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More from scriabin
Resplendent Fragments in a Lupine Dream-work
This piece is my entry into the 
furrymusicians Express Yourself Contest 2025.
---
Notes
I've mainly showcased my eponymous avant-country project (i.e., Scribe Wolf) on FA to the exclusion of my work in other genres.
This is probably little known to most of my followers, but I have an academic background in composition, & work as a composer in adjunct to my freelancing as an audio engineer. I frequent idioms as diverse as early/modal music, common-practice era pastiche, traditional twelve-tone serialism, electroacoustic improvisation, minimalism, industrial soundtracking for popular media, & beyond. This year's contest seemed propitious-enough an occasion as any to finally share with y'all some of my composin'-chops.
---
It's a theme & it's its development. We'll start from the top
disabusing ourselves of any last needy, hysterical wish that the lycanthropic dream delimit in stages or phases. We werewolves, six or seven of us, array ourselves to our perches across the boughs of that singular tree, which grimaces with regular austerity against the frigid eddies that sweep our dignified fluttering pelts. We subsist in simultaneous verticalities. On the nominal register, wolves will compose a jarring white organized as patterns in a chromatic field; or, perhaps, as resplendent fragments in a lupine dream-work, but let's not waste our time fussing over names as dreams don't wait for us.
And indeed, we have already peregrinated farther afield, categorically lost on that winding, tortu®ous royal road, that path that carves through the Spirit-realm's agrestic tableau, to the lupine unconscious. We make no use of extant cartographies because, after all, all roads lead to roam, no?
Our tattered paws plod but register little in the way of imminent woundings. At times we take liturgical pause to lift our snouts to the full moon as silky drapes of mercurial spectral-fog--the ethers of the sylvan wilds of Wolf-territory--tumble down across the land & cloak the muzzle-spires that jut upward from our pack-form--over & over again, but always anew.
And we howl in cycles, and gaze upon the Lycanopolis's entrance(d), that of the wolves; that is, we prowl in cycles, but never make it through the effluvial smear. And why should we?
For we are home at last--our dear, blessèd home--and we've returned eternally with sounds boisterous & meek, brutal & pacific; the spleen; the alacrity; and, with flourish of the harpist's paw, our own moribundity disguised as the gasps of Elders, a sorrowful fugue contrapuntally woven through the cruel & lachrymose murk of Time.
And finally: such sad, impossibly sad pain. We bow at the Music Box--that trophy which crystallizes our encounters with Wonder, but as such inscribes yet the werewolf's Uncanny, a beast permanently facing Eternity in frozen mimicry of our most terrifying semblance.
---
Art by me. Thank y'all fer listenin' 'n' readin'. Much love. Scribe "Glosynge" Woulf
furrymusicians Express Yourself Contest 2025.---
Notes
I've mainly showcased my eponymous avant-country project (i.e., Scribe Wolf) on FA to the exclusion of my work in other genres.
This is probably little known to most of my followers, but I have an academic background in composition, & work as a composer in adjunct to my freelancing as an audio engineer. I frequent idioms as diverse as early/modal music, common-practice era pastiche, traditional twelve-tone serialism, electroacoustic improvisation, minimalism, industrial soundtracking for popular media, & beyond. This year's contest seemed propitious-enough an occasion as any to finally share with y'all some of my composin'-chops.
---
It's a theme & it's its development. We'll start from the top
disabusing ourselves of any last needy, hysterical wish that the lycanthropic dream delimit in stages or phases. We werewolves, six or seven of us, array ourselves to our perches across the boughs of that singular tree, which grimaces with regular austerity against the frigid eddies that sweep our dignified fluttering pelts. We subsist in simultaneous verticalities. On the nominal register, wolves will compose a jarring white organized as patterns in a chromatic field; or, perhaps, as resplendent fragments in a lupine dream-work, but let's not waste our time fussing over names as dreams don't wait for us.
And indeed, we have already peregrinated farther afield, categorically lost on that winding, tortu®ous royal road, that path that carves through the Spirit-realm's agrestic tableau, to the lupine unconscious. We make no use of extant cartographies because, after all, all roads lead to roam, no?
Our tattered paws plod but register little in the way of imminent woundings. At times we take liturgical pause to lift our snouts to the full moon as silky drapes of mercurial spectral-fog--the ethers of the sylvan wilds of Wolf-territory--tumble down across the land & cloak the muzzle-spires that jut upward from our pack-form--over & over again, but always anew.
And we howl in cycles, and gaze upon the Lycanopolis's entrance(d), that of the wolves; that is, we prowl in cycles, but never make it through the effluvial smear. And why should we?
For we are home at last--our dear, blessèd home--and we've returned eternally with sounds boisterous & meek, brutal & pacific; the spleen; the alacrity; and, with flourish of the harpist's paw, our own moribundity disguised as the gasps of Elders, a sorrowful fugue contrapuntally woven through the cruel & lachrymose murk of Time.
And finally: such sad, impossibly sad pain. We bow at the Music Box--that trophy which crystallizes our encounters with Wonder, but as such inscribes yet the werewolf's Uncanny, a beast permanently facing Eternity in frozen mimicry of our most terrifying semblance.
---
Art by me. Thank y'all fer listenin' 'n' readin'. Much love. Scribe "Glosynge" Woulf
Category Music / Classical
Species Wolf
Size 120 x 120px
File Size 3.05 MB
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