Recorded on a smartphone, Kensington Philly 11.14.2013 12:37am.

Day Room.

Hooray for you, your organs rang true
You've stayed past your time.
Hooray for you there
Coming all unglued glowing grey
In in grain-blue glare

But you didn't come by your orchard today
They were looking for you 
Thank god you didn't come by the orchard today
When they were looking for you

Hooray 
You have outlived your honor
Hooray
You made it past the gate
Forging less calmly arms 
Strong, if scrawny
So there so there so there

But you didn't come by the hospital today
When I was waiting for you.
I strung colored plastic beads through an elastic string
And wore it as I sulked out in the day room.

Please wait for me somewhere warmly safe.
I wont stay awake too much longer
Something something 

So please don't come by the house no more
They have changed all the doors
Now they hang three feet above where anyone could step
Nowhere a ladder
Just rats and what the cats have left.
Whatever else the cats have left.




Day Room

Meredith Miller and Tim Sandor, 2006. Recorded on a clock radio in W Philly.

La Merde! (feat. Twank) - Balogna, Salami, So Lonely

our radiant hovel: 

tradition transmits / itself unimpaired until / starvation compels / the robots to share / liberty's for the taking /she's a cloth-silver slut / they say she knows what is good for her / she keeps her mouth shut / and her eyes say "yes" / though her lips say "nope" / she gives me stubbornness / for all the times when i run out of hope /


Our Radiant Hovel

reception:

a song came out of a song / came out of nowhere / it was static in dead air / and you sing it as you walk / now you're surrounded unaware(s) / and when they stare at you from suv's / the song it will not care / i could trespass in my house / i will trespass everywhere / and there's a clang beneath the ocean / bears the shape of things to come / and there's a dog with teeth like shrapnel / chasing all who try to run / and the radio hums / what's become of all your children / with their ever changing names / as they choke down anesthetics / and shoot termites in their veins / and the gutter drains / and a woman smiles / and her eyes are closed / and children squirm / in sunday clothes / and we talk to strangers / (the / but) only ones we trust / and time will swim / and water will rust / and we speak to strangers / we turn to dust / in time we'll swim / our water will rust / and a woman smiles / and her eyes are closed / and the children squirm / in their sunday clothes

Reception

you can't say i never warned you:

i once was / a pharaoh child / i sat upon your knee / i was once a very sick little boy / but you were so good to me / you were once my crippled concubine / we slept over seas / your hands were bound in red velvet twine / but your spine unraveled slowly under me / i once had a thousand silver ships / there upon my sails your eyes did gleam / you gave me a cameo role  in all your favorite dreams / you were once a weeping willow tree / when i was a tire swing / your name was once the last word in the sweetest song that ill ever sing 

You Can't Say I Never Warned You

joy:

held her back / held her back so straight / held her / back in place / she holds something / in her hands / with someone's hand / handwriting on it / she folds it closed / don't focus on those shadows / that picture will never come out / if its too dark / clutch for every last / her lens / hyper extends / the shutter gasped / clutch for every last ray / the eclipse flashed past / the blackness collapsed / until nothing but light remained / i've heard that midwives and pallbearers / sing the same sweet song / midwives and pallbearers sing the same / held her back / held her back so straight / held her / back in place / she holds something / in her hands there's someone's hand / handwriting all over it / she folds it closed /

rose colored rear view mirror:

no focus / just basic colors / basic shapes / some smoky shadowed figurines / shifting along a fuzzy landscape / no perspective / inside this helium balloon / for all i know / could be on the ground / might as well be on the moon / but i've got no regrets / from here / just a rose colored rear view mirror / no equilibrium / no balance / no composition / just a tangled mess of lines / just a raspy voice / some butchered chords (to preach to the chorus) / and a twitching limb to keep the time / and another forced rhyme / yeah whatever fits / like a straight jacket / worrying about this for hours and hours / like any of you could give a shit / but no regrets / my dear / got a rose colored rear view mirror /



Rose Colored Rear View Mirror

Love Is King Forever EP.

