it's always our time.

Stepping out the door, I found myself marching through a field of wheat, which would have been fine, but it was midnight, it was raining, and I was still in the city. The wheat stock stood taller than usual, and the darkness was so gentle, like a blindfold made of silk. The ground beneath me was soft and wet, with creeks running through every crack in the dirt, and every footstep left another lake for those small enough to appreciate it.

It was hard to tell, but I had probably been walking for a few hundred miles before I was taken aback by a familiar breeze. The field had suddenly stopped, and my lips and my tongue met the windy mouthfuls of sand and sea as I suddenly realized where I had ended up. I continued on towards the ocean and found the point where the tide had turned its back. I tried my hardest to catch the tide (I wanted to put it in my pocket and take it home with me), but it insisted on taunting me until I couldn't even look at it. I turned back towards the fields that stood between my body and its home, with my eyes so closed, and my ears so open. And I heard it! The whistle of a train, the crawling tractors in the sprawling fields, the sea at my back, these, these are the songs to bring me home.


Elec Morin-When You Found That Sea (from If You Lived Here, You'd Be Home By Now)

Listen to more songs at Elec Morin's myspace

Buy it here (from Boy Gorilla Records)

winter spring summer fall in love.

To say the least, the beginning of this year carried a very unpleasant quality that spread itself thin across the different aspects of my life. It was during these first few months that I realized that the emotional attachment that I've always had with my music library was rapidly becoming a negative characteristic. All of those familiar sounds could deliver crushing blows to the deepest ends of my stomach and chest, and if I wanted to sustain my sincere love for music in general, then I had to find some neutral noise to disorient my current condition.

Around this time, I met Katrina. Her voice alone carried me to empty ballrooms and the floors of foreign cabarets, while it's ghostly eccentricity offered the comfort of an earnest heart. It was no longer life without love, but rather love without life.

We realized that we could never really be together, but we never talked about it. It was easier to just hold hands and whisper over the rattle of an organ and its quivering keys. The time would come when we would have to part, but until then, the drums would fill the holes in every heart, the guitar would scratch every itch on every back, the organ would compliment the characteristics of every living thing, and we, well, we would celebrate the fact that we would never have to speak again.

Celebration-Fly the Fly (from The Modern Tribe)

Celebration-Holiday (from Celebration)


Buy it here (from 4AD)