Searching For the Moon

My name is Zach Caldwell. I'm a musician, a poet, and a partaker in this thing we call existing. And find out more at: https://www.facebook.com/zach.caldwell.music/

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Visit Original Link

(Community Test Strip)

Hey do people still tumblr?  This is what ive been up to lately

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Halloween Compilation I made with my Bonsai Canoe bandmate, shua bell, and some of our imaginary friends. It’s got electronic noise jams, acoustic ozzy, ghost calls, freak improv, jam band, spoken word, something for the whole family that can be enjoyed year round, not just during the spooky season!

Inspired by the #PCMUSIC community and their Pop Crypt Halloween Specials, which included fun collarb, covers, and fake band names, as did we! 

Listen/purchase: Bonsai Canoe presents: Ashen Pastures & Missives From The Dead World by various

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Responding to Coffeeshop Bulletin Boards pt. 1

Seeking someone who won’t grow to hate me: if you or someone you know, might be suitable for this position, please contact me at [phone] Hmm... I’m not too prone to hate, I feel like this might be an opportunity for me. I don’t even know if this is a paid position, and I feel that would almost be pretty fucked up, but even if it’s not, this looks like a story and I am a sucker for new experiences and the strange events that happen from meeting different people. So I picked up the phone and dialed the number. A voice mumbles. “Hello?” “Hi, my name is Henry and I don’t think I will hate you.” “And why would you think that?” “I don’t hate very much. At least not people who aren’t myself.” “Well let’s see what happens? Hmm...I didn’t actually think someone would respond to this...Umm...should we meet up for drinks sometime- when are you free?” I’m always free except for when I’m not, my schedule is very inconsistent, just with writing and performances, rehearsals, nothing consistent, and barely busy enough to keep myself sane and with a place to sleep. “I’m free tomorrow if you are?” “Ok yeah, tomorrow. Let’s meet at Tim’s Tavern, 830?” Shit. I had an incident at Tim’s one night. And I’m not ready to go back “Umm... Maybe not Tim’s. What’s another bar you like?” “Fuck! You don’t like Tim’s? Damn...Well maybe that whiskey bar on 35th if we have to...” “Yeah I know that place. 830 tomorrow night?” “830 tomorrow night.” “Ok I’ll see you then.” He hung up, and I just stood there, still staring at the bulletin board. Then I felt awkward about having just been standing there talking on the phone in the middle of a quiet coffee shop. So I just left, but after walking two blocks away I realized I forgot my backpack, so I returned sheepishly and then left for real, and went home.   ----

[crystalcastles]

Whidbey Island, WA

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Writing late at night or early in the morning

so no one can see the size of my pupils

or know all the secrets I have read into

all the unlocked chests of beating hearts and dream states

A glass of water on the desk is asking the question

“Will you drink me before, or after your shower?”

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The cotton will burn

if exposed to match, or lighter, any flame.

The water will rain down,

only if the clouds are right, or giant birds cry and I’m mistaken.

The drunken goats will hum dirges of light

no matter the time 

they clear a way for thoughts

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Feathers of small communications swing through so slow

I miss everything real, because I’m distracted by confusion

It’s shimmering but shouting strange names into the night

and echoes are mysteries,

but that must not surprise you at all

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This is me and some friends.

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Blue

There it is I realize everything the poets and the dreamers have ever said it is true the painters and the musicians, string this all along that blue is not a simple blue, it is an eternity that happens to experience itself in the form of a color and it has chosen blue oh the sky is almost unbelievable a dream that has finally come true after years of struggling to realize and actualize the collective dream of pure, untampered blue in the air in the skies above our eyes a vastness a far gone blue

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Pain

Sometimes so easily mistaken as something beautiful, we can't realize when pain just hurts, needs to be thrown out for the healing to come in.

Yet it is impossible to truly overcome something that we have named love

[neuraliver]

the clever four as teeth clench down upon hearts thoughts chew me turning my hide hairy staring into the deepest night.

A stolen glass shoe my favorite picture of you the feeling you get when your yolk sinks into the ground the whites of your eyes

I group them in a bundle and see the folded umbrellas of yesterday spilled on the street like a child’s candy.. sweeter than sugar and thicker than milk drink up, my friends, drink up a dry case of red a red case of green thumbs let vines reach out for sun all threads come undone falling away, dropped like slow motion roses on a brief and frightful poses it’s not as though Arvo Part meant for me to listen to these songs on repeat, Spiegel im Spiegel mirror in mirror Mirror in mirror forever reflecting, forever retrospecting at lost for thought, so deep into your head

eyes glazed over, another mirror this time for me I can make out my face in those eyes and I find myself spiralling mirrors into my own mind as well

I don’t know how long we sat there staring lost in long corridors opening and closing doors with tender wills it could have been 5 minutes it could have been 5 hours

at last we come up for air and you are afraid to look at me I hope I didn’t break my mirror

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collab

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Aesop’s Alternate Endings

Help Wanted: No not from you you’re not the kind of help I want. Says the lion to the mouse and that lion lives the rest of his life with the intense pain of a thorn in his paw. Every step reminded he could have accepted an offer of assistance

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Listen.

Because I have already forgotten

there is no way 

to say that which the night remembers

to take fires burning hot

to slowly fading embers

to make days dry and timid

until they strike a match. 

And it all begins again. 

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Where do I put the moon?

Time isn’t what bothers me. I know that might surprise you. It’s just... Where do I put the moon?

I’m not much of an interior designer. You’ve grown much and changed for the -well there’s no such thing as better, as we have no comparison, but you’ve become what you are now. This you suits you, I think.

I just can’t tell what my orbit is. Where do I put the moon?

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Last time I saw her she was hungover in a Panera hoping some soup in a bread bowl could keep her soul warm, or at least could keep her body nourished. But she still felt like shit.

I don’t know who this girl is. I’ve only heard her name in stories passed on by loose lips

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I believe it was Monet

Vague mountains of Brittany, cigarettes and misty sea I’m painting fully formed puzzles, ready to be broken apart into pieces. Pieces that you will never have time to put back together. So why do I even bother with the paint? I’d guess it’s because I’m drawn to beauty and heartbreak.

[neuraliver]

I don’t have many ways to cope with the TV’s fake rain Or the weather man singing his soft, sad refrain so i think it’s better if i go for a while, until I forget my own name

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https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GrtGdLquTEI

Musical response