My old roommate VJ got me back into making music. Playing around with tracks on my computer, making new ones and modifying preexisting tracks.
Sometimes I get jealous when people make things that are better then what I can do.
When I can
play with them,
change them,
hold their hand,
that feeling of jealousness goes away.
[[Ok! lets contribute, lets compost!]]The track that were going to be playing with today is PianoVerb (work in progress) by Joe Kvasnicka.
Its a couple bars, a line, of piano notes and chords.
[[Soo... how are we going to play with it?]]There are plenty of options... lets try...
[[Reverb]]
[[Chorus]]
[[Grain Delay]]
[[All Three]]
[[Beat Repeat]]
[[Tube Amp]]
i feel like i'm in a church basement
or maybe its main room.
maybe in the kitchen area
<blockquote>
here
</blockquote>
Long lost meet spirits linger in old white walls,
<blockquote>
The walls covered in a new coat of bright white paint.
</blockquote><blockquote><blockquote>
Perhaps the result of a well-meaning but ultimately ham fisted troop of boy scouts.
</blockquote></blockquote><blockquote><blockquote><blockquote>
the blank walls contrast with the warm faces of those in attendance.
</blockquote></blockquote></blockquote><blockquote><blockquote><blockquote><blockquote>
those who I’d seen every holiday and those who told stories I’d never heard before
</blockquote></blockquote></blockquote></blockquote><blockquote><blockquote><blockquote><blockquote>
from those who are getting older too, those who i may not see the next time
</blockquote></blockquote></blockquote></blockquote><blockquote><blockquote><blockquote><blockquote>
only on boards of thumbtacked kodaks
</blockquote></blockquote></blockquote></blockquote><blockquote><blockquote><blockquote>
they shake my hand and warmly wrap me in hugs
</blockquote></blockquote></blockquote><blockquote><blockquote><blockquote><blockquote>
hugs that only have an impact years later.
</blockquote></blockquote></blockquote></blockquote><blockquote><blockquote><blockquote><blockquote><blockquote>
they look healthy i think.
</blockquote></blockquote></blockquote></blockquote></blockquote>
three years later i'll get a surprised look and just one a warm handshake
<blockquote>
just one second uncle exiting a play.
</blockquote>
<blockquote><blockquote>
The second half of they, lost to some unspoken illness.
</blockquote></blockquote><blockquote><blockquote><blockquote>
without that church basement
</blockquote></blockquote></blockquote><blockquote><blockquote><blockquote><blockquote>
we are without words
</blockquote></blockquote></blockquote></blockquote><blockquote><blockquote><blockquote><blockquote><blockquote>
without a sprit between us
</blockquote></blockquote></blockquote></blockquote></blockquote>
i miss my grandma
<blockquote>
the house i used to live in every thursday after school
</blockquote><blockquote><blockquote>
and all day at before there was ever class
</blockquote></blockquote><blockquote><blockquote><blockquote>
where i told her that i was never going to learn how to read
</blockquote></blockquote></blockquote><blockquote><blockquote><blockquote><blockquote>
that i didn’t need it anyway.
</blockquote></blockquote></blockquote></blockquote><blockquote><blockquote><blockquote><blockquote><blockquote>
where sometimes i was frustrated brat
</blockquote></blockquote></blockquote></blockquote></blockquote>
<blockquote><blockquote><blockquote><blockquote><blockquote>
but i really loved here
</blockquote></blockquote></blockquote></blockquote></blockquote><blockquote><blockquote><blockquote><blockquote><blockquote><blockquote>
(the here from back then)
</blockquote></blockquote></blockquote></blockquote></blockquote></blockquote><blockquote><blockquote><blockquote><blockquote><blockquote>
But i really loved her
</blockquote></blockquote></blockquote></blockquote></blockquote>
i wish i had her records, the things she liked.
<blockquote>
i have so many questions for her now
</blockquote><blockquote><blockquote>
so many that i didn’t know then.
</blockquote></blockquote><blockquote><blockquote>
god i miss her
</blockquote></blockquote><blockquote><blockquote><blockquote>
and her soft fleshy hugs
</blockquote></blockquote></blockquote><blockquote><blockquote><blockquote><blockquote>
The ones that hit you right then.
</blockquote></blockquote></blockquote></blockquote>
I know now that I'll have so many questions for my parents too
<blockquote>
the ones i don’t know yet
</blockquote><blockquote><blockquote>
the ones I haven’t thought to ask
</blockquote></blockquote><blockquote><blockquote><blockquote>
i want to have kids when i'm ready.
</blockquote></blockquote></blockquote><blockquote><blockquote><blockquote><blockquote>
when i'm sure i have enough time and money
</blockquote></blockquote></blockquote></blockquote><blockquote><blockquote><blockquote>
but i want them soon enough to meet my parents
</blockquote></blockquote></blockquote><blockquote><blockquote><blockquote><blockquote>
soon enough
</blockquote></blockquote></blockquote></blockquote><blockquote><blockquote><blockquote><blockquote><blockquote>
to generate their own questions.
</blockquote></blockquote></blockquote></blockquote></blockquote>
[[What is this?]]
<iframe width="0%" height="0" scrolling="no" frameborder="no" src="https://w.soundcloud.com/player/?url=https%3A//api.soundcloud.com/tracks/232745780%3Fsecret_token%3Ds-yR6O2&auto_play=true&hide_related=false&show_comments=true&show_user=true&show_reposts=false&visual=true"></iframe>The first few days of elementary school.
Everything whirls past like a merry-go-round.
<blockquote>
Like the one I used to go to in Tilden park
</blockquote><blockquote><blockquote>
with the brass rings dangling up high.
<blockquote><blockquote>
I like the wooden tigers and big grey rhinos
</blockquote></blockquote><blockquote><blockquote><blockquote>
But I like sitting in the sleigh the best.
</blockquote></blockquote></blockquote>
In the wintertime they set up a half dozen charismas trees brisling with ornaments for sale.
After unpacking the same ornaments my entire life it was exhilarating to look thorough trees brimming with ones I didn’t recognize.
My dad picked a //cool cat// ornament
<blockquote>
a tomcat with leather jacket and shades
</blockquote>
One that reminded him of his father, and now reminds me of mine.
<blockquote>
I picked a particularly sturdy looking cat
</blockquote><blockquote><blockquote>
Sitting neatly on its rump, looking up with big doughy eyes.
</blockquote></blockquote>
Sometimes we almost got too lazy to dress up the tree.
<blockquote>
One year I rallied for a small tree
</blockquote><blockquote><blockquote>
I pitched by case for a humble 4-footer
</blockquote></blockquote><blockquote><blockquote>
marveling at its simplicity
</blockquote></blockquote><blockquote><blockquote><blockquote>
// why hadn’t we done this sooner// we laugh
</blockquote></blockquote></blockquote><blockquote><blockquote><blockquote>
Marveling at it’s simplicity
</blockquote></blockquote></blockquote>
It fits easily into the back seat of our four door Toyota Camry.
<blockquote>
I sit in the back seat with it
</blockquote><blockquote><blockquote>
blunt needles springing into my lap.
</blockquote></blockquote>
[[What is this?]]
<iframe width="0%" height="0" scrolling="no" frameborder="no" src="https://w.soundcloud.com/player/?url=https%3A//api.soundcloud.com/tracks/232745781%3Fsecret_token%3Ds-V6kI4&auto_play=true&hide_related=false&show_comments=true&show_user=true&show_reposts=false&visual=false"></iframe>
Eventually we wore that tape to death.
<blockquote>
The Loggins & Messina tape you had in Buicks number 1 through 4.
</blockquote>
I would try to skip over the instrumental parts
<blockquote>
not realizing that the tape was flipped.
</blockquote>
<blockquote><blockquote>
I would accidentally stretch out those parts forever
</blockquote></blockquote>
<blockquote><blockquote><blockquote>
Inadvertently rewinding a reversed tape
</blockquote></blockquote></blockquote>
<blockquote><blockquote><blockquote><blockquote>
Repeating the parts that I'm pretty sure you likeed the most
</blockquote></blockquote></blockquote></blockquote>
<blockquote><blockquote><blockquote><blockquote><blockquote>//man… the part without the singing are really long// I complained.</blockquote></blockquote></blockquote></blockquote></blockquote>
Driving me to sports practices that I didn't really like that much.
<blockquote>
but the moments in the car
</blockquote><blockquote><blockquote>
I didn’t realize that they were the important ones.
</blockquote></blockquote><blockquote><blockquote><blockquote>
I've said a lot of light things
</blockquote></blockquote></blockquote><blockquote><blockquote><blockquote><blockquote>
and a lot of heavy things in those cars
</blockquote></blockquote></blockquote></blockquote><blockquote><blockquote><blockquote><blockquote><blockquote>
but when we and our words sank into those cushion seats
</blockquote></blockquote></blockquote></blockquote></blockquote><blockquote><blockquote><blockquote><blockquote><blockquote><blockquote>
the suspension didn’t seem to mind.
</blockquote></blockquote></blockquote></blockquote></blockquote></blockquote>
[[What is this?]]
<iframe width="0%" height="0" scrolling="no" frameborder="no" src="https://w.soundcloud.com/player/?url=https%3A//api.soundcloud.com/tracks/232745777%3Fsecret_token%3Ds-NgLGF&auto_play=true&hide_related=false&show_comments=true&show_user=true&show_reposts=false&visual=true"></iframe>Things are just all mashed together.
