beats x caloundra | keep playing archive

ASHLEIGH MUSK AND MICHAEL SMITH

beats x caloundra toook over the place.2.play insta with an at home version, asking you disconnect from the screen and connect to a single place and time.

21 submissions | 21 beats | 21 cardiograms

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headphones recommended for the optimal pumping experience

Billie - Front.jpg
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00:00 / 00:00

An action as one

Embellished by 

Another 

Who charges in 

With abrupt desire 

Extinguishing any forethought 

Of meaningless silence. 

Timeless appreciation 

A time full of appreciation 

Lingering in the absence 

Of the other. 

Heartbeats in silence,

to the beat of a pendulum.

And the satisfaction of the unbeliever,

seconds from hell.

 

Poetry and arguments

are both way and destiny.

Of the one who looks for illusion

in a clandestine bar.

 

Of peace and desires,

I learned in a few steps.

Are scarcely in abundance,

and love is what I believe in.

But if finding is what you're talking about,

I know a hiding place.

Where the world will end,

without being invited.

Julie - Front.jpg
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00:00 / 00:00

There are details and there is space.

There is a cigarette bud and a motorised ant. 

There is a satellite and the rising moon. 

Comforted and cradled. 

Surrendering to blue. 

My ribs feel the weight of this axis. 

Then breath. 

Not often is there dirt on my cheek. 

With it’s lingering nostalgia. 

Brush and fall

And fall again. 

She envelops.

Rejects.

She is ever changing,

ever accepting.

She is the autumn dryness.

She is the constant.

Below us.

Above us.

Steady embodiment that time is surely passing.

Our human feet stomp and patter and beat

changing her features.

Mask slips,

soft hand draws across the tiny creatures inhabiting our very skin.

Strangers invading.

Personal space,

our desire is granted.

Crowded into construction,

we wait.

Particles drifting for another day.

Clare Rees Place2Play Postcard - Front.j
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00:00 / 00:00

This is my attempt 

To abolish these four walls.

Their temporary structures 

Being restructured

For the resurrection 

Of my social life. 

 

Bodies passing bodies. 

In an ecstatic attempt 

To be on the beat 

And off the beat. 

A disco ball hangs 

In the caverns of my mind 

And turns as I turn

Into the night. 

Feeling fine

Blood rush

Imagine bodies

Empowered celebrations

I look to the light

its lonely bulb promising,

coursing electricity.

We switch off.

Dial in

to hips swaying

to apartment shaking.

I hold my breath.

Close your eyes.

Ben Wallis - Front.jpg
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00:00 / 00:00

From here I can see

What could define me 

If I choose to act

Or respond 

To a guiding impulse. 

 

From here a horizon 

Smiles and invites 

A stop forward 

Into abyss 

 

From here I jump 

And jump beyond 

The ticking time that chimes 

And grinds 

The mundane 

Away.

Doorknob twists, 

I glance behind as I step out. 

Darkness greets me.

Surely this isn’t how I left it?

 

Pulse accelerates

It’s only three steps to safety

but this body defies me. 

 

Mind fights instinct,

the tipping point.

Time slows as blood rush quickens

Leap.

Corrie - Front.jpg
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00:00 / 00:00

Ink to paper, 

Etched into white, 

A message to a love. 

Nostalgia with its heavy hand, 

Rests on my shoulder

As the envelope falls

Through the black portal 

Of a tin box. 

Time to pass, 

And pass again, 

I wait.

Dear. 

No. 

Hello. 

No. 

Dearest. 

No. 

To the one that will never know. 

No. 

Name. 

 

Ok.

Now what? 

What can follow to explain

The way I’ve missed your small hand in mine. 

The way I reminisce about the good times. 

The way I’d hug you if I saw you. 

What words can I use.

 

Flicking through a dictionary only wastes time. 

I search for synonyms on the web

But there is no way to find

a simple way to say

everything

Emily Studman - Front.jpg
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00:00 / 00:00

Deep Breath.

Exhale. 

Halt. 

Can I do this? 

A winter chill

Tells my body 

That I’ve surpassed 27. 

My 16 year old self 

Laughs with pride 

Holding close 

The achievements of youth.

Sliding down. 

The cold of the kitchen tile

seeps into my skin. 

Balance. 

Slowly. 

For a split second

I achieve. 

My heart accelerates. 

And I think how silly I might seem, 

To the neighbour peeking in the kitchen window. 

But none of that matters now

for I have lived 

my gymnast dream.

