An Auto-translation by Daniel Mahoney

 

Slacken Me Not The Mower

Artist:  Liminal Orbs

Album: Frozen Deer Face River

Label: (Type A)

Cutting dead deers inconceivable says my friend the militant vegan.   He lives a life of lists, his home a prison cell. Grains.  Nuts.  Seeds.  His little girl figured she could not head home with fish bones in her mouth, so she grabbed a giant hat, hit the road.   Got out from under the hammering mechanisms of small town life.  Her head rippled like a blanket of milk.  She stayed years away in the planted pines and broom sage.  They came calling, but by then she lived underwater where voices blurred into cylindrical wells of aerial echo.  His child turned into the sound just after sound from the lake.  His living turned simply to an echo of life. His breathing the distance between there and not there.  Sometimes you say I’m going to kill myself but you go on with the record.  Frozen Deer Face River unfolds the narrative of a little girl, a different one.  One who grew up, grew tired, moved to Portland.  In Portland every tongue licked every ear so she made Liminal Orbs then made a record of interaqueous mosaics, calls and plashes. This is work born of water yet steepled in mountaintops.  Glowing soundfields of overamplified cellphone reverb, rickety unhinged beats and smazy panharmonics triggering journeys into the interior:  the narrow goat-filled roads, the wayside cricket pastures, the cobbled streets of mountain towns, the blankness of doorways. Listening to Frozen Deer Face River is like snow filling a forest at night: the winter air a swell of flakes where white makes what is dark around it visible.  Essential.

(a translation of: Slacken Me Not The Mower using Bing Translator. Languages in order of translation: English –Danish-French-German-Russian-Vietnamese-Spanish-English)

The Rest Of The Mower

Artist:  Liminal Orbs

Album: Frozen Deer Face River

Label: (Type A)

Reducing deer kill you now, unthinkable, he works with a vegetarian friend of mine. Leading the list of life, from his home, a jail cell. Whole grains. Seed seed. Your girls think, head home with no fish bones in the mouth, so it took a gigantic hat, take to the road. It was released in the life of přiklepem maloměstsky mechanism. The head is wrinkled like a blanket. It was the following year in the plantations of pine and Sage brush. They came to be called, but at that time, he lived in the soft voice of eco air transfer. His son became the sound behind her. His life will become just the echo of life. The breath is the gap between Yes and no. Sometimes I think I’m going to kill me, but you have a problem. The frozen Deer River is the story of a girl here. People grow up, get tired, he moved to Portland. In Portland every tongue licking each ear, while she is a ball of interim measures, and later interaqueous, attractions and the crowd kicking records. It is the work that emerges with the water, but the Bell Tower at the top of a mountain. Reverb light Soundfields overamplified, restless rickets and panharmonics smazy cells, causing the inside: the narrow road full of goats graze in cricket, streets, villages and mountains, the whiteness of the door. To listen to the deer’s face frozen river is like a forest at night, snow: white snowflakes falling, it is dark around him can be seen from the air in the winter. Essential.

 

Standard bio:  My work has appeared in many places: The Fiddleback, elimae, Slope, DIAGRAM, The Massachusetts Review, etc.  I am a contributing editor at Bateau.  I live in Maine.  There are no tacos here – Daniel Mahoney.

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2 thoughts on “An Auto-translation by Daniel Mahoney

  1. Joseph John Mujahonitz says:

    “causing the inside: the narrow road full of goats graze in cricket”. Dude. That’s moving. So moving in fact that I find myself headed to the head. Keep on keepin’ on Mr. Mahoney. You are the cat’s frigid hairball. With sparkles. Joseph.

  2. Daniel Mahoney says:

    thanks Joseph. a hairball w/ sparkles. Yes! That makes me think of the days of drinking a whole mess of cough syrup and getting all blissed out to early Fleetwood Mac records….yummy. thanks for the love-n-memories. ox dm

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