Listen/purchase: Out From Among by undergroundcrowds
Misplaced Lens Cap
sheepfilms

romaâ

â
h
One Nice Bug Per Day

Kaledo Art

oozey mess

pixel skylines
PUT YOUR BEARD IN MY MOUTH

ellievsbear
Xuebing Du

izzy's playlists!

â
Stranger Things
hello vonnie

Andulka



seen from United Kingdom
seen from Belgium

seen from Singapore
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from TĂźrkiye

seen from United Kingdom

seen from United Kingdom
seen from France

seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States

seen from United States

seen from United States
seen from Malaysia
seen from China
seen from Netherlands

seen from Italy

seen from Singapore
seen from TĂźrkiye
@undergroundcrowds
Listen/purchase: Out From Among by undergroundcrowds

Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
Free to watch ⢠No registration required ⢠HD streaming
It has been a long while since I have posted here. Keane is thirteen now. Growing taller than me (I am 5 10). It is unbelievable how the time flies. He is a master at any video game (I hear the âya okâs). He beats the games within a month, and then we donât know what to do. (I think I was stuck on the third level of Mario Bro 3 for my entire childhood.) He is fearless on playground high beams. Excellent in sports. Misses his Judo course (corona) and he and I love watching anything Star Wars together. Art? Yes. He took a graffiti course and now feels inclined to decorate my walls. So I let him, âhave at itâ in his own room. I will post his artwork soon (hopefully).Â
(via https://soundcloud.com/undergroundcrowds/levee-lz-cover)
When Sam could not take it any longer, for the suspense was killing him he abruptly asked, âSoâŚ.wâŚwhat âŚdo I do?â Battle, this time without blinking anything, responded, âget some sleep.â Sentience followed, ârest tired one. You have so much reflection to do.â Was that a hint of warmth Sam was picking up on? It was so

Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
Free to watch ⢠No registration required ⢠HD streaming
âWhy dâŚdidnâtâŚ.yâŚyouâŚsâŚsayâŚso!â Sam almost screamed. Sentience blinked for the sake of his large ears gathering all that noise, âyou werenât open to it.â Definitively stated. âOH man!â Sam started gathering the nothing that he brought, but looked around anyway, âaâŚall I hâŚhave to dâŚdo is fâŚfind the SâŚ.sourceâŚ.andâŚIâŚIâl
The House
It was suppose to be my time, long passed due, actually. All my friends had found theirs. They sent the notices, told their neighbors, bought the flowers. It all looked too important to miss out on. On the life's priority list it fell right after "finish college" which was after "getting baptized" which was after "getting saved". I'm not saying I was ready to buy into house owning. I had not the character or the stamina, as I would soon find out. I am not even fully sure I had the capasity for the fondness it required, but it was strong idea, and well presented and was put up for sale by a committee of church attenders. They had nothing but good things to say about it. And so, since the "time was right", having graduated from college, I assumed the next logical thing was to step into a life long committment of this sort, even if it was sight unseen. Church logic is often lacking, powerful nevertheless. No one is worth anything without this kind of union, so I thought. And when relatively young with life in front of you, facing a "worthless life" seems, well, not worth living. Every church goer I knew confirmed this viewpoint. House owners sat in the front of church, