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Do You Astral Project?

by The Scarecrow Frequency

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about

"The idea of astral travel is rooted in esotericism and occultism, and was promoted by 19th century Theosophists—philosophers who explored the mystical and preternatural origins of the natural world. It is sometimes reported in association with dreams, and forms of meditation. Some individuals have reported perceptions similar to descriptions of astral projection that were induced through various hallucinogenic and hypnotic means (including self-hypnosis)."- Source, Wikipedia

credits

released October 8, 2016

Guitars, vocals by John Supsauq Argetsinger except slide guitar on Motel in Crescent City played by David Totten. Drums provided by Caveman Palace, Seattle, WA. Recorded summer 2016. Cover art by Jane MacMurdy Brennan. Tracks one and eight mastered by Graham Grochisinski, Tracks 2-7 mastered by John Argetsinger.

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about

The Scarecrow Frequency Seattle, Washington

John D. Supsauq Argetsinger has been making music with David Totten and friends since 2003 under TSF moniker.

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Track Name: Standing Rock
Bury your guilt, in the back yard. You refrain from truths, of who you are. Push it all down until the silo is full. And burn all the rats this harvest must not spoil. Yellow teeth and oil. Marginal gain. Bury me in the back yard, dig me up in 500 years. Get out of here. There's blood raining upon the Lincoln Memorial. Horses are steady, whites of their eyes glimmer in the moonlight.
Track Name: The Jungle
You've kept me from this darkness, this pit of fire snarls. My teeth retract. Owl turns his head. Letting loose from the cactus ledge, lights veering now. The owl turns his head, letting loose a grin.
Track Name: Bound to the Tiger Cage
Coat so filthy, holes in your mouth. You live for laughs. Hints of the afterlife simmer around your eyes. Lost to the circus but bound to the tiger cage, the tent is burning now.
Track Name: Blood on the Curtains
Rose to every thorn, I couldn't find yours. Dug deep in a trench. Soldiers blood. It was not there. Left for dead so it's poppies in the mud and mothers popping benzos as boys make war, and bring it home. Bring it home.
Track Name: Motel in Crescent City
And so we swirl, like circles on the floor. Soaked in formaldehyde and lucid dreams. Grasping every notch. Bogged up by the hammering of the rocks against the hull upon this ship.
Track Name: Hints of a Scam
Ice melts down, cold case frown. Brick beaten by the sun and shattered into dust. Stale stench of a man, stale hints of a scam. Erecting the demon, the fire must scream.
Track Name: The Ferryman
It's a free for all, it's a free fall into emptiness and the cork is cracked. Drip of coke and the gods burn like lamp oil, at the waters edge. Cast your doubt, craft your exit. Program yourself. Cause the ferrymen have long departed. The ferryman are gone, oh away from here.
Track Name: Toilet Bowl
This is the last page. As my hand shakes. Trying to clamber up demons. Pulling fiercely down.. And as I stand up I've lost control, the room is spinning now. And I dash towards the other room. And everything is spiraling in circles, the lies and the ring in your toilet bowl. Carry on and fly free now, carry on and fly free.