muscle memory returns, slow
fingertips shredded to ribbons
a smile on my face
Brief and bass lives

Photo by Juan Montana on Unsplash I have been doing that dangerous thing called thinking and it revolves around getting back into making music again after a long spell away. All of this listening to postpunk/darkwave/synthwave/coldwave has gotten my brain tick-tocking (with the occasional disturbing click) and I very tempted to go out and buy myself a new, not piece-of-shite, bass guitar, lay out some drum machine tracks and go to town on writing a couple of new songs in that vein.
Although I don’t know how many folks remember the Neddies (Ned’s Atomic Dustbin), but the thing that made them interesting is that they used two (2) bass guitars for much of their music. While I’m not looking for that Midlands 90s sound, I think it would be fun to steer things in the direction of old school postpunk with double bass guitars, one playing rhythm and the other playing the melody (think ol’ Hooky, especially with New Order where he played the melody while Bernie or Gillian sequenced the rhythm bass).
I’m just realizing that the above two paragraphs might be complete nonsense to the uninitiated. But think! Think! How cool that might sound as long as you got the sound punchy enough so that both bass lines didn’t end up in the mud!
Now plotting how to add a “good enough” electric bass to my collection of instruments…
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Brief and bass lives
blind eyes close

Photo by Dariusz Sankowski on Unsplash gazing hand & shadow
this bone, this muscle
untouchable & tiring
skinstained with night
painted to stars myrkr
heavy, they anchor
a heart sent to slumber
under wood & gloaming
a kiss to blind eyes closeTo like, click comments or:
blind eyes close
Rewilding: An Inquiry

Photo by Wes Hicks on Unsplash When I think too much, these are the kinds of thinks I think about. I would not blame someone for stepping slowly backwards after reading this blast of questions. [MR]
What is the purpose of ritual? What makes it an apparent requirement for spiritual practice? Is it an actual requirement or is it perpetuation based on tradition?
What is the purpose of ritual tools? Are they actually necessary to evoke/invoke spirits or deity? Again, are they perpetuated due to that hobgoblin, tradition?
When you practice your beliefs (faith, if you prefer), to you go forth or call in? Do you seek to empty, seek to fill or is this a null question with a null response?
Is it faith? Or is it gnosis?
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Rewilding: An Inquiry
smudging space

Photo by Ginny Rose Stewart on Unsplash i smudge space most days
inviting spirits to my smoke at
campfires within indoor plains
for no reason at all
but to give them space to
rest their weary before
they carry on & then onTo like, click comments or:
smudging space
A mercuric lake

Photo by Ville Palmu on Unsplash I have many thoughts trapped inside my head. I cannot free them because they are thoughts without words to go with them, or the words that might go with them are inadequate to express those thoughts. Trying to express those thoughts feels too much like, as Alan Watts would have put it, trying to bite my own teeth.
If I managed to construct those thoughts into something that could be understood, if I could find the words and unstop this mute mouth — would anyone read them anyway? I mean, really read. I am fairly certain that they cannot be words that can be heard, so I do not dare speak.
I have for a very long time tried to personally touch these thoughts, hoping to better understand people who struggled in much the same way as I do now to express inexpressible thoughts. Now that I am on that path, I understand their struggle. There are no words, we need a new language altogether to get at the words needed to explain explain explain. Maybe, I think these thoughts can only be expressed sideways, with a slipstream sense.
After I slip into the wilds, do you think you could find me? Would you want to?
The buzz of insects over a mercuric lake…
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A mercuric lake
two-twenty

Photo by Simon Wilkes on Unsplash my body is my drum
humming at two-twenty
thumps per minutes
from my thumb, terraforming
my world before my eyes
turning inside to see
where everything is
leaves and evergreens
with buzz wing dragonflies
dancing pastel skies
slumbering in dream
under a springtime sun
hanging words on oak
my heart bursts wideTo like, click comments or:
two-twenty
hear her

Photo by Wes Hicks on Unsplash fever head her
birch song wind
russet leaves dead
sleet ticktaps pines
as she stands strong
hear her, hear her
under the wood
alder sap & painted
hear her, hear her
underdark
underwood
shadowsonged
fever head her
blackthorn pricks
stone the river run
river under ice
and brambles strong
hear her...To like, click comments or:
hear her






