Love that distant mic n almost vaudeville vibe. 8)

this is incredible! i love the how the haircut lines weave thru

Growing tired of the liars and the cheats, the deceits of the elites….
Self-unaware at the Vanity Fair -the highest possible priority to saying words
Sow what you reap, bullshit is cheap, selling out to the dragging feet, of the elite
Slipping away, save it for a rainy doomsday, making hay, on the way
Sinking deep in the shadow of the valley of time, bluff on the causes of crime

Video: https://youtu.be/185DOo7AGxE

Conscience

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CnR1vugWdEk
Free download--> https://www.zabirski.art/library/tracks/224
Photograph pixabay-AngelaL_17

Zapałki/Matches

Tea plantations on the planet Athoek, the location of some intrigue in Ann Leckie's book, Ancillary Sword.
I took inspiration from the early work of Evangelos Odysseas Papathanassiou (Vangelis)RIP. I loved how he combined traditional Greek instruments with electronics on "Earth".  "Heaven and Hell"  remains a personal favourite. 



All rights reserved 2022

Plantation On Athoek

Lyrics/ copyright jo richter:

following the nutritional trail
a trilobite moves from a place
like that to a place like this

agile senses in a chitin shell
alarm in a world made of hunger
muscles react: volvation

when is it safe to stretch out again?
how long do you remain in stasis?
what is duration in trilobite terms?

you need to show strength, to feed,
to moult, to live your trilobite
lifestyle in cambrian waters

when does that urge undo precaution?
a theory of mind for trilobites
does not exist: we are not aware

of their mental cues, their inner states -
do they deliberate or just change shape
as some behavioural timer runs down?

in ancient seas, in its own time
a trilobite moves from a state
like that to a state like this

Trilobite Quandary        a poem by Jo Richter

Chutney disaster

Crossing the yellow line ... a remix of the wonderful https://soundcloud.com/encym/trajectorize

encym - Trajectorize (muterial yellow line remix)

Evenings in the Garden of Time

Have you corrected yourself today? This song is about our marvelous ability as humans to automatically correct ourselves as we trundle about our everyday lives. Holding onto the side of the bus for dear life or writing by hand in a straight line on a piece of plain paper (it's not easy).

Correction Machine

I got me a loop pack today to have some easy play alongs for sax; so I've done the first remix today !
I hope u like mix and addition ! photo by Linda Xu, unsplash

The moon turns dark // remix and sax

U-Kuopio

you cried for days...

from juvenile hall, 
to the psych ward,
to a foster home up north...

where you shovel snow,
in 50 below,

now your living on their left overs,
in your foster home uniform...

and they cut your hair...
like a christian prayer...

you were holding yourself hostage,
till they starved you from your room,
and it was BAD...

old testament bad...

foster home haircut,
you cried for days...

your social worker forbids,
you wear anti-social clothes,
but what are those?
seems that no one knows,

foster home haircut,

your foster brother Ben,
has fetal alcohol syndrome,
with eyes on the side,
and the nose so wide,

there's a dog named Odin,
who devours puppies,
and you hide away,
with the stolen ashtray,

foster home haircut...

Foster Home Haircut

"Write from Wrong"

and if you told me to "look but not touch,
 I'd stare at your sun till my eyes set as such,
 that mine eyes should be dashed where the river rocks roar,
 as long as I washed up upon your sweet shore,
 I'd stare at your star till it fell from my sky
 breathing a teething to soften your sigh,
 gorging my gaze in a creative craze,
 on this dream that doth stream through my nights and my daze...

...and then if you told me, " be seen but not heard",
 not a mutter would stutter away with my word,
 that my silence would stifle the city's shrill shroud,
 my thunder staid under the cleft of your cloud...

...and if you told me "your steed is your scream ",
 then the clatter would shatter this saturnine stream
 I've been wading in fading, so wantless and wracked,
 by the reap of a sow I can never take back...

...and still if you told me to "write but don't reach",
 let the burden be heard in my every beseech,
 why the wheel of my woe it would wind me my way,
 so scant I would pant for the light of your day...

...and still if you told me to "tread but don't try",
 not a finger would linger in passionate pry,
 but my will would not still for the sate of a second,
 until I was bade by the bless of your beckon,
 how I've bound up my breathing and paced in my place,
 and I sent out my sound just to find me your face,
 writing my wrongs till I come out as clever,
 to be planting my songs in your fields of forever,

...and then if you told me to cease still born seeing,
 and bathe this burden in the beauty your being,
 then my stars would cross heaven and hell, sky and sea,
 That a beautiful world...It should happen to me,

Foster Home Haircut

Bad Penny Arcade

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