Draw an Album 4

Oddessey and Oracle, The Zombies (1968)

Featuring such colorful characters as: The Ancestor, star-gazing sphinx-bodied gypsy, happy zombie twins, gunslinging octopus man, quiet river head, and frog Elvis.

Draw an Album 3

Led Zeppelin, III (1970)
Featuring such colorful characters as: the since i've been loving you sea serpent, syringe-nosed spiky haired hummingbird, 3 eyed central spiral guy with mountain hand, star eyed rollercoaster-haired exhaling in the rain dude, gallows-headed bi-nosed mustache man, and of course, sad scooby doo ghost angel-torsoed fishtail guy.

Weave 18 (The Fallen Soldier)

Waking from a dream
Walking here with you
Trying not to breathe, trying not to move. It doesn't always feel the same, sometimes I think of something new, because the seed of life is change. Can you understand the truth?
          He wasn't really on my side, thought he could get away with this. I took a knife for all my pride, now I'm bleeding through my fists.

I'm your fallen soldier
Buried in an unmarked grave
I've kept the secret safe
Now we can watch it fade away
          Take a tip from me: Be the one to choose. Hold it in your hands; don't be afraid to lose.

Riders on the Storm 2

 Somewhere in Chile

Missouri, USA

 The North Pole of Saturn

 Sydney, NSW, Australia

 Nebraska, USA

Colorado, USA

Weave 17

My morbid fears may force your will to divide the dying day
A broken home, an open dome to absorb the things I say
There is a light beneath the night that's lost its mighty luster
But faintly breathes below the leaves of autumn's fearsome bluster

I will reveal the strength of steel to be but an illusion
So pardon me, perceptually, for these words grave intrusion
There is no spoon behind the moon that waits with painted gaze
For you to be part of the sea and drown in velvet haze

I shall anoint the finer points of quick and graceful waves
From energy to eternity we ride them all for days
So deter him, from screaming truth and rage against the sun
So selfishly he did not see he's not the only one.

Weave 16

This one is the One. The one around which all of the rest of mine revolve. It started at a nightclub of all places, and we (three lights this time) got Felix the Cat’s from this insanely hot girl we were lucky enough to know. On the dance floor we smoked a joint, and someone came to us blowing a whistle. We thought we were busted but it turned out to be just some douche that wanted to hit our joint. He did. I remember my first unrequited sneaking under my poncho (my beautiful afghan poncho that’s lost in the mists of time) and popping her head up next to mine. There was a beach volleyball court at the back of this club.

Escape and driving, you have to divert most of your attention elsewhere while focusing your tiny normal awareness on the road. Otherwise the road gets real weird. This particular light liked to drive on the yellow lines like a monorail when the road was empty. 

We walked the streets of my neighborhood, beat boxing (not necessarily just hip hop, but making rhythmic noises in concert with our mouths), which was a big part of what we did back then, how we brought out the flows. This time, this magical time, the flows of energy that connect the universe came all the way out, and we could see them, and move within them. Manipulate them. I saw a pool of pale blue luminescence on the ground. My heart was beating fast so I sat down and opened a flow of calm. It looked like me sleeping in a peaceful blue shadowy bedroom. Then I was fine. We got moving again and continued to ride the flows and opened one we knew led to girls, but nothing happened at that moment. The bigger the flow the longer it takes to move. The guiding light did the weirdest beat box version of ‘Purple Haze’ ever. There were several minutes when I completely forgot that it was that song, until it returned. Of course, we accompanied him, but that flow was his. I accidentally opened a flow that turned us into a beer, but we escaped, as that particular intoxication was not appreciated on this level. He said ‘p times 3 gets rid of the enemy’ and made a finger twirling spiral that tightened up to a point in the center (almost like closing a safe and spinning the dial). It was a way to close flows that we didn’t want to participate in. I perceived that I could make street lights brighter, and cigarettes looked evil. He called the houses ‘inside people squares’.

The girls showed up then, surprised us outside with no phones involved (we called them with the flow). It was unrequited and her sister, and another beautiful young woman (who also talked to felix). Teenagers can be so lucky sometimes. We played a bizarre reverse version of hide and seek the girls came up with, but I don’t remember how it worked. We sat by the pool, and I could swear we were making the water rise. I could see the gigantic flow that made the sky. I could see all the flows. 

We walked on in the day and met Mr. E. He was one of the gods, a one eyed god above the trees.

