Emily Dickinson

Music is a mystery. It's not emotional...its's not NOT emotional. Like our own feelings in any given situation, it is immensely complex.  Plus, has this bits and pieces of music sitting around doing nothing, but still being something. So, here we are. Situational Music - January.

On Hearing A Train In The Distance

On Recieving An Unexpected Letter From A Friend

On Catching A Snowflake On Your Tongue

On Morning Coffee

Emily Dickinson and her best.  As for "what is this about?" This one is as straightforward as she gets.  The ebb and tide.  That's it.

The Moon Is Distant From The Sea

There Are Stars Everywhere

When to the sessions of sweet silent thought
I summon up remembrance of things past, 
I sigh the lack of many a thing I sought, 
And with old woes new wail my dear time's waste:
Then can I drown an eye, unus'd to flow, 
For precious friends hid in death's dateless night,
And weep afresh love's long since cancell'd woe, 
And moan the expense of many a vanish'd sight: 
Then can I grieve at grievances foregone, 
And heavily from woe to woe tell o'er 
The sad account of fore-bemoaned moan, 
Which I new pay as if not paid before. 
But if the while I think on thee, dear friend,
All losses are restor'd and sorrows end.

Sonnet No.30 (Shakespeare)

August Smiles

I envy Seas, whereon He rides -- I envy Spokes of Wheels Of Chariots, that Him convey -- I envy Crooked Hills That gaze upon His journey -- How easy All can see What is forbidden utterly As Heaven -- unto me! I envy Nests of Sparrows -- That dot His distant Eaves -- The wealthy Fly, upon His Pane -- The happy -- happy Leaves -- That just abroad His Window Have Summer's leave to play -- The Ear Rings of Pizarro Could not obtain for me -- I envy Light -- that wakes Him -- And Bells -- that boldly ring To tell Him it is Noon, abroad -- Myself -- be Noon to Him -- Yet interdict -- my Blossom -- And abrogate -- my Bee -- Lest Noon in Everlasting Night -- Drop Gabriel -- and Me --

Emily Dickinson

Longing

2515

Emily Dickinson poem, particularly appropriate. Loss and the power of love. 

Because that you are leaving

December 11 to December 17

NYE24

Rust sometimes takes a nap

Master Olin Faar

Navarch Sten Candi

The Spindle-Thrum Gate

I know this joint

The Ten Fifteen From LAX

Groovin at the End of Everything

Melvin's Ascent

Nocturn...ish no.1

Space and Time

Jeaux d'eau - 2025.wav

In the name of sanity and "why the hell not?" Here is - Bach (BWV 1087) on the right hand. Piano from 'Bohemian Rhapsody' on the left with Suite Bergamasque first movement by Debussy as orchestra. In the scale of F# Lydian augmented. Let's go nuts! (cover art Black and Violet by Kandinsky)

Ba-Qu-De

 For Cate (Painting 'Sunrise in September' by Sir George Clausen)


On My Way

Darkish, but hopeful...ish.

The city breathes a shallow sigh, neon lights are bleeding gold Another night, the engine's cold, another promise getting old I trace the dust along the pane, a thousand thoughts all screaming loud Lost in the center of the crowd, just another shadow in the shroud

The map I drew just turned to smoke, the compass spins, it doesn't care I'm standing on the precipice, breathing in the heavy air

 'Cause every street looks just the same when you forgot your own direction A silent scream, a whispered name, a hunger for a lost connection You gotta lose the ground to see the stars, you gotta break the glass to breathe And find your way through the scars, the tangled, lonely life you weave

 The voices from the past still cling, like cheap perfume and broken glass They tell you that you'll never win, they tell you this too shall not pass You try to drown the sound with rain, turn up the music 'til it aches But silence always comes again, in the space between the choices that it takes

The map I drew just turned to smoke, the compass spins, it doesn't care I'm standing on the precipice, breathing in the heavy air

 'Cause every street looks just the same when you forgot your own direction A silent scream, a whispered name, a hunger for a lost connection You gotta lose the ground to see the stars, you gotta break the glass to breathe And find your way through the scars, the tangled, lonely life you weave

 Maybe the light you're chasing isn't meant to be bright and clear Maybe the truth you're facing is simply that the map is here (It's in your hands, not in the ground) Maybe the point of the wandering is that you have to walk alone Until you recognize the sound, the weary sound of coming home

 'Cause every street looks just the same when you forgot your own direction A silent scream, a whispered name, a hunger for a lost connection You gotta lose the ground to see the stars, you gotta break the glass to breathe And find your way through the scars, the tangled, lonely life you weave

 Find your way... Through the dark... The engine's warm... now (Fade out on a single, sustained, echoing piano note)

Find Your Way

All Hallows Eve 25 - Alla Helgons Natt

122425

At least once a week we pass this field, just after Grimm street filled with chickens and bunnies. Without fail we say either "bunnies!" or "chickens and bunnies!"  These tame yet mystical being HAD to make it into a song.  And now they have. 

Chickens and bunnies

Emily Dickinson's Memorial Day poem.

There is a word
Which bears a sword
Can pierce an armed man.
It hurls its barbed syllables,--
At once is mute again.
But where it fell
The saved will tell
On patriotic day,
Some epauletted brother
Gave his breath away.

Wherever runs the breathless sun,
Wherever roams the day,
There is its noiseless onset,
There is its victory!

Behold the keenest marksman!
The most accomplished shot!
Time's sublimest target
Is a soul 'forgot'!

Forgotten (REMIX)E. Dickinson's Memorial/Remembrance Day poem

Renounciation no. 13

This is a first: "Listening", a poem by D.H. Lawrence. As per usual, can't really categorize this one. Enjoy!

I listed to the stillness of you,	
My dear, among it all;	
I feel your silence touch my words as I talk,	
And take them in thrall.	

My words fly off a forge 
The length of a spark;	
I see the night-sky easily sip them	
Up in the dark.	

The lark sings loud and glad,	
Yet I am not loth 
That silence should take the song and the bird	
And lose them both.	

A train goes roaring south,	
The steam-flag flying;	
I see the stealthy shadow of silence 
Alongside going.	

And off the forge of the world,	
Whirling in the draught of life,	
Go sparks of myriad people, filling	
The night with strife. 

Yet they never change the darkness	
Or blench it with noise;	
Alone on the perfect silence	
The stars are buoys.

Listening

I Sing The Body Electric - Walt Whitman

Emily Dickinson poem 33 - Hope 1. 

Hope is the thing with feathers
That perches in the soul,
And sings the tune without the words,
And never stops at all,

And sweetest in the gale is heard;
And sore must be the storm
That could abash the little bird
That kept so many warm.

I've heard it in the chillest land
And on the strangest sea;
Yet, never, in extremity,
It asked a crumb of me.

Hope 1, No.33

Emily Dickinson's Memorial Day poem.

There is a word
Which bears a sword
Can pierce an armed man.
It hurls its barbed syllables,--
At once is mute again.
But where it fell
The saved will tell
On patriotic day,
Some epauletted brother
Gave his breath away.

Wherever runs the breathless sun,
Wherever roams the day,
There is its noiseless onset,
There is its victory!

Behold the keenest marksman!
The most accomplished shot!
Time's sublimest target
Is a soul 'forgot'!

Forgotten no. 22

Remixed Dickinson: harmonies added, volume levels adjusted etc.

THE LAST night that she lived, 
It was a common night, 
Except the dying; this to us 
Made nature different. 

We noticed smallest things,— 
Things overlooked before, 
By this great light upon our minds 
Italicized, as ’t were. 

That others could exist 
While she must finish quite, 
A jealousy for her arose 
So nearly infinite. 

We waited while she passed; 
It was a narrow time, 
Too jostled were our souls to speak, 
At length the notice came. 

She mentioned, and forgot; 
Then lightly as a reed 
Bent to the water, shivered scarce, 
Consented, and was dead. 

And we, we placed the hair, 
And drew the head erect; 
And then an awful leisure was, 
Our faith to regulate. 

The last night - remix

When you're falling awake and you take stock of the new day, 
And you hear your voice croak as you choke on what you need to say, 
Well, don't you fret, don't you fear, 
I will give you good cheer. 

Life's a long song. 
Life's a long song. 
Life's a long song. 

If you wait then your plate I will fill. 

As the verses unfold and your soul suffers the long day, 
And the twelve o'clock gloom spins the room, 
You struggle on your way. 
Well, don't you sigh, don't you cry, 
Lick the dust from your eye. 

Life's a long song. 
Life's a long song. 
Life's a long song. 

We will meet in the sweet light of dawn. 

As the Baker Street train spills your pain all over your new dress, 
And the symphony sounds underground put you under duress, 
Well don't you squeal as the heel grinds you under the wheel. 

Life's a long song. 
Life's a long song. 
Life's a long song. 

But the tune ends too soon for the song.

Life's a long song (Jethro Tull cover)

Full time audiobook narrator (Fantasy, mostly) and composer.

Wolfgold - wolftracks

Pinned to spotlight

Popular tracks