ARCHIPELAGOS
Sorta figured that we'd spend the Sundays of the future together, when we'd talk to each other like normal humans rather than performing the chosen dialogue of our age for an angry world on a digital stage.

But now I can't help but notice that we've both been thrown to those archipelagos, each to our island isolated til the end of time.

Sorta figured we wouldn't need to find a cause to believe in to make our lives have meaning, because the reason to live would be obvious to us.

But now I can't help but notice that we've both been thrown to those archipelagos, each to our island isolated til the end of time.

Sorta figured you were the one I'd spend my Sundays of the future with, living a life to make our ancestors proud. At least, that's what I thought even if I didn't say so aloud. 

But now I can't help but notice that we've both been thrown to those archipelagos, each to our island isolated til the end of time.

Edmontonia

Archipelagos

Dreamy A

SOLASTALGIA
Crossing the Old Country by rail, and the summers get surreal.
So much has changed since I was last there that I’m not sure how to feel.
“Flat below the waves of the North Sea, did you know there’s a drowned society?” I say.
Solastalgia won’t get me anywhere, but I think the engines may.

Sometimes you’re on the platform and sometimes you’re on the train. Sometimes it’s farewell for the last time, so back to my old home. Come back to me. Let the land rise up from the sea. Please.

Solastalgia

This is an experiment.

The sky is a ring of thunder and lightning in the heat of a summer that gets hotter every year.
It’s 95 and the dragonflies are the size of songbirds, and the anvil brings a question: is there a future here?
‘Cos of all the possible future landscapes, we can imagine only the worst ones.
We know the answers but we don’t know the questions.

Lately here come the clouds, bearing their moody bruises down, but there’s nothing wrong with clouds except you can’t see through them.

What will tomorrow’s clouds do?
How will they cast their shadows across the land?
Will they reflect or will they absorb?
We have scenarios. They are disturbing.

I see a trap closing on the grave of grasslands giving way, and eyes turn to the skies as people are praying for rain, and raiders and marauding bands cross the dusty hinterlands as the clouds are pulling away.

That’s what the models say.

Lately here come the clouds, bearing their moody bruises down, but there’s nothing wrong with clouds except you can’t see through them.

Remind me to be grateful for the rain, ‘cos of all the possible future landscapes, we can imagine only the worst ones.
We know the answers but we don’t know the questions.

Many of my friends have been fleeing the coast with their children these days I’ve been noticing, searching for a refuge to raise their daughters and sons, but of all the possible future landscapes, can we avoid the worst ones?

[Head in a cloud head in a cloud head in a cloud and the racetrack going around.
Head in a fog, head in a fog, chemical smog, and they grey is pressing down.]

Fossils of the Late Anthropocene

There's Nothing Wrong With Clouds, Except

Third track off the new album.

"Patterns in the Air"
Distant castles across the park: somebody’s else’s building is always going up to mixed reviews, shaping the skyline, sundown on blue.
And sometimes I find that I stare as our architects are drawing patterns in the air.

I would go to you, but it’s amazing how oceans can get in the way, even at this stage, and, in the modern age, every farewell flight’s a blow to the atmosphere, and I adopt a middle distance stare as our scientists are drawing patterns in the air.

I would go to you, but it’s amazing how emotions can get in the way, even at this stage, and at a certain age things are too complex to explain, but once we were young, and it seemed the future was right there. We were drawing patterns in the air.

Patterns In The Air

21st century Talking Heads meets American Elbow. I'm a tenor with a 3.5 octave range, a bassist, producer, and DJ. I soundtrack the Anthropocene. joegeni.com