POETRY

Aug 03

0

Total Eclipse: Where the Hell Did You Go?

By admin | ALL CONTENT, BEST OF, COMMUNITY, CREATURES, CULTURE, EVENTS, FEATURED, FESTIVALS, FINE ART, HAND MADE, INDUSTRY, INSPIRATION, JOURNALISM, MEDITATION, OUTDOOR, PHOTOGRAPHY, POETRY, RAD, TOP STORIES, TRAVEL, WEIRD

TOTAL ECLIPSE: WHERE THE HELL DID YOU GO?

Blasting off to one hell of a show on a 1200 mile road trip through the mystics of the wild wild west. Shit gets real interesting when all credentials (press passes) fall through the cracks. A quest for transformation during this native symbiotic moment was not one to be missed. Here’s a story on manifestations, foggy memory and laying witness to that great Oregon Eclipse in full totality.

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SEE FULL STORY

NATURE, PEOPLE, HIPPIES, TRAVEL, festivals, burning man, eclipse, crazy, colorful, beautiful, acid, LSD, sculptures, oregon, desert, bend, peace, electronic, experience, bright lights, lasers, performance, live, show, camping, tent, night, parachutes, sunset, solar, totality, field, trees, 111, 1:11

music, producer, audio, mycst, memories you can swim to, license, licenses

Aug 01

0

On Raglan Road

By admin | ALL CONTENT, ALL SONGS, AMBIENT, ELECTRONIC, FOLK, INDIE, INTERPRETATIONS, MUSIC, NOSTALGIC, POETRY, RAD, VOCAL

INTERPRETATION: ON RAGLAN ROAD

Dug deep into my family past.

On Raglan Road on an autumn day I met her first and knew
That her dark hair would weave a snare that I might one day rue;
I saw the danger, yet I walked along the enchanted way,
And I said, let grief be a fallen leaf at the dawning of the day.

On Grafton Street in November we tripped lightly along the ledge
Of the deep ravine where can be seen the worth of passion’s pledge,
The Queen of Hearts still making tarts and I not making hay –
O I loved too much and by such and such is happiness thrown away.

I gave her gifts of the mind I gave her the secret sign that’s known
To the artists who have known the true gods of sound and stone
And word and tint. I did not stint for I gave her poems to say.
With her own name there and her own dark hair like clouds over fields of May

On a quiet street where old ghosts meet I see her walking now
Away from me so hurriedly my reason must allow
That I had wooed not as I should a creature made of clay –
When the angel woos the clay he’d lose his wings at the dawn of day.

Dug deep into my family past.

On Raglan Road on an autumn day I met her first and knew
That her dark hair would weave a snare…

0051,electronic, experimental landscapes, single, best, important, featured, greatest hits, nostalgic, vocal, poetry, patrick kavanagh, dubliners, folklore, irish, synthesizers, synth, electric guitar, interpretation, cover, coldplay, texture, pattern

music, producer, audio, mycst, memories you can swim to, license, licenses

Goodbye Home

By admin | ACOUSTIC, ALL CONTENT, ALL SONGS, ALL VIDEOS, AMBIENT, BEST OF, ELECTRONIC, EXPERIMENTAL LANDSCAPES, INDIE, MUSIC, NOSTALGIC, POETRY, RAD, RAW, VISUAL ART, VOCAL

SONG: GOODBYE HOME

Cracks and holes in Victorian walls
Pink noises coming from above and all around
The scent of stale chips and old spinach
Don’t know what I’m doing, but I’m keeping my head down

Cracks and holes in Victorian walls…

0041, electronic, experimental landscapes, acoustic, instrumental, raw, room, alone, family, lost, money, distorted, guitar, synth, feedback, mic, noises, glitch, organ, ethereal, reverb, spacey, dark, slow tempo, adolescence

music, producer, audio, mycst, memories you can swim to, license, licenses

Covered Bridge

By admin | ALL CONTENT, EVENTS, GRAPHIC DESIGN, MISC, PHOTOGRAPHY, POETRY, TRAVEL, VISUAL ART, WEB DESIGN

Jul 29

0

Goodbye Home (instrumental)

By admin | ACOUSTIC, ALL CONTENT, ALL SONGS, ALL VIDEOS, AMBIENT, BEST OF, ELECTRONIC, EXPERIMENTAL LANDSCAPES, INDIE, INSTRUMENTAL, MUSIC, NOSTALGIC, POETRY, RAD, RAW, VISUAL ART

SONG: GOODBYE HOME (INSTRUMENTAL)

Cracks and holes in Victorian walls
Pink noises coming from above and all around
The scent of stale chips and old spinach
Don’t know what I’m doing, but I’m keeping my head down

Cracks and holes in Victorian walls…

0042, electronic, experimental landscapes, acoustic, instrumental, raw, room, alone, family, lost, money, distorted, guitar, synth, feedback, mic, noises, glitch, organ, ethereal, reverb, spacey, dark, slow tempo, adolescence

music, producer, audio, mycst, memories you can swim to, license, licenses

On Raglan Road (instrumental)

By admin | ALL CONTENT, ALL SONGS, AMBIENT, BEST OF, ELECTRONIC, FOLK, INDIE, INSTRUMENTAL, INTERPRETATIONS, MUSIC, NOSTALGIC, POETRY, RAD, YOGA

INTERPRETATION: ON RAGLAN ROAD (INSTRUMENTAL)

Dug deep into my family past.

