i hold to storm sky and
give to barrow flint
recalling all these
dreams i am, knapped
to a razors' edge
at the scrape of bone
chill, cast shattered
each wonton drop
for the fell heather,
scree to quench the day
i ache to not
ache to know
knowing, of sorts
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knowing, of sorts
Sure thing, Boss…
We’re game. Where’re we headin’?
Tomorrow threatens to be interesting.
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Sure thing, Boss…
bramble gate
down along that night river
just a wee drink to forget
boots wet at the bank
with these soles worn thin
maybe, baby, i'm never
gonna find my way back
from this bramble gate
cos two coins, i have, and
some lives like mine are
bought on the cheap
cats laughing in lead*
as they swap laps, boiling
from red vinyl seats
in a wrinkled mirror—
searing way down
already, i am ready
to burn october, and
maybe, baby, i don't
want to find my way
back to the place
where i come from* the Pb type; ask Robert Plant about it if confused
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bramble gate
Hardware
I recently decided to take the plunge and get a hardware synth to stop my dallying and futzing around with software emulation of synths.
For several years now, I’ve intended to lean less on pre-loaded patches and work on an understanding towards how a patch is created from the basic soundwave (sine, saw, square, pulse, etc.) and massaged into the sounds you hear in music — whether it is someone like Depeche Mode or cinema’s Vangelis.
I have played with the software synths on my digital audio workbench (DAW), and purchased a few other software variants in an attempt to find something that “clicks” with this wee walnut I store where most folks store a brain.
Not a one clicked.
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Hardware
dollhouse
Picture this, I said by way of gestures, and less of word:
dreamscapes & lemondrops
discomfitures & dollhouse memory
(i dress pretty one day)
over tea, biscuits, the telly
and her rye
(always, there is rye)
keepsake those now,
those nicotine bones,
those tar stained ivories
all in tow with the
mustperfumed gingham of a
silent generation
slipping to broken stoneTo like, click comments or:
dollhouse
night train
scratches stand testament
to an erosion of caring
transients in many lives
only too happy to cast scars
before they hop aboard
the next night train
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night train
Half-penny thoughts — 20jul26
Giving name to a musical project should be easy, right?
No. It never is.
It’s worse than naming a character in your story. Or a fictional place.
Everyone should be named Bruce and Sheila, and everyone should live on Main Street in Greenville. Sometimes I even write stories with placeholders like that.
See how simple that was?
But if I want to start a musical project… Eeesh. All the good ideas are taken.
I swear this is the absolute truth.
I bet there’s even a band named “Bruce and Sheila” (google tells me there are gospel groups performing under that name — several of them, in fact — so there goes that idear).
If you were starting a band that did coldwave/darkwave music, what would you call it? Be silly. Be creative. Be deadpan serious. I honestly want to see your ideas below. It could be educational. I’ll even give you kickbacks after my first half-million if I use it.
I’m sure Greenville is probably taken and isn’t all that coldwave, so don’t suggest it, please.
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Half-penny thoughts — 20jul26
Hei, Skogkatter — 19jul26
It is very hard to believe that it will only be a few more days until this house is filled with new floof and chaos. I occasionally wonder at the wisdom. Or lack thereof.
Anyway, money has changed hands and, ready or not, not one but two fairly large kittens with the DNA to grow into even larger cats will be joining the tribe. We just need to do a little drive and back on Friday and suddenly two Norsk skogkatter, Norwegian Forest Cats, will run rampant in the home.
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Hei, Skogkatter — 19jul26
spirit alone
echo drops the cave
shall we deeper delve?
here, roots still tangle
writhing their way down
giving away from doors
to raw in stone
to blind all light
give to silence of bone,
listen to ticks and
echo drop, and to
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spirit alone
surrendered
gifting a
fistful of moonlight
a'glitter of firefly
taken to void save
crimson nightsky
surrendered
wrists turned out &
speckled with lovebite
lake caught pictures
swept on the
bye by the byeTo like, click comments or:
surrendered
