1. |
(Testing I)
01:48
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( )
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2. |
five years old
02:58
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I can’t see
I can’t see
Window panes breathe
In for me
I won’t try
To understand why
The sun bleeds through the blinds
In strange lines
I’m five years old
Don’t do as I’m told
Walking down the road
Far away from home
It’s five o’clock
Light drags down the wall
As the sun begins to fall
Strange lines sprawl
15 years from now
I’ll look up to the clouds
Wonder if everyone’s dreams are loud
Wonder if they hear the same sounds
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3. |
cold days
03:05
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Laid out ahead of me
are miles of cold days
and winter’s breath bejeweling
all the windows along my walkway
Fading out in front of me,
horizon of old face
and glitter descending, newly
falling throws of a life I’ll create
The sky covers everything
in a blanket of white shadows and pearls
Flips the tallest thing on its head,
twinkling city and skyline drawn in a whimsical world of swirls
Floating through frozen dreams,
following frosted air
But missing home as I fall asleep,
the silence of snow is too much to bear…
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4. |
opening the shutters
04:56
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“...this is the brain, you’re entering… allegedly… so these would have been your synapses firing, so to spark your creativity…”
The soft chatterings of new age typewriters build conversations in this cafe
The soft ideas spinning around ceiling-colored limits resemble humble wonderings of a small room
Busy thoughts hide rather gracefully in hopeful squares of light
Busy people hide rather carefully in knowing just how dim is enough
I thought I saw you on my walk here
but it was only a blur in the atmosphere of a hesitating storm
I thought I saw the whole sky in the gravel-colored rain
below my feet (and everything else caught in reflection)
The world collapses upon the line In-Between
like a day upon a last time here
The puddles along the road were flickering
like the shutters of your camera as you seal moments into your collection (that no one may ever see)
I wonder what I might look like to you from afar
I wonder what I might look like from behind your lens as I await
my capture
my rebirth
my new recognition of self through your eyes
How do we know who’s turn it is to spiral into the depths as they behold mirrors up to the other and a hand up to the clouds?
How do we know when it’s too much?
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5. |
Spring
04:48
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Leafless trees
stand so much taller than me
Cold spring breeze
kisses every cheek passing by the stream
Branches look like roots from here
reaching out for the sky
Changing every year
(a Sisyphean passage of endless time)
They, they almost look like little growing carrots
waiting to be plucked when they’re ripe
And if, if only I were tall enough I might be able to
grab ahold and see what’s on the other side
Maybe it’s a sort of heaven and hell configuration
but I don’t think I’d wanna know which is which
Or maybe it’s all just the same and
between two mirrors is a brief moment of bliss
I’m waiting and waiting and waiting for a
kaleidoscope of colors to burst
Just picture how perfect the stream would be in green while the
water ripples and turns
I’m taking and saving and wasting
the only leaves that I can find
To build a tiny house by the river’s edge for the frogs
and fairies that won’t get to see the other side
Leafless trees stand so much taller than me
Cold spring breeze kisses every cheek passing by the stream
Branches look like roots from here, reaching out for the sky
Changing every year (a Sisyphean passage of endless time)
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6. |
(Intermission I)
02:23
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Congratulations! You have now reached The In-Between… Welcome to…
Intermission…
Moments and time fall like rain here
Aisles of the mirror realm reveal what/such a
Vague truth as house lights interrupt
Over-dramatic fade to black
So now, turn to your right or your
Left, but turn to your neighbor and disregard your total
Lack of acquaintance if so be it… and tell them what you think so far
Tell them what you feel so far
Ask them for their thoughts on the experience that you’ve both just shared
In silence
Beside each other
Behind parallel gazes
Face each other and ask them
What they think so far
What they feel so far
What their favorite part was so far
Didn’t you just love the part where
Isn’t it a wonder?
where
where
Where are we right now?
Are you ready for act II?
Do you think
Do you think it is absurd
or just
maybe
a test?
What do you think the actors would do if all crew and technicians left at once just before the start of act II?
Where does stage end and audience begin?
How strange, don’t you think?
What was your favorite part so far?
