My Weakness//love, love, and a hundred more reasons to quit

Panda Bear - Untitled
sing me anything to get me through the night. sing me something soft to put me to sleep.

de liver me from this place, with wings
press ed against my beating heart
i clutch fast and soar into the distance
on a bed of painted roses left for you

i know you will be there waiting
s o why should my eyes stay sunken
wi thout enough rest to watch the sun rise and set
n or the paths of children crossing from homes to hell
n or the past of adults leaving from mind to soul
in this moment of awkward return it is enough to succumb
g ood health, good spirits, and better warmth in the cave of a soldier's den.

- tgrs

here and back again//With Heartbreak, Or Wisdom Extracted Into Pools Of Sewage

Atlas Sound - S.S.C.
good hook, amidst distorted ambiance only cox could weave into a pop piece of crunchy proportions. my window leaks into the wall of back garden, and so there is no light here, but the room is still bright. there are couches, curtains, pillows and a violin, all drawing shadows against the blanketed sun this country slumbers underneath. this song sounds like this room.

Pantha du Prince - Seeds of Sleep
if there were such seeds, why do you keep them hidden? you are the sandman, but you take and give at the discretion of a romance moon that hides under skylines inspiring to many broken hearts. i'm pretty sure this song heavily samples the donnie darko soundtrack. i am a fan of both. your skirt is pretty, and your eyes beautiful, so please stop crying, and worrying, because never seems worse than forever, but both are meaningless when coasts end to meet bitter semesters of joy and future regret. if i could hug you, i would hug you tomorrow, but these arms are too smart for that.

September Collective - Primaten
noises, noises, oh noises of curious beauty. laptops seem to make more music than drums these days. i play the laptop. so silly, this technology music. goodbye twelve bar blues.

Skuli Sverrison - Seria
quiet now, please. or jump. or slide. or just run away with me into the virginia sunset above aged plantations decorated with immense trees that hug the galloping breeze, a gust of what we need to feel when the golden sky washes over our sleepy eyes. seria is that breeze, and where you find your feet after you first try flying, that sense of immediacy your toes bleed, on the carpet of summer dust and a year of love and trust, do not sweep away just because i've left, but keep tucked in a safe box under a record player that spins seria into the evening with crackles that echo against the lonely comfort of your bedroom walls.

the following is something i wrote on my journey, during the inbetween hours of here and there, when i could see both the night behind and the morning ahead, sunbreak and starshine. it is a disoriented ramble, serpentine, a maze without a minotaur but assuredly obvious to six eyes that can recognize names in symbols and verbal winks. each word can be loving, and skeptical, but completely honest. unfortunately.

and so none of you may care about the following, but for those who do, so unfolding:

There is a significant calm that creeps into your nerves when airborne. the blanket of cotton white underneath, the pristine moonlight hanging over, the suspended comfort found on forfeiting faith to a metal bird guided by machine and unknown considerations. my plastic shield, doubling as window, or gate against my own escape, shows how far i have flown. i float now where you stare into on those lonely nights with opened windows and vacant rooftops. i do not feel any closer to the moon, is it strange that i can sense you from up here? what if tonight you aren't looking up? what if tonight your thoughts are directed at the trees, or the glow, or the past, or him? what if tonight the chill from the window surges uncomfortable shivers, and you can't stand to bite your lip and suffer the empty anymore? the ocean atmosphere is reclusive, i have indulged in solitude, and as monk to your whore my waves crash too far away for you to tip toe near. i am so grateful for the secrets we have spent together. are you ready to choose? i do not expect to come back a winner, but to as many loves as my bird has feathers, there will come a time when every quill must ink honest where the knife stabs deepest. use your tongue for razor decisciveness and cut loose! those ties that stand outdated. drag your leash on another chain and let free the ignorant with heels below his head. duplicity is becoming of merchants and jokers, so queen of hearts, end such court with the king's crown above a tower of sad tissues to soak the bleeding gold when royal tears have rusted the charm of your throne.
Take me with you to your brooklyn bed of water and swim still until the air you breathe becomes the death you need to wake refreshed, naked and wet from uterine dreams that haunted your comfort but propel those quick infant feet from coast to coast to foreign playground, grappple yourself and let the onset of fall humble your dreams until the tunnel has turned into a mountain climbed and your peak ready for you to sit. you will see so many stars, and my constellation will wait for you to draw it out on the sand at your toes.
Is there a reason you cross your wood with rubber nails bent with biting teeth until persectued by cast stones and witched hate, you swing dead as a dying pendulum in your grandfather's ancient clock. to yourself, no one is as dangerous as you, and life will take you nowhere unless you unhook your cuffs and back away from your woman's wall. i know you need her, but Jung cast the anima between a pair of legs for a reason, and so you need any her to feel fulfilled, with plague dreams and wandering spirits haunting your bed. lacking, and so necessary to fill the void in your punctured wrists, you attach to anyone who could make you feel like a son again, and you smile only when you can smell perfume. maybe that's why she keeps the dog leash taught. or maybe you both stare at opaque mirrors drawn onto walls with whiteout and crayon. no matter, my superman is approaching morning and my eyes are red with tired stains. this home will be new, and my summer's stay has been fleeting, but now i am hesitant and anxious to return again. what if there is nothing for me when i land? to solitude so i will flee.

