Name: Bare More by Anna Zinova
Duration: 4 min 9 s
Description: A less-than-sober Thursday evening in February, painstakingly expressed through Audacity, a laptop mic, a Roland D-20 and a violin.

A less-than-sober Thursday evening in February, painstakingly expressed through Audacity, a laptop mic, a Roland D-20 and a violin.


Bare More

My rendition of a San Pedro el Cortez song. 

CASTANEDA

Originally aired 20 December 2023
KKSM, Palomar College Radio
San Diego, California
Not So Serious Radio hosted by DJ Roob

NSSR best of 2023 #sdlocalocal

Playlist (not ranked)

1. “Rhizome” > Moxi & Loon
2. “Into The Dark” > The Gift Machine
3. “Hynogogia” > Pinkeye
4. “Sing Neighbor Sing” > Whiskey & Burlap
5. “Enter The Arena of the Gawds” > DJ Pnutz                   
6. “Radio Silence” >Tall:Shadow
7. “Ecstasy” > Dre Cat, Riston Diggs, Cali The Dreamer, Sly Beats
8. “NO FÜN > Sands
9. “Doesn’t Matter Now” > Crasher
10. “Diamond Path” > Swive
11. “Heaven” > Audrey & The Sound Gallery
12. "I Don’t Want Your Shit” > 10-19 & The Number Men
13. “La Historia Sombría” > La Diabla
14. “Forever” > Jesus Gonzalez

Background Track
“Strollin’ Adams” (live) > Sure Fire Soul Ensemble

(programming may contain explicit content)

NSSR 2023.12.20 - best tracks #sdlocalocal 2023

New Beginnings-Ernie Garcia

"Ratas" en Vivo Festival Nrmal 2013

single from the fistfights with wolves upcoming EP.

we are not alone inside these ugly yellow walls... portraits of our past selves caught in marked up bathroom stalls- post apocalyptic visions  spread like creeper vines, postulating bullets for the sake of bottom lines. there's a shape I can't see in the back of my mind and it's a strange thing waiting- she has grown forty heads, and they push till I bend into a darkness waiting... in the landscape of a memory is the story were fed by the child who's half dead... in this fiction is contrition. is it plastic we bled through the holes in our heads?

speaking through a channel on an endless gramophone voices of your past selves crackle through these ancient bones. patiently you pass the panicked people in the rain. masochistic weldings of a scar and I'm the same. fill my song with your words, it's so strange and absurd i'm not flattered, it's depressing... letting friends in your bed shape your heart, think ahead to the poison they're making- so hypnotic, cold and caustic, what you build in your head manifests as your thread... people creeping in the shadows, try to drink them away but I can't and they stay

sell the shattered fragments of my memory for a gun, schizophrenic shadows shaping saviors on this run- tulpamancing talons drain the reason from their vein, taking tattered parchments from the book of our remains. spilling pictures of grey onto canvas and space,
collaging memories, waiting. paint the panic we feel into something that's real till its a fashion, aching. seeking focus on the borders of the places we hid, drawing masks on our skin. they are moving in a cycle, pushed and pulled in the tide, waves of motion collide.

Tulpamancer

Out Of Control Take 2

the fashion graveyards count their old scars- 
i can atone, your light for my bones... 



the bullshit brothers still die alone in drunk summer tombs-
some cold instinct- all i repress inside of this flesh inside of this flesh inside of this flesh in spite of this flesh in spite of this flesh. fate. fate. 

your solid brimstone sulfuric throne- you'll burn till you're known, I burn on my own, bastions of scars, lines filling in chasms of skin. spoiled children's statues of gods arranged in the fog. our gunfight embers holding us down, my face to the ground your face all around- ammunition your passionless slave i fall on your blade, fantasizing, all of the words all of the words erase all the words erase all the words. fate. fate. 

wasting every hour while violence flowers, sanctuary windows crack in the fire, i don't understand, this cancer was planned... melting in the spotlight the social pariah- filming separate stories, trading messiahs. stitch my two hands on threads of your plans.

wasting every hour while violence flowers, sanctuary windows crack in the fire, i don't understand, this cancer was planned... melting in the spotlight the social pariah- filming separate stories, trading messiahs. stitch my two hands on threads of your plans.

Bare More

Anna Zinova

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