1. |
Unmeaning Dreams
04:36
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Stumbling through a burning world, I am reaching now, but I don’t own anything. I’ve made attempts at caging wild, elusive offerings, but dreams don’t mean anything. Knowing now that this is it, I’m not here with you. I’ve turned the other way. Have you thought about the hard questions? Are you dreaming through the day? In your youth, you thought of nice, smiling bumble bees in a garden, alive. The smells all meant something. Flowers, everything etching memories from sight. When you’re stung and petals fall, it must mean something. A bell sounding in your bones. Gut unmeaning dreams of mine. You own everything.
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2. |
Candle
04:20
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In my dream she told me, “In four years someone will speak. And at that time, [I’ll] see that [I’ve] been dead now for three.” The math is close. Within one, you’ll die and I’ll be destined for nothing, falling over. Kick the dirt so I can see. Who are you and who won’t you be? Where are you and where will you be? Without the light and smiley, shining, and hope for heaven with you: rolling fog and wretched skies breathing sick, down, and blue. Who are you and who won’t you be? Where are you and where will you be? I’m your sunshine and you, my star. With no direction, then how? You lit my candle and I lit yours. Beading wax put us out. You lit my candle and I lit yours. Beading wax put us out. I’m your sunshine and you, my star. With no direction, then how? How are you and how will you be? Where are you and where will you be?
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3. |
No Heirloom
03:10
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Across the room, the mirror glares. Light or doom? I don’t know what’s back there. See you smile and adjust your hair. You have a while, but you don’t know what’s back there. Double shine to you, so fair. The mirror is mine, but I don’t know what’s back there. Show your grace where I would scare. Look at my face. I don’t know what’s back there. In a room, the fat we chew. What’s really there will come out soon. The mystery is no heirloom. Undisclosed, we don’t know whats back there. Stepping through to hide somewhere, the curtains blew. We don’t know what’s back there. Blowing sand will send dead prayers, but the plight of man is that we don’t know what’s back there.
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4. |
Empathy Threshold
03:23
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Leaves are falling pretty in the backyard of your place. Not seeing, only lying there, confused while we all wait. To find normalcy, we stumble through the house and decorate, missing special touches because we don’t know your way. Flashing back to riding in the car on that sad day, I squeeze your hand, imagining the feeling you can’t say. This place will continue crawling, even when we are away. Shopping, finding parking, eating, bleeding through the day. Like the Sentinelese tribe, unaware of all the ways the world is big and connected and about to die away. Or the starving polar bear who doesn’t realize this place was brazenly destroyed by smarter beings far away. My empathy went deep, but it’s still just a taste. My empathy meets a threshold because I don’t have your faith. Bustling and busy, a completely normal day. But without the open chance to call your phone and say, “Hey, this is something you’d like.” “Hey, this is something you’d want.” “Hey, this is something you’d think is funny.” This is something you would say is sad. This is something that would happen to someone else we know. And you’d tell me, but then we’d go out to eat, unaffected, truly not thinking what they won’t take in. Like the boulder by a tree off the road near El Paso or the beautiful White Sands at a park in New Mexico, where I went when I was younger and felt we’d one day go. I thought the feeling meant something, but the unfeeling world said, “No.”
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5. |
Fixed Law
02:41
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Dry chalk on my hand, the mattress at the curb. Nothing stands forever. Kneel and don’t disturb the ancient order of calamity all around. Fixed law. No solution. The sand where we stand until the air blows it all apart. Where we stand, age squeezes our hearts. Wet dirt on my hand and the TV on in the room. Everything warm still. Kneel, knowing soon the ancient order of calamity all around. Fixed law. No solution. The ancient order of life until no more. Fixed law. No resolution. The sand where I stand until the wind blows me apart. Where I stand, age squeezes my heart. Where I stand.
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6. |
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Back room, late at night in our old home on Peach. You alone at a screen. Stumbling down the hall, hear the little feet. My body is part of my dream. Sleepwalking and solitaire. Sleepwalking and solitaire. In a dark room today, just out of reach, I alone at a screen, easy through the room, feel your quiet feet. The body is part of the dream. Sleepwalking and solitaire. Sleepwalking and solitaire. Sleepwalking in solitude. Sleepwalking and solitaire.
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7. |
Dreamer's Cheek
02:28
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Two runaways on foot, uphill, at night, in the rain, on a freeway. They cry. One is dreaming, not knowing. The world behind them exploding. Cars not breaking, just passing. The sky wheezing, asking, “From which camp do you come? What world are you from?” There’s no end to this bridge and behind you is already hit. The salty pain on a dreamer’s cheek turns to rain when he’s asleep. Are you really with me or am I alone? Are you running away or returning home? But I wake up and you’re right there. And I smile when you touch me. “I thought something happened to you. I thought our time was through. Why is my pillow wet?” I reach up and touch my head. Same wet and salty rain there while you smile and fade. Are you really with me or am I alone? Are you running away or returning home?
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8. |
Hell Is Full
03:07
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Rise high over the shit city. Scraping sky, I burn alone. Roll by. It doesn’t kill me this time, though the lawn is overgrown. I’ll stay in pooling blood and beauty, looking for the pin to pull before I go and topple down in nothing. Hell is already full. Brutal love, meaningless hereby. Pooling light. Don’t move your eye. Decide: pooling blood or fulgor? Looking for the pin to pull before I go and topple down in nothing. Hell is already full.
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9. |
Song of the Orphan Girl
03:17
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As a child, I stared into the TV while one of my parents filmed. It was a movie about dogs and the afterlife, and one of the pups was killed. 25 years later, I watched the tape and heard myself sing along to the song of the orphan girl. The years between were a dream. I’m saying, “Soon you’ll come home; home to my heart.” A child I see professionally asked me, “What happened to your mom?” He doesn’t know a thing about me. I stopped what I was doing and asked, “Why?” He said, “Never mind, I’m not supposed to talk about it.” He said, “I’m not supposed to say.” Then he pointed at me and asked if I was real. Then I asked him the same. Then remembered, “Soon you’ll come home; home to my heart.” With the smells of their home, my childhood came rushing back at me. From the modest dinner cooking in the kitchen that I could taste, but couldn’t see. I’m being picked up from school. I’m laying on the floor. You were my only friend sometimes. You were doing so much for me then. I wish I had done more. I keep thinking, “Soon you’ll come home; home to my heart.”
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10. |
Spat On
01:26
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The lingering melancholy I’ve felt for my whole life, finally justified then spat on. I sat on all the time I had with you, thinking it was half gone. But it’s through. No knowing in my heart yet. All feeling that I’ll call to describe to you the breaking of my life because of you and that you’re not here. Your ghost is just my fear of facing all the faces that aren’t yours. I thought I understood, but I’m not sure. There’s no understanding. No god there working, planning to take or give the light or the cure.
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Brett W Taylor Houston, Texas
Brett Taylor is a musician based in Houston, Texas. He has recorded, released, and performed music in various bands such as By The End of Tonight (Temporary Residence Ltd.), sIngs (Dull Knife), Buoyant Spirit (Miss Champagne), Narcons, and Giant Princess. He is a singer, songwriter, and multi-instrumentalist whose works and projects span and bend genres. ... more
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