The Field – Over The Ice
Do you feel lucky?
They seemed to say.
Tissue cameras creep
over every inch of me.
Frozen.
Foreign orbs
observe, absorb.
The eyes, the eyes, and their frightening lies.
Black and white and color dyes.
He turns away from me,
and the waves recede.
I’m only shot when I see
the whites of their eyes.
And I’m surrounded by them all.
Prying pupils
dilate
relay
roll
repeat.
I won’t let you see me see.
You see?
On and on we dawn these rituals.
Hide and seek with our peripherals.
Mogwai - moses
Rain
in
a n
empty mind grows
a n y
time, nothing but a low
a n t e
allowing
me nothing but
to sow,
seeping out windows sewing time into my eyes
they grow heavy and I hear flip flop footsteps
in record repeating digging troughs silent
bouncing off white walls.
image: drp
Marconi Union – These European Cities
You don’t know everything about Lisa.
Carefully collected maybe
She dissected the rest of us.
Silent hidden charm just an arm away.
Try to skirt along tripping traps take the wall,
You cant see the girl
Hailey why do you put up with this?
Are your intentions really so clear?
The sharpness in your cheekbone
from another’s whetting stone.
Wedding gowns and neutral tones,
surely you’re more alive?
One day will I be the same way?
Inventing girls who fret and fawn
In my thoughtful din under sauntering moons
Will I build myself a pedestal?
Will I climb up and stab my chest?
Will I fall in puddles, broken and revel in my notoriety?
I want to give you your own breath.
image: Oncle Tom
The Frames – Suffer In Silence
Just a book
Just a show
Just a movie
Just a song
Only a week
Only a slip of the tongue
Just a kiss
Just human
Just a bad day
Only twenty minutes
Just a memory
Only the past
All the old memories laid out on blankets in the sun to dry. A thousand little lights all sipping from the sun.
image: Leonard John Matthews
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
Great Lake Swimmers – Passenger Song
don’t know my hands,
the look, the feel of the skin
all buried in the sand
I don’t know where it starts and I begin.
The scariest part of realizing that you don’t like the things you used to, and that you are different from when you were a child is the fact that you didn’t seemingly choose this path you’re on, which means you have no idea where you will be farther down the line. Passing through dark tunnels, and only blind memories behind.
It’s impossible to tell anyone what you really mean,
And I’ve never been exactly as I seem.
All the ideas I write before I go to sleep,
are exactly what I dream,
but with more sheep.
Sufjan Stevens – for the windows in paradise, for the fatherless in ypsilanti
and of course the video is beautiful.
My brain is several sheets being blown low under dark blue breezes, easing along the thoughts that ought to be turning gnashing not timidly lying around. A panic. Like seeing the scene, shipwreck aftermath, folks flung swung on beams of oak melting down into earth that borne branches that press against my brain.
image: kayschwag
Rosie Thomas – Say Hello
Sometimes the times you never knew you hurt someone was the time it hurt the most.
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
acraein 