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1. |
Third Person
04:26
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i don't remember the way my face looked as a child
so it's strange i've come to know this smiling figure as myself
not some double in my clothes
because if i'm the culmination of goings on and happenstance
wouldn't i cling to my identity instead of giving it away?
wouldn't i keep my feelings in first person perspective instead of slipping away?
it happens every day now: am i the blond and frightened boy
or the old man who's saying his prayers?
so pictorial and distant how is it that you are human
and not some remnant of a future meant for me?
because it looks like we'll be meeting up on the hill above the city in 20 years.
that is if i can still call you a friend.
i've remembered this old feeling from younger days and dizzied memories
waiting for sleep and postponing the morning (mourning)
finding shapes upon the ceiling and telling stories to myself
about the future that i'm gonna have now.
could it be that i was dreaming and have been since?
because my mind feels just like someone's old photo album.
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2. |
Private Language
04:07
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i know there can't be a private language
but that won't stop me from disguising my own the best i can.
with no mal-intent, trying to make more sense
still chanting the old chant:
when i was foolish i might have said
when i was younger i might have said
when i was tired i might have said
something that i'd regret
but i've grown wiser, i like to think
and in my dreams i've stopped disappearing.
i think i've had ducking and deprecating about enough.
when i was foolish i might have said
when i was younger i might have said
when i was tired i might have said
that i was beyond you all
but i've grown better, from my good luck
my burning bridges still hold me up.
if i've grown better, from my good luck
i'll see the sun rise and i'll warm up.
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3. |
Semantics of Every Dream
02:29
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i herein petition for a climbing back into the hills
for the coming and going of mountain air into my lungs
for the writing and mythos of twice removed fictional men
for the deep seeded knowledge that everything is firmly laced up
and yet it's coming undone
so i kick and i sputter the semantics of all of my dreams
while i'm trying for calm among history's many regrets.
in these crumbling cornerstones and abandoned bathroom cabinets
i can see myself posing as author of my favorite precedents.
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4. |
(chord progression)
03:20
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5. |
Exquisite Corpse
03:46
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i close my eyes when i talk to you because i'm better just as a sound
but i bet you see straight through me i've heard i'm a book and an easy read.
could i maintain the niceties you see and the charm that you say i have?
when does my second guessing grow old?
and what then with nothing to say?
i'm drowning myself in this manner (in these manners) day to day.
should i kid myself, knowing that no one will answer the questions that won't stop falling from my mouth?
will i be asked for another portion of this exquisite corpse called "life"
asked to leave another part behind.
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6. |
Bathtub Bed
03:53
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i only realized that i was hiding after i had found you.
you'd been crying in the bathtub--
out of sight, out of sound, underground.
your tears became the faucet dripping.
your shoulders shook from some new fear.
the only thing i could hear whispered was:
"there are no lightning bolts in your lovely head"
so i gave you the jacket that was in my hands
and i laid you back down in your bathtub bed
while you looked out as though you would quit breathing again.
had he come to find you after turning away from your tears?
had he come to hurt you after turning away from your tears?
had he come to fuck you after turning away from your tears?
no I'd come to say sorry after turning away from your tears.
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7. |
Collected Rain
03:46
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i am a person and this is not art.
this is a memory of a moment.
a glimpse through my lived-in life.
the sour grime of a mild hangover spread over my forehead.
without thinking i reach up to wipe it away
but all i feel is the collected rain.
walking home from the store a passing car casts my shadow on a fence
it moves backward as i move forward.
soon the car is gone
and i am left in a larger shadow.
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8. |
Whatever I Meant
03:43
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i used to take myself seriously
writing down my thoughts was like a job
cataloging the different ways to convey feeling
felt good or at least like something honest
but now my work doesn't flex that muscle
and so i second guess the things i might have said before.
i'd like to think that this silence is just one long pregnant pause
that's preceding a great unveiling of the story that i've been building.
but if it's not, then at least i've got the years that i spent writing down
whatever i meant.
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9. |
Passing Time
03:18
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awoken at 3:00 am
in the dark i thought that there would be
more stars here
but every time my eyes focus on one they all disappear.
the intermittent sound of cars
is replaced by the constant hum
of air in the firs and in the pines
passing time
we toss our things in the back of a borrowed truck
keep your seatbelt on
the door doesn't close.
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10. |
(idea)
01:13
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11. |
When She Meets You
04:06
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Every Love Story Is A Ghost Story
by postrich bear
the narrative and recurring characters, diy aesthetic, and plaintive delivery cast a hook i can't help but bite. "chronicles of young failure" features the dreamiest guitar lines.
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february / baseball metaphors
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plain language storytelling like that used in baseball metaphors makes this downtempo single even more heartbreaking.
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lead abatement at the battery factory
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interesting approaches to generative and ambient music. borrowing some familiar chords
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Hushed folk-based songs build from feathery acoustic guitar figures and draped with layers of keys and pedal steel.
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