1. |
Marta's Tale
02:29
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She steps softly. She looks wisely. She cries sadly on the landing. She’s half walking and half hopping. If you listen, you’ll hear her coming. Mirror fell, we felt her there; something moved in the air. Could she still be here somewhere?
Deeply sleeping, she’s the sunbeam. She’s up yawning in the morning. She’s out hiding in the garden. She’s out calling to be let in. Mirror fell, we felt her there; something moved in the air. Could she still be here somewhere?
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2. |
Sad Museum
02:19
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The very first line of my novel, my very first try at the genre science fiction rock opera. Nowadays I can’t remember what was the trash and the treasure—was there a big hit in there somewhere? I have no good reason why I should keep them in that sad museum of ideas.
Maybe someday in the future they’ll find a curious creature, and say, “oh my god, what happened here?” They’ll reckon the cause of the death was “buried alive in a pile of bad ideas on scrap paper.” He had no good reason why he should keep them in that sad museum of ideas.
I leave behind empires of pieces; some are keepers, and some are leavers—but most are leavers.
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3. |
Fool's Moon
03:23
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Fool’s moon hanging in the window of my room; wifi on sky, white on blue, fooling you. Here too, wonders of the old world fill the gloom; the bones in stone, the legs don’t move, they won’t come loose. Spiders crawl through the unswept room; they spin and they listen to catch their food. They catch me too, perhaps amused by the strange silly creature I’ve turned into—below fool’s moon.
Fool’s moon and turbines of the 7th Line in view. The prank’s been played, the effect was crude—but it got you. And soon, other tricks will quick outwit the fool who sits too long in solitude, often confused. Spiders crawl through the unswept room; they spin and they listen to catch their food. They catch me too, perhaps amused by the slow clumsy creature I’ve turned into—below fool’s moon.
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4. |
Bad Magnet
02:55
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There’s me at six smiling big on the fridge—on a family trip, a summer visit with our relatives. But I’m a bad magnet; my sticky side is losing grip. I’ll shiver ‘til I slip, stumble along, tumble and trip. I’m going missing. Slowly I’ve been slipping to the floor of the kitchen. I’m not sticking!
I’ve fallen in with missing things under the sink. The same wide grin, so happy then, is still smiling. But what a bad magnet; my sticky side has lost its grip. I shivered ‘til I slipped, stumbled along, tumbled and tripped. I’m going missing. Slowly I’ve been slipping to the floor of the kitchen. I’m not sticking!
I fall off the fridge, I’m not sticking on the fridge, now I’m slipping off the fridge. Oh, what a bad magnet.
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5. |
Freak Fairy
04:57
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Freak fairy floats out with the ice floe, into the cold, passing the old homes. Sometimes it seems to go so slow. Waves roll in on windows and all the walls ripple—just like they’re moving. Lake-eyed illusion. Looks like they’re moving, but the silly waves are only fooling.
Reaching the coast, shaking the shallows. Freak fairy slows and slides to a new note. Ice on the lakeside moans and groans. Waves roll in on windows and all of us ripple—just like we’re moving. Lake-eyed illusion. Looks like we’re moving, but the silly waves are only fooling.
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6. |
Dust Buster
02:40
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The dust is thick and the floor is sticky. I’m in slime, mind in honey. Without a form I look so silly; I trip and spill, I feel so clumsy. Rub some all-purpose surface cleaner on the grime, and I’ll crawl out alive. Run the dust buster over long eons of time, and I’ll muster up a smile.
The summer bugs and the fridge buzz funny. I’m in slime, mind in honey. I pray to lay down like the laundry, and to be washed in the big machine. Rub some all-purpose surface cleaner on the grime, and I’ll crawl out alive. Run the dust buster over long eons of time, and I’ll muster up a smile.
The dust is thick and the floor is…
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7. |
Robin's Tale
03:05
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Down the hall, across the wall, around the bend following something she saw. Up the stairs, under the chairs, imagining little things hiding down there. She looks, and they appear: strange phantoms, fantastic visions conjured by the small magician. Set in sudden fits of motion, they hurried by just like they were living.
She’s had her fun, she sits in sun when the day’s hurrying and scurrying’s done. And on the stairs, and under the chairs, everything’s vanishing into thin air—like it was never there. Strange phantoms, fantastic visions conjured by the small magician. Set in sudden fits of motion, they hurried by just like they were living.
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Princess Towers Montreal, Québec
Folk-rock collective Princess Towers take their name from a 1970s apartment building widely derided as Kingston’s biggest eyesore. Like their namesake, they embrace a startling mix of familiar and strange, sound architectural principles and audacious design choices. ... more
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