Shaking the Rust Off

I guess I'm going to start using this again. I tend to have a lot of things wandering around in my head that don't really leave if I just write them in a notebook. Maybe it has something to do with private vs. public bastions of consciousness, you know? Like, if I write something on the internet, no matter who reads it (if anyone), it is somehow gone from me...or, more accurately, no longer solely mine and can then be contextualized and re-evaluated in some sense-making kind of way.

On the myspace there's another finished recording, a psych-ballad entitled "Xenia." I'm incredibly pleased with how well the recording worked out. I spent a long time watching Mike Rocha do all sorts of crazy shit to and with other people's songs and recordings before recording any of my own music with him. He's brilliant. He's given many of our unfulfilled ideas a sonic legitimacy that we were never able to achieve on our own. (i.e. the crazy ass tape echo all over Xenia).

There are two more songs that are complete and one more that is a hair away from completion. I'd say the record is at a good 70% now, pre-mastering anyways. It's taken forever.

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"Shaking the Rust Off"

In what direction will our flesh wander
when the Other's not around?
senile skin
an aged growth,
a page divided where I loaf
and change
deranged
perverse
unsure
silent seeking validation
stupid concept of a cure.
Twisting turning combi-nations,
find the numbers in the words,
level-headed consternation,
what is said is never heard.
What's been hiding in between the moonlight and the frozen shore?
(line deleted for embarrassment)
Are we just a horror movie,
humanoid and hungry forms?
Where's the beauty in remarking on the beauty of the norm?
Adept in death I dance deliberate dodging doldrums dumbly drab
Askance I glance in gardened grievance gripping grizzled gaping gaps
between the modern and the ancient
between your technophilic loves
No body's made me write like this since I said I'd had enough.
Willow, start to shed your branches,
I can offer comfort here,
boundless depth of autumn answers freely for the fallen fear.
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Onwards and Funkwards.