Are you ready for act II?
Where are we right now?
Isn’t it a wonder?
What is the difference between being me and being you?
This sucks, do you wanna get outta here and grab a drink?
Isn’t a wonder?
Don’t you think the lighting design is excellent, the contrast between blue and gold is incredible?
What was your favorite part so far?
What do you think the actors would do if all crew and technicians left at once just before the start of act II?
Where are we right now?
Was your favorite part the scene under the bridge?
What do you think so far?
What do you feel so far?
Do you know where we are?
Tell me what you think?
Was your favorite part under the bridge?
Does stage end or does audience begin?
Isn’t it a wonder?
(Tell me, was your favorite part the beginning or will it be the end?)
Do you think it is absurd or is it a test?
Did you let them look at you?
Do you know where
Do you know where we are?
What was your favorite part so far?
How do you think it will end?
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7. |
tbdutb
06:19
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The birds die under the bridge
The birds die under the bridge
There is dangerous clarity under a bridge
Between the loss of faith,
and lapse in decision
The birds die under the bridge
The water is slow (and takes its time)
The waves push and pull (against the time)
Between both ends of the bridge,
in whatever direction water can find
The birds die under the bridge
We mourn their loss with disregard
We mourn their small twisting legs and arms
and glazed-over graying eyes
Unphased, standing over their decaying bodies waiting to be torn apart (by time)
We mourn their loss with disregard.
“I put all his usual clothes out, in all the usual places, and he dresses without difficulty, singing to himself. He does everything singing to himself. But if he is interrupted and loses the thread, he comes to a complete stop, doesn’t know his clothes…or his own body. He sings all the time…eating songs, dressing songs, bathing songs, everything. He can’t do anything unless he makes it a song.”
“He can’t do anything unless he makes it a song.” ♪
(everything.)
(all the time.)
The birds die under the bridge
Free is our disassociation
(For an hour,
a lifetime,
a day.)
For no reconciliation.
The birds die under the bridge.
♪ Sacks, Oliver. Musicophilia: Tales of Music and the Brain. Revised and expanded, first Vintage books edition. New York, Vintage Books, 2008.
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8. |
not ready
03:36
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i'm not ready
for someone to look at me like that
i'm not ready
for someone to look at me like that
two-sided table
allows openness and honesty to pass through a
two-minded fable
that could be about me and you
you said "Of course I believe in fate"
but i heard it from your eyes
you said "I can't believe we met"
but from your mouth was pouring the sky
thought i'd end up a hopeless romantic
ever since i was five
thought maybe i'm just not old enough yet to understand
or maybe i'm just a bit shy
(but still,
but still,
but still,)
i'm not ready
for someone to look at me like that
i'm not ready
for someone to look at me like that
i'm not ready
for someone to look at me like that
i'm not ready
for someone to look at me like that
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9. |
tessellate (Aibohphobia)
04:24
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The fog sits and lays her dress upon the valley
Braiding her hair between the trees
And sings a lullaby to put the daisies to sleep
I sit and lay my thoughts onto the quiet
Weave my fingers through the endless piles
Of dirt that’s always been beneath my feet
Does it weigh on you
To be a tunnel for the breeze
A river for the falling autumn leaves
A mere reflection of eternal beauty
A repetition (of what’s already been said before)
Do you remember how they looked that night
Collecting the last flecks of lavender sun in their eyes
The evening dances across their face like
Street lamps on window glass
They recall each street you both passed
And the way you closed your eyes every time you laughed
They dreaded the moment you’d find the way home and say goodnight
Does it weigh on you
That they summon the breeze
And the inevitable falling of autumn leaves
They tessellate like mirrors before eternal beauty
Their name is the very last thing you might say.
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10. |
untitled
05:52
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Remember…
Let them hold your (time-soaked) hands
Remember those who never stood a chance
Lend your words let em fall while alone you stand
Let them feel beyond your skin
Descendant of woes and tales lost in the wind
End scripture with the mark of forgiven sin
Let them look at you
before it’s too late
Worn out symbols and runes
embroidered on familiar face
God’s quill has pierced the sky
Bleeding ink where there has let in light
Mend or burn let all your questions collide
(Father cries looking up at night
Child’s faith ends at his name despite
Folklore-filled floors beneath the organ filling halls where mother died)
Let them look at you
before it’s too late
Worn out symbols and runes
embroidered on familiar face
Remember.