Weave 15

Two orange suns, taken at a mall of all places. Needless to say, an exit strategy was necessary and imminent. Two bright lights and some inconsequentials. In the back of a car I remember we started it going by reeling in these huge flows like manipulating an incredibly complicated invisible fishing pole. Unraveling web after web, our hands moving very fast and sure and automatic. We were touching the lines of energy that connected us to all things, but we could not see them yet.

The nobodies took us to a party at some house filled with older nobodies drinking beer. The two bright lights went to the backyard and took in some plants in a pipe made out of cigarette pack foil. There was a really high, really rickety treehouse with boards nailed to the tree for a ladder. Of course we ascended. It was peaceful up there. I remember looking down, and the ground was spinning, like a whirlpool. A great silent whirlpool of grass and dirt and twigs. We got down, we got out, we got home.

Back to the house and an Abraham Lincoln hat, lots of staring into a mirror, a lighter becoming a campfire, and slightly out of sync guitars. Always guitars. I remember dueling out in the dark with the lighted ends of our cigarettes, also looking at the ends close and seeing the faces of the tobacco screaming. There are faces everywhere, in everything. And all manner of gods walking the earth, their heads towering above the trees. I’ve seen them.

Weave 14 (The Mermaid)

She rose slowly from the depths and sprawled upon her rocky perch. The salty sea spray lightly bathed her pale skin with minute beads of moisture. Her introspective sadness was readily apparent from the bow of my approaching ship. Softly through the fog this frozen tableau presented itself, an apparition seemingly from nowhere in the endless waves of the open ocean. The gentle rocking of the waves through the boards beneath my feet were calming to me as I watched her lay there. Elegant; beautiful. My ship drifted by, and not a word was exchanged as we continued on to the infinite unknown. I will remember her always.

Weave 13

Luck and Unluck to be claimed by no one. I walk the halls of the deep forest softly, sharply, feeling peace of mind soak into my skin and enter my heart. This is home to me, this calming feeling of simple nature and brutal fact that reminds me of life. She lay there, pale as day in the gloaming, remarkably untouched by the weight of the world. All my life is but one sacred moment, and the rest of the years are filled with catching my breath. The untold waits for all, especially me, who has glimpsed its leeward gaze briefly in my wanderings. O forest, succor me in your lambent light, that I may walk below these sage trees forever. The concrete mazes of man hold nothing but heartache.

Weave 13 (Head Full of Steam/Full Head of Steam)

Where did you come from among all this noise?
Where are you going to go when it's destroyed?
It's getting harder to see me, getting harder to be me
It's getting stronger the more you stay, stronger so don't go away

Do you wanna know the way out of this maze?
Will you climb with me out of this haze?
It's getting harder to see
It's getting harder to be
I'm getting older today, inside the folder you'll stay.

Dreaming, dreaming of the end

Weave 12

This place moved to a beach. The gray-green waters of a mid-atlantic beach, mirroring itself on the ground and the sky. Three synchronized detonations of this astral explosive, filling our minds with ancient shapes and patterns. Much like the witch now we moved on the sand, cosmic rhythms giving us intuitive movements, powerful movements. Secret movements. Three points of light in a dark ocean of chaos. Momentum fades, words fail, and the lights separate. Nothing lasts forever.

Brief loneliness happens.

Two lights reunite with happiness, pulling together through storms of poetry and sand. The guiding light. The third light. Seen in the distance atop a cliff, waves crashing against the base. There are no sailors here. Only a lighthouse filled with magic and madness. A race to the cliff, which recedes to accommodate the two lights to be three again. 

Money looks ridiculous. Ghostly pieces of dirty paper that forever stains the fingertips. No more looking so closely. There is wood we can walk on. Creaking stairs and gritting sand and we pile in with strange humans, creatures of the night and keepers of the faith. The faith that this delusional world of objects is the alpha and omega. Faith in their bank accounts and love affairs. No conversations pass, but we summarize them by the look on their face and the movement of their limbs. They have not seen the power that looms over their head and behind their eyes, they are just timidly walking past it, head down, hoping it will pass them by. It gets to everyone eventually. Even you, timid nobody. Even you.

Sunlight changes the colors of everything, deepens the textures. Salty air fraught with moisture. We look like ugly girls in the solace of dawn. Laughter abounds. Streets are walked, a pink elephant seen, and necklaces are made out of miniature boxes of laundry detergent. Small, peanut butter smeared bagels ‘cooked’, and the fan turns my voice into zombonic robo-scissors. Guiding light makes the guitar sound right finally.

I’m hunting. hunting for power and a safe landing in a fierce and unforgiving world of moving energy. There’s a moral to these fabled stories and a sphere where they are each lodged within my being.

Weave 11

This all started from nothing. There was a place, a place people would go, and it would fill them up with joy. Things would change in this place, creative things, strange things. I don’t know what I would have done without it.
It was in a house at first. It was in the basement of a house. Carpeted. Looking at the ceiling was like looking down on a globally massive religious ceremony, with an infinite sea of people all in white, huddled around a giant crystal globe glowing like the sun. There was a witch there, a witch stalking the beach, her deliberate and measured gait making soft impressions in the sand, a circle of candles lighting her way, wooden wand at the ready. Incantations she spoke, and vile curses that the stars longed to hear, reaching out their twinkling gaze in hungry wonder. For those experiencing confusion, read on, for confusion is part of it also.
This basement had some friends, and a sea of numbers swimming around the voice of a girl I barely knew. We didn’t talk much. My eyes were spinning. People would look and laugh and flee like the pale green pants. The two closest light sources knew my secrets, for they were my friends, as was the shadowed goddess crooning quietly in the corner. She believed my lies. I didn’t even really believe them.
I was playing guitar too loud. It didn’t sound good anyway. Why couldn’t I go to sleep. It was my first taste of the DMV. Too many pictures in my head with my eyes closed. A house on a grassy hill made of wood, brick and glass. Sunlight and the functions of all the gods, towering as they did over the forests. The air conditioning sounded like hideously deranged laughter. Snow outside, and cold.

Phone case in a mirror

                                                                           flip

Weave 10 (forgetfulness)

I want to tell you things you forget

I want to show you things you regret

I know I never needed you at all

Just needed someone to watch me as I fall

Into the open arms of nightfall, bleeding

Into the open graves of so many , seething

Where you the one who taught me to shoot the gun below these words

Or was it someone else I heard

There's too many questions and not enough reasons to let you back inside

I know it's cold but you were told to go though it hurts me so

We used to walk forever until we dropped

We used to talk about everything, until we stopped

I know you never needed me at all

Just needed someone to watch you as you fall. 

 creepy

Weave 9

I'm as cold as the Arctic Ocean.
But why, when the Sun blazes through my veins?

Draw an Album 2

Watershed - Opeth

2008

Featuring such colorful characters as: Scottish King Hippo Space Cadet, Picture frame eye-beam Speaking Sperm, Blindfolded Needle fingered Cyborg Ninja Turtle, Transistor Mountain Range Sky-Faced Sun Head, Angry Religious Pixelated Stranger, Three Amigos in a submarine, and Lava Lamp Nosed Pumpkin. 

The Floyd

Pink Floyd live at Pompeii, 1972
Post Meddle and pre-Darkside of the Moon

Weave 8

Gone but there's a trace I see their faces on my skin. Never to be what it once had been.
I miss my friends
I miss my family
Whether dead or they're just dead to me.
We used to be as bright as the sun.

Weave 7 (Star-Crossed)

Stand me up in this world, there's some dust in a swirl and the empty eyes of the demon inside me. My boots have worn through the ground, the ground has worn through the sound walking around and around all day and night just to find you.
When I see your face well I feel I can do anything and I don't mind if we die. But it's so damned cold, this icicle is reaping me and harvest time is coming soon.
Do you think that we could be together or will it just disappear like smoke?
There was a spark of life there but it's been taken, taken away. We lived a thousand lifetimes and there's nothing else we could say. I thought our lovely dream would come together but together it has come apart, until there's not much left inside my heart.

Weave 6

Its at the townhouse, my old house, the house with the view out back to my dad’s old house from a different time. I learned to swim out there a million years ago. There’s just a few of us, mainly two lights and a purple haze, and gold stars dissolve on paper in our mouths. Things become very musical. The haze vanishes, as hazes are wont to do, and guitars, always guitars, start up their supple song. We sing with our fingers and complex rhythms form shapes and patterns in ears and noses. Very strange, very familiar, ever changing and yet cyclical song constantly vanishing from its current place and returning to somewhere you had long forgotten, only to remember again as you are forgetting again. The music is boiling, rotating. People come in and out, watch for a while, speak words, and leave again, and still the song continues. It’s getting too big for the house, so we place the sounds on our feet and gravitate our ambulatory patterns to the dark and patient concrete out there in the night. The song continues on the shoes and in our mouths, words, numbers, and percussive laughter weaving an example for the atmospheric conditions before us. At a parking lot on a hill beset by crosses, someones says they would like to make the music that god listens to when he goes to sleep. A brilliant idea but how to accomplish it? I can see small scatterings of its pattern but it’s too big for my mind to hold alone. Maybe all the lights together could do it, but just me? forget it. Nice dream, though.