I see him each morning, hair askew, face needing to be mowed with an electric razor, a face wrinkled and weathered by experience and decisions good and bad.  None the less, I am thankful he is looking back at me; I'm still alive and thankful to have another day.  
Peter's poetic meditation begins like a prayer and becomes deeply introspective into how life has changed the man looking back at him.  His initial inspiration was Arvo Part's "Spiegel im Spiegel" but for this reflective journey, he asked pianist Debra Buesking to accompany him which she does  with great feeling and eloquence.  I come into the picture as the one invited to bring them together for a memorable moment, a great honor and a labor of love for two of my favorite Soundcloud artists.  More of Peter's thoughtful music and spoken word can be found @https://soundcloud.com/user-264930040/tracks, and more of Debbie's beautiful playing can be found @debra_buesking.

Some Words for Mr. Part:

Dear God, just look at the state of you - what the hell happened?
Did time do that all by itself?
Chiselled and scraped with gentle, temporal strength?
Yesterdays now patterned well with telling tales of wear and tear.
Always took such good care that you ticked every health kick box
But all the ticks collect their tocks, bundling up the time we thought was
dangling spare.
And wrinkly skin comes out to play, crafting plots with crumpled neurons
badly frayed, and
Liver spots about the edges worn of happy recollections,
Waltzed away, invisible to the swinging of that penduled clock.
Take your eyes off it for just a minute and you’ve lost a day,
And then a decade’s worth of wry reflections,
Lovingly to fold them up and let them lie in memory’s pocket.
Those lines that contour of your brow, a biography of creases now
And all cut down so very deep.
Each epidermal void crevasse life’s stylus tracks a scratching past
Evinces of a record no mortal hard re-format could delete.
And of your eyes, sallow yellowed at the margins, framed by corvid feet
Rigid-set to well outlast whatever bargained span of life your good Lord
deems replete.
As if your face lampoons of age itself, wrecked and bent
Of scars that trace minutiae, carved in master sculptors’ stone
And none too soon, for just that task and that alone, recording compressed
of the past..
We both know well which ones are smiles and which the pain that heaven
sent,
The former few, soft of the flesh, the many others sunk unto the very bone,
The harshest welt of any sole upon the universal cobbler’s last.
But does it help to so reflect, or but to hurry time’s neglect?
Of such consideration circles wrapped in worry tearing down
All edifice of self respect, the towering pit of pity comes once more to town,
Parades a circus fine of talents, self deprecating jestered clowns
And galloping horses all the while stampede about the rounded ropes
Vespered peace forever sought, just out of reach, concedes of futile, now
confounded hopes.
So what of forward self projection, folding the creases back behind
And out of sight to speculation on future solaced peace of mind?
Perhaps again the crashing wall of fast reality, solid bricked
Determines upward focus but to fall, as if to gravity’s grounded truth
Tricked of consequential solitude, rimed of age, aching of the aged sick
No respite there nor rectitude as once you found in torrid youth.
But perhaps I’m speaking out of turn and out of place,
For though your memories sear and burn as if to carbonise some
worthwhile trace of validity
On that unholy visage lit by lives lived long before….
It matters not and changes nought, not a jot nor yet a thought
For you and I know better than to seek a settled score from comment fair
After all, you are I, staring back at me from the mirror mounted there.

Inspired By Mr. Pärt's "Spiegels" (Peter, Debra Buesking, David; final production)

Souls suspended on the breeze.
The rain rises up
to soak back to cloud and tree.
The well ripples with thunder
and the lightning lifts
to catch the sky aflame.
Jet black interstices 
between thoughts of thighs and interstates
between loves.
The desire
dark oil
black tar
the stars.
Sweet venoms and fangs
breaking through skin.
A death of delight.
A coming of eyes.
Curtains rise for the debut
of the end of the line
where the sandbags are tied
where the songbirds flutter 
beneath flowers to hide.
A somber droplet of dew slides
across a delicate blade of grass.

Words by Riley Robinson

Jet Black Interstices

This is an old song that was orginally called 'Flowers in Your Head'  begun in the late 70s by my dad and his friend. He completed it in the 90s and recorded it with a local band (we can't fully remember it). Having not come up with much myself lately,  I was inspired again when remembering how much I liked this, so I re-wrote it again with some different words,  and probably ruined it. 
Melody by Rob Benson (Verse, Chorus) and The Cobbled Moth (Middle 8, or whatever its called). Lyrics by The Cobbled Moth, and Hoppo (who wrote the first verse and part of second).

Cooler is slang for jail. The Song of Songs is worth a study. Beno of LCR FM is in there and the Azerbaijan link. 

Phone recording 24.12.24. 

When I'm feeling lonely and my life is dead and I feel so useless that my face is red 
And I know I can't get away 
The cooler's in my head 
The coolers in my head, the cooler's in my head no no no no oh
Well I turn the radio way down low DJ D says not to go
Back to Stockholm yeah I'm alone just like they said 
The coolers in my head, cooler in my head no no no no oh
You're locked up in a teacup
Diagnoses all wrong 
Bad domain, rage in vain
For lost Song of Songs
Even though you fled
The coolers in your head cooler in your head wo oh oh oh
Where we met was Persia but the north turned red, later left turned right
The same families led 
And I know I can't get away the coolers in my head 
The coolers in my head, cooler in my head No no no no oh 
Cooler in my head, Cooler in my head oh oh oh 




The Cooler's in my Head (collaboration)

well it gets so hard to notice
but you've been alone now for some time
'cause it seems that she is with you
all around you are surround butterflies
you can tell that it will never be the same again
but you hold onto your memories
and you hope that you will see her again
oh, Susanne

oh we gather all together
in her memory we swing in time
then we fall into the moment
all we see now are surround butterflies
and we feel that she is there
with us all the while
as we hold onto the moment
and she watches from the other side

in memory of

Image created by me.
https://www.deviantart.com/leehon/art/906016027

Tezcatlipoca's Requiem

All done with VST instruments. Guitar solos played on keyboard with the amazing Quilcom Sim-Guitar.
A synth which does not use samples !

in memory of

cam-o the chameleon