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