1. |
Stargaze
06:24
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This mass murder shit's become so routine -
dilemmatic prisoners beg for option three.
This was never the conclusion I set out to reach,
but these creatures of habit won't stop their killing spree.
In the dead of night, the parish prays
at the altar where once we stargazed.
By candlelight, the vigil prays
at the altar where once we stargazed.
You poor souls - don't you know in whose image you're made?
There's nothing I can save.
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2. |
The Pit
05:13
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My fate is sealed inside the fiber
that closes the loop.
This cycles and cycles
as if bound in chains of muscle memory
and ferments in feedback on feedback
and is born of itself an entity.
My depth is concealed in integument
layering thicker upon the complexity within.
This sheath, maturing incrementally,
offers less and less to evince its profundity,
its hearty pulse ultimately preserved under thick skin:
a rhythm headache in winding halls.
My embryo ossifies,
my development is dashed.
And so crystallizes this PIT:
inert in my lurching belly;
the pièce de résistance of this seeping gravity well;
the dormant tension of coils under bovine crush;
the sheer mass.
The sheer...
But as it congeals it intones an appeal,
You who believe you're entitled to feel
your god-given birthright is under attack?
these are the words of a wall wailing back:
I AM THE SCREEN ONTO WHICH YOU PROJECT
THE DISSONANCE BETWEEN LOST AND BEREFT
YOUR RIGHTEOUS TEARS HAVE LONG SEEPED THROUGH THE CRACKS
THIS IS THE SOUND OF A WALL CRYING BACK
ONLY THE CHOSEN CAN CHOOSE TO ACCEPT
PEACE AS A PAYMENT ON SANCTIFIED DEBT
THOSE WHO STILL CHOOSE TO PROLONG THIS TRAVAIL
WILL WITNESS THE WAILS AS WALL'S SPIRIT FAILS
This is the pulse of the pit that I can't
shake as a cold shiver shoots in the heat
up from the base of my spine to my neck;
gnashing of teeth, rhythm locked on repeat:
THIS IS THE PULSE OF A PIT POUNDING BACK
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3. |
Horizons
07:04
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Photograph of white on blue...
another life - someone else's memory of you;
sea and sky, and I spy an errant shoe
that may have been my size;
sandy soles caught as wind waves roll on by
this sandbox - I wonder, where am I?
Hoist the sails, gird the loins!
Get up topside, boy, and pray this wind prevails!
Steady on, don't shy from speed!
Bring our guest something to write upon!
What a frame -
horizons arise and and recede, left behind
in no time, it seems, woken dreams,
and just like a child's coloring book,
I'm drawn outside the lines,
fleetingly meeting each self I surmised to have died
sometime along the line. Were we all in here,
stymied by squalls or foundered by fusillade?
I am thawed, scrimshawed; Captain, we are near!
Ready the ropes, all hands on deck!
Set sights on the island ahead, on Vulcan's slopes!
That's it, men, stall in the shallows -
we've no kind of port to welcome us in.
Ready the boats to alight on umbral shores!
Make space, our guest has business here.
Noon is dusk -
foliage enfolds and intoxicates even the sun;
the jungle takes me and moves me through its maze;
am I free?
As jungle thins,
a coronary core ahead scatters obsidian smoke -
determined, I approach. I will reach the mouth.
Steps take me...
I am in here.
Molten platelet plates let beneath Terra’s scab,
carelessly torn:
the volcano king, steeped in old magic.
I am in here.
This land will be forever scorched.
Remember what you’ve seen.
Fly your living remains away from here.
Leave me!
Was I there?
I'm left the impression that something has festered inside
a heart undisturbed:
born in ancient times, overgrown in vines,
perhaps beyond repair.
I must be in here but it's less picturesque and I fear
I must ask this of you - am I out there, too?
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4. |
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It's only mind's eye meteorology
to forecast a sunny day
from two thousand miles away.
Sub rosa stratiform,
I'll play along.
I intend to leave ununraveled
your well-traveled sarong
(is that so wrong?)
so that maybe when the sun comes out,
I'll have been tanned all along.
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5. |
In Torrents
04:46
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6. |
Arrested in Amber
04:16
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This could so easily have been avoided:
never inevitable,
only to manifest by the caprice of gods
and the whims of health.
We could so easily have missed this -
we must have missed so much
that slipped between the loose planks
in the decks of ships passing in the night,
never quite...
I appeal to the archivist:
Grant us your morsels;
we are mortal, but hungry.
Grant us your mechanism;
we discard the meccas of synopsis.
Or grant us the will to accept your tall tales
and keep a history alive;
committed to mythos;
arrested in amber.
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7. |
The Little Finger Tango
07:57
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Identikit Atlanta, Georgia
Identikit is a progressive sextet that doesn't understand jazz.
Identikit recommends:
"Let's take a dump on Trump"
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Suffice it to say that it is not your average country music
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Counterweights
by James Hunter USA
Proving to the world that pop rock can be in 13/8
go to albumIf you like Identikit, you may also like:
supported by 7 fans who also own “Mind's Eye Meteorology”
Great jazz find from user Ed Buckley's page. That 23 min title track though... what a journey!
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supported by 7 fans who also own “Mind's Eye Meteorology”
Thanks to the nice-endof-year-offer I came to fill this gap in my private worm collection (a, pardon me, worm hole, so to speak :-)) Wonderful reminiscence to many good things past (Canterbury, 70s prog, folk rock) with a good sense of humour and great ideas (both in the songwriting & in the arrangements) .
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The Doctor From India (Original Motion Picture Soundtrack)
by Rachel Grimes
Rachel Grimes brings the same knack for gorgeous moodiness she developed in Rachel’s to this moving, beautiful score.
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