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andyklingensmith · 1 year

Text

Archival #15 [Long]

Spring 2023

Kissing the hand in the dark All of your lips course and spark Raising the hairs on her fingers like trees in wildfire lose bark

.

Nothing will ever placate

my nature’s indiscretion

An everyday intoxicant

A gauntlet of obsession Scriptwriter, would you not write me wise? What is ironic about the look in your eyes?

I cannot see

you easily

but I feel the film careening

I hope they capture

the way that you are

.

The temperature plummets I cannot face the wind I am radiating heat and steam rises from me like a hissing snake slithering in the blue morning skyward over a copse of trees

.

Someday there will be a change and we will all feel it.

.

No landmarks No good or bad No consequence No decision No direction No closure

No end

.

Red flag, freezing wave Caught between movement

At the mercy of two hands Fingers at a half-mast

.

I steal a cup to collect you in I shake it on the streets with my head bowed low

The pedestrian shuffle sounds like your name repeating

Who am I to you? Who am I to anyone?

.

Will you let me find a new way to say these words?

A different way A better meaning

Like how moving furniture can really change a space

.

The floor that gave with every step.

.

It sees the bigger picture

It hands me an eraser

It wants me to know

the mistakes I am making

It wants me to change

but I do not

And my ears close and my throat closes and I wonder if death is worth fearing at 29

.

When was the last time I stayed out til I feared the sun would see me?

When was the last time I felt his eyes upon my head as I turned away to sleep in agony?

In the morning he’s still watching me and I wonder what he thought about the words I spoke in my dreams

.

You pass a witness on the path

Your way divided A yellow dash

Reflection only in pavement passed Beneath like bows on presents wrapped

Giftgive in silence, in nods and glance A strange encounter A stranger dance The denim, blue on blue black bike chain

Grease on my pant leg I mix it with air I pat the way down and continue on.

.

I have one minute and it’s all I’ll ever need.

.

I’ve been taught

the most and the quickest

by the people who know the least

I have been given a scythe

with no deadline

for a field of wheat

Final stalk uncut

I grasp it gently between my fingers

and cut it like I were loosing a ballon

.

Two streams moving beneath two gentle stars.

.

I want to start making promises

but I’ve never known

something that cant be broken

.

Tiny sips at a manageable pace Banging a stack of paper on a desk 40 corners and then You turn

your back

I twist

spin in the chair form a cycle in my heart and keep you deep

down there

.

It is possible that the world may spin without an impossible complication

There are mornings which may rise without melody in the throats of men

The silence is not empty It is working too, whispering the implication between me and you

.

Fake everything.

.

The spider in the ice cube You saw it as you filled You didnt care to warn it You turned away and killed It melts down in your water and climbs upside the cup And falls into your stomach and never comes back up

.

Birds at nightfall

but which will be

the last to sing

a song for me

If one is followed

in tune by two

I wait for three

or else it’s you

.

I will never amount to anything and twenty minutes ago I considered how likely it was I could never write a word again

I am looking down a million pinholes backwards through time so what is a pair of binoculars to the Abyss Watcher? What is age to the man about to die?

If you are reading this then it is too late I see your eyes now moving across the sky in an extraterrestrial pattern Deep in the distance you are waving the world away and I mistake it for a greeting

.

Fog is lifting.

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andyklingensmith · 1 year

Text

Archival #14

Early 2023

This will be the death of us all.

.

I want to tell you every word I know I want to hear you in the air around me I want to see you whenever I want to like a light I can keep in a jar A polestar, tethered to you with a rope around your waist Fateful orbiter, gathering stars as I pass them in a bouquet of blinding white so volatile you close your eyes as I give it to you

The thought pulsed as I turned it in my head A trinket I found on the ground that I’m trying to recognize the strange sentiment in You mean something to someone, yet here you are in my pocket and I feel you against my leg and smile as I take each step more towards you each time

.

I was born with the gap of a snake’s teeth in my heart and I have been measuring the holes for my entire life Matching the puncture with the poison and never considering the fangs

.

You can’t escape something when it’s part of you.

.

When I was the last to speak to the sun Held court at the end of the world It bled a final time on the mantle of the horizon

Spilling there like a bowl of cherries across oceans Keeping the stems for myself to chew on

“You will not be saved from the night but I will guide you through it...”

Knowing better than any the million pieces frozen forever shifting inside me like ice on the water Effortless motions in spite of it all Desperate for warmth beyond when night falls

.

Grant me clearance, small portion of heaven I want you to feel the obsession I feel

I want you to see my shadow on the ground as you move I want you to know what life looks like from a bird’s eye view

Seat at the table Eagle in the air owning your thoughts

.

