The Secret Life Of Rocks ('06)

by Boxwood

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The Secret Life Of Rocks is a collection of songs written from '98 to '06, recorded in my apt at 79 Meserole St, NY and pieced together on a Roland VS840 digi 8-track.


released October 1, 2006



all rights reserved


Boxwood Hollywood, Florida

Loop artist, Boxwood, takes the art of looping off the beaten path and into new territory interweaving guitar, vocals and percussion to hypnotic effect. Far from being gimmicky, the loop pedal is just the means to an end. The end being catchy and lush, well-crafted songs, performed solo, with all the dynamics of a full band. ... more

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Track Name: Snow Globe
I tried with all my might to rearrange the room
from the bar stool I was sitting on
which would have happened
like a violent shake to a snow globe
which would have left us scattered around the room
but I couldn't move
then finally my finger took it upon itself
to knock over my glass
spilling my drink all over the counter top
Track Name: Nights and Weekends
Seriously, and I'm not just talking potential, you've already convinced me.
Take the time that you have off to record those songs, you can do that here if you need.
It'll take a while but I can tell you're taking this seriously and thats despite you modesty.
I have a job, not one I would fall back on but to afford the place where I sleep.
So days are out, we'll only have nights and the weekend and thats assuming we're both free.
So make some room between some sort of a social life, our other bands, chores and fatigue.
And judging how if this doesn't work, plans B, C, and D are just ways to skip out of town, don't let it get in the way.
We're stubborn now, it used to be called motivation before we stopped calling it a hobby.
But it will bother me if you and I were the only ones who'll have ever heard what you hear.
Track Name: Ten Fifteen
Added to the miles of knots that I keep in the space of an eighth of an inch, a final reign ending fact that blows it all to shit.
You woke, you rose, you undid yourself like a strand off a thread into Brownian movement. Gone, in other words. Um.. can I come, please?
January, 10:15, Blue Lady Lounge: a clot turns into a comet and as it fizzles out through my veins, I feel, I absorb, I learn.
July 3, ten to 3 PM, Meserole: a pebble headed toward my windpipe needs to know where to collide if it's not going to swing around you.
When the swinging stops completely I'll be calm, engraved, and confident
Track Name: Somewhere In Between
When am I gonna miss you? Because as of now I only do when I drink myself into that state where I'm half awake dialing your number.
I'm glad I called and missed you because if I hadn't I'd be over there making out, thinking about if I'm leading you on or if your just down.
Everyday I change my mind. No, it's not just you, it's the way my brain works because suddenly I'm optimistic, when yesterday I swore I'd loose it. I'd hate myself but not today, today I'm gods gift to music and I'm trying to see you somewhere in between.
By now I would have lost my patience. I would have told me off, because who aside from my mom would still keep me around after all these years of letting you down?
And sometimes I wake in a creepy mood, where I'll devote my life to making you happy but it goes away and in it's place you're just a faze, a part of my history.
Everyday I change my mind, I'm gonna end this game, we'll get on with our lives.. but someone here loves attention and if it weren't me then I would have just told you myself but instead I got these chords and I sang the words, I wrote a song that eventually you're going to hear, so indirect, I know, it's so unfair but I swear it the last song I'm basing off of you
Track Name: Concentrate
This, for you, I sent to finger tips and lips to place but crashed on the inside. The witnesses were all not sure what to make of it. They stayed and watched it all decay into poetry.
It's too late for them, just concentrate on me, would you please
The birds, they all made way in anticipation while the dead were carried off and placed on my finger tip. Days and days of decay, into sails they all became and took to the skies
Track Name: Occurrence # 38
November 17th, 2002, occurrence # 38, added to the list of all the time that I have realized that I have started loosing site of what's important in my life and it hits me like a tragedy. I sit and retrace the steps that have led me to this equal sign thats kept me staring blankly at the question mark that follows, the empty lot, the gessoed canvas stretched and wanting something that I can't visualize.
Then it comes like from the corners of my eyes, like balanced on the tip of my tongue and slow leaning forward about to pick a side, and it occurs to me, watching cars outside my window traveling sixty thousand miles an hour around the sun, that I could sit here and not do anything, and the clocks will still tick on and take me along for the ride in the back seat, moving forward, along with everything else and things may happen to me but I may never happen to anything else.
But its harmful to feel that time is running out on you. It isn't.
A life time is an incline we shoot ourselves from and if I try in the mean time to find all the pockets of inspiring insight I'm bound to move faster each time, trading clocks for inertia, if I aim past my end
Track Name: The Plants At The Hospital Wish I'd Leave Them Alone
It came crashing through your 20 some odd years of coherent speech. The sentences hugging to your bottom lip before their frail attempts to reach me, where my eyes had wandered off to trace the branches pointing in the right direction, as I thought of ways to cheer you up.
My only guess, as far as I could tell, my only guess is that your lonely, just like everyone I know. Maybe this is all you need.
I heard the purest sound, it made its way out like a dawn, through a woman's chest when she was told that he was gone. I was working at the hospitals atrium, pulling the imperfections off the plants to make them all look pretty, like the fake ones do
Track Name: White Nights (Bonus track)
"Please come in. No... I was just going over that song I wanted you to listen to. I was hoping you could lend your voice to accompany. A sweet and simple harmony... Oh, excuse the mess. Let me get that stuff off the chair... here, have a seat."

A stupid story line and an image from my head. Oh, I can almost see you as if you were really here. I unfocused my eyes and projected to this lifeless room a compilation of your gestures I've cataloged and set to prance around this empty room. And all this time while my mind is living lavishly my body waits impatiently for... Oh, anything... a fist to bust open my upper lip.

And in the end, as I'm fumbling through conversations, saying awkwardly those things I eloquently said a million times but to those cloths piled on my chair, I recede to a space where the tones most accurately match my cloths and I take on the state of a ghost or a piece of furniture, and I collect all the data I can retain, the swelling caught through all my senses, the chorus in the conversations, the drifting mass like continental plates. I'll add myself in later when I get back to my place.