Home by Josh Marberry

Dear Friend,

It's been one of those mornings where my restlessness got me awake. It's a few days before I'm supposed to be putting this out there for others to hear, and I'm sitting in front of "Home With The Undead" flickering on my screen. I'll be turning thirty-three on eleven-eleven, twenty-twenty and Home will be in your room with you the way it has been with me for over five years. I can argue that these sounds began seven years ago, or even ten... and somehow more believably, from the first five years of my life.

On my screen I see a container. There are lines and planes like compartments and barriers. For the past few weeks I have been filling these spaces with little important things to represent the songs I have written in this "place". What I see rolling and sputtering on these walls, shining bright and fading in spectacular ways, are my memories. I'm most of the way through two of these now. That puts me just after the trains in Home With The Undead, and I decided to stop for a while and write to you. What I'm looking at here, in front of me, is the best I could do to make an image of my heart. These are not scattered things.

If you're listening now...
In a crater at some world's end, may this music find you like an old and true friend.

- Josh

If you're listening now... In a crater at some world's end, may this music find you like an old and true friend. - Josh

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