Early spring at the top of the stairs An air conditioner where all of my memories live Humming idle in the greying afternoon Burial mound and the mounting wraith

Hanging from a scythe like a monkeybar Dangling my feet over his cotton robe in the broken place

Carpeted Pale beige Catching blood and wine in my open mouth A faucet that never turns off It just keeps dripping in the broken place

Glass on the floor Dirt on the deck You wipe your screen You crane your neck

A vantage point for advantage

A retrospect of regret

.

I could drink at the well

for hours

Until my belly explodes

and washes the dirt

in pitch black

Blindly binding

Groping fingers push around the dust

Then night comes

and the darkness

falls into it

and it climbs out

I cant even hear my name

Someone watches from the trees

and I wont ever see their face

.

Ten thousand planes pass.

#Experimental Poetry #dailypoetry #journal #introspection #naturalism #processing #dailyink #spilledink #emotional #free association #free verse #confession #depression #anxiety #poetry #poet #sentimentalism

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andyklingensmith · 1 year

Text

Archival #13

Early 2023

I will lie in the earth and let the blood flow and tell you it’s growing flowers on your grave. I will tell you the sun is shining on your face as it turns to stone in my hands.

.

When the sun goes out I screw in another and the whirring threads stitch my worried heart Illuminating a surgical scar that reads like a liturgy Passing between passages and small holes in skin I start to feel the warm air assimilate the cool again So I open the window to keep out the storm that walks in my head through a landscape of thorns

.

There is nothing difficult

about holding a hand

but I find it impossible

to keep my fingers

from crushing yours

Snapping, cracking like stems cut from flowers The trashbin will smell of roses for a week to come

As I raise the lid

I raise your nails

with a winch

to sleep under

The gold

stains my palms

with glitter

I spread it to my face

as I stir in my sleep

And when I wake

the morning light

illuminates my skin

like the sunrise

over a field of dew

.

You should unmask. We have all laid aside disguise but you.

.

There is love in the violence that tears a man apart and there is mercy in the breaking of a wide and lonely heart I am painting with the blood that pours from your arm Something depicting the way you used to feel The red brings out emotion that other colors do not do So look into the mirror See me looking back at you

.

I am on the verge of the void

If I raise my arm

it disappears

If I lean my head

there goes an ear

Holding onto life I feel it snuff out

with the same hollow wind

which laughs as it flows

from heartland to heartland

in a black undertow

.

Isn’t it red? That hue as you carry it closer, it mellows It’s more like a yellow Funny how things change as they spend time in your head If you’d have caught it in its prime You’d have given it all to green Unchecked by time, one draws from what one has seen But you didn’t notice it was different You didn’t notice at all Until it was lying dead before you Until summer turned to fall

.

If this is not what you meant it to be then bend the earth back and touch moon to sea Let them kiss there quietly The tides breathe: “Finally”

#dailypoetry #confessional #spilledink #therapy #naturalism #nature writing #emotional #diary #new poetry #raw poetry #experimental #stream of consciousness

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andyklingensmith · 1 year

Text

Archival #12

2022

Everybody’s right about me.

.

Between the dark and the shadow Between the whisper and stare Between the cold and the empty Between what’s left of me there Under the moonlight In the pale glow Set in a spotlight Watch the flesh go No place I know

No place I know

World I cannot last but a day in Pacifier placed in the mouth in the dark

A sucking heard ere the valley

. .

I live in a world that I imagine, and this imaginary world is the real world.

.

We only come here to sleep We only come here to dream It is not true, it is not true that we come to earth to live You think if you were known in a different way by different people you’d be happy.

You see yourself in stars that do not set You see yourself in your eyes looking back.

. . This I expected, a time before the dark when some things just are But I do not want to talk about the power I feel I do not want to whisper about the light that I see I want to show it to you I hear the stone hammer smack, again and again and against fresh bone What a familiar feeling! The hand on your shoulder is the pressure in your palm The hour of the furnace It is so bereft of purpose that each ember is a burning bush

The quickness with which fire takes is half as fast as the speed that it dies and I am always at odds with the way it burns and why But I was not expecting this Alone in the dark, with their footsteps now falling, their laughter an echo deep down in my heart This is the bottom of my life

The glass lands inside My skin grows around it My heart beats beside it I bleed when I move

.

“I’m leery of mentioning the river of blood. I can feel the river but as yet I cannot map it or spell out all its tributaries or describe to see towards which it courses. I no longer think I am living in a world that is dying. Now I firmly believe it is being born.”

.

