Schrödinger's cats and I, (lost in contemplation) both began to weave a peculiar dream. In this dream, we envisioned a world where the tranquility of a manmade lake mirrored the rarity of a genuine compliment. Where a gentle breeze swept over the glassy surface, bestowing an almost ephemeral grace upon its water. Yet, this serenity was to be disrupted, once a week by a snapping, mentally deranged black swan who scared everybody. The swan, a creature of ostentatious proportions, seemed oblivious to its own impracticality. Despite its grand self-importance, it struggled to stay afloat. With a disregard for the laws of physics, it nonchalantly submerged its head into the billabong’s abyss. It was as though the swan sought hidden truths concealed within the chill depths, defying the logic of its actions.
Meanwhile, as if to compose a surreal symphony for this eccentric performance, a parade of pregnant seahorses marched proudly along the shoreline cooing an angelic, aquatic melody – if such a term could even be applied. The sound of which reverberated against the crumbling walls of the Circadian Lake hotel. This was a testament to the majestic sea life that the establishment was woefully unprepared to accommodate.
The surrounding suburban sands stretched out, an expanse of dull olive green and beige yearning for the footprints of a wandering soul. Yet, its pleas were met with the indifference of an apathetic universe. Who would dare to venture into such mundane territory when the enigmatic antics of the mentally challenged swan held sway?
As the sun descended upon the horizon, a burst of Orange Fanta™ – a nectar fit for the divine – painted the birch trees with flamboyant hues. These trees, bearing the marks of fire's touch, now stood more vibrant than ever. Native orioles, drawn by the promise of a citric paradise, adorned the scene with their presence. Their purpose was clear: to delve into the intricate recesses of the birch, evicting termite occupants and establishing a new avian real estate dominion.
Yet, the cosmos had its own designs! A deity, presumably in dire need of some entertainment, cast its emotional drain upon this whimsical display. As a result, the backdrop shifted into the speckled embrace of night, akin to a Bob Ross painting transitioning into its nocturnal phase. Lunar reflections flirted with solar flares, birthing shadowy enclaves of esoteric sages and clandestine murmurers. These astral gatherings were like buffets for the mind, offering sustenance to the serious man who, burdened with the superficial ethics of "F-Troop," sought enlightenment through a crystal clear delta antenna.
And so, this loosely choreographed ballet persisted – the overblown, deranged swan and the galloping seahorses, the citric trees and celestial ponderings – all entwined within a tapestry woven from strands of absurdity and delicate irony, reminiscent of a tailor who had enjoyed one libation too many.
As night's veil descended, the scene clung to its enigmatic ambiance, leaving Schrödinger's cats still dead and alive, their feline heads scratching in chaotic, rational consternation. I couldn't help but wonder if this dream had indulged in a surplus of ethereal libations. "So mote it be," I could almost hear the cosmic bartender whisper amidst the dreaming stars. "So mote it be."
credits
from Artificial Tales Of Gleep And Whimsy (Vol. 2),
released November 6, 2023
Andromeda Newage: Voice
V.C. : Interruptions
Music : Campfire Confessions (edited)
Recorded, Mix and Edited by JT at Suburban Hermit Studios III, Ronkonkoma, NY
Campfire Confessions - Recorded and mixed by John Tabacco, and Nick DiMauro at Sonic Underground, Stony Brook, NY
An indiepop classic from a decade ago, only available on sold-out physical media, is now available again, remastered specially for Bandcamp. Bandcamp New & Notable Nov 30, 2016
In Adrian Snood’s songs, soulful vocals and slow-moving alt-pop swirl together to create something distinctly moving. Bandcamp New & Notable Apr 1, 2023
