the Glow pt. 2

by the Microphones

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1.
I WANT WIND TO BLOW The Thunderclouds broke up. The rain dried up. The lightning let up. The clacking shutters just shut up. There’s no black or white, no change in the light. No night, no golden sun, no graduating flight. There is the sound of cars, the smell of bars, the scraping paw of electric heat. We wait and wait in fluorescent lights sacrificing our true might holding fastly to our useless way, holding hard feelings. I want wind to blow: my brains out, my clothes off, my balloon away, sweep me off my feet, to take me up and not bring me back. I want to be removed enough to see days pass at their pace by me and the human head I now clutch in grief to be released. By nature I’m free, I’m the yawning sea, and when I hope for ships I’m lost in the plea.
2.
the GLOW pt. 2 “I took my shirt off in the yard.” No one saw that the skin on my shoulders was golden. Now it’s not. My shirt’s back on. “The Glow” is gone. I forgot my body’s song. My gliding body stopped. I couldn’t get through September without a battle. I faced “death” with my arms swinging but in the cave I heard my own breath and had to face that I’m still living. I’m still flesh. I hold tight to awful feelings. I’m not dead (yet). There’s no end. My face is red with my blood that flows harshly. My heart beats deafeningly. My chest still draws breath and I still hold it. I’m buoyant. There’s no end. “I’m glowing!”
3.
the Moon 05:16
the MOON I drove up to the city at night where the hills were filled with void, lack, houses and you grew up there and your gooey melted self that you hold strongly somehow ricocheted off your parents’ absence and you narrowly escaped and felt stronger and hotly radiated revenge towards us all today and you were spending the night nervously dialing for your true friends and strongly I got your call and lovingly was reeled in. I invested it all for some reason and found myself excited to see the warming city night sky through the cars and painful glass and gas and the beautiful location and soiled sand bore fruit before rotting and cutting down and sickly replacing for the wrong reasons. I was wholly excited to greet this waste. Pointless things like trimmed trees and radio towers became towering symbols and I noticed you in the cold standing simply right next to me and then we walked around until it got late, a triumphant blow to the fleeting fires that usually pull us both to bed when they go out early on, disappointingly early, you told long stories about your long upbringing while we passed mansions and leaf-blown heaps, rot, bricks and garages, we could probably both feel the ghost of a lighthouse of a tree they could see from out in boats and across the bay where everyone used to climb the hill, where now 3 red metal towers dominate, to congress and figure out what’s gong wrong, back before all the things in the city were so devastatingly wrong, someone’s house dumbly replaced such an important spot, the house dumb and serving so few because of its quick rise. But alas, in spite of all this spirit-breaking waste I felt intact, sturdy even, a soaring self looking around and noticing the minor things that importantly hung on, meekly insisting that the world is actually mysterious and unconquerable, even the weird beauties we have a tainted hand in: the glowing orange nighttime cloud cover, the echoing cross walk alarm, the din of the street, tires rotting, our weak castle being slowly demolished, these things can bring me slowness, calm power and cutting eyes in the right moments, and I felt it then looking up at the orange lights lighting unfortunate streets and reflecting back up and resonating through the thick cloud coating in an orange city glow, the black behind eerily reminding us not to forget what else, and I turned my cutting eyes your way and saw pools of brown just as wide as my holes of brown bearing honestly what we held inside for a second we were both looking brave and sharply seeing in. I ended up just spending the night up there next to you in the same room where you grew up and the sleep was so thick that when we woke up, when the sun was up miraculously again, it was a miracle to me that we were still sweetly there in your parents’ house, lying in bed together feeling strong and open and the light came in the expensive windows to light our out-of-place thighs like raised arms and cocked head screaming in rejoice, the feeling was deep and strong. Tides turned. I went back to feel alone there, to wipe the place clean, to see the towering symbols for what they were, to confront painful clues to a wholesome loving past and neutralize myself in a way where maybe I could be human again. Flashback: and we went all the way up to the small town where I’m from and you had family there and a big wholesome idea about what I was because of the wholesome sense that this place puts off, and admittedly it’s a wholesome place, foggy blankets hold rocky peaks and fishing nets usually are getting untangled in the yard. We were there separately as kids when it was safe from the poor judgement that’s ruining it now. The wind blows strongly and whipped us into a wintry frenzy feeling rugged and warm about the closeness we calmly shared and we avoided thinking of the problematic