There’s blood on the steps

There’s a man on the mountain

There’s a bird in the air

and it’s falling down towards me

Sunbathing in the shadow

of a million broken pieces

It is everything we’ve known

all collapsing at once

In my breathing there is nothing

and the skin forms a mantle left to pale in the heat

What I wouldnt give for it to be the solstice

that was exploding on your shoulders

There’s blood on my hands

There’s a man in the doorway

There’s a lion in the den

and it’s mane is on fire

Sunbathing in the shadow

of the lonely darkened room

It is everything I’ve known

collapsing all at once

Sometimes I feel so far away from everything

from everyone

from me

#dailyjournal #dailypoetry #personal #diary #wip #naturalism #fantasy #isolation #coping mechanism #process #fieldrecording

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andyklingensmith · 1 year

Photo

"𝘛𝘩𝘦𝘺 𝘳𝘰𝘥𝘦 𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘧𝘭𝘢𝘮𝘦𝘴 𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘢𝘣𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘮 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘩𝘢𝘥𝘰𝘸𝘴𝘩𝘢𝘱𝘦𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘥𝘦𝘴𝘦𝘳𝘵 𝘣𝘳𝘶𝘴𝘩 𝘳𝘦𝘦𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘰𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘢𝘯𝘥𝘴 𝘶𝘯𝘵𝘪𝘭 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘺 𝘩𝘢𝘥 𝘤𝘳𝘰𝘴𝘴𝘦𝘥 𝘢𝘭𝘵𝘰𝘨𝘦𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘥𝘢𝘳𝘬𝘯𝘦𝘴𝘴, 𝘵𝘰𝘸𝘢𝘳𝘥𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘭𝘢𝘯𝘥𝘴 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘢𝘯𝘤𝘪𝘦𝘯𝘵 𝘱𝘢𝘯𝘥𝘦𝘮𝘰𝘯𝘪𝘶𝘮 𝘰𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘶𝘯. 𝘜𝘯𝘥𝘦𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘩𝘰𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘩𝘰𝘳𝘴𝘦𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘢𝘭𝘢𝘣𝘢𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝘴𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘴𝘩𝘢𝘱𝘦𝘥 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘩𝘢𝘱𝘦𝘥 𝘪𝘵𝘴𝘦𝘭𝘧, 𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘰𝘯𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘶𝘱𝘰𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘮𝘰𝘯𝘪𝘤 𝘨𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘥 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘵𝘶𝘳𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘰 𝘴𝘸𝘪𝘳𝘭 𝘢𝘸𝘢𝘺 𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘱𝘭𝘢𝘺𝘢, 𝘢𝘴 𝘪𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺 𝘴𝘦𝘥𝘪𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘵 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘵𝘢𝘪𝘯𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘪𝘯 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦 𝘧𝘢𝘪𝘯𝘵 𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘪𝘥𝘶𝘦 𝘰𝘧 𝘴𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘪𝘦𝘯𝘤𝘦." Magic and Dread is the first chapter of music from 𝒮𝓉𝑜𝓇𝓎𝒷𝑜𝑜𝓀, a new fantasy-inspired synth project of mine. By embracing the natural elements of one world, a tale of another long forgotten is told. At the core of the record stands its primitive backbone, tribal rhythms constructed from rock and sandstone formations found beneath the boiling blood moons of the American southwest.

Listen/purchase here: MAGIC AND DREAD

Comfy Synth Archives: www.youtube.com/watch?v=MuvJVdRVB0c

#comfy synth #newage #comfysynth #dungeon synth #dungeonsynth #fantasy writing #fantasy literature #ursula k le guin #cormac mccarthy #romantic #noir #video game music #ambient #field recordings #nature recordings #southwest #desert #blood meridian #tombs of atuan

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andyklingensmith · 2 years

Text

Archival #11

Autumn 2021

Does dirt taste different with context? Does sand change under your thumb? I could’ve swore the wind sang my favorite melody, knew my birthday, loved my mum

How small is life here and how big nothingness! How I dont have words for any of these things I don’t, I don’t, I don’t Not only for how things are but for how things can be These don’t mean much of anything to me

I look forward See darkness Look upward See light Look down and See nothing Look left and See right

Cahoots with the phantom in wait with the key Not ever presenting less beckoned by thee

So how many miles still to Babylon? It’s threescore miles and ten And can I get there just by candlelight?

Yea, and back again Yea, and back again Yea, and back again Yea, and back again

.

The sun, The candle, The lantern...

I will write it down in fire

and live inside it. And put my fear between it all Away again, where the wind worships me asleep Out there on the porch

Face in the window,

please be my reflection.

.

