Get all 77 recordings.of.Variable.Quality releases available on Bandcamp and save 85%.
Includes unlimited streaming via the free Bandcamp app, plus high-quality downloads of POR SORTE (1994), old, FRANCE 8002, H81END1, VAULT FOUR, DOUCHECOASTHIGHWAY, SCOWLING PRICK, TREIZE, and 69 more.
1. |
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Glory be to God for dappled things –
For skies of couple-colour as a brinded cow;
For rose-moles all in stipple upon trout that swim;
Fresh-firecoal chestnut-falls; finches’ wings;
Landscape plotted and pieced – fold, fallow, and plough;
And áll trádes, their gear and tackle and trim.
All things counter, original, spare, strange;
Whatever is fickle, freckled (who knows how?)
With swift, slow; sweet, sour; adazzle, dim;
He fathers-forth whose beauty is past change:
Praise him.
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2. |
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for there is another Lilith, not made for earth
of whom it is said / that when she is seen by men
it is as vapour / a plague / a cacophony
of unique bells / straining & stranger, they pursue
her unsubstantial cors thru this world
& the next. She is, in fact, the archetypal
foxfire of the stars
will o'the wisp of empty space
cosmic marshlight that lures us away
from the heavenly spheres, our home
to wander, forever, between quasars
at odds w/ the Sound of the Harmonious Crystals
temple flower of the abyss
windlass
on which is wound
that hope
which exceeds proportion.
Ship-That-Veers-At-An-Angle
White Fox that Leaps over Tombstomes
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3. |
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Midnight
Late night
Blank verse
Lurking inside
Drifting into sight
Heat lightning
Mood lighting
Headache medicine
For the pleasure chest
Of the pleasureless
Of Faustian Thought
Two pieces of silver
For your eyes
One juicy steak
For your dripping mind
A detective flick
A skin mag
A cornered rat
Clap trap dream
Gone powerless
On Walden Pond
And William Bendix
Wept
Kept groaning
In his pajamas
About little insects
Willed out of existence
By gasoline
Kerosene lamps
Flickering
Tick burst
Blood boil
Curdling milk gurgle
And Babel
And babble
In the mist
On Farewell Spit
Dreamt
Of a spat on
Useless prick stem
Shooting
Wilted DNA
Through
Meshes of the afterbirth
And suddenly,
Slapped awake by
The Smell of Barbasol
Folderol
Fuck it all
Just
Leave a tip
Jim
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4. |
LEAN by Julia Chenevert
01:46
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Lean in to the warm windy precipice
Lean in to the wandering kiss
Wondering and wandering you'll miss
Sense by your own expense
If you keep your feet on the cliff
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5. |
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Enrique,
Emilio,
Lorenzo,
the three of them frozen:
Enrique by the world of beds;
Emilio by the world of eyes and wounded hands;
Lorenzo by the world of roofless universities.
Lorenzo,
Emilio,
Enrique,
the three of them burned:
Lorenzo by the world of leaves and billiard balls;
Emilio by the world of blood and white pins;
Enrique by the world of the dead and abandoned newspapers.
Lorenzo,
Emilio,
Enrique,
the three of them buried:
Lorenzo in one of Flora's breasts;
Emilio in the dead gin forgotten in the glass;
Enrique in the ant, the sea, and the empty eyes of birds.
Lorenzo,
Emilio,
Enrique,
the three in my hands were
three Chinese mountains,
three shadows of a horse,
three landscapes of snow and a cabin of white lilies
by the pigeon coops where the moon lies flat under the rooster.
One
and one
and one,
the three of them mummified,
with the flies of winter,
with the inkwells the dog pisses and the thistle despises,
with the breeze that freezes theh eart of all the mothers,
by the white ruins of Jupiter where drunks snack on death.
Three
and two
and one,
I saw them disappear, crying and singing
into a hen's egg,
into the night that showed its skeleton of tobacco,
into my sorrow full of faces and piercing bone splinters of moon,
into my happiness of whips and notched wheels,
into my breast troubled by pigeons,
into my deserted death with one mistaken wanderer.
I had killed the fifth moon
and the fans and the applause drank water from the fountains.
Hidden away, the warm milk of newborn girls,
shook the roses with a long white sorrow.
Enrique,
Emilio,
Lorenzo,
Diana is hard,
but sometimes she has a bosom of clouds.
The white stone can beat in the blood of a deer
and the deer can dream through the eyes of a horse.
When the pure forms sank
under the cri cri of daisies
I understood they had murdered me.
They searched the cafés and the graveyards and churches,
they opened the wine casks and wardrobes,
they destroyed three skeletons to pull out their gold teeth.
Still they couldn't fine me.
They couldn't?
No. They couldn't.
But they learned the sixth moon fled against the torrent,
and the sea remembered, suddenly,
the names of all her drowned.
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recordings.of.Variable.Quality Saint Paul, Minnesota
MN label continually seeking new approaches, themes, and methods. Between the Easters of 2019 and 2020, we're releasing a
NEW TRACK OF PREVIOUSLY UNRELEASED MUSIC EVERY WEEK DAY! Furthermore, 5 track eps will be compiled every Friday.
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