Hosted by rfurtkamp · EN

All enigmas that are sensible mean nothing in the end.

There is no escape, and the unfun is forever.

Beyond the surface, it ever dwells. Beneath the waves, there is everything and nothing. And all.

Echoes of the flaming mother in purple skies, take me home. "Come away!" she said, and all I had was a song.

Things that should be that are not. If you understood, you'd never dig up Joan Crawford from her grave.

In the distance, it can be felt but not known. Such is the righteous riot of the mating of the stars.

Two of the same exact model guitar and their brother walk into a bar. Amplitude modulation crushing delay sweeps in and demands a dance. Such is the way of the fading cosmos.

You weren't there, but you may have heard the stomping in the woods in the mist.

Sometimes everything you've been told is a lie. Only the sound of truth remains.

A return of the 'record in a day' birthday EP/album that I haven't done in a couple years. Marred by near catastrophe as the forward strap screw on the main guitar decided to remove itself from the guitar mid-take - I kept the song anyway.