turquoise boy puts on the blues

"lay down your lucky hand, upon her heart
morning becomes a kite, tangled up in stars
laugh in the midday light, and leave - it behind
move out into his sundry eyes, and sing, unwind"


somnolent and sober, I approach this palette
fired up on monster and wired on after eight splendor
out of this town and into an idyllic sunset I throw myself
there's something too familiar, that I seek to avoid. Maybe that can explain my ever increasing penchant for finding shelter in extensive jams. Experimentation and songs that clock in past the twelve minute mark, somehow bring me a taste of salvation. Whether its Dungen, Panda Bear or the Mars Volta... I aspire to repeat and encapsulate the "goliath", the "perfect trip", fixate on the intangible freedom that the escape from formulaic songs can bring.

I need to fix my boots... this goes beyond a simple removal of the crusts of chlorine that are left when the snow melts away. The sole/soul needs the gentle hands of a shoemaker, who works under the strict condition that his shop is dimly lit and smells of fine Italian leather, littered with empty boxes and scrap pieces, maybe a small am/fm radio in the corner playing distant jamaican dub tunes.