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Joy and Gravity

by Jeff Fowler

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1.
Beauty is a compromise between what's new and what's familiar. We owe our dearth of sight to the modern world and history's interference. I can't believe that time is passing even now. As far as I know I'm sitting down, down, down. We feel as points without lines, lacking structure and support. As if the air we breathe just ends at our door. But the grammar of geometry is not an apt description of the endless pulsing currents of our beautiful condition. The joys of breath can be a heavy test for hands that reach and tongues that speak. Beauty is an open eye between the rocks and what we make them. From the rough, hard edges come the shapely forms and other complication. It isn't wise to hold your ears and feel alone when a message in the air's as good as seed that's been sown. And the seasons come and go and it's easy to assume things'll never be the same things'll never be the same. But the winter and its snow is the summer's other name, and the trees are on the plain with the trees still on the plain...
2.
3.
I've got one great big extra arm to fold around you when you sleep; I can't believe that you're not here. You have the face of one so dear, you have the face of love I've had you have the face of love I will give. I feel rather slight, (inadequately shaded in), but you will be there too to cast relief upon my lighter spaces. We are caricatures drawn with pencils in our hands, and I am overwhelmed. There are seas and there are shores, and all our lines drawn in the sand will melt away as sure as I
4.
Wide Heart 04:30
There was a small girl whose eyes I adored, but things became, hmm, difficult- we don't talk anymore. And so our oceans, and mountains, and plains, lie resolute, unsailed, unscaled, and unclaimed. I've got a wide heart, and it's open to the wind. It's motions are erratic and it's membranes are thin. The weather outside is gorgeous but the cold's movin' in. Is it because, because, because, we can't let ourselves be happy? Is it because, because, because, we can't cut ourselves free? Is it because, because, because, we can't let ourselves be happy? Is it because the shoulders of our bodies are too weak? It was a cool night when we met alone. Her steps were quiet and her cheeks were wind blown. It was a small part that she played onstage- an entrance from the left and exit the same. I've got a wide heart and it's open to the air. The whisper is the moment when the moment is fair. The weather outside is gorgeous but the cold's going there.
5.
Situations unfamiliar to me, but shit, maybe I can love these too. This has been complicated or tough to believe, depending on how hard I think things through. And oh, the sakura, so pretty in spring! But still miles to go, and things to do. We should have sat a while and rested our wings, just been simple birds near flowers in bloom. But there's room enough for both the horror and the hope in a quiet, lilting hour, there's no wind and there's no choir from the television bulb, just a hopeful faceless mob changing quiet into fire, burning totems, burning tires. But there's room enough for both the horror and the hope.
6.
On the map that's up there on the wall everywhere's a different color, it's a false representation of the world's lines, mountains, and waterfalls as the crow flies into the wind. Airplanes can make anything seem small. Everything's a little closer, it's a faulty expectation cause the world's as big as it ever was as the crow flies into the dust. And I can't help I have to leave you, and I can't help that I can't stay. I'm like a child, I'm like a child, today, today. I'm going to miss you like a star that's always in the sky but is too far to just reach out across the space time's as fast as it ever was as the crow flies into the dust. And I can't help I have to leave you, and I can't help that I can't stay. I'm like a child, who doesn't know a damn thing. I'm like a child who stumbles on the way to wherever he will be tomorrow morning, by the sea, or somewhere in the hills. Life is harder all alone, so I thank you with my love: farewell, farewell.
7.
One uncorks another bottle the other hand is free and it's over with. Common sense is overrated the failures always scream, but it's over when sunlight, sunlight pours over the fields and criminals, between the bones. Owls at noon at conversation at wing until the trees whose leaves are red. Groomed attire and dry ambition a song where no one sings we're as good as dead. sunlight, sunlight pours over the fields and criminals, between the sands. Don't regret the time you've wasted or all the thoughts you think. They're walls of deep wells. Night is dark but morning comes to wash away the reek, and it's bright as all hell. sunlight, sunlight pours over and over, between the lands, and overhead.
8.
Joy and gravity are holding on to me with a strong arm and a long reach. We defy them and the skies admit defeat to the wide berth of the blue earth. And the breath of that one verse so deep and inspired is what we mimic all our lives. The ecstasy of separation, of the openness of flux, of freedom from the endless acts the modern world constructs, is impossible to feel forever and difficult to keep, it's but a flash of silent stuttering consistency The space between an exhalation and a sharp intake of air belies the point our paths move towards and ever takes us there. At release our lives will burn so quickly, celluloid on a lamp. The crackle of a quiet fission emptiness at last. The breath of this first verse, so deep and inspired, is what we mimic all our lives. And the thread of time, regular and tight knit, is an endless line, we are but points upon it. If at last lying still, oh the dark surrounding, there might be a light chill, maybe a tone is sounding high... Joy and gravity are together after all in the high flight, in the long fall.

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It may have taken me ten years to do it, but I finally realized my ambition to create an album all alone. I am so happy to be sharing this after such a long time dreaming about it! Officially released in hard copy on February 7.

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released February 7, 2009

Everything from the ground to the sound by Jeff Fowler.

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