Moby – Isolate
The wolves on the prowl
Packs
s olve
the owl
Bring the crowd when they have you
then the noise, the loud,
the mess of sound
surround
rounding down upon the kill
running
up
down the
hill
image:Barnaby_S
Devandra Banhart – I Love That Man
I’ve got all my drawings all hung up on the wall opposing my front door, that every time I enter I’m greeted with a large armful of time past spent. One or two drawings fall off over and over, despite the amounts of duct tape I use. I’ve put them back up at least six times.
One day when I die will I erase the world?
Or will I keep it until I rot away, one city at a time?
What will be the last thing to go?
The thing I loved the most?
The time I ate indifferent toast?
What will the flames or worms eat last?
The heart of flesh or the ring of brass?
I found my box of pins today what a thought.
image: Gilderic
Sabicas – Fantasia Inca
I. The Labyrinth
Creepy doe-eyed motherfucker light-up fawns.
Christmas Plastic strewn on crunchy lawns.
Santa’s fire belly boils crooked grins aglow
agape at Frosty’s carcass, cloaked in polypropylene.
We’re drowning rocks in blackened frozen ponds.
This is no Starry Night.
This is no Rower’s Lunch.
This is Vancouver sky,
Eridanus beams all half-bright.
Walking. Stiffened sparkle sidewalks. Night.
Talking under quiet globes of light.
Wander wonder why we got so left behind
this maze of bending buildings
ebb in shrouded spiral tight.
Now your eyes are mottled grey.
Mirrors of a solemn maze.
II. The Beast
And I saw him, in the nettle-stung blister winter morning, sun growing, peering between mazes of leafless birch branches. I saw him in the leather coat, in the street, among the houses. Maybe we’d been up all night, he and I, and it’s too early to sleep now. He stands there blowing hot-breath dragon flames, growing older with every passing day.
image: Grant MacDonald
Jon Sheffield – Dear Yma
This, the morning of shipwreck,
cut out of trees smeared with wet glue
folded above drifts of orange cream globes,
lighthouse lights and megaphones.
Maple leaf veins take the task of lighting the path
in the absence of the sun.
Below we move,
quiet minds in a quiet mist.
Buildings loom like masts and bully the meek.
They are men telling ghost stories.
They aim to scare, they aim to scare.
Let them be washed away
their crooked eyes and angry bricks.
Be washed away in this shipwreck morning.
image: kayschwag
Colleen – I’ll Read You A Story
(The video is also incredible) A silver strand A single truth Sharp as glass Hard as tooth. yellow the sun Yet here it is in flowing dancing in the summer air pecking grassy hair of trampled glades. Setting fire to a bear Sending all of life to Hades Reckless Warpath smoke and the dark alone. in a stand Yet ebbing glint to of meant some never thing whole sharp of a piece I stay sitting because I remember who we used to be. I don't stand up because I know who you are now. But if you keep pushing I will slowly tip off . . the . . . . edge. image: netzanette
Sufjan Stevens – The Owl And The Tanager
I don’t remember what for.
–
Respectful sounds heard ringing aloud above the ground.
Skeleton Sam waited till the sun had set.
Pushing up the lid the thought struck sound.
Skeleton Sam, a respectable fellow couldn’t believe he was dead.
The moonlight beamed through willow trees and lofty lichen.
Walking down the hill the sound of windy teeth.
Skeleton Sam denied the turn the time had taken.
Instead of dining down in town he was s’posed to be buried beneath.
The more he thought the more the loss of life unfair.
Wheeling around and heading to town fast as he could.
Down the sloping trail anger replaced despair.
Skeleton Sam a respectable man, with intentions not so good.
He approached the town and the gate rose o’er the sky.
And the sight of Sam did make the town crier cry.
“The undead have come!” but Sam spoke “Listen here,
I’d like to speak with the man you call your leader.”
But the man just shrieked and he did not flee he flew.
And as he ran off he said with a cough “Our leader ain’t talkin’ to you!”
Our friend Sam ever did ram
the walls that stood round the city.
The guards came down because of the sound,
and opened the gates with a crash!
And Skeleton Sam’s bones they did beat,
and burned till they were nothing but ash.
Now Skeleton Sam lies in the ground.
Only a pile of dust (not a sound!)
His respectable ruins are carried by ants,
And he helps give birth to many respectable plants.
image: manufrakass
Rogue Wave – Postage Stamp World
She always smiled at me
and I always wore my intentions on my sleeve.
Or so I believed.
But none of us are that complex,
we are all see though obvious.
Swirling mists
on a swirling sea.
Our sleeves are hard to see.
She always smiled at me,
and all I could ever see was green.
And so I believed.
You always smiled at me,
and somewhere hurricanes ripped up beachside trees.
A simple step a simple glance,
getting killed by avalanche.
Sounds of Faces – It was just a theory
The world is what you make of it.
It mirrors who you are.
Arming you against yourself.
Selflessness your war.
Reach down to those below
low, low on the threshold
hold fast and true to
two different kinds of soul
one above and one beneath
neither one is grey
raise away
forever more.
image: _Jer_
Boards of Canada – the devil is in the details
Not what others have done.
–
When the sun sinks
sets down on the backs of the land
and black veins rise up
serene and still
then red haze
and my red veins dialate
and black rains fall
serene and still
image Jérôme de Lisle