<blockquote><blockquote>
things that don’t align
</blockquote></blockquote><blockquote><blockquote><blockquote>
things don’t align
</blockquote></blockquote></blockquote>
Things that loop forever
<blockquote>
Milky moments, diluted
</blockquote>
A little bit off kilter, a few milliseconds behind.<blockquote><blockquote><blockquote><blockquote><blockquote><blockquote>
Rearranged for convenience</blockquote></blockquote></blockquote></blockquote></blockquote></blockquote><blockquote><blockquote><blockquote><blockquote><blockquote><blockquote><blockquote><blockquote><blockquote>
But now curiously<blockquote><blockquote></blockquote></blockquote></blockquote></blockquote></blockquote></blockquote></blockquote></blockquote></blockquote><blockquote><blockquote><blockquote><blockquote><blockquote><blockquote><blockquote><blockquote><blockquote><blockquote>
out of sync</blockquote></blockquote></blockquote></blockquote></blockquote></blockquote></blockquote></blockquote></blockquote></blockquote>
<blockquote>The melancholy warmth of your mind filling in the gaps and making up for the bent pitch.
</blockquote>
<blockquote><blockquote>
Distorting it back into half tuning.
</blockquote></blockquote><blockquote><blockquote>
My mind’s manuscript, a judge’s nightmare
</blockquote></blockquote><blockquote><blockquote><blockquote>
Everything woven into a ruddy parka
</blockquote></blockquote></blockquote><blockquote><blockquote><blockquote><blockquote>
It only needs to feel good from the inside
</blockquote></blockquote></blockquote></blockquote>
[[What is this?]]
<iframe width="0%" height="0" scrolling="no" frameborder="no" src="https://w.soundcloud.com/player/?url=https%3A//api.soundcloud.com/tracks/232745776%3Fsecret_token%3Ds-raphk&auto_play=true&hide_related=false&show_comments=true&show_user=true&show_reposts=false&visual=true"></iframe>I know that my memory will eventually go
<blockquote>
That the furnishings of my mind will break down
</blockquote><blockquote><blockquote>
Into little bits of what they used to be.
</blockquote></blockquote>
Shreds of cloth
<blockquote>
stale sundried wood
</blockquote><blockquote><blockquote>
sagging leather
</blockquote></blockquote><blockquote><blockquote><blockquote>
the breeze of seconds and hours scattering them
</blockquote></blockquote></blockquote><blockquote><blockquote><blockquote><blockquote><blockquote>
scattering them away.
</blockquote></blockquote></blockquote></blockquote></blockquote><blockquote><blockquote><blockquote><blockquote><blockquote><blockquote>
there the same after all... right?
</blockquote></blockquote></blockquote></blockquote></blockquote></blockquote>
Someone might visit me
<blockquote>
sitting in a once favorite chair, it rank now forgotten
</blockquote><blockquote><blockquote>
I'll stare at their fresh face
</blockquote></blockquote><blockquote><blockquote><blockquote>
still sharp in it softness
</blockquote></blockquote></blockquote><blockquote><blockquote><blockquote><blockquote>
beautifully defined by confident creases
</blockquote></blockquote></blockquote></blockquote><blockquote><blockquote><blockquote><blockquote><blockquote>
they will ask me questions, and I will show them my mindful rubble.
</blockquote></blockquote></blockquote></blockquote></blockquote><blockquote><blockquote><blockquote><blockquote><blockquote>
Their importance was unforgettable but not their form.
</blockquote></blockquote></blockquote></blockquote></blockquote><blockquote><blockquote><blockquote><blockquote><blockquote><blockquote><blockquote>
the melody half imagined, half recalled.
</blockquote></blockquote></blockquote></blockquote></blockquote></blockquote></blockquote>
Nobody visited me today.
[[What is this?]]
<iframe width="0%" height="0" scrolling="no" frameborder="no" src="https://w.soundcloud.com/player/?url=https%3A//api.soundcloud.com/tracks/232745771%3Fsecret_token%3Ds-UmDhq&auto_play=true&hide_related=false&show_comments=true&show_user=true&show_reposts=false&visual=true"></iframe>Sometimes I look at old guitar equipment
<blockquote>
the kind the lingers music store
</blockquote><blockquote><blockquote>
chained down with “vintage” price tags
</blockquote></blockquote><blockquote><blockquote><blockquote>
Some one's wall to wall nostalgia
</blockquote></blockquote></blockquote><blockquote><blockquote>
The kind that’s cheap when you bought it
</blockquote></blockquote><blockquote><blockquote><blockquote>
When youthful exuberance accidently bought you classics.
</blockquote></blockquote></blockquote>
Feelings that I'll never understand
<blockquote>
Feelings that I'll never pay five grand for.
</blockquote>
Someday my feelings will be like that
<blockquote>
Hanging on a wall
</blockquote><blockquote><blockquote>
painfully priced at a premium
</blockquote></blockquote><blockquote><blockquote><blockquote>
until the day no one remembers it
</blockquote></blockquote></blockquote><blockquote><blockquote><blockquote><blockquote>
when no one can relive my exuberance.
</blockquote></blockquote></blockquote></blockquote>
[[What is this?]]
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