1. |
Popcorn
01:27
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2. |
Burning Pinecones
04:22
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131+ stories about the unconscious mind
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3. |
Please Don't Mind
03:22
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you have to you have to you have to
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4. |
Permanent Permutation
04:39
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1373 ways to end off your life in my dream journal
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5. |
23 Weeks' Winter
02:44
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The moon, a dim floodlight, shone its beam through gray patches smeared across the black of night, in front of white pinholes, casting a blue light across the backyard. A frost was dusted on the grass and shrubs, sparkling around long-drawn shadows that stretched across the ground to my feet. As I roamed through the backyard, the frost arranged itself in kaleidoscope patterns along each curve, point, and angle. Cool breezes seared my skin. The air was free of any odors.
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6. |
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a sun parallel to the window that casts long stretched shadows wide across the room; one side of the face warmed, like a pan against a low heat oven range; light directed parallel, letting me see a reflection of my eye on one side of my glasses (and inescapable light since even facing near opposite the sun i can see the reflection of it in my glasses); then the sun is eclipsed by a church bell as time passes and the sun dips down the sky; the cobweb that sways in the window's drafts like denim strands from ripped up angry rebel teen jeans
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7. |
Interstate
04:03
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The sky is patchy with the same waterlogged cotton that sears my face, as I hold my head, trapped in the centrifuge, releasing stifled screams to try to stop the world spinning. This is a waste. No one's going to listen to this album. The State hates you. Have you ever wanted to suffer? I can have fun by myself. Can I be alone but not lonely. The State hates you. Four years and I still haven't felt it pay off. What happens next is the early summer morning breeze dancing through the closed blinds that cut light into small, long slivers, and the only person I apologize to is to nature and its attempt to comfort. I love you. I hate you. This is not a song. The State hates you.
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8. |
Black Pepper
02:17
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I was alone and doing nothing, yet I was giggling for no reason. I was chuckling at the fan, with this wide smile that I tried so hard to wipe off, my face grew sore. The fan was breathing. The walls waved in motion with it, all of them as if they were underwater. They rocked on the waves in rhythm to the hazy vocals. A current fluttered through, bringing the fan blades closer to me only to recede back to the ceiling. I could see the blades, and the walls, and the nightstand, and even my hands when I looked down to them, fluctuate with patterns etched over them. Fractal laceworks, like spider webs made of the stars I’d see with my eyes closed, slid across each other assaulting my senses.
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9. |
Acid Fever Dreams
04:49
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300 mics to open the doors of perception
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10. |
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I remember that one time. Yeah. It felt so good. Hahah. It's like I'm seeing doubles. God. I can say that the mind is like an unorganized sort of mess. It just sort of has everything scattered around. Sometimes it makes sense. Sometimes not, I guess? Hahah. I feel good again. My mind is sort of melting into itself. Like the shards of my conscious are being torn into shreds. Kinda weird but.... fuck....
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11. |
Scot Free (Demo)
02:32
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My first recorded song, shortly after getting my synth. Recorded with no software, just a shitty webcam microphone pointed at my amp
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State Police Connecticut
Exploring the abstract subconscious
Psychedelic, experimental, and electroacoustic synthesizer
work inspired by 50s and 60s avant garde musicians. Dreams, drugs, memories, all reflections of the antipodes of the mind. The waking everyday mind policing alternate, raw, abstract states of consciousness. This is the State Police.
... more
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