Of words, of sound.
Find yourself down at the wave ranch listening and pay no mind to the sand on your shoes. That’s how you got here.
A place where anecdotal riffing punches holes in blue sky dreaming. Nothing wrong with dreaming but that’s not why we’re here.
Floorboards are oil stained and trodden upon. The old plank workbench is tidy but well used. Music is fashioned here from materials at hand.
Describe de sound, what do you have in mind?