Ten Centuries

Preparing to release a series of "7 inches". Soon. More to come.

The inspiration playlist keeps growing. Tune in if you like. . .

http://open.spotify.com/user/1213491009/playlist/3t04IqBYfuVHCz9SJOMon6

demos; demonstration; demon; demoing

early hours

In the high hours of the night
stars get naked
and bathe in the rivers.

Owls desire them,
the little feathers on their heads
stand up.

-humberto ak'abal

Whispers in the pines; new music forthcoming soon and late. For now, "White Pines" has been added here. Stream, streams, brooks, rivers, seas.

Ten Centuries Local business

maundering, just maundering. Hello new friends!

An embarrassment of poems. . . but we cannot stop. Reminder from Williams;

My heart rouses
thinking to bring you news
of something
that concerns you
and concerns many men. Look at
what passes for the new.
You will not find it there but in
despised poems.
It is difficult
to get the news from poems
yet men die miserably every day
for lack
of what is found there.

LEAVE A MESSAGE
When the wind died, there was a moment of silence
for the wind. When the maple tree died, there was always a place
to find winter in its branches. When the roses died, I respected the privacy
of the vase. When the shoe factory died, I stopped listening
at the back door to the glossolalia of machines.
When the child died, the mother put a spoon in the blender.
When the child died, the father dug a hole in his thigh
and got in. When my dog died, I broke up with the woods.
When the fog lived, I went into the valley to be held
by water. The dead have no ears, no answering machines
that we know of, still we call.

-Bob Hicok

beware however of unnecessary pride
keep looking at your clown’s face in the mirror
repeat: I was called - weren’t there better ones than I

beware of dryness of heart love the morning spring
the bird with an unknown name the winter oak
light on a wall the splendour of the sky
they don’t need your warm breath
they are there to say: no one will console you

- Zbigniew Herbert