On Raglan Road on an autumn day I met her first and knew
That her dark hair would weave a snare that I might one day rue;
I saw the danger, yet I walked along the enchanted way,
And I said, let grief be a fallen leaf at the dawning of the day.

On Grafton Street in November we tripped lightly along the ledge
Of the deep ravine where can be seen the worth of passion’s pledge,
The Queen of Hearts still making tarts and I not making hay –
O I loved too much and by such and such is happiness thrown away.

I gave her gifts of the mind I gave her the secret sign that’s known
To the artists who have known the true gods of sound and stone
And word and tint. I did not stint for I gave her poems to say.
With her own name there and her own dark hair like clouds over fields of May

On a quiet street where old ghosts meet I see her walking now
Away from me so hurriedly my reason must allow
That I had wooed not as I should a creature made of clay –
When the angel woos the clay he’d lose his wings at the dawn of day.

Dug deep into my family past.

On Raglan Road on an autumn day I met her first and knew
That her dark hair would weave a snare…

0052,electronic, experimental landscapes, single, best, important, featured, greatest hits, nostalgic, instrumental, poetry, patrick kavanagh, dubliners, folklore, irish, synthesizers, synth, electric guitar, interpretation, cover, coldplay, texture, pattern

music, producer, audio, mycst, memories you can swim to, license, licenses

READ FULL STORY

SEE FULL STORY

Dug deep into my family past.

On Raglan Road on an autumn day I met her first and knew That her dark hair would weave a snare that I might one day rue; I saw the danger, yet I walked along the enchanted way, And I said, let grief be a fallen leaf at the dawning of the day.

On Grafton Street in November we tripped lightly along the ledge Of the deep ravine where can be seen the worth of passion’s pledge, The Queen of Hearts still making tarts and I not making hay – O I loved too much and by such and such is happiness thrown away.

I gave her gifts of the mind I gave her the secret sign that’s known To the artists who have known the true gods of sound and stone And word and tint. I did not stint for I gave her poems to say. With her own name there and her own dark hair like clouds over fields of May

On a quiet street where old ghosts meet I see her walking now Away from me so hurriedly my reason must allow That I had wooed not as I should a creature made of clay – When the angel woos the clay he’d lose his wings at the dawn of day.

Dug deep into my family past.

On Raglan Road on an autumn day I met her first and knew That her dark hair would weave a snare…

…that I might one day rue; I saw the danger, yet I walked along the enchanted way, And I said, let grief be a fallen leaf at the dawning of the day.

On Grafton Street in November we tripped lightly along the ledge Of the deep ravine where can be seen the worth of passion’s pledge, The Queen of Hearts still making tarts and I not making hay – O I loved too much and by such and such is happiness thrown away.

I gave her gifts of the mind I gave her the secret sign that’s known To the artists who have known the true gods of sound and stone And word and tint. I did not stint for I gave her poems to say. With her own name there and her own dark hair like clouds over fields of May

On a quiet street where old ghosts meet I see her walking now Away from me so hurriedly my reason must allow That I had wooed not as I should a creature made of clay – When the angel woos the clay he’d lose his wings at the dawn of day.

Cracks and holes in Victorian walls Pink noises coming from above and all around The scent of stale chips and old spinach Don’t know what I’m doing, but I’m keeping my head down

Cracks and holes in Victorian walls…

Cracks and holes in Victorian walls. Pink noises coming from above and all around. The scent of stale chips and old spinach. Don’t know what I’m doing, but I’m keeping my head down.

Cracks and holes in Victorian walls Pink noises coming from above and all around The scent of stale chips and old spinach Don’t know what I’m doing, but I’m keeping my head down

Cracks and holes in Victorian walls…

Cracks and holes in Victorian walls. Pink noises coming from above and all around. The scent of stale chips and old spinach. Don’t know what I’m doing, but I’m keeping my head down.

Dug deep into my family past.

On Raglan Road on an autumn day I met her first and knew That her dark hair would weave a snare that I might one day rue; I saw the danger, yet I walked along the enchanted way, And I said, let grief be a fallen leaf at the dawning of the day.

On Grafton Street in November we tripped lightly along the ledge Of the deep ravine where can be seen the worth of passion’s pledge, The Queen of Hearts still making tarts and I not making hay – O I loved too much and by such and such is happiness thrown away.

I gave her gifts of the mind I gave her the secret sign that’s known To the artists who have known the true gods of sound and stone And word and tint. I did not stint for I gave her poems to say. With her own name there and her own dark hair like clouds over fields of May

On a quiet street where old ghosts meet I see her walking now Away from me so hurriedly my reason must allow That I had wooed not as I should a creature made of clay – When the angel woos the clay he’d lose his wings at the dawn of day.

Dug deep into my family past.

On Raglan Road on an autumn day I met her first and knew That her dark hair would weave a snare…

…that I might one day rue; I saw the danger, yet I walked along the enchanted way, And I said, let grief be a fallen leaf at the dawning of the day.

On Grafton Street in November we tripped lightly along the ledge Of the deep ravine where can be seen the worth of passion’s pledge, The Queen of Hearts still making tarts and I not making hay – O I loved too much and by such and such is happiness thrown away.

I gave her gifts of the mind I gave her the secret sign that’s known To the artists who have known the true gods of sound and stone And word and tint. I did not stint for I gave her poems to say. With her own name there and her own dark hair like clouds over fields of May

On a quiet street where old ghosts meet I see her walking now Away from me so hurriedly my reason must allow That I had wooed not as I should a creature made of clay – When the angel woos the clay he’d lose his wings at the dawn of day.

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On Raglan Road on an autumn day I met her first and knew
That her dark hair would weave a snare that I might one day rue;
I saw the danger, yet I walked along the enchanted way,
And I said, let grief be a fallen leaf at the dawning of the day.

On Grafton Street in November we tripped lightly along the ledge
Of the deep ravine where can be seen the worth of passion’s pledge,
The Queen of Hearts still making tarts and I not making hay –
O I loved too much and by such and such is happiness thrown away.

I gave her gifts of the mind I gave her the secret sign that’s known
To the artists who have known the true gods of sound and stone
And word and tint. I did not stint for I gave her poems to say.
With her own name there and her own dark hair like clouds over fields of May

On a quiet street where old ghosts meet I see her walking now
Away from me so hurriedly my reason must allow
That I had wooed not as I should a creature made of clay –
When the angel woos the clay he’d lose his wings at the dawn of day.

On Raglan Road on an autumn day I met her first and knew
That her dark hair would weave a snare…

…that I might one day rue;
I saw the danger, yet I walked along the enchanted way,
And I said, let grief be a fallen leaf at the dawning of the day.

On Grafton Street in November we tripped lightly along the ledge
Of the deep ravine where can be seen the worth of passion’s pledge,
The Queen of Hearts still making tarts and I not making hay –
O I loved too much and by such and such is happiness thrown away.

I gave her gifts of the mind I gave her the secret sign that’s known
To the artists who have known the true gods of sound and stone
And word and tint. I did not stint for I gave her poems to say.
With her own name there and her own dark hair like clouds over fields of May

On a quiet street where old ghosts meet I see her walking now
Away from me so hurriedly my reason must allow
That I had wooed not as I should a creature made of clay –
When the angel woos the clay he’d lose his wings at the dawn of day.

Cracks and holes in Victorian walls
Pink noises coming from above and all around
The scent of stale chips and old spinach
Don’t know what I’m doing, but I’m keeping my head down

Cracks and holes in Victorian walls
Pink noises coming from above and all around
The scent of stale chips and old spinach
Don’t know what I’m doing, but I’m keeping my head down

On Raglan Road on an autumn day I met her first and knew
That her dark hair would weave a snare that I might one day rue;
I saw the danger, yet I walked along the enchanted way,
And I said, let grief be a fallen leaf at the dawning of the day.

On Grafton Street in November we tripped lightly along the ledge
Of the deep ravine where can be seen the worth of passion’s pledge,
The Queen of Hearts still making tarts and I not making hay –
O I loved too much and by such and such is happiness thrown away.

I gave her gifts of the mind I gave her the secret sign that’s known
To the artists who have known the true gods of sound and stone
And word and tint. I did not stint for I gave her poems to say.
With her own name there and her own dark hair like clouds over fields of May

On a quiet street where old ghosts meet I see her walking now
Away from me so hurriedly my reason must allow
That I had wooed not as I should a creature made of clay –
When the angel woos the clay he’d lose his wings at the dawn of day.

On Raglan Road on an autumn day I met her first and knew
That her dark hair would weave a snare…

…that I might one day rue;
I saw the danger, yet I walked along the enchanted way,
And I said, let grief be a fallen leaf at the dawning of the day.

On Grafton Street in November we tripped lightly along the ledge
Of the deep ravine where can be seen the worth of passion’s pledge,
The Queen of Hearts still making tarts and I not making hay –
O I loved too much and by such and such is happiness thrown away.

I gave her gifts of the mind I gave her the secret sign that’s known
To the artists who have known the true gods of sound and stone
And word and tint. I did not stint for I gave her poems to say.
With her own name there and her own dark hair like clouds over fields of May

On a quiet street where old ghosts meet I see her walking now
Away from me so hurriedly my reason must allow
That I had wooed not as I should a creature made of clay –
When the angel woos the clay he’d lose his wings at the dawn of day.