To the beauty of simple things, like that of this beautiful Spanish Sparrow

SPARROW

A place of refuge can be physical, mental, or emotional - a song about nurturing 

Remastered- originally  from the post classical EP “Beauty Devours” -
https://moodexhibit.bandcamp.com/album/beauty-devours

Mood Exhibit - Building a Shelter

Walking with Stars ~ Anna.m4a

calm before

Taking Notes

Ozion

Well, my good friend Paco dropped me a note to say he had a piece of music to which I might like to try and add something, were I so inclined.  Always a good day when that happens.

Now, I can't honestly recall the precise sequence in which the neurons fired inside my skull to yield the result we have here, but we are where we are as they say.

Don't go looking at me for rationale.

Thank you, Paco, as always my friend, for inviting me to come out to play, and for mastering the end result in the midst of untold techno-horror grief.  I hope your DAW world resolves itself very soon.
______________________________________________________________________

Socrates at Sundown

I lie bewildered, here, in my sphere of cubes,
On crushed silk cushions sprawled.
I sketch the cool Palladian dudes
In charcoal, on Aleutian walls.
They think I know what thoughts are theirs,
And beg to trade their graceless airs, 
But I left them there to climb their stairs
Ever downward through Athenian halls.

They say my knowledge is remiss,
The diabolical's back in town.
Seems ignorance is bliss
For this philosophical clown.
I'm seeking emptiness of mind,
That's where I hope to find
That old, old friend of mine,
Socrates, at sundown.

My associate, Plato knows the game
Survives through pretty dialogue
He suffocates but bestows his shame
On city states whose statutes fog
The heads of people in their ranks
Attentive on the Eridanos banks
Dispensing death by way of thanks
As justice shreds its cogs.

Deep mental grasp of social structure
No need to ever write it down
Accused outcast for youth's corrupture
Where the bleeding of democracy is bound
To seek the causal end of time
Of Aristotle and Nietzsche's kind
The men of Athens rendered blind
Killed that old, old friend of mine,
Socrates, at sundown.

Socrates At Sundown (with MidiSound)

Somewhere Else (Acoustic guitar instrumental)

(ever too late to shine )    



Now she lives among the stars
                                          
and the night is too dark without her
         
all the light from then till now
                                          
hasn’t found its way back to her

*



I had no heart to hear

all the bells that call on Sunday

just like a waterfall

they’ll stop falling someday

*


refrain:

       
Is it ever too late to shine

ever too late to shine
         
my love


     
Is it ever too late to shine
                      
ever too late to find
      
my love

*


I see her in a crowd 

I see her in the mirror

Her face is like a shroud

as my own grows dimmer 

*


If you find yourself a star

don't lose it in the wishin' 

you're still while it moves far

far beyond your vision

*


refrain

TASCAM DR-05

ever too late to shine (co-written with my friend)

you're wrapped up today, it's 9.10 am and -2 degrees, it's been snowing overnight, some a them's been there since before 6! you walk down familiar streets, almost drag yourself there, feeling empty of emotion and desire, ambivalence consumes your integrity,  running commentary conversations with yourself contain more contradictions and paradoxes than thought itself. Horns tooting as you pick up the pace on Coburg street, nearly there now, must show willing and a pulse of positivity. You see your uncle Derek walking the dog, he's not really your uncle, you're not too sure if that's really a dog, it is a dog though, it's jumping up at you, fuck! it's at eye level, big dog that Derek! You make a bit of small talk about the football, and the dog, there's nothing small about the dog. He doesn't agree with the strike, I should be offended, but I don't give a flying fuck, it's nice to see him, have a bit crak and even getting bulldozed by that beast of a dog didn't seem to bother me. See you then Derek, tell the family I was asking after them. Turns out I would see him on my stroll to the picket line a week later too.

Big turn out today, you're genuinely impressed and start to feel a pang of guilt that you're really not feeling it. Try to fit in, you're more like them than they are themselves, it should be a stroll in the park. You start to make conversations and mooch about a bit, you don't  see anyone that you're desperate to avoid. Gallows humour is gallowing in pride, ready to take a bite out of anyone that doesn't subscribe to their own gallant gallowness. Sharing a thought invigorates your being, you start to reminisce and replay memories of this place and anything within a 2 mile radius. Across the road there was the last place you had a proper conversation with your cousin Pirrie, he wasn't really your cousin, but it was really a conversation; not like in the hospital, that was just the odd grunt here and there, a movement or two. There's Sydney Court, your Aunty Jean lived there since the 60s or 50s?  she wasn't really your Aunty, but it was built, and she was your mams aunty, so that's pretty close. You feel a genuine appreciation for this area and the folk who dwell upon it, you dwell with them, Gateshead town, blood sweat synagogues and thieves. Walking round the picket line, soak it all up, retain it, when you get home wring it out. Group therapy plasters over the cracks, you feel so good that you self diagnose yourself with bi polar. Although time grinded it's heels towards the end, it was worth losing a day's pay, you'd pay more for a therapist, and you'd gotten a good idea for a song.

Sydney Court

my mood is changing like the weather
my spirit rising like the sea
and all the things that I once held and cherished
don't really matter that much to me

as I wander round old Gateshead town
blood sweat synagogues and thieves
I lost my cousin in the Metropole bar
his ankles hanging round his knees

there ain't a single thing
left around here no more
not even a photograph
of Sydney Court

my mind is like a patchwork dreambelt
I'm blowing hot air in then cold
for when did I become the man's 
worst nightmare
never believing what I'm told

and as I'm riding down the Sheriff's Highway
and I watch the old Tyne valley flow
getting lost on the Tuxedo Princes
man it all seemed so long ago

there ain't a single thing left around here no more
not even a photograph of Sydney Court

where did you go
where did you go

recorded at home in my 8 track, thanks for listening, very much appreciated 👍






Taking Notes

Anthony