Remember.
Remember.
Remember.
Let them look at you
Remember.
before it’s too late
Remember.
Worn out symbols and runes
Remember.
embroidered on familiar face
Remember…
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11. |
time
04:50
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(Itching the back of your head
Pulling at a little deja vu kind of thread
Gravel humming deep in your ear
Mime your favorite tune to make it stop
Tinnitus of the years flowing upstream
Echoes long way back so it seems
Tinnitus of the years flowing upstream
Echoes long way back so it seems
Death flies buzzing through your dreams
Spinning like silk thrown violently to evening wind
Time is on the other side dressed in wait
Corpse in delicate gown knows it’s all the same
Tinnitus of the years flowing upstream
Echoes long way back so it seems
Tinnitus of the years flowing upstream
Echoes long way back so it seems
Rocks rattle a rhythm under the pressure of oscillating waves
Even river knows it’s all just the same
Rocks rattle a rhythm under the pressure of oscillating waves
Even river knows it’s all just the same
Tinnitus of the years flowing upstream
Echoes long way back so it seems
Tinnitus of the years flowing upstream
Echoes long way back so it seems)
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12. |
when (Intermission II)
02:13
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Where are we?
When will the end pass?
Begin at no particular conviction…
Will you tell me a story?
When are we?
The end, Where no particular story we tell will Begin.
Will you pass me?
Are we no particular story?
noWhere When conviction will end.
h
o
W
-do- you -think it- will Begin?
tell me a story…
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13. |
Summer
04:46
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Field of flowers
Bends to the will of the wind
Healing hours
Peeling like tangerines on a summer afternoon
Eyes painted with the blue beyond the clouds
Hazy light pours all is sun-bound
Try to fade into a soft green thought
Tall grass flows the world follows along
The Earth wields chapters
Like a mother flipping through a children’s storybook
Her favorite page she turns
Is the one where the child wears a crown of leaves and wood
Eyes painted with wonder and a smile
Daughter hasn’t heard this one (in a while)
Try to fade into a soft green thought
Tall trees grow the world follows along
Sun won’t last like this for long
Watch a metamorphic blend of light before it's gone
Orange drowns summer fields
Before you know it last breath of air will be here
Eyes fading through every color around
Waiting for the rain to fall down
“Mother, what about the little boy? How does it end?”
“Don’t you worry it’s almost over darling”
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14. |
mark of change (End)
04:23
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Uncanny constellations ruminating
Around window sills where sunrise is illuminating
The days of a life dipped in redundancy and golden light,
Turning over and over and over leaving nothing behind.
I lost the will to win when a woven sky
Handed down myth and stars like old candlelight, laughing
All the while. A little child thrown upon the night:
Heaven-speckled void of black bleeding by the edge of mind.
I’m (still) in a small room,
And (still) I watch the sun-colored collage of fading lines.
Horizon keeps a close eye on migrating time as it flies by
Prose-covered curls of wind waiting for the moon.
It’s still and quiet in the middle of it all.
Finding old ways to love familiar brand new walls.
Bending, forgetting, and letting everything fall like rain.
The end, yet to come, illusory mark of change.
(Uncanny days fall down, dipped in time.
Finding The end in redundancy and illusory night.
forgetting sunrise and ruminating over Heaven like Prose.
Turning candlelight over like familiar mark on golden windows.
lines in the sky Bending Around myth,
waiting for new, All the while quiet And still.
The lost love of constellations still illuminating
where a collage of stars is waiting - patiently - in a small room.)
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15. |
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(singing)
( )
“Hey, keep singing!”
“I don’t know what comes next…”
“That’s okay, you just keep singing…”
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Amanda Foster Minneapolis, Minnesota
some kind of folk probably
--------------------
experimenting with sound & making music since 2022
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