rfurtkamp

Live February 27, 2019. Music for her plants in the garden.

The right space, the right glance, always leads to a dance. The pre-tape echo warble version of "A dance, my dear, in the garden of the damned" (see https://soundcloud.com/rfurtkamp/a-dance-my-dear-in-the-garden-of-the-damned ) - this split off from the analog out of box mastering run and tape and Time Bender buggery.

The spirit voices, alive in the warble and fade, as the hall has its say.

There was a distance in her eyes, a reflection of mine. And a space that could not be distinguished between.

Through the waking of the morning, let there be naught but what is in your summonings, in your invocations, in your curses. What there is, is. There is naught else. Abide by this, in the hour of darkness. Follow through in the vanity of the night. There is nothing but simple deaths fading on the misplaced winds. You who know so much and are a master of this realm, what say you now?

There is a light, distant and as if behind glass. And in a blink of one eye, it is free.

So free that the old songs come unbidden to my lips, and she is there to caress the moment in time. Welcome home, dark filtered six-stage hellion of old. -- The last piece of my classic era gear has found me once again, the terrifying 1/4" power jack 18v monster, chewy, vocal, alive, and dark. Without meaning to, an invocation of those days came forth as well. I have not played this thing for publ...

Live February 9, 2019. It has been nearly as long as I can remember, but she has never led me astray. Whether those clouds are tornadoes, inclement weather, the worst storms hitting the mountain passes, or a nuclear kiss, I love her all the same.

The star called wormwood, the stone of the trinity: these are her calling cards shaking up the aethyr this night.

Set the table, seven by seven - but with only five. It is complete in all.

She paints by starlight, and sometimes lets me see.

The pyre lit, the way home secured, and the storm on the horizon a pleasant dream.

There are vibrant, shifting colors on her skin as the gown hits the floor. There is a a dragon stretching from shoulder, cradling her breasts and reaching around her waist onto the legs. It is invisible beneath any clothes but alive and shaking and vibrant and unkempt, aroused. And in the few moments that remained, there was no sadness therein.

Live January 26, 2019. There is death in the air, and spirits carried off in the burning husks of the dead.

Live January 24, 2019. A cry, a rejoicing by the river, then fade.

Behold! The calling of the fish-hook, and a duet leading to none.

Duet fro the river, and how she flows. Fake acoustic dreams, courtesy overly mic'd Casino.

Live January 15, 2019. Audio from the first video session I've attempted in a long, long, long time. In the moment, the danger passed.

Live January 10, 2019. Dreams never lead astray - she is always therein.

A distant vision, then it is there, full-formed and aware.

Live January 2, 2019. I am not much one for modulated delay ...unless it goes to insane. And this is a fraction of said insane, along with sound on sound in an analog monster. Sometimes, one must discover the depths beyond what any reasonable soul would intend, and in that impossible made possible, it is still a beautiful shine. And soon, the discovery of the alternate wiring and options will comm...

Live January 2, 2019. Testing a new beast (because I apparently needed one so much I ordered two?) doing things an analog delay just shouldn't do.

Duet for a waking frost as a new year fades. And one of the few times this decade I have touched a wah (albeit the only one I can play these days with what's left of the foot)

The names I will never say, drawn slowly from her lips, taken light in the hall of golden air.

The howling is from more than her lips tonight.