Thursday, February 28, 2019


"Flicker" is one of the older songs I've demoed in several versions but haven't refined. I like this take raw and ugly. Recorded at Winter House. Burnpile's album Burnpile.

all these gods, these baubles, these forget-me-nots—they get lost
all these farthingales and ruffs and cuffs and other pretty things—they gather dust

Other song demos at my soundcloud page:

Among the other dreams is the doubled album.

Sunday, February 17, 2019

The unwritten. Play me the one that says I love you.

Does anyone know where we can get these Bright Starts Automatic Bouncer tracks on vinyl? Where we can hear the dust and feel the light? We already miss these sweet, melancholy, sun-limned days. Being and dreaming. Like a narrative universe in Miranda July’s mind. Me and you and everyone we do not know. Our old beds and worn rockers. Our bright woodsheds and unread stories. The unwritten. Play me the one that says I love you. I love you.

Saturday, February 02, 2019

I guess the thing is

I guess I should start out by telling you I'm four months old. I'm coming to appreciate the practice of critical re-reading. Just like writing's in the re-vision and learning's in the listen, reading's in the careful re-read. A thing can be both overvalued and undervalued, if you know what I mean. Both too read and misread. Take for example the whole goddamn world. Most of the guys I know are a first draft, half glance, clumsy-tongued gang of liars.

My old man's not really the worst guy in the world. He's just a little wet in the shoes, you could say. A bit battered about the ears.

Every time I think I figured anything out I haven't. I guess the thing is I wish for others even more than myself. That we can sleep and dream and be in the world all at the same time.