Jemima Fontin - Front.jpg
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00:00 / 00:00

This bundle, 

Right here, 

This ecstatic, hyper, exuberant 

Bundle 

Of soft, short hair

Oblivious to my day to days, 

Melts me 

With a look of intrigue

Drenched

In love. 

I want one, I want one. 

A companion.

Shaggy curls, 

twins at first glance. 

One human, one other, 

hopeful innocence binding the two.

Hesitation, 

it’s not love at first sight, 

more like confusion.

A curious approach

memory triggers.

Jennifer - Front.jpg
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00:00 / 00:00

Sinking, fast paced 

As a tepid crow narks.

Three times over

I read the line 

That lines the base 

Of an ever rocking chair 

 

In the spirit of what was, 

I cling to what has become ‘mine’. 

In an attempt to go beyond that which

Defines me. 

How small need the hole be 

Which carries me 

To a crumbing sea. 

Pull the sorrow away.

Synchronised swimmers

reverberate in my ears.

I hear my voice bounce back at me and I observe the mundane,

the mirror reflecting

human tasks and daily rituals that take time and time again to perform for an audience of one, of two, an audience that shows me just what I want.

 

Tea is made and alchemy conjures a drop of something for sleep. Recipes passed down for generations, a winding path bonds one to another.

Existence is known through the lens of sounds from beyond the wall, the window and my own imagination.

Jess Abraham - Front.jpg
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00:00 / 00:00

I am not the body, 

I am not even the mind. 

A mantra that accompanies

Morning ritual

Now visits me under moonlight. 

The spaces in between

Draw my breath.

To my left, a phone tower hums

Pulling me between 

Here and there. 

My tarot, King of Cups, 

Whispers in my ear,

Go Deeper.

Sparks fly, flames.

City lights compete with the stars hanging from their celestial rope above us.

The circle widens 

as newcomers settle in. 

We sit, 

captives to the stillness. 

Can we say for certain what we are seeing? 

Joan Currie Place2Play Postcard - Front.
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00:00 / 00:00

I decide that I am a magnet. 

A magnet that has fused with

A mirror ball. 

In the interim between my hand passing nose to hip

I glance to the right

And in an instant 

I revel in the satisfaction

That comes with 

The embodiment 

Of John Travolta.

Relentless rhythms sweep across my screen

In.

Out.

I follow.

Distant murmurs of a lifetime

of learnt routines slide past my lips.

I watch them again and again

and I wonder who taught them to me.

 

Breath escalates.

Mind wanders.

Body escalates.

Mind follows

Kellie Wright - Front.jpg
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00:00 / 00:00

Between two buildings is a patch

Of bemusing turf, layed out for the backs

Of those who drift

And seek. 

Seekers

Of the waxing moth 

Of the cradled babe 

Of surrendered touch 

That amounts 

To nothing more than this. 

An expanding fortuitous moment. 

Rid of a distant past leaking from porous skin. 

Bubbles slide.

A glup. 

Here we are, between the two. 

Trees whisper

Scents of city and murmurs of nature,

the two ever clashing

and clanging to new rhythms.

The air of possibility weaving and darting.

It lingers.

Linda Smith - Front.jpg
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00:00 / 00:00

I gather. 

Lists and plans

that never come to fruition. 

I always say

tomorrow

tomorrow

on tuesday.

My attention wanders

and I wander away. 

Finally

it’s done.

All those hours

boiled down to seven minutes at the tiny table in the corner of our place. 

We sit, 

satisfied, 

la sobremesa

takes place. 

Incomplete 

without the elixir of day.

Preparation 

For that which I will give 

And In giving, 

Contains much excitement. 

 

Theres a buzzing, 

Something that I have not done before

Or not had the company 

To complete

With me. 

 

A setting decides what is to take place

Blues, greys, reds, 

And slowly a residual mess

Makes itself known 

As the master 

Of satisfaction.

Madeline Fontin - Front.jpg
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00:00 / 00:00

Flour covered bench

Invites me forward 

To revel in the familiar 

From mud ridden backyards 

To wet sandy flats 

To Mum’s homemade play dough 

 

This action resonates 

Within me 

A history 

Of Joy.

Clenched fists pull away.

Handfuls of soft material ooze through fingertips, 

as I repeat, 

the action is smooth

continuous

like making life

creating something useful, 

these random elements pull together. 

A team. 

All for one, one for all. 

In, around, out, over, under.

Twist, pull, sweep. 

Useful play.

