"S/T" C60 (Lily Tapes And Discs)

Organs hum softly in their immensity like humpback whales drifting on the seasoned tides and currents. This is no place for mankind’s annoyances. This is no time for unrest and anxiety upstarts. Down chuck and pillow piercers only find home here now please forever. Distant as in distance as for dissenting to dreams from the day’s dissonance. Our decadence pays off in these moments of clamming. Squeezed tight to mox the pearls we hold in our throats for their gain levels peaking. As low as divers dare and rumbling like the belly aches of the split earths forming new sentiment layers over old scarred and pitted landscapes washed over and picked clean by the scavengers of the eco systems. This wonderful life has feeling in sounds held out for weeks in bliss bubbling from open mouths at gentle kiss. The silk flows from our touch as energy is shared by all like a Tesla coil standing definitely in the far off night of our dreamscapes. This music can be your life. This montage can slow forward to a crawl. You can be happy if you choose this. You can be complete if you become as content. Flowers over doorsteps and doves upon their skin cooing against arteries full of curves and bends. This is Naps. This has been a channeling of their side…

Lung Cycles also let loose drawl open in speechless patter upon the emerging light. As petals are summoned open before the dawning sun. These organ petals do the same for the souls of the people whom have gathered in sum. Though...  some of the others... of peoples I mean... may quaf up that this is not music. That this is not heavy gravel. Awe but they are the quaffers after all. And they are unlike these quakers herein whom toil soil so they make growth over the shifting weeks in virtuous patience expelled through commitment and strained white knuckles in clench. This is not pious commandments spat from pulpits but this is the tolling of Sunday church bells over towns far off in distance from the pollutions of the short spannable panned handlers of instantaneous gratifications. This mends mankind's ills in meditative tones not jerks muscles in quick seizuristiuc twitchings played in short sharp shocks. This grows. This is not the reaping itself. That comes later as this stays with you far after it ends honestly. So the others can toil nothing but dull habits of unimaginative constraint as they balk but these lands are fertile and rich in their deposits all the same. And those whom are with the know are indeed the luckier ones hearing herein. The others cannot understand the simpleness of this sort of nature in sound. This minimalism escapes them entirely. The emotion is unsettling to dulled senses even as much as becoming offensive to their undeveloped steps leading to their boredom. They cannot balance in such thick gravitational hymnals held down by these pervasive pilots of the pineriol glands. Though them that hold the knowledge are unconcerned with the wriggling of worms above the fields and equate their time to the burrowing type. In note in scope and in triumphant chordings drowning the dirt clogs from sea to shining sea. Amen.

Artifact itself is a beautifully pro-dubbed and pad printed (brown on yellow) cassette tape. Housed in an eco friendly Brad pack hemed by the wonderfully splendid Stumptown printer folks of the Oregons… if I’m not mistaken. Which I am... as it is SPBlanks but it is a top notch knock off so I don’t feel ill. Cheers to both then. Wonderful top to bottom. Thank you kindly for this. I will treasure it. Thanks.

▬Andy Tithesis