Folk music, writing, reading, learning new things about the world around me, contemplation, long walks, pastoral scenery, forests, Baroque artwork, Japanese artwork, impressionist art, symbolist poetry, romatntic poetry,Agalloch, discovering new music, listening to old music, sleeping, dreaming, friends, driving at night, transcendentalism, poetry, finding beauty in things around me, laughing, cherished moments, euphoria through music, tea, going to shows, whoring out the bands I love, parks. Bless my pen with dreams and lies
let me hold you in my sleep,
let me wake and damn this art!
Music
maudlin of the Well
Agalloch
Devendra Banhart
Clad in Darkness
Russian Circles
Godspeed You!Black Emperor
Nadja
Movies
The Fountain
The Seventh Seal
Sideways
The Illusionist
No Country for Old Men
Television
South Park
Books
Slyvia Plath:Ariel
Arthur Rimbaud: Un Saisen en Enfer
Hart Crane: White Buildings/ The Bridge
Charles Baudelaire: Les Fluer Du Mal
Wallace Stevens: Harmonium/The Idea of Order at Key West
I'm influenced mostly by English Romanticists, American Transcendentalists and French Symbolists but also by Arabic Poetry and the occasional modern/post modern poetry
On the beach, I thought it wise to SIFT through the sand that was really glass, but in the STILL of space, I suppose I never really thought it THROUGH. After HOURS OF dust had gathered on the sun, I chanted along with the fish. The bell rose up from the silvery sea, and ITS surface glinted in the PLASMA that undulated beneath it. BIDING my TIME, I paced across the waves, thinking royal thoughts UNTIL THE tears welled up in all of my eyes. All of the CLOCKS in the universe hit the stroke of eleven, and the chiming caused the COLLAPSE of kingdoms. I wept upon the bell, and my tears made MUSIC that danced across the sea. It SHATTERED MY heart to hear that sound, and the SPINE of the world must have straightened. ON THE loneliest day of my life, eleven STEPS led to the OUTSIDE. I CANNOT ever visit this place again, for every MOVE I make makes me realize that MY life has ended. LIQUID pours forever onto the bell from the sea, and my BREATHING IS the waves that wash bodies ashore. A coffin SCULPTED from my thoughts moves WITH speed atop the waves. THIS is the BINDING. The sea seems made of GEL, and I sleep within.
It seems odd, I only seem to SIFT about in the melancholy, and I can STILL look back; I can hear the screaming trying to break THROUGH. before HOURS OF pain could eat away my brain, I struggled to disrupt their fold. They sent some sort of insect after me, and ITS wings buzzed up and down the PLASMA surging through my slumbering veins. BIDING its TIME, it laid its eggs in me, chirping with laughter UNTIL THE larvae spilled out from my split skin. Even the CLOCKS had forsaken me by borrowing dead minutes; I recoiled at my own COLLAPSE in ruin. I cared for the larvae, making for them MUSIC with which to fall asleep. They SHATTERED MY limbs with their beauty, and my SPINE became the nest to the horde. ON THE bed whereon i dreamt of love, my eyes formed STEPS up to the OUTSIDE. I CANNOT fathom chasing my own phantoms, as when IMOVE with the vision bestowed upon MY recalcitrance. LIQUID seeps into the roots and makes the forest grow, while its BREATHING IS motionless to those who can see. The trees are SCULPTED with silence and WITH the jagged edges. THIS saw a BINDING; it also dripped GEL from behind my eyes.
Twice ten years, I and a god did SIFT twice ten years into memory, and seven STILL pulses, but frequently memorizing opal THROUGH. During HOURS OF our garbled fornication, Blameless and Faceless were wed. The mystical union was as showers, with ITS magnificent lightning PLASMA bursting upon a thirsting Earth. BIDING no TIME, ev'ry ecstasy fell, causing me to swoon UNTIL THE rapture 'came much too great to bear. Infinite CLOCKS seems a ridiculous vision; the time when all time will COLLAPSE is much worse. But these things are later. when even the MUSIC will play all at one time. I SHATTERED MY ideal of me, with my SPINE straightened for my own serpent. ON THE dry riverbed were dry fish, sand and dust STEPS dropping to OUTSIDE. I CANNOT breathe through lungs that have putrefied, like eyes that MOVE lustily over the dagger MY murderer saw. LIQUID pours dreamily over self-inflicted wounds, and my BREATHING IS as shallow as a red tide pool. Nothing is SCULPTED and nothing is WITH living hands painted. THIS is my BINDING; my masterpiece GEL dressing mediums.
A few of us may head down on Saturday. Perhaps Casey, Ed, and I. Or it may just be Ed and I, and Chris and Casey may come down later.
Either way it looks like I will be there on Saturday night. You ready for debauchery on Saturday too? This means you can also spend most of Sunday with us too. Be our tour guide!
Yes, see? You noted my -creative- interpretation of subject-verb agreement, and quoted it. Now you just need to write that quote into a song somewhere, and you have it.
(an aside) David Tiber is me with an accent Now, for the logimifier 1)Folk music of any kind has to have sexy dancing-- including neofolk. 2)David Tibet was dancing in quite a provocative fashion. Therefore C)David Tibet's brand of neofolk is in fact folk music.
We can now infer that other neofolk is in fact folk based on this inclusion, with the stipulation that there must be at least moderate thang shakage and groovulatizing infused into the performance of said music.
about half of the stuff I'm putting on my ep. so... two songs. heh. I'm working hard on the other two. Are you still interested in collaborating for my next project?
