placements/tamperings by rube

home recordings improvised over the course of an hour with some embellishments

cylindrical nature forces appear in a dream as a life or death situation
standing outside a 22 story matchbox of glass, shined, elongated, peppered with windowashers and mechanics
aghast, leaves maple and pink scattered into vortex type thing and i contemplate the possibility of losing everything

my own mother standing beside me she says
‘go get whatever you want, the winds are gonna pick up soon and there could be structural damage etc etc etc so you better figure this out’
so i go back inside and make my way to a staircase, run up the stairs and make my way up and find a bunch of shit lying around
i see the clouds peeking rays of violet and dark nubs of charcoal contorting themselves as a fucking distraction
my house is about to burn and i don’t know what i want to keep and or what need but anyway
its all irrelevant because that whole concept receded off into the night, where the only thing i lost was my air conditioning
and so i tossed around and found my way into another dream type thing where i found myself cooped up way up the cumberland in madison in a little house of a an old hero of mine
friend slingin breakfast tacos and everybody cheering into the break of dawn scratching their fiddles


i think far too long before starting a single sentence so i figure that i may as well just stick to attempting some sort of orchestral sounding thing, but is it ok to be self-referential? is this backdrop too heavy, these words entirely too vapid filling up empty space my mind isn’t a vacuum there are dozens of ways to arrange thoughts- so why not like ants casting gaze to the tops of little piles of dirt

its the sort of thing where it really is just like kicking a bag of leaves out into the air. I’ve dealt with form and structure for twenty-three years now- so it only seems fair to hide it under the rug for a bit, if only for fifty five minutes or so. i have tried to outstretch my hands towards the sky, listening closely to the sounds of stars, refracting off the burning pavement on the other side of the apartment glass.
oh oh oh

mostly musings



like kicking a bag of leaves into the air