plan you set out with that would bloom and hurt later on. We went to the top of the mountain and looked off the edge at the other islands and the rolling clouds, the cascading mountains and the eerie heights. It was high to look down from and still feel safe, we held each others’ hand and sadly couldn’t all the way feel each other, though the smooth wrinkles in your palm were hot and shocking enough to generate a sense of clear in me. I finally felt like I was breathing free to be at such a height and look across the globe and hold a loving limb that gripped lovingly and firmly in the whipping wind. Was I imagining this sense that you were also there with me? Was I putting you in a role I’d already put out and just believing what I wanted? I got a glimpse that replaced my doubts with a thick breath of clean air, the fog below parted and revealed lakes and trails through the mossy woods where we spent that night outside under mountainous blankets looking up at the swaying trees in a way that told an old story to me, the lyrical swaying of long black limbs was full of character, the character was so dark and long lasting into the night it crept into our heads and held us under its spell, we dreamt the same dream, and ended up dreaming creepily similar every night, our minds were obviously dreaming towards the same cloudy “place” for a sweet reason and I held tight to that fact, the shallow proof that we were on the right path and looking back this becomes a gloomy shameful clawing grasp: we were lonely people lying out in the yard struggling to feel each other, sleeping soft, to feel softness so nearby is a slippery reward, we got it in our grasp and held tight all night in a way that put our limbs asleep. There was the distant repetition of the lighthouse tone all night, the wooshy clacking of the trees’ chilly blow and more cloudy glowing lights from the refinery’s green glow in the sky, the night was long and sort of weird how chilly and sturdy it felt the whole thick night through. Another miraculous awake dawning, roosters and tramping baby goats bleating and discussing the common night, for animals in the barn who wake up cold every day there’s no refreshing feeling like ours to get hot slowly while the creeping sun composted our mountains of padding, waking up in the yard felt the same with soupy muscles as the day before being tilted by wind and clinging to rocks in a barren place, the warm slow chesty feeling was the same, the calm assurance of having a friend who can see with you, you know? but the cutting truth was made clear: I have an island home, my place is to be ferried not bridged, the dramatic sadness poured out and I went back and felt alone in those places, I went up the mountain again alone and tried to not hold any false power in my old feelings up there, I let myself feel awful and blow away. We went to the beach together, a detailed trip with larger vague warm feeling. It was cold and we only had the wool blanket from my bed, we used it as a shield from the sandy wind and the blinding light coming off the loud water, a tiny tent, a hidden birth, 2 bodies on the earth eating sand and lovingly rubbing it in all around and through our hair, taste, temperature, a fresh perspective of what seems really important, a triumphant statue in the face of a lonely world, we had a lofty feeling on the beach like pioneers while I pioneered the territory in your chest, the bloody frontier, my homestead was stocked with flesh and whispered stories, a bountiful stockpile for today’s long winter, my cured supplies have turned bitter, the warmth I hoped to reminisce about was a freezing illusion, there’s no storing away what’s so true and fleeting, the constant palette of lack is reliable, it’s slow and visible through a flimsy film of pride and poorly built false secure senses. It was intense. We were new, you were trying to stake your claim on me then and I swung my gate wide for your parade, gifts, jugglers, banners, fruitful hope and warm teamwork. You moved in upstairs from my room, you lowered down notes, you walked softly on my ceiling, your bath leaked on me. There on the beach in the wind we were 2 teams joining forces understandingly and streamlining to fierce wind, the roaring waves, the pounding surf, the foggy (something) that caught my eye stayed there and grew, my view got wide and I was a larger person, magnificently widened. Wide eyed under covers in a threatening place and feeling warmth from another’s breath. I got sharply cut in half and had to go back to the sea and wish I hadn’t opened my gates. I had to, in a way, renounce what I knew was true and the large ways that I’d grown I had to claim to not be, it was stupid. I went to the sandy expanse and felt sweeping regret, my woolly shield at home, and standing out there threatening to be blown down, to inflict a sobering blow on my cold head. I stared to sea in a violent way, a red gaze to the blue washy spray. I went back there to remember my small place and your insignificant role. Continuously now every single night since I’ve been alive there’s been a white light from above, a sort of eerie bluish glow on the empty streets where we live. In the summer’s end we climbed out the window downtown and out onto the roof with more blankets again and stared knowing at it for what it was, a floating