Your heart is the thinker Your brain cools the blood Your hands merely surface to hold dirt and mud

Your eyes are a picture In front is the screen The things that you’re knowing are not what they seem

So too is the tonguing So desperate for taste But in different context A solid is paste

So what is to make of The life that we live When all that remains is what’s left from the sieve

What’s dropped there between the holes in perception Flows out to the ocean in its own direction

Be wary of movement Be wary of “sure” They’re tricks sent from heaven as poison, as lure

.

The skeletons even say “Isn’t he thin?” And I stand to reason with flesh they stood in

How can, so undying, a memory fade? Deep wells in my heart Slow deaths in the shade

A community of lions and devils and dirt Whose only sole purpose was contemplate hurt

And champion unwilling Though willing too they seem I’d ask what you were doing but not know what you mean

Some bread left naked My skin without freckle My teeth stand unsharpened My heart knows no courage

.

Oh beautiful bridge, I cross you and leave the town and see you stretch in another day against some other crossing Looking the same but different Older yet sometimes new It’s hard to think I recognize you Oh beautiful bridge, I cross you and go into town

.

“” It was a beautiful sight

The struggle of carp

To regain their abode

Before the river dried up

To a trickle and trap

There in strange pools of water

You would not need a line

You would not need a hook

You could leave those at home

You would always return

Where no drama repeats

It was a sin to catch them

It was worse to eat them

They are part of the people

Under blankets of nets “”

#naturalism #environmental poetry #newpoetry #spilledink #experimentalwriting #excercise #dailypoetry #dailyjournal #compassion #introspection #kineticmotion #harbinger #alonetime #silence #emptiness

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andyklingensmith · 3 years

Photo

"𝘛𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘯𝘢𝘵𝘶𝘳𝘦 𝘰𝘧 𝘧𝘪𝘦𝘭𝘥 𝘳𝘦𝘤𝘰𝘳𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘦𝘴 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘴 𝘢𝘴 𝘢𝘶𝘵𝘰𝘣𝘪𝘰𝘨𝘳𝘢𝘱𝘩𝘪𝘤𝘢𝘭, 𝘪𝘵 𝘪𝘴 𝘰𝘧𝘵𝘦𝘯 𝘥𝘦𝘦𝘱𝘭𝘺 𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘳𝘦𝘯𝘤𝘩𝘦𝘥 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯 𝘢 𝘧𝘢𝘴𝘤𝘪𝘯𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘱𝘦𝘤𝘵 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘥𝘰𝘤𝘶𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘱𝘭𝘢𝘤𝘦𝘴; 𝘴𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘥𝘴 𝘴𝘦𝘦𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘭𝘺 𝘴𝘱𝘦𝘤𝘪𝘧𝘪𝘤 𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘮, 𝘤𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘴 𝘧𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘧𝘳𝘢𝘶𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘯𝘢𝘳𝘳𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘷𝘦 𝘰𝘳, 𝘫𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘢𝘴 𝘸𝘦𝘭𝘭, 𝘯𝘰𝘵; 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘮𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘴. 𝘔𝘺 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘬 𝘴𝘦𝘦𝘬𝘴 𝘵𝘰 𝘥𝘪𝘳𝘦𝘤𝘵𝘭𝘺 𝘦𝘯𝘨𝘢𝘨𝘦 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘮𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘧𝘦𝘦𝘭 𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘪𝘳𝘦𝘭𝘺 𝘪𝘴𝘰𝘭𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘮𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘴, 𝘳𝘦𝘧𝘭𝘦𝘤𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨, 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘵𝘳𝘢𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨, 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘧𝘦𝘦𝘭 𝘧𝘢𝘮𝘪𝘭𝘪𝘢𝘳. 𝘉𝘦𝘵𝘸𝘦𝘦𝘯 𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘢𝘤𝘺 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘧𝘳𝘢𝘨𝘪𝘭𝘪𝘵𝘺 𝘰𝘧 𝘪𝘵𝘴 𝘭𝘪𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘢𝘭 𝘣𝘭𝘰𝘰𝘮, 𝘢 𝘱𝘭𝘢𝘤𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘴𝘭𝘰𝘸𝘭𝘺 𝘳𝘦𝘤𝘰𝘨𝘯𝘪𝘻𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳𝘴𝘦𝘭𝘧 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘴 𝘪𝘯."

https://skupina.bandcamp.com/album/ganz-im-gegenteil

I am incredibly honored to share my newest solo tape, Ganz im Gegenteil, released today through the seminal Brno/Berlin-based label Skupina. Ganz im Gegenteil was composed and assembled using recordings which explore the tactile sounds of various objects; sand, tree branches, jewelry, hairbrushes, and many odd stretches of stone. The result is, according to the label, "an absorbing, panoramic, and restrained sound collage" with the subtlest hints of minimal techno and trance interwoven with indeterminate rhythms, jury-rigged electronics, concrète sounds, and of course, all-encompassing silence.

