CHANGE! (MY SADNESS IS A SPECIAL THING) T'S ARE NOW BACK IN STOCK!
 DESIGNED BY ANTHONY FROM CHANGE! AND ROB PIXEL!  IN BLACK AND DARK PINK! MESSAGE US FOR A GREAT DEAL, GET AHOLD OF ONE IN YOUR SIZE NOW!

Her favorite colour was blue

Blue tassels streaming from a review mirror in a beat up blue junker
Driving towards that blue volcanic beach
Where the colours of the ocean blended into the sky
Never ending depths of blue possibility

Yet, the sun refused to wait for her
As her sandals pressed down on the accelerator,
The October sky morphed before her eyes

Dark Blue
As Blue as Dark can be

Timothy placed sunglasses over his eyes to hide the teardrops as he took his morning jog. The loosely fitted shades bobbled, leaving indentations where the nose and eye sockets connected. He would have looked a wreck, had this been a normal cry- where cheeks would swell and those tasty tears would land on the pavement like smart bombs.

However, there was a glitch in the water flow on this particular morning. It is hard to tell whether it was the jogging or the sunglasses, but the wet sadness refused to run it's standard course across the lines on his face. Instead, it drained inwards and migrated beneath his skin (sinking deeper and deeper inside his body.)

The whole process left him empty. He never felt the release of those oily firecrackers falling from chin to Earth. He just couldn't get it out. What a waste of a good cry.

My 4th birthday was the earliest birthday that I can remember. Excitement bubbled all around me. It felt very monumental (after waiting a full year to get to this wonderful day.) After all, that year was 1/4th of my young life.

Things have changed this time around. You see, at age 34, the past year represents 1/34th of my life. And with that fractional shift comes the realignment of my perceptions of time. It is as if the older I get, the quicker the time moves. But, in reality, it all just starts to mean a little less.

I mulled over this sad thought as I munched on my birthday cake. You see, my geeky friends knew that it would take a little action to get me through the depression. What they didn't know was that the girl of the night was supposed to hid inside some sort of pretend wooden cake, and not trapped beneath layers and layers of Sponge Bob Flavored pound cake.

Alas, I was told that she was hiding in there somewhere, so I continued to eat. Sadness hung over my tight jeans, as if all those drunken years had decided to fill my stomach at once.

Trying not to show my dark side to my generous friends, I switched the topic to happier birthday stories: my 17th birthday (when I lost my virginity), my 21st birthday (when I tried to drink 21 beers in 21 minutes), my 30th birthday (with Rob Corradetti at Venice Beach.)

And then it happened. I bit right into the heart of that human sized cake and I found her hiding inside. Now, this wasn't some Tenderloin slut that you'll find at the other parties. This was the slut of my dreams, in fact the girl who kept me alive for all those years. Seeing her there, covered in cake, seemed to surpass all those sentimental memories that I can conjure on this day.

You see, it is true that age can dull the perceptions of time. And as you feel the time slipping through your fingers at a quicker rate, you're hit by the increasing weights of life and become overwhelmed by the shadows of death. It takes more energy to lift ones spirits as you try to reconcile the choices made that lead you to this moment. It is the moment when some might not even feel worthy of being loved anymore. And it is also at this moment, that compassion for others around you grow. You search for something to tie you to this Earth and to keep your spirit from floating away. And as you finally become grabbed by this person (your anchor), you find yourself able to love again, with more clarity than ever.

And on this note, I would like to make a plea on behalf of love. Let it live and let it grow. Let it fill the gaps that time and age have wedged into your spirit. So, happy birthday to you and happy birthday to me and happy birthday to all the geminis all over the world.

Her hair grew 6 inches a year. It was 2 years ago that she met him, so she figured that cutting of 12 inches of her tan locks was the appropriate closure of a relationship that had long past it's expiration date. The elongated sheers scrapped across the memories that clung to her head with vanity and pride. Those memories started short (like stubble on her legs) but grew denser day after day, until the time she pushed him away. As she fiddled with her ponytail and fused with the dead ends, she wondered whether it was all worth trashing. After all, there were also good times in their relationship. There were those moments of romance laced with tiny laughter (filling up dark music theaters and bubbling over futons.) Perhaps she would leave an inch or two, just to keep a few moments close to the ears that he would kiss (night after night.) Alas, her sentiments failed her. The scissors had a mind of it's own. She cut him off completely.

We have just posted one of our favorite clips from our recent performance in Chicago entitled the "Notorious Flower Bashing"

We were so happy to be back in the Midwest, that we brought flowers to share with our friends. After distributing tulips before our performance, we stashed a few as a sacrificial offering for the Wurlitzer Organ (that we were borrowing from Midstates.)

Anthony and I have a tendency to duel at the end of our new song: Woodland Virgins. The video captures the duel between theremin and dulcimer. With Anthony bringing it with distortion, I fell to his mercy for a moment. Luckily, I spotted the flowers and broke through the wall of sound to bash Anthony’s brains in. Somehow, we are still friends.

The video is amazing. Check it out and let us know what ya think.

These beliefs spray painted cross the wall
Hip dropped
Popped the pregnant balloon that rose towards the clouds
Spitting angels
Little cupids hovering, drunk and dangerous
Immature
Premature
They came and went away
And picked the wrong day to try to show us glory

Our religion is a question mark and a coma and a pause
If home is in the heart- then we are homeless
If home is in the head- then we are homesick

Please take this invite
Take this grab bag
Let the bag eat your hand
Reaching for question marks, transparencies and a clog
We choked on a glottal stop
And when it stopped, or soft spots felt all tingly

22 crayons ran across the entire movement
Nothing made sense, yet sense was made by
Language, so inferior and incomplete and ineffective
But you felt as I felt
There were happy spirits here
And you heard what I heard
Voices saying "It doesn't need to be so hard, just be"

I like her because she lets me wear pajamas
And I let her wear a muffin
And we made a pact out of clothe
And we turn the lies into jokes
And we teach each other
And we share our eyes

Meet me at the beach
With seaweed sticking to your feet
We'll hold each other's sweaty hand
And gaze at water flowing beyond the rim

Across those waving sea salt stories
There is quicksand filled with ancient glories
We watch from afar, like dangling stars
That died before the light could reach our hearts

When lava confronts our naked feet
The fire crackling within reach
And feels our anger
Scowling at the moon

I'm told that grape juice waits beyond
Such prophesies of death in chains
The heat between our sweaty hands
Unsteady, yet the grip remains

As if we needed something to hold
To feel complete as night unfolds
We pour our years into a cup
And gaze at water flowing just beyond the rim

Just remember this:
A kiss is tongue and lips
With both eyes closed in bliss
Just a third eye and a thumb

I feel so numb,
I wonder when you kiss me, why do you kiss me?
And how a frog like me could be your prince,
When other frogs have more luxurious lilypads

Will you feel gypped when you look back
And see me swimming with the turtles
In tortoise time
In tortoise town
Not Terrytown with that infamous mac daddy raton Mighty Mouse

I'm not a house
I'm just a kiss
I'm just a thimble
You're souvenir

In quiet Egypt on the tarp
Baby Cacti plays the harp
Spectricolourimetery
Sparse, secluded, glowing beads

Philosophers had such nights in mind
When they drew lines from star to star
Architects leaned on calculus dreams
But the numbers were so far away

All those lights up in the sky
Couldn't count the creatures down below
Nestled in burrows and sleeping bags
The Sea People making plans to overthrow dictating giants
Tomb robbers stumble over forgotten prose

The water kittens curled in balls upon their laps
With reverberated purring to quell the Mesh Wesh
Round belly dancers on the streets
Tickling tummies in the open air
And though the nightlife was aging there
The tiniest romance sparked beyond that hill

It was so peaceful on that quiet night in Egypt
You could hear the candlewax dripping from the light
The pharoahs image replicated on those rocky beaches
Still clatter from the market collided with his thrown
There was a tender spot beyond those shattered mountains
Ancient lovers fossilized in lyrical stone
Sand stained palmetto lizards spooning in the pyramids
Dueling tongues like young iguanas drinking from the Nile