ball of rock lit up by another ball, an invisible ball of fire reflecting light and weird blue mooney thoughts ricocheted around our planet onto us on the roof staring silently up and feeling invincible, dangerous, and high, I had the exciting feeling of heft in my chest like I was carrying a baby, my baby looked exactly like me and looked me in the eye sharply knowing I was about to lose it but from up on the roof I looked out across the globe again with you: I felt the lava behind us coursing deeply and the other side, I felt the space above us and the other side of the moon and behind that, and off to the side I felt tiny lights off the glass, my sensitivity ran off, I could feel electricity through a wire from a mile away and I even felt the churning water turning turbines behind that and the fish upstream and smooth rocks beneath being slowly ground down by the polishing flow and the bubbling mountains glacially spilling stone, the smooth escape and reformation of pilgrims from one rotting body to another tiny growth to rot soon and expand. I felt a part of this all and I was content to have you feel it too, to have the blood in your hand holding mine be equally wet and warm, and I looked to my right and saw you riveted to the sky, riveted in an all encompassing way to feel it all, including me and my mountainous pride to your left, we were a pair of moist bodies again in the creepy bluish light. To be able to feel in an instant the size of your self and the distance to that elusive glowing ball and the long path it all takes to become what you’re a part of now: it’s like being transcendently dead for a second, to be able to breathe in and out and have that be a rapturous play, we were silently amazed and nobody said any words, we felt safe and we discovered that our skin is soft, we both are glowing in smooth flesh like blue mooney light and we found that out, you had your arm on my waist, I had my palm on your neck, air flowed in and slid out, cars drove by, the roaring sound of the planet’s spin, we were separately mighty and tiny universes and our main strength was being able to psychically discuss certain death, the only thing left. We were mighty. After getting terribly hurt by you I had to go back and cancel everything out that had any value, a helpful and depressing way of dealing with such a loss. I went out into the street by my house to try and look up at the moon blindly, to all of a sudden think it’s a white hole or some kind of stupid prop, to get in the car and drive pointlessly around, to try and forget that. I made the attempt to hang my mightiness up and to be painlessly dumb, peacefully numb, it seemed better to not have to know what’s really going on for some reason. I sacrificed my calm powerful way for a stupid attempt to avoid, I stood out in the street looking up and my eyes got wide. There’s no escape and the end’s not something I’d be able to wait out, I have to lucidly keep going along and feel the cut grow and get infected before it even maybe won’t heal, I looked up for a long time and my mouth got wide and chilly air filled my chest I saw the slow rustling in the bushes across the tracks and the orange lights up the street and the tunnelling feeling below them, my neck bent low as I surveyed my still dark home, I saw my feet firmly planted on the cement. They were tinted in blue and I looked past them through the crusty layers into the burning coil, I saw the smoke from my chimney and felt my stomach roar and in the blue light I held on to my lack.
4.
HEADLESS HORSEMAN It was a hard blow that put me on the ground but my grandma said “If she swings again you’ll duck” so I can see through me and wish you luck. You deserve yourself and I’ll be back, uselessly vengeful and seeing clear the width of our loss, and I’ll keep seeing clear when I clip my claws. I’ll see clear to what we never saw.
5.
MY ROOTS ARE STRONG AND DEEP So, you’re the wind, the blow, and I’m planted firm. Picture a strong female wind and a bending male tree. Your typhoon blows through my harbor but I meet it head on. I just bend like a palm, your deadly blow feels calm, currents of air are quickly gone and they never touched me where I stood.
6.
instrumental 01:38
7.
the Mansion 03:52
THE MANSION There’s no end, there’s no glory, there’s a slow resounding story. There’s no place to feel certain there’s no body waiting for me. There’s no stand of trees, no morning, there’s a curve without a warning. There is weird and lasting sadness, there’s no large and lengthy warming. There’s no heat, there’s no expansion, there’s no door into the mansion. Lengthy warming: sweet removal, sweet expanse, sweet and substantial. There’s no flesh, there’s no fingers in my hair. I see a tunnel. We built walls tall and solid between the treasure and the shovel. I see an in, I see a fountain, there’s a trail over the mountain and there’s no wayside, there’s no stopping, and the peak is wide and rocky. There’s no ceiling in the mansion. There’s no waste, no hesitation. There’s no crack of dawn, no morning. Just an everlasting warming.
8.
(something) 01:38
9.
(something) 02:42
10.
I’LL NOT CONTAIN YOU I won’t look for you in my room, and then just passing by you will bring the feeling of sensationally hugging the hill. Through lengthy talks I’ll not contain you. Through climbing arms I’ll reach my loft. Through rotting skin I’ll leave my coffin. Through calloused work I will grow soft. I’ll not contain you. My eyes narrow towards a light, a blurry place where we hotly radiate, coals stoked, tall flames licking at our throats, I’m full of warm fluid, 2 dangling bunches of grapes, one for each.
11.
the GLEAM pt. 2 I know you’ve seen the billowy black. You’ve been blinded by the gleam and then your sight came back. You sent smoke into the sky and you breathed it back. But I saw what you will see: I saw tiny lights in mountainous peaks. I saw your future (Mount Eerie) in my sleep.
12.
Map 05:00
MAP O the sand O the spark O the open land O the swelling dark O my hands O my airy palms O the lack O my bending back O the size O my empty lap but O my map to distant foothills’ rise Open hands O the span O the swelling sound over massive rounds
13.
YOU’LL BE IN THE AIR In some hours you’ll be over the sea lost in the other passengers on the plane, but if you just moved your arms then you could tell that you are in the air. You’d feel the yawning gulf grow wider. You’d feel the dwindling fuel for your lungs so your breaths would slow. You’d be in the air. You’d feel the hot blowing rock-filled winds. The clouds of ash would fill your skies as you smoothly glide over the cold river basin where we spend each night. For me now, again your gaping gap is pink in foggy light. When I wake up your pet will pounce on me, I’ll meet the day. I’ll be in your bed and you’ll be in the air when I awake. Can you tell that I’m down here? Can you feel my hot lungy wind? When you smelled my skin did you not lose yourself? I’ll look pinkly out your window in the fog. Loud and clearly I’ll make out your resounding roar. You’ll be in the air. You’ll bear fruit, your bare feet, your bare arms in the heat. You’ll be able to feel your might.
14.
I WANT TO BE COLD It’s raining on me and I don’t want it to stop. I don’t want to breathe anymore. I want soggy ground. I want to feel my feet in the sand. I want water to rise and cover all the land. I want to swim until my arms give out and I come to an end. I hope it happens soon. I can’t deal with feeling this bad. I want to be cold and I want it to snow so bad. I hope your flames don’t grow. I want to be buried in snow. I hope your flames don’t grow. I just want to be cold I don’t want you to know.
15.
I Am Bored 01:36
I AM BORED You tore a hole so deep my leak poured out torrentially but now I’m bored. My bloody flow has slowed so I can be bored near you. Oh what a loss! 
It didn’t show its head ‘til mine was torn and thrown at you and back it grew with glassy eyes locked in contact on the couch with you, a boring face. We’re losing touch. I reached and my extended hand went through. Now we both know what we have to do.
16.
I FELT MY SIZE The heat from the closeness of me tilting towards the sun was storing up to ignite at night and light up the coldness of the cave. The billowy flames lit up my face and thinning smoke hung in the branches waiting for wind. My front was warm but cold backs of my arms never felt the dawn and the night was long. When the real dawn came I saw it crawl over the hill and I felt clean and shook my hair out in the light. I looked up and hurt my eyes on the painful powerful sky, I looked down and felt motion under me churning. I looked out across the freeway at the people flying by and turned my head, I closed my eyes, I felt my size. I recalled my fire and my lack of dawn my one sided warmth: I’d just wanted more but I’m small. I’m not a planet at all. I’m small. We’re all.
17.
instrumental 01:52
18.
I FELT YOUR SHAPE I thought I felt your shape but I was wrong. Really all I felt was falsely strong. I held on tight and closed my eyes. It was dumb. I had no sense of your size. It was dumb to hold so tight. But last night on your birthday in the kitchen my grip was loose. My eyes were open. I felt your shape. I heard you breathing. I felt the rise and fall of your chest. I felt your fall, your winter snows, your gusty blow, your lava flow. I felt it all: your starry night and your lack of light. With limp arms I can feel most of you. I hung around your neck independently and my feeling of loss was overwhelmed by this new depth I don’t think I ever felt. But I don’t know. My nights are still cold and I remember my arm gripping around a warm fleshy waist.
19.
20.
MY WARM BLOOD It’s dark. The sun went down. The power’s still out. It’s cold. My blood barely flows. I’m alone except for the sound of insects flying around. They know my red blood is warm still.

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NOTE: There are 20 hidden bonus tracks included with the purchase of this album, so it's 40 tracks total. Those bonus tracks are also available on their own as "Destroyed Versions and Other Songs" for those who only want that part.

"The Glow pt. 2" was originally released in September of 2001 as KLP133 by K Records of Olympia, Washington.
Re-released as ELV031 on July 9th, 2013 by P.W. Elverum & Sun of Anacortes, Wash.

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released September 11, 2001

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Mount Eerie Saanichton, British Columbia

on Lummi, Samish, Klallam, Tulalip and W̱SÁNEĆ land

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