and often I will hear the gnawing at my mind,
but what I couldn't see is all that you could touch.
the iceberg dries up from the inside, bottom up.
between your teeth it craves an empty little heart.
your channel is crazier not that you write us such,
you poisoned on my mark down i will ascend.
paradigms are raining on the sky above,
your salad tossers cannot challenge my complex.
I'm still awake.
Your grip hasn't settled yet.
I'm not asleep.
Dreams lose hold.
No, where troubles fall,
I give credit to my head.
It's all a delusion,
brought on by your place.
Tasmanian guitarist Julius Schwing embraces the visceral sounds of finger playing, incorporating them into his experimental guitar work. Bandcamp New & Notable Mar 8, 2022