A thin line touches the ceiling
Illuminated by firelight in the ruined temple
Incense, purple ink and scraped resins
The remnants of a spirited evening
In the green ashtrays and orange embers
Small sparks float above the camp's fire
But they do not make any sound
Overhead, a grey cloud wells up
Drunk with salty tears, hopeless
A worn down titan returning home from war
Bronze plates rusting with sour wine, dried blood
Finding nothing but an empty ruin
Struck from his mount, like old wizened Saul
Scarred knees upon humid Earth
Blind to everything, disintegrating
Rain falling in sheets on the cracked columns
Asleep in tragedy, resignation, acceptance
Contentment
The still moments, now hours, months, years
An epoch of one expelled breath, outward, upward
Wavering the curtain of smoke in this wrecked citadel
While we dream in the waning fire's dim blanket
Of green hills, white peaks, under blue firmament
Golden rays embracing thick umbral roots
And a distant kingdom's fortress
Sounding a long, slow horn across the horizon line
Calling us back home from our exile
In the shadow of this ageless mountain
-
Brian Grainger is a multidisciplinary artist born in the rural subtropics in 1983. He has issued over one-thousand recordings since 2003, many of which were independently published through his Milieu Music imprint, and has contributed scoring work to video games, short films and television. He currently lives in a midwestern valley with his family, and continues to explore creative work without regard for genre or platform.
milieu-music.com
milieu.bandcamp.com
analogbotany.com
released November 26, 2021
au003
W/P by Brian Grainger. Recorded at White Pillar, December 2020 using a Yamaha TX81Z, a PVDJ Grabber and the R-EW Audioholistics modular system.
(c) 2021 Oscillog ASCAP
(p) 2021 asonu.
All lights observed.