Sincere thanks to Ján for their notes, their support, and the important work they do both inside and outside of sound. Sessions took place in Tennessee, Ohio, Illinois, Nevada, and Death Valley, California throughout 2020 and 2021.

Photography by Vanessa Valadez vanessaivaladez.com Annotation and Mastering by Adam Badí Donoval abdonoval.com Tape duplication by Headless Duplicated Tapes headlessduplicatedtapes.com Design by Deep Throat Studio deeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeepthroat.it

#sound art #creative composition #minimal techno #field recordings #musique concrete #experimental #tape music #tape loops #turntable #death valley #americana #primitivism #soundscapes #deep listening

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andyklingensmith · 3 years

Photo

𝘌𝘯 𝘗𝘭𝘦𝘪𝘯 𝘈𝘪𝘳

Sep. 30 - Oct. 8, 2021

Danmark // Sverige

Sun sometimes doesn’t set up here, but surely this trip is almost over? What day is it now? Trash needs sorting. Mind if I photo dump? Takk.

In order: Gothenburg, Copenhagen, Malmö, Rebild Bakker, Roskilde, Mons Klint (Zealand), Grennen (Skågen). -

😶‍🌫️🌫 (at Scandinavia) https://www.instagram.com/p/CUvZcLBgEXT/?utm_medium=tumblr

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andyklingensmith · 3 years

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I want to write a big poem

A poem concerning all of the things I care about

A poem about me, and also about you

A poem that captures a certain something

and brings you back to way back when

I want to write a new poem

A poem about a place you havent been

A poem that tells you something about yourself

A poem that isnt only for me

I want to write a sad poem

A poem that they read for a lot of different things

on a lot of different occasions

because it’s just so fitting all the time

I want to write a happy poem

A poem that doesnt complain

or fester

or spite

I want to write a big poem but I dont know how

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andyklingensmith · 3 years

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Archival #10

2021

I am the only person to have ever lived.

.

Remember everything - none of it useful Forget easily but help me find my way around a room

The memory there gets harder to live the further we get from it Sometimes in between it all but mostly never there

.

And I think to myself

that most beautiful things in the world

are things that werent meant to be

.

Around corners freely, there is nothing in its way It overtakes me Muting landscapes Swigging turpentine Staining a cup with the warmth of its breath

Braindeath, falling teeth - rockslid, into pools of blood

Does dirt taste different with context? Does sand change under your thumb?

.

The tailor wipes a tear from his eye as he pulls his last stitch. Somewhere a million miles away a fowl is born without crying

Marks on the calendar of a barely year. Faith in kinetic motion. Hope through the fingers and the wrists.

.

I don’t want to be seen I don’t want to be known I’d rather have this secret from you I’d rather I’d hide it in drawers and dressers I’d rather I’d wrap it in towels and blankets and hurry it all as you hear me coming and I’ll smile as I notice the poor job you did of putting it back just the way you found it Because it’s different now with you having noticed Not better or worse Not unlike any other time

#poetry newpoetry dailypoetry excercise kineticmotion experiment

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andyklingensmith · 3 years

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https://moco.bandcamp.com/

This summer I've been lucky enough to work with four incredible artists from around the world on Modern Concern's second batch of handmade CD-Rs. A lot of work goes into these. I don't really know what else to say, but I'm thankful to be able to collaborate with people whose practice means a great deal to me! Standard Grey - 𝑯𝒂𝒏𝒅𝒍𝒊𝒏𝒈 (MOCO07) Ins & Ens - 𝑳𝒂𝒏𝒅𝒔𝒉𝒂𝒓𝒆 (MOCO08) Hashigakari - 𝑮𝒍𝒚𝒄𝒆𝒓𝒊𝒅𝒆 (MOCO09) Thanks for listening. Lots of cool stuff on the way. Be safe.

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andyklingensmith · 3 years

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andyklingensmith · 3 years

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andyklingensmith · 3 years

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andyklingensmith · 3 years

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Last month I started @modern.concern, a small batch tape/CD-R label dedicated to sound art, creative composition, and field recording. Now we have an Instagram, and are selling our first batch of handmade CD-Rs.

#bandcampfriday #experimentalmusic #soundart #fieldrecording #tapemusic #noaudienceunderground

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andyklingensmith · 3 years

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andyklingensmith · 3 years

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It always makes sense on paper.

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