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Meagan. 23. Oregon native, Texas transplant.

[meagangregg]

nine of swords queen of pentacles the chariot

[meagangregg]

recorded my album on reel-to-reel. now here it is, finally.

[meagangregg]

cave dweller

on hiatus, but in the meantime

[meagangregg]

a new untitled song

[don't be a weakling  put on your shoes pack up the car and shake off the blues  you're gonna have to leave so it's best to do it soon you'll forget his face in a year or two 2000 miles to the western shore if you stay in Texas you'll end up hurting more  you're gonna have to leave so it's best to do it soon you may not forget him but he'll forget you]

[meagangregg]

drunk alone 2am Microphones cover, hello, goodnight

[meagangregg]

i wrote this song last night in a haze of pseudoephedrine, okay, thank you.

[meagangregg]

wrote a new song, my face is filled with cedar pollen and snot. thank you, sweet dreams. [the path is overgrown i'm blazing my own finding my way on a moonless night when i saw you i thought you could be my west felt a compass spinning 'round inside my chest braving the terrain in the summer rain finding the time in a sunless sky when i saw you i thought you could be my west felt a compass freaking out inside my chest when i saw you i thought you could be my west but it seems that i never know what's best]

[meagangregg]

From May to July, I touched the corners of many states but somehow missed the corners of your mouth. On slow days I hear Beach Boys harmonies and remember my time as a small burrowing animal and all of the lights on the highway trail thousands of miles upstate and melt into ochre oblivion. I want to push all of the cracks in the pavement together because it might bring you closer, but I'll never beat the first snowfall. I threw my mittens into the lake the day I moved away.

[meagangregg]

before and after i knew you.

[meagangregg]

[meagangregg]

a poorly crafted thing, free to a good home.

listen to QUARTERBACKS until you feel good again

[meagangregg]

interesting things i found while boxing up my childhood home

1. a bracelet i made with Lisa Frank beads, between ages 5 and 7  2. a cool lenticular sticker with my name spelled correctly 3. a memo pad with just a crayon drawing in it 4. a CD made for me by my first boyfriend, grade 9 5. my name tag from the church i attended before i decided i didn’t believe in god, ages 4-7 6. a picture of me in a costume for my dance class, before a traumatic event caused me to quit dance, age 9 7. a t-shirt my older sister purchased for me, given to me shortly before or after she decided to move away and live with her biological father, age 7 or 8

[meagangregg]

Drone Study I had my thesis exhibition a couple of nights ago. I'm still not sleeping. LISTEN

[meagangregg]

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i usually write songs about trees and missing the northwest and how i kind of love the badlands and maybe i will die in the desert or on the side of the road someday. but then i wrote a song about a boy, and all this dumb banjo stuff is coming together. am i going to record a tape sometime soon? i don't know, but here's this, thank you, goodnight.

[meagangregg]

i am dumbfounded on a sea cliff, in an awkward place between midnight and dawn. the static behind my eyes is now more like a drone. potential contributions to the body of work that will decide whether or not i win at college.

[meagangregg]

Minden Christmas time, the 20 year old light displays sit beneath the water tower and are bright enough to illuminate the quarter mile stretch of brick road that still remains downtown. The town is dry, the neighborhoods turn in early. Teenagers fire bottle rockets at each other in the fairground parking lot. On warm nights, young lovers drink on Sallie Baker’s grave in hopes of feeling something real.

[meagangregg]

Visit Original Link

This is a rough recording of my newest song, I'm going to write a few more songs before I start recording for real, okay, see ya.