(Written while listening to Drift by Brian Eno)

One note hovers above the orchestra,
A ghost with a sustained voice.

Textures of sound –
mostly a murmuring
rises from the audience.

Your disembodied echo
is like an organ on Halloween.
I’m the kind of person,

who walks through graveyards
for the sake of company. I like
to trace the names etched in stone.

Around this time of year,
the violins like to mimic one sound
you used to make.

When they do, everyone claps.
But yours was far more than that.
It was like death in her coffin.

It was like,
A ghost with a sustained voice.

Sick of writing love songs – Tyler Strittmatter

With production help from madefortomorrow, I finished another project! Nova has been so great to work with. I’m learning that nothing will be flawless (on my end) and projects take on their own life; ending differently than you expected. At the end of the day, I just want to create and be proud to make art. Cheers!

You’re a dead man

I’m listening to a dead man’s CD. He made it on a Fisher-Price recorder. He’s been dead a while now. I never knew him.

The deep dark hole inside
Hmm hmm hmm
The deep dark hole inside

But I did know him, understand? His genius is depressing. I’ll never make music like the dead man. I’ll never be that haunting even when I’m dead. It’s beautiful. It makes me never want to write again. It makes we want to give up, but in a good way, ya know?

I feel like a burglar broke into my house and stole something I didn’t even know I had. I’m wondering if it took me years to find it, it doesn’t matter though ‘cause now it’s gone.

He’s in this big tree in the backyard playing his guitar on the most bottom branch; singing and swaying in the breeze. I’m pretty sure he is anyway.

The dead man was my friend.
The dead man makes music for the dead.
Please, listen to his song.