Old versions of tracks 1-7 released as "Mo(u)rning Words" in 2021, and 8-17 as "D(r)ying Times" in 2022.


Various sounds collected from 2018-2022.
The wind before a forest fire, gunshots, and birds.. water (and the lack of).. a lone cricket outside my window two different summers..
words about the con(temporary) world.


Lyrics for track 2 came from two different painting titles created in 2019 - rb.gy/3qgmoj & rb.gy/ozqb5r

Sometime in August of 2020 i wrote the lyrics to “Mo(u)rning Words” thinking about a day when all birds may be extinct, not knowing that i would soon briefly experience this the following month as all the birds living near our home left for a week as so-called historic winds began, creating conditions for a record breaking fire season.

In 1851, Thoreau wrote, “We are accustomed to say in New England that few and fewer pigeons visit us every year. Our forests furnish no mast for them. So, it would seem, few and fewer thoughts visit each growing man from year to year, for the grove in our minds is laid waste,—sold to feed unnecessary fires of ambition, or sent to mill, and there is scarcely a twig left for them to perch on.”
In 2020, after spending too short of a time sitting at the base of a rotting tree observing a pileated woodpecker as it tossed soft pieces of bark down around me, i wrote "Woodpecker Song" and the words, “the forest of the mind dies with the one outside.”

Track 5 is a recording from a nature preserve situated next to a gun range.

𝘞𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘪𝘴 𝘢 𝘯𝘢𝘵𝘶𝘳𝘦 𝘱𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘦𝘳𝘷𝘦? 𝘞𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘰𝘧 𝘕𝘢𝘵𝘶𝘳𝘦 𝘪𝘴 𝘣𝘦𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘱𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘦𝘳𝘷𝘦𝘥 𝘪𝘯 𝘢 𝘱𝘭𝘢𝘤𝘦 𝘸𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘥 𝘰𝘧 𝘣𝘶𝘭𝘭𝘦𝘵𝘴 𝘩𝘪𝘵𝘴 𝘴𝘰 𝘰𝘧𝘵𝘦𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘪𝘵 𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘳𝘶𝘱𝘵𝘴 𝘢𝘯𝘺 𝘵𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘢𝘴 𝘴𝘰𝘰𝘯 𝘢𝘴 𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘩𝘢𝘱𝘱𝘦𝘯𝘴? 𝘏𝘰𝘸 𝘥𝘰𝘦𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘢𝘧𝘧𝘦𝘤𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘱𝘭𝘢𝘯𝘵𝘴 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘯𝘰𝘯-𝘩𝘶𝘮𝘢𝘯 𝘢𝘯𝘪𝘮𝘢𝘭𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘭𝘪𝘷𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦? 𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘭𝘢𝘯𝘥? 𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘱𝘦𝘰𝘱𝘭𝘦 𝘸𝘩𝘰 𝘷𝘪𝘴𝘪𝘵? 𝘞𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘢𝘧𝘧𝘦𝘤𝘵 𝘥𝘰 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘤𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘦𝘭𝘦𝘴𝘴 𝘴𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘥𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘤𝘪𝘷𝘪𝘭𝘪𝘻𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘰𝘯 𝘶𝘴 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘦𝘭𝘴𝘦?
𝘪 𝘣𝘦𝘭𝘪𝘦𝘷𝘦 𝘴𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘥 𝘩𝘢𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘱𝘰𝘸𝘦𝘳 𝘵𝘰 𝘢𝘭𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝘮𝘰𝘳𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘯 𝘸𝘦 𝘸𝘪𝘭𝘭 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘬𝘯𝘰𝘸.

“The ancient character of the land, the forests that covered it and the animals that lived in them… have been forgotten by almost everyone… our memories have been wiped as clean as the land...There is a name… for this forgetting: “Shifting Baseline Syndrome.”
The people of every generation perceive the state of the ecosystems they encountered in their childhood as normal… they often appear to be unaware that what they considered normal when they were children was in fact a state of extreme depletion.” - George Monbiot, 2013

“I wouldn’t use the word Primitive to refer to a people with a richness of life. I would use the word Primitive to refer to myself and my contemporaries, with our progressive poverty of life.
The main part of our poverty is that the richness of life of [our ancestors] is barely accessible to us, even to those of us who have not chained our imaginations…
The strait that separates us from the other shore has been widening for three hundred generations, and whatever was cannibalized from the other shore is no longer a vestige of their activity but an excretion of ours: it’s shit.
Reduced to blank slates by school, we cannot know what it was to grow up heirs to thousands of generations of vision, insight, experience.
We cannot know what it was to learn to hear the plants grow, and to feel the growth.
We cannot know what it was to feel the seed in the womb and learn to feel the seed in earth’s womb, to feel as Earth feels, and at last to abandon oneself and let Earth possess one, to become Earth, to become the first mother of all life. We’re truly poor. Thousands of generations of vision, insight and experience have been erased.
Instead of abandoning ourselves, instead of savoring what little we can of their powers, we define and categorize.” - Fredy Perlman, 1983

The words to track 9 were recorded and improvised by my daughter (age 7), alone, one morning in our backyard during the summer of 2022. i added guitar sometime later after finding the recording.

𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘪𝘯𝘥 𝘣𝘭𝘰𝘸𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘧𝘭𝘰𝘸𝘦𝘳𝘴 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘵𝘳𝘦𝘦𝘴
𝘛𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘭𝘪𝘵𝘵𝘭𝘦 𝘵𝘳𝘦𝘦 𝘤𝘢𝘯 𝘵𝘦𝘭𝘭 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘦𝘤𝘳𝘦𝘵𝘴 𝘪𝘯 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘵
𝘏𝘦 𝘬𝘯𝘰𝘸𝘴 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘥𝘰 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘬𝘯𝘰𝘸
𝘏𝘦 𝘬𝘯𝘰𝘸𝘴 𝘩𝘰𝘸 𝘵𝘰 𝘴𝘵𝘰𝘱 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘭𝘥 𝘧𝘳𝘰𝘮 𝘴𝘱𝘪𝘯𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨, 𝘴𝘱𝘪𝘯𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨, 𝘴𝘱𝘪𝘯𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨…

𝘖𝘩 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘪𝘯𝘥 𝘣𝘭𝘰𝘸𝘴
𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘵𝘳𝘦𝘦𝘴 𝘣𝘭𝘰𝘸
𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘱𝘪𝘥𝘦𝘳 𝘸𝘦𝘣 𝘪𝘴 𝘴𝘵𝘳𝘰𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘰 𝘬𝘯𝘰𝘸
𝘚𝘰 𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘺𝘴 𝘸𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘩𝘦 𝘨𝘰𝘦𝘴

𝘈𝘭𝘭 𝘴𝘱𝘪𝘥𝘦𝘳 𝘸𝘦𝘣𝘴 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘣𝘦𝘦𝘯 𝘣𝘭𝘰𝘸𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘴𝘰 𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘥
𝘉𝘶𝘨 𝘩𝘢𝘴 𝘣𝘦𝘦𝘯 𝘤𝘢𝘵𝘤𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨…

𝘖𝘩 𝘩𝘰𝘸 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘬𝘶𝘭𝘭𝘴 𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘮
𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘱𝘪𝘥𝘦𝘳 𝘸𝘦𝘣 𝘨𝘰𝘦𝘴…

𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘪𝘯𝘥 𝘤𝘩𝘪𝘮𝘦𝘴 𝘨𝘳𝘰𝘸
𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘸𝘦 𝘸𝘰𝘯’𝘵 𝘬𝘯𝘰𝘸
𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘨𝘩𝘰𝘴𝘵…

𝘈 𝘩𝘶𝘮𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘣𝘪𝘳𝘥 𝘧𝘭𝘢𝘱𝘴 𝘪𝘵𝘴 𝘸𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘴 𝘧𝘢𝘴𝘵
𝘔𝘢𝘬𝘦𝘴 𝘪𝘵𝘴 𝘭𝘪𝘵𝘵𝘭𝘦 𝘯𝘰𝘪𝘴𝘦
“𝘵𝘤𝘩 𝘤𝘩 𝘤𝘩 𝘤𝘩”

𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘪𝘯𝘥 𝘣𝘭𝘰𝘸𝘴
𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘪𝘭𝘭𝘰𝘸 𝘵𝘳𝘦𝘦 𝘬𝘯𝘰𝘸𝘴 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘥𝘰𝘯’𝘵 𝘬𝘯𝘰𝘸 𝘪𝘯 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘵

𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘪𝘯𝘥 𝘤𝘩𝘪𝘮𝘦 𝘨𝘳𝘰𝘸𝘴
𝘈𝘭𝘭 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘱𝘭𝘢𝘯𝘵𝘴 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘧𝘭𝘰𝘸𝘦𝘳𝘴 𝘣𝘭𝘰𝘸𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘪𝘯𝘥
𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘪𝘯𝘥 𝘤𝘩𝘪𝘮𝘦 𝘨𝘳𝘰𝘸𝘴
𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘤𝘳𝘰𝘸𝘴 𝘤𝘢𝘸
𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘣𝘪𝘳𝘥𝘴 𝘮𝘢𝘬𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘪𝘳 𝘭𝘪𝘵𝘵𝘭𝘦 𝘯𝘪𝘤𝘦 𝘴𝘰𝘯𝘨
𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘮𝘰𝘳𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨, 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨, 𝘢𝘧𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘯𝘰𝘰𝘯 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘯𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