We’ve updated our Terms of Use to reflect our new entity name and address. You can review the changes here.
We’ve updated our Terms of Use. You can review the changes here.

Evocations: district​.​Columbia

by Rusty Kjarvik

/
  • Streaming + Download

    Includes high-quality download in MP3, FLAC and more. Paying supporters also get unlimited streaming via the free Bandcamp app.
    Purchasable with gift card

      name your price

     

1.
New America 06:35
a picturesque blare in the growth attack spotlight owning the North-coast in a ruckus of jeering talk, the bloated dish-turning gazes bleed fixedly into a wide outpouring shore still towering over an African haze thawing the greedy names tearing at the throat from the machete claw breaking apart the vocal chord forests dreamt in saw-cleared eyes during the infamous winter of English settlement from the prized mouth and stomach of burnt corn and lacrosse pages, ruffling in the French-Canadian afternoon who remembers with sterling grace and an ease unbeknownst in the blank wilderness of Western memory, the oral grave of intergenerational strife digging itself extra corpses to save face in the final rain of time, commanding the blind ruthless execution of the utmost, the most fine, coercing the black hawk’s smothered and festooned plate sealed over the top of the asterisk helmet at noon-time email remorse, to send negligent hate into the Muslim morning and take advantage of war while cursing the émigré poor who climb the ladder to your third story bedroom with a sharp quaking mind's eye peering into the holy unknown, a clear emotion offered plainly to the free will of un-survived human freedom in childless futures, go forth! http://districtcolombia.blogspot.ca/2012/02/new-america-go-forth.html
2.
Morning Dew 12:09
your eyes crack open with subtle wanting in the cold drop mourning filling your smile with dawn's twilit dew in the rush and pour of warming lust to be near and speak loving endlessness into your responsive tongue that clings eagerly to the rolling birth of tragedy in my arms pulsing with exotic love to cool the diligent reckoning with the unforgiving pull, a soft whirr from the sky's clear vacuum exhaling the rusty kisses of lips gone stale with a life lived too long
3.
Holy Rope 05:10
Holy rope glean Setting off the executioner’s raffle In a dream state turning the mind To a pentatonic, indigenous scale To the antique buzz in our lonely natural surroundings That prepares a decadent life Amidst the misty hilltop laughter That echoes in the contemplative breath on high
4.
America! America! America! Why have you buried your deepest, darkest secrets in whispers unheard? Yours is a truth disguised in a white blur as brilliant as the green-footed greed of mad industry. Why do you never step lightly off the strength of Europe's forests, onto world mystery reduced to cartography? What is your name? And since when have you dreamed so shamelessly without thought to the diligent right to be in peace on Earth? Where is your life, if not in the decadent splendor of your shared riches? Why have you become poor with anger, and offered only suicide to your stout-hearted mob? I have been known to conceive a country out from the spotless lie of hidden wonder, yet I cruelly disembark from the gross unlearning of my future's childless offspring. I cook for days over the melting pot. While my stove is cast aflame, I remain transfixed by the looming sky, eclipsed under a bloody moon - The Springs foretold.
5.
A paradigmatic focus Careening into the absolute beyond Across a Zuni passageway to the pueblo god, A local currency in stonework and mud-laden factories of 4 and 7 Meandering into the nervous plug of human fire Uncreated instantaneously In the muddled birdcage wandering off a steaming factory Unplanned off the aspiring edge of small town fame Glowering in the lugubrious background of a juvenile Staved off in matter’s roving blockhead gourd body Plunging its eyes into acid water full with psychedelic vibrations Nearing an electromagnetic haze In wonderment by lost forsaken pride Seated behind piano benches creaking As Monk sways to the jazz tonality in the bridge beyond NYC night divide, The lightless ruins, now golden by African wives Challenging the gunshot parade of men with sex slaves and witch doctor friends Making films and records without shoes On the medieval sands of the Islamic family and the eternal human tradition of bondage Throughout the sanctified fields of one human home Lived to the final digression into creative madness and the right to be As connected as all beings With electric happiness Outside
6.
7.
Untrained Timeless Tuning One proud, unseemly yet everlasting hoary wind Escaping into the breathless fold of a storm-brought love Escalating above the tumult of grounded trees Lowered to rest in the silent play of her touch With Mother Nature in lust at the American shoulder-sculpted God President of inveterate honor Failing to maintain true gaze Into the outpouring blind Persian mystic call To fray our sterling enveloped studio message Apart from the leaking gauze A city, wounded with loosening fear A deadly oath Rushing towards early traffic in the Brazilian grist A panicking pleasure on Wednesday Mid-week business urge to blaspheme the classical Station of the near-retired family prize Where loss disturbs the graying open In a lawn-tempered drive through perfect memory In the ingenious art Instilled as ice on the brain In a factory filled with fish-worn Guatemalan eyes Beating on the beached flesh of an antiquarian whale Bone-dry with anxious grace Peaceful with a warming hatred Bringing in close seeds, fostered yet unprepared for the raised urban soil Feeding off the solar imprint of ancestral law In northern skies, thinning in an atmospheric sense Towards dismayed reason Over all human failings, since recorded time Since the fine rumblings of surplus rent astir religious imaginings In caves of word-horded greed Angelic money in the form of ideas Bled on the knife-edge cloak-whispering cold of Calgary’s busted future To sweep the blue rug of worldly instrumentation Catching on the tongue of the popular drug Inside song and the vocal push to color and make lush The southerly child and the unredeemed passion Inside the traumatized infancy Resonating to heart’s untrained timeless tuning

about

The album "Evocations: district.Columbia" is an experimental narrative sound art exploration into the text of the collection, "district.Columbia" releasing the first single, "New America" to incite the forthcoming album on the inaugural day of Aboriginal Awareness Week in Canada is auspicious and serendipitous in its symbolic import as an album whose narrations were triggered by an inner voice of resistance while in Washington D.C. where I began to dedicate myself to the literary vocation in light of my own personal development in the commission of truth, as in the social justice of 9/11 and Truth and Reconciliation truth commissions addressing political and historical-religious misinformation.

my creative work is in keeping with a lifelong demonstration to voice silenced histories, in honour and recognition of the atrocities committed against first peoples of the land, whose history, while older and more enduring, while land-based and unfathomably rich, is snuffed out by the dominant settler narratives of media and education that continue to ride the oppressive waves of war, colonization and assimilation in the ongoing struggle for american freedom that continues to this day.

"Evocations: district.Columbia" is a sounding directly from the heart, unmediated by the delusional independence of exclusive american identity, for an end to the war on freedom

credits

released June 18, 2013

license

all rights reserved

tags

about

Rusty Kjarvik Brooklyn, New York

My ancestors are from the lands in and around what is now Norway, Poland, Germany and Greece. They lived above the Arctic Circle, spoke Yiddish, were Romaniote Greek, English settlers during the revolutionary war of America, and from Germany pioneered in 19th century Alberta, Canada where they also took Blackfoot names. They were buried in religious fame; and so I also go by Menachem ben Asser. ... more

contact / help

Contact Rusty Kjarvik

Streaming and
Download help

Report this album or account

Rusty Kjarvik recommends:

If you like Rusty Kjarvik , you may also like: