Monday, February 29, 2016

"A million bucks & thirsty grapes"

On the way home, in the evening, on the train home with all the young women in fur coats soon, one hopes, stained with lipstick. On my way to meet Michele for a meal. Wondering will I set these words to music, and, if I do, then, when I sing them, how cloying might they sound? We talked about crooked teeth over a bowl of hush puppies.

Thursday, February 26, 2015

Her voice used
    to be so

         soft like
pale skin,

metallic, like
it stings
       in a
  sea of wounded
wasp wings,
          a sour soup

Tuesday, December 2, 2014

Did I say it was the shortest day?

Did I say it was 
the shortest day?
If I did, it was a lie.
There were so many days 
so much 
shorter. So less long. 
But it sounded

in the song. We took 
our time, we boiled 
the water
and watched 

the pot. We added 
the oil. We strung 
together the same 
old words but 
all in 
in all different 

orders. You were 
gone and I was still 
where I've 
always been,
which is wherever
I'm waiting for you.

(By BJK)

Monday, June 16, 2014

cleaning out the attic (FIELD GUIDES odds & ends)

While we continue impatiently & petulantly awaiting the completion of our inaugural physical recording artifact, here are some random demos & documents & covers & rehearsal recordings & snippets & excerpts of sloppy demos of seedlings of saplings of ideas of songs… "BOO, FOREVER" will one day see the light of night; keep yr ears open...