ERRRR...HEYBEFRIEND.ME....LISTEN...MORE MUSIC BELOW IN """TOP FRIENS"" SORRY IF I DON"T ADD YOU OR RESPOND I NEVRE CHECK THIS DAMN PAGE BUT I LOVE THE MUSIC AND I WILL STAND BY IT
DAN WILEY
ALBUMS!
click speaker icon to start the player, or right click on an individual track to savebedroom 2. the sea is at your back, and your back is to a wall with no window. the window shows darkness and cloud, and red dawn reflecting, refracting, triangular. some way off in the distance you can see the faint pulse of a condominium mother ship on the peninsula across the bay
the faithful one. again rain, then sunshine and glowing green, life abundant all around. springtime in a dollhouse beach town called seaside. a beautiful girl called milktress, as young as the dew. were we ever so young. naked in the half light of morning through curtains in the add-on bedroom of a rickety southern home, cozy with a messy tangle of a garden and half a dozen cats on a dead end road
the comstock lode. is kind of like the best worst best of collection i ever dreamed up, sprawling and strange, in kind of a jazzy unkempt orange hue. a sonata in three parts. linger, longer, lapse (I, your author, at my most definite core, am a lingerer)
new things/newzies. the dark of fall, the dark of winter, less abundant sun in a virginian state, much farther from the equator than the peninsular state. snow and dim mornings, half cocked in a basement with foot thick walls and windows like the ports of a ship. "there are two colors in my head", and they were always blue and red, always blue and red (w'at was that you said?). when removed from fruits, exemplary, cathexis, and abomination, its' strange how the alien mind will wander and collapse
the blonde review. again darkness. darkness and heat, and wet air. we are stuck in this goddamn beach town, but it's so beautiful in the air and the moon is full (here it comes!) and here we are in a tin shack in a paved plane where the waves don't quite crash. I think a soul is dead when it is not making a song. my soul is dead.. it was alive then, I'd say, in raucous torrents of directional volume. thanks so much to james k. for always being there for me, and to geoff for putting so much joy into collective sonic machination. cept this machine is more bionic and bloody, more sinew and gristle. save one for the last dance
