my first house was a mountain that i scaled with deceptive hands, eluding the potential consequence of commitment. the night peeled itself up for the dawn, as i stood atop centuries of rusted white rock. and the palo verdes postured inside each hopeful pause of my elegy to brahman, to buddha, to god. but now i can feel my spirit receding into the war paint that i slather on my skin each time i see a new day. the psychic told me i should change my name. i'm still shifting tea leaves to connect these broken lines, as i tumble spoke to spoke on the wheel of time. so i dragged my sweaty words up and down state route 89, past signs for aura photos, just $39.95. the psychic told me i'm running out of lifetimes. i met a child inside my twelfth house. he told me his name was azrael. and he took my finger and i called him friend. and we made a mural out of colored sand. then i stood and wept as the infinite wind sowed our work across the dirt with such painful indifference. and he said "each tiny life is just running toward its end, but joy doesn't have to be dissolved by impermanence. this is the way i will appear to you again."
Introspective pop songs with transcendent melodies offer a joyful meditation on staying present in a world that often moves too fast. Bandcamp New & Notable Mar 16, 2023