I was living in a 120 year old church in North Philadelphia.  It was the Winter of 2010.  I found there an old Hymnal and an older piano.  I had strep throat and a micro-cassette recorder.  This is what happened.

In the Lonely Midnight

The Eternal Goodness

Until the Storm Passes Over

a mile of wire:

out my window i see building tops and a cloud of scattered birds parted blinds a storm drain a satellite a chimney and a mile of wire for every thing whose name i can no longer remember to save my life or bear to say out loud but i watch them rise they rise and fall like waves along a mile of wire dissolving now like every thing whose name i can no longer remember or bear to say out loud on my bed there's a ukelele and a telephone scraps of paper and a passport in a shoebox clean sheets a headset and a mile of wire between everything i can't remember or say out loud a mile of wire tethering tangling tying together every thing which has a name i can no longer remember or say out loud but i call them now how does this keep happening how does this all keep happening

A Mile Of Wire (Demo)

the book of laughter and forgetting:

let's just forge something / out of wood / let's just forge something / out of metal / and skin / let's just forge something / out of water / and sin / let's just try to forget / all that / could have been / throw it in the ocean / and pray that / it can't learn to swim / let's just carve something / into wood / with metal / and skin / let's just weld something / out of water / and sin / let's just make up / all that / could have been / let's just jump / into the water / and forget / we know how / forget we know how /

The Book Of Laughter And Forgetting

you are welcome, now go away:

ok / don't want / to end up this way / ok / today / it's ok / if you don't want to live this way / it's ok now / quiet rooms they always get me down / so quiet rooms are filled with sound / cause its ok / don't want to spend the day / thinking about things that i cant change / thinking about going away / i don't want to be here anyway / you say you want to stay / i don't care / it's frozen in place / and i cant take anymore / growing beyond your front door / away / you don't want to see / anyone / this way so / just go away / we don't want you here / anyway / go away / we don' t want to spend all day / thinking about the only thing / that we can't change / that we can change /

You Are Welcome, Now Go Away.

Pox EP
Philadelphia, August 2011
Timothy Laszlo Sandor - Guitar, Voice
Andrew Marttila - Drums

Shapeshift:

when you move i am scared stiff i am slack lipped i am a dream adrift i sense your shadow i see your shapes shift...

muscle milk:

i can't stand another minute listening to your alcoholic mom about the phillies game just goes on and on and on i can't spend another night here sleeping in this cat piss soaked set of sheets but iwill if you'll stay here with me this whole holy world stinks so get used to it francine

fair game:

animals and children and anything still moving it's fair game carousel and tourniquet and any heart still bleeding it's fair game watermark and powderburn and parasol and if i were still human i'd be bawling my eyes out

a mile of wire:

out my window i see building tops and a cloud of scattered birds parted blinds a storm drain a satellite a chimney and a mile of wire for every thing whose name i can no longer remember to save my life or bear to say out loud but i watch them rise they rise and fall like waves along a mile of wire dissolving now like every thing whose name i can no longer remember or bear to say out loud on my bed there's a ukelele and a telephone scraps of paper and a passport in a shoebox clean sheets a headset and a mile of wire between everything i can't remember or say out loud a mile of wire tethering tangling tying together every thing which has a name i can no longer remember or say out loud but i call them now how does this keep happening how does this all keep happening

Death of a Salesman (Low Cover)

This is from an anonymous, public journal entry and dedicated to people who may or may not be sometimes vaguely shaped like windows. Or something. Recorded 04.08.2013, 1:12am.

i was almost certain that / it was the radiators again / that old brave frail and starving song / through the wall and up my spine / humming in fingertips / but i awoke and it was cold in here and they were cold / air still ringing / so i just stared out again / into the night glow and past / past where the wires end (they have to end somewhere) as though / formlessness were some thing to be held or some place we could dwell / trying to believe there's a place belongs all the things / that can't be held / but then it all started coming back to me / names / faces / what else could i do / what else can i do / but go back to sleep and dream / something true / i'll just go back to sleep and dream something true

g - d - c - g
g - em - c - d

c - d - g

Platinum Bitch

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