and with a thousand kisses
goodnight, he misses the few his fingers ache for,
but these skinny hands have others to shake,
and must surpress the numbing awe of invisbility
for the sake of show and tell in this classroom
of tempermental relationships
having left a thousand kisses behind
for those permenant relationships
that stand behind glass curtains.
we each hide a rock in our pocket

- tgrs

thank god for moonlight//When Beauty Confessed To The Beast

Black Moth Super Rainbow - Drippy Eye, Neon Syrup For The Cemetery Sisters
my favorite band at the moment. psychedelia at its delicious acid-washed best. if the beatles were born in the eighties, grew up through the nineties and rediscovered their casio keyboards in the new millennium, they would prob sound better than this, but in a completely different way. black moth channel the 1960s beatles as much as they channel boards of canada and discotheque, resulting in a warm, fuzzy, and confusing sound that bleeds originality and colorful curiosity. i believe that my imagination as a ten year old sounded like these two songs. life is epic with soundtrack, and i plan on giving my children a very epic childhood. they may hate me for it, but they will appreciate me so much more when they discover pot.
// psychedelic.electronica.pop \\

Terrestrial Tones
- Plowman
in a hazy brooklyn apartment, or parisian living space, the sounds of creative minds and the tweaks of distorted controls reveal the expansive experimentation of two friends with noise samples and robot voices. or, three lovers caught in bermuda with one bed and tied hands, two in love and a third deceived, but the third loved by the deer and doe and so this boat sails happy, so long as that closet stays shut and the dark settles in the dark where vitamin d dissolves into smoke rings. if i had my way, i'd listen to this song on repeat under the covers during a thunderstorm until my ears bled. with company.
// experimental.noise.psychedelia \\

Entrance - Valium Blues
ok, you've won me over. i will completely devote my carbon walls to protection from nuclear sounds, and if this guitar is radioactive, then so any strings will cause atomic winters in the corners of my floor's mattress. and if cats are oddities in beach beds, then dogs have taken ove r the shores and we must fight back to ensure that those-who-walk-on-two-legs retain control over the sand and the sun so they can bathe their paste in warm promises of beauty and acceptance at their golden prime. the spots on my skin are crawling out of my hands and into the grass of yesterday, before burns and goodbyes, before stupid mistakes, before i let you leave, before i couldn't last, before i couldn't hold you as close as i wished, before my ears bled out to my own errors and his keys, but honor all errors as hidden intentions so seuss believes me a genius.
// sludgerock.psychedelia.blues \\

Pretty Things - Private Sorrow
concept? who cares. if this sound broke my radio, then i'd be sixty years old now, with a graying beard and hair tied back thick under a hat i'd found on the road from here to somewhere different. like a dug up gem from indonesia, this breathes static and chokes on fresh air to cough up disgust at anything ordinary and typical in favor of the dust kicked up from old tires on the side of a louisiana route that has taken you too far from home for you to care which number. do you consider crackles and pops a pleasure? do you consider drugs an evil, or an indulgence, or an escape, or an opportunity? i think colors sound best in orange juice milkshakes, but you might like jam on toast instead.
// garage.blues.60's \\

hey there
whatever i say i mean it a thousand times more
because my lips are hindrances to the expressions they rear
that flesh that marks imperfection, should we instead be gods,
then we'd rule our own heaven and love endlessly
until the rest grew jealous, and we made to flee,
so run into the mountains and escape to the beach
and echo romance from summers into the sway of the breeze
so chills ensure my hands to touch, and your kiss to grace,
and a moment of night that spreads to decade of hope,
we stand together under trees to forget what obstacles,
what walls of people and consequence,
must be decorated with graffiti and notes you sing and i draw
to give our love's truth a better home than this roofless hostel we keep our sleep.

if there was forever, i wish it started now.


//photo by jj\\