Track By Track: Yourself Open


Track By Track: Yourself Open

This song came from a friend lending me his electric guitar and me not knowing anything about playing guitar at the time. I recorded myself plucking and striking the instrument, and did a lot of sampling of individual sounds to a keyboard setup. I then programmed these guitar melodies like I would a softsynth. I ended up with a one or two minute beat. Once I moved to Montreal, I brought Astrolope into the mix and had him restructure the song with me. It became a six-minute strange instrumental, with a decent portion of it in 5/4 time. Izzy came over and we hashed out lyrics and recorded the vocals in a night.
This song was a real problem tune for me as the album started to take more of a form. It was too long, it wandered a lot and didn’t really have a payoff. I took some time away, about 6 months to a year.

On a plane to Mexico in 2014, I figured out the new structure. I wanted to cut the crap and make it more direct and give it a tangible climax. This became the version that can be heard on the record; something simple and to the point.

Listen to Yourself Open:

Next up, Masks.

Track By Track: Yourself Open

The First Snowfall In October (Prose)

I’ve started to write a piece of fictional prose, which isn’t something I’ve done in years. I’m trying to take a Hemingway-esque approach, in keeping my descriptions and adjective-use relatively minimal. Here’s my first draft:

David rolled over in his sleep. The moon was out and blue light speckled the forest floor.
I heard a snap and looked past the firepit to the cage across camp, obscured by the gloom; something rustled inside. My eyes fell on Capri, asleep by the coals, rifle rising and falling with his chest.
I quietly woke David, motioned to leave and as silently as we could, we rolled our bedding. I crept over to Capri who was still sound asleep with his arms loosely cradling the rifle. I gently peeled the weapon away from his body and out of his arms. He muttered something about the price of gold.

David and I walked for about four hours in what we assumed was a westward direction, and came to rest in a pine-addled hollow as the sun rose. The air was brisk with autumn and the sunrise peeking through the trees was tinged red. We ate some grits that we stole, and tucked ourselves into a space in the roots of a tree, making beds of pine needles.

David never spoke much, so our conversation was short and mostly about the weather, his face never changing beyond grim and stoic. I looked up from our hiding space to see a lone oak sapling with a few frost-coated leaves, still stubbornly clinging to the stem this late in October. I fell asleep.


I must have been dreaming for two hours when I awoke. Snow was falling sparsely; something was wrong. I heard the soft thudding of footsteps nearby and stayed my breathing in a sudden rush of terror. The sound of something heavy nearby- a snarl tore through the hollow. My heart beat deafeningly as the footsteps came to a halt directly above our hiding space. From here, I could smell it, rank as death.

Capri called from the creature’s back, “You boys have really done yourselves in! Not the first time I’ve caught up to runaways.” At this point, I was afraid my heartbeat was audible to the whole forest. I couldn’t see David and I was afraid to make a sound by turning my head to look for him.

Suddenly, Capri was right there peering through the roots at me. “You look lost, Ari. Where’s David?”

I didn’t say anything, only stared into his watery grey eyes. His nose dripped and he inhaled it back in with a snort. He was a disgusting man.

“Have it your way, I’ll find him.” And then he dragged me out by the throat with a grip that surprised me in its strength, especially for a wiry senior. He slugged me down to the base of the hollow and put his foot on my chest. “I’ll take that,” he said as he reached for the rifle- still hanging from my side. I swung my foot up into his face, caught his nose and broke it.  I rolled over in a frenzy, trying to take the weapon in my hands and get a shot off. I felt a dull, hot pain in my leg and lost all orientation of my surroundings, dropping the rifle. The beast had bitten and was dragging and swinging me like a rag-doll. I felt something snap and blacked out.

As of this point in time, I don’t think I really know who the narrator is, or David for that matter. Something to flesh out.

PS: This story idea came from a song of the same title that I wrote back in October.


The First Snowfall In October (Prose)

8 Word Poem Excercise

In a writing class I am taking, we tried an interesting exercise where the writer can pick a total of 8 words to keep, with the question
“What 8 words are most important to you?”
Following, the writer is encouraged to write a poem with their 8 words, repetitions allowed if necessary, as well as punctuation.

I ended up with this:

“Live, vast, soft womb; cold like cracked paint.”

I personally found this to be surprisingly conducive to writing on the spot. The creative restriction of only using 8 words eliminates the ego of the writer, methinks. Naturally, a lot of results had the word love included, which I found funny. Family and love seemed to be on people’s minds throughout the class.

What are your eight words and the poem you’d write with them?
Please feel free to share other interesting restrictive exercises!



8 Word Poem Excercise

Let Loose The Children! [Poem]


Crammed into small spaces
and consciously smashing
human across china bells
hanging from a megaphone.

Split sticks and monitors
that scream out in protest
against the blacked out

Out to the gravestones,
All hopped up on their ruse;
they don’t complain.

Down to the willows
where we crawl like insects in honey.
Drunken and numb
to everything said
30 seconds
We petrify and fall:

Back to the fray!
A waving of flags,
A hooded figure,
A laugh of delight amidst screams
of monitors.
I am covered in fantasies of

A parting of lips,
A splash of colour,
A trip to the city,
A smash of glass!

The frigid air outside
swells in welcoming
as I rip off the hood,
A narrow escape.

A staring of eyes
Down the masonic stairs
into a frantic beating of hearts
into problems.

There are worms that crawl
out of the heat of the overhead
and into my hands.
I am a moving tangle of legs
and arms, pushing over
and smashing into
sweaty beasts.

The roar of peaks under kicks changes me
into tumbleweed compacted
between layers of bedrock,
I am a moving difference.

Clean up the glass

Congratulatory hugs

A sincerely quiet drive home

A rabbit in the seat beside me

Feeling all the love in the


Let Loose The Children! [Poem]