Marcia - Front.jpg
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00:00 / 00:00

Rhythms of childhood 

Spent in awe

Of a single move 

Head bowed low 

The stroke of a brim 

I can see so clearly 

An action as if pulled 

From fictional realms 

 

Zero gravity man 

Send me on 

My way.

Gravity,

defies me. 

 

Breathe,

guides me.

Megan Rowland Place2Play Postcard - Fron
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00:00 / 00:00

Sweat. 

Scratching for a time unknown, 

For time assumed. 

For time infused. 

High spirited, cradled in joy. 

The lights blind. 

Relentlessly going and going

And moving 

On.

Side step

Back step

Side step

I chase my tail. 

Relentless beating, 

I sense a flush in my cheeks, 

limbs in joyful abandon. 

I feel

finally

surrounded.

Monica Naples - Front.jpg
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00:00 / 00:00

Action action action

Tick tick tick 

Repetition 

Invoking trance.

I drop from mind 

To body 

As a single drop of sweat 

Drips 

And marks 

A point where clarity 

Waltzed into my day.

1.Warm up. 

Slight bounces on the toes. 

2.Pace quickens. 

Repetitive motions help us move forward, 

3.Sudden stop.

Relentless beats pound living room floorboards. 

 

Am I still (here)?

Morgan - Front.jpg
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00:00 / 00:00

Don’t get too close

A prick 

Will craft your 

Newly formed habits.

 

Imagining what this repetition will manifest 

My favourite colours dress

The kitchen bench 

 

Excitement builds 

As forms defne

Occasions in my mind 

Where this material 

Will drape shoulders upon shoulders 

Like a nest in its prime.

Stop.

Webs of desire weave

tripping you up.

The strands hum together,

a perfect fit.

It’s like magic

the way we transform through simple twists and turns.

Mistakes make black holes in our existing fabric.

Undo/redo.

Fade into the ‘bigger’ picture.

Feel into the minute spaces.

Ta-tum-ta-tum-tum

Follow pattern.

Shanagh Jacobs Place2Play Postcard - Fro
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00:00 / 00:00

Grass that tickles.

Plastic grass. 

That has collected dust and debris, 

Slow cooked in sunlight.

Providing me with 

A particular scent. 

Prompting

Desires for actual grass. 

Slow cooked in sunlight.

To lay

And reconcile with ants

That naw and craft 

And shift beneath 

All that consumes us

Swift, shift, peaking, streaking.

Sun absorbs,

the storms roll in.

Swirls of smoky air twirl lightly on the lips

and disappear.

You’ve never liked this before

there’s no time like the present.

New horizons form

and shapes morph,

sizes shrinking down to minute, infinite,

rising.

Beginnings fade like colour in the sun

The brightness of it all,

distracts. .

Samatha Taylor Place2Play Postcard - Fro
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00:00 / 00:00

Youth permits, 

An action complete.

Three times over.

I am taken back 

To competitions in the park, 

To head-spins followed by 

Excruciating giggles.

Straight to the floor, 

Where I lay, 

And recalibrate, 

With the tickling sunshine.

I slope down and momentum falls away 

Bones rattle against hard concrete. 

One. 

Thrills shock spine. 

Two. 

Body adjusts, learning from past imbalances. 

Three. 

Embrace the unexpected, who accepts perfection?

Toni Currie - Front.jpg
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00:00 / 00:00

Brace. 

Embrace. 

The pooling of steps. 

Grip with breath. 

Focal point. 

Dust gathered temple. 

Tilting to crash. 

To be suspended. 

Again. 

The absent tempest. 

A vertical reimagining. 

I am here.

Brace position,

press play.

In case of emergency,

body sways. 

Focus. 

Dust illuminated 

a highlighted detail. 

Empty mind

mind empties. 

 

Brace for impact.

William Studiman - Front.jpg
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00:00 / 00:00

With this, 

Familiarity. 

 

A place I’ve been before

But not since 

Age 9. 

 

Hot wheels 

The hottest wheels

Redesigning my lounge room 

Furniture become mountains 

A couch a grandstand 

The carpets dust a dirt ring 

To slide 

And slide again.

Big wheels

keep on turning

Hot wheels

adorned with flames. 

I shrink myself down,

a tiny driver.

strap on my seatbelt. 

I close my eyes

imagine the long straight highway, 

no end to the straight white line

dividing coming and going.

I accelerate. 

Adventure is coming.

Beats x Caloundra, invites you to go inwards and visit that pumping, unifying, whispering rave in your chest. Artists Michael Smith and Ashleigh Musk are recording heartbeats in an attempt to find out what gets us pumped at home.

Catch the live version. 

Details here