Days to Dismember​/​The Lows, the Sows

by Chubby Wolf

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Days to Dismember

1 Noises of Clutch 4:45
2 Earths’ Astute Elbows 18:09

The Lows, The Sows

3 On the Banks of Being in Love 18:15
4 Bird Spirituals 18:45

Danielle Baquet-Long – Field Recordings (Chinatown Streets, Gravel, Stream, Birds, Supermarket), Toy Drumset, Drum Machine, Sitar, Electric Guitar, Tape, Pedals, Laptop, Flute, Toy Horn, Poetry & Titles

Mastered by Will Long

Recorded Fall 2005 – May 2008

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released June 1, 2011

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Chubby Wolf Huntington Beach, California

Chubby Wolf was Danielle Baquet-Long (1982-2009).

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Track Name: Noises of Clutch
The Days to Dismember:

Remember the days,
passing notes like leaves all a‘plummet.

String together your memories
into cylindricals - sharpen
the edge to a point of interaction.

What we have
suspended in asperity,

Noises of clutch,
our ears bound with rakish.
Cover them, your hands
tremulous cool,
and hark
with mansuetude.
Track Name: Earth's Astute Elbows
The Lows; The Sows:

The hums you don’t hear sews
holes sweating tears of joy no,
infirmity the blazed days in my nervous system
seeping purple purges bruises stretch distributing machinations,
mini-moons,
sows voids allotted seeds for clovers but blankets of Alyssums,

or SNOW cannevertell,
are natal and intense,
white grasses cool my body and I’m calm,
while everyone sweats,
heats heaps of grumbles and I stare out

at something

moving so fast it’s suspend & still,
waiting suspense,
always waiting, patiently……………

while the beats of birds’ wingy waft,
percolating swells of truths,
spells h-o-p-e-s,
and inevitable tiny deaths singing,

O, you birds:

“You’ll miss me when I’m gone………… … …..................... . . . . ……… . . . ….”
Track Name: On the Banks of Being In Love
The Lows; The Sows:

The hums you don’t hear sews
holes sweating tears of joy no,
infirmity the blazed days in my nervous system
seeping purple purges bruises stretch distributing machinations,
mini-moons,
sows voids allotted seeds for clovers but blankets of Alyssums,

or SNOW cannevertell,
are natal and intense,
white grasses cool my body and I’m calm,
while everyone sweats,
heats heaps of grumbles and I stare out

at something

moving so fast it’s suspend & still,
waiting suspense,
always waiting, patiently……………

while the beats of birds’ wingy waft,
percolating swells of truths,
spells h-o-p-e-s,
and inevitable tiny deaths singing,

O, you birds:

“You’ll miss me when I’m gone………… … …..................... . . . . ……… . . . ….”
Track Name: Bird Spirituals
The Days to Dismember:

Remember the days,
passing notes like leaves all a‘plummet.

String together your memories
into cylindricals - sharpen
the edge to a point of interaction.

What we have
suspended in asperity,

Noises of clutch,
our ears bound with rakish.
Cover them, your hands
tremulous cool,
and hark
with mansuetude.