Ten Centuries

08/30/2024

I just found this recording from a few years back. In honor of lost things, posting it up here...and I hope to play it this Sunday at the Devaney and Friends matinee with Bill Caperton at White Squirrel Bar show.

track by Bill Caperton

07/29/2015

Without expectation.
With hope, but without return.
I’ve been saying goodbye for the past two weeks, or two months. Ending my time in Iowa, saying goodbye, with some finality, to friends and mentors in Milwaukee. Saying goodbye to the malty grey low skies above factories and tanneries. Now saying goodbye to trees with new names, to hills but no water, to new friends and brief friends and who-knows what happens friends.
Thrown into the world.
Drink your father’s wine.
Leaving is ongoing. Leaving a small mark, the shadow of a space. I’m leaving. These words and small chords.
I’ve let go or lost any which way to move these songs out beyond my friends, but maybe that’s enough. Anyway, I hope you listen, and if you like it, I hope you send it along to someone else who might like it too.
A few more of these coming down the line. Like closing a door, or a lid. Sound of a lock moving into itself.


-bc

https://billcaperton.bandcamp.com/album/fathers-wine-thrown

2 track album

07/17/2015

Preparing to release a series of "7 inches". Soon. More to come.

04/04/2015

The inspiration playlist keeps growing. Tune in if you like. . .

http://open.spotify.com/user/1213491009/playlist/3t04IqBYfuVHCz9SJOMon6

03/30/2014

demos; demonstration; demon; demoing

03/29/2014

early hours

In the high hours of the night
stars get naked
and bathe in the rivers.

Owls desire them,
the little feathers on their heads
stand up.

-humberto ak'abal

03/25/2014

Whispers in the pines; new music forthcoming soon and late. For now, "White Pines" has been added here. Stream, streams, brooks, rivers, seas.

Local business

03/25/2014

maundering, just maundering. Hello new friends!

12/20/2012

An embarrassment of poems. . . but we cannot stop. Reminder from Williams;

My heart rouses
thinking to bring you news
of something
that concerns you
and concerns many men. Look at
what passes for the new.
You will not find it there but in
despised poems.
It is difficult
to get the news from poems
yet men die miserably every day
for lack
of what is found there.

12/17/2012

LEAVE A MESSAGE
When the wind died, there was a moment of silence
for the wind. When the maple tree died, there was always a place
to find winter in its branches. When the roses died, I respected the privacy
of the vase. When the shoe factory died, I stopped listening
at the back door to the glossolalia of machines.
When the child died, the mother put a spoon in the blender.
When the child died, the father dug a hole in his thigh
and got in. When my dog died, I broke up with the woods.
When the fog lived, I went into the valley to be held
by water. The dead have no ears, no answering machines
that we know of, still we call.

-Bob Hicok

12/05/2012

beware however of unnecessary pride
keep looking at your clown’s face in the mirror
repeat: I was called - weren’t there better ones than I

beware of dryness of heart love the morning spring
the bird with an unknown name the winter oak
light on a wall the splendour of the sky
they don’t need your warm breath
they are there to say: no one will console you

- Zbigniew Herbert