this is a thousand goatskin drums thrumming a good night to you across the acrosses
this unsong travels up rivers, dives from cliffs, and skipsoars over treetop canopies
it surfs zephyrs and rolls across sleeping grasses
it curls on and flings itself around tall flowerparts
it is a wave of silk and summer cinnamon
it slides from ice to other ice to water
it traces across you
there
and there
and there again
it is memory, and tomorrow
it is now and just a second ago
and the moment you come back to it


the feathers of absence
this unever
the whimwarden denied
the sidemanifested starshine
embertouch of
not








.

and i hate that walk.

it feels like a runway, or the last part of the Log Ride at Six Flags when you waited in line for an hour, and the line is longer now since you've been on the ride, and it's 100 degrees at least but you know yer gonna get back in line anyway...

and i so want to stay in that space of confidence and light that i feel in the first ten minutes or so when i first see you, or when i'm on my way,
that spark of causality and common ground of half-laughs and holoboundaries
before i hit that desert of causeway

i cross tea to get to you

and in that walk i run a gamut -
a scale of minor-note footsteps and undercolours paint the path from the wall of thin souls congregated at your dead-sand doors to the equalizer of your half-smile
underwhelmed, demi-joyed
resetting my treble, bringing me into mid-range from the bass i live in
rumblecrumble
and those first moments are in my veins like dragons and i feel like i'm in the world, for whatever reason
and i'd fain stay that man, yeah
instead of the old fool i feel like in the five minutes before i leave


"Delirium" ( demo) - Starhead





we finished The Album tonight. "Escadrille" is now out of our hands, and in the hands and ears of the Mixer and engineers to master. This song will be the 'secret track' on the first 100 pressings, i think. It's supposed t'be a little sloppy...


Praise Jah.







.

couldnae tell yeh why, but it's how i feel.


it's easy t'blame the moon, but we dun talk so much anymore. ands i mean the moon, not girl.
and i cannae blame the sun, cos i've missed it for so long that missing is how i feel, not what i missed.





"Sometimes a thousand twangling instruments
Will him about mine ears; and sometime voices,
That if I then had waked after long sleep,
Will make me sleep again, and then in dreaming
The clouds methought would open and show riches
Ready to drop upon me, that when I waked
I cried to dream again."
- William Shakespeare, The Tempest, 3.2







::verse::
::chord::







.

Find more videos like this on w.a.s.t.e. central





.

because when yer being killed is no time t'back down.


...or so i've heard.


ooh, looky. writin songs.

from House, via my email. Again with the anonymous.

sometimes i think someone's in my email...

anyway.

"John: I know that limp. I know the empty ring finger. And that obsessive nature of yours, that’s a big secret. You don’t risk jail and your career just to save somebody who doesn’t want to be saved unless you got something, anything, one thing. The reason normal people got wives and kids and hobbies, whatever. That’s because they don’t got that one thing that hits them that hard and that true. I got music, you got this. The thing you think about all the time, the thing that keeps you south of normal. Yeah, makes us great, makes us the best. All we miss out on is everything else. No woman waiting at home after work with the drink and the kiss, that ain’t gonna happen for us.

House: That’s why God made microwaves.

John: Yeah, but when it’s over, it’s over. "




.

please













.

it is very dark here, tonight.






and i am a non-combatant in this looking-glass war.



.

Worried about my padawan, and vapor trails always make me think about my Rocket Scientist.

raw from self-destruction
tired of trying to be fixed

and i keep looking back at my hand.


got my ass handed to me at Scrabble last night. twice.
financial aid meeting in 1 hour.
starhead practice tonight.
2 job interviews tomorrow.
starhead playsHailey's fri night.
work in the comic shop all day sat.



recording the fucking album on sunday.
recording the fucking album on sunday.
recording the fucking album on sunday.


hongry, now.

and as much as i hate to admit it, apparently nothing is sacred.


'i am like a martian/with no earth to attack'

yeah, nothing like a little Shiner Black and workin out a bit of Willie Nelson when yeh cannae sleep, right?




wrong.




.

sub rosa ( )
if flay all= true
then
existence=denuded
world=ravening
scar=armored
soul=repurposed
end if
end sub







.