Few Stars

Stay friends, fool the fear, find rhythm; do both with an album called Wrong by Nicholas Nicholas, as suggested by Bandcamp’s fabulous ‘Fan Spotlight’ – namely a fan called david finley busch from Missouri, and further suggested by A Pocket Full of Seeds, heartily, Meet Me In The Park, above, highly, above any (of this) wordy tangle. It’s above all of it, all the syllables and all the ideas, the inexternal agreements; they are signed in something that feels like Rhythm. Through the speakers, that rhythm is clear, through the window, I’ve been conditioned to think in years, I’ve been conditioned by a few stars.

I am only hearing this through my laptop speakers, but then again I can only see the stars and the moon at present through the kitchen window, past my reflection. The list would go on, but currently I can only access my activity and various recollected mediums through the fog of my psychology… Pause … I see the days ahead through the lens of a tiring day, in some ways, in other ways that’s not true and I’m seeing fireplace and comfort through the lens of, it’s winter of course, a distant ritualistic homecoming.

It’s important to think about the music blog. This thing has been the space through which I’ve seen most moods since January 2010. It’s the same for every reader. This wesbite is a net of sorts that captures the disposition you cradled before you clicked, it always does. It will leave you feeling ____, a double-meaning – yet only relatively speaking: according to a single line of thought. Thank goodness we don’t have those. Thank goodness we’re 3D.

In that light, let me expose a name suggested by a name, and through this medium, let me offer you an emotional space. The music on the website is real, I felt it – that should be enough to know that you might too.

We live in a world where all things are supposed to be logged as if they’re all something objectively scalped from our emotional geographical topologically sentimental realities. As if, music-blog-speaking, I the writer have some proficiency and some entitlement to talk about ‘music’ intellectually. Almost as if I’m a music scientist or something, a music historian, officially, formally, a music ‘enthusiast’. That’s completely. At a lot of levels. Wrong.. I’m just | We’re* all just people who seek rhythm. Our actual bedtime breakfast itchy hungry affection disposed reality is always relevant. It’s up to us rid this reality of all the sterility that is imposed upon it by the faceless one dimensional ‘world’ politics in which it currently inheres, in which it was inherited. It’s up to us to vocalise our empty space, make that empty space palpable, surfable, reachable – an empty space is something to be shared and outlined, not to be diagnosed within to the silence of a thickly entangled abstract nightmare,

This language is tired. My soul isn’t, and I’m sick of the symptoms endured from being sold the idea that the soul is something separate from my remembering skin, from the ache of my ears, somehow seasick in a kitchen, suddenly spirited, a tidy room, zing! Then again, sat down, eating preservatives, artificial daze, gloop! Something hugs: perhaps a fresh thought felt, caught before a pre-sunrising spire, a dim truth realised in some slanty Sunday smile, some bird’s sound architecture for a peculiar morning, felt, ropes! Metaphors like yo-yos, tied up around my middle. The electric guitars all over again, my laptop speaks softly, I’m typing all over again, it’s good to be home somewhat.

Stay friends, fool the fear, find rhythm; do both with an album called Wrong by Nicholas Nicholas, as suggested by Bandcamp’s fabulous ‘Fan Spotlight’ – namely a fan called david finley busch from Missouri, and further suggested by A Pocket Full of Seeds, heartily and sincerely, Meet Me In The Park, above, highly, above any (of this) wordy tangle. It’s above all of it, all the syllables and all the ideas, the internal agreements; they are signed in something that feels like Rhythm. Through the speakers, that rhythm is clear, through the window, I’ve been conditioned to think in years, I’ve been conditioned by a few stars.

It’s “Buy Now – name your price”, so we have a choice. Give it up for Bandcamp!

Stay okay,

George

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