005, United States, cd, discogs.com)

April 30, 2021
The custodian encouraged Periboea to stand. "They are coming," he whispered with a calm urgency. "If we hurry, we may elude them." Periboea rose to her feet. Never had she been so happy to see a kind face, notwithstanding his over-sized caterpillar moustache. Not a word, though, passed her lips. He jogged quietly, mop in one hand and bucket in another, back to the path. She was left with no choice but to follow before he disappeared into the shadows of the tree cover. Without a backward look at the pit that had almost claimed her life, she broke into a run.

written while listening to:  Woody Woodman's Circus of Construction - Acts 1-14 (The Beak Doctor, BD 8, 2003, United States, cd, discogs.com)