Recorded on June 14, 2002, this album is a photograph of a conversation of a guitar standing on a ledge shoveling into the cabinet area with St. Peter and a small onion and glass eyes, not glassy, but actual glass, spending the night in the tent in the back yard and traveling honestly and diligently directly into halaka's own parked van, osprey, enervated and silhouescent, deciding perhaps too late to talk to Stapp about his weird obsession with putting wedding dresses on the bushes out front despite being warned many times, not only of the impending legal legislation activity action: cops, but also of the detrimental effect any kind of fabric could have on the livability of bushes, in gardens, hedges, lawns, you know when you have honeysuckle out there and you can't imagine a better way to spend a summer night than considering the bark on trees, whether you can hear what's there or not, can you hear that, I couldn't hear anything you were doing, could you hear that, in the studio and using equipment and members previously currently also halaka but not today because how many albums does one Monday need, 20 years ago like many others but still, unless you consider that we've been here before, many times, over and over, for as precious and short as life is we also feel like it's long, so long, we've only had what we've had and it comprises the entirety of time, to us, we are now the candle sap, Neiman, distantly wishing for some newly unavailable release then containing music and a special portion of old bay seasoning for only the jar and the way we just couldn't wait to get under the water, where Kingo shouted THREE TIMES, and one might wonder why, and it was the first day but it was coming to an end so they decided, or he did, anyway, it's never been clear if there were actually more than one, to transpose the letters ever so slightly.
credits
released June 13, 2022
no one did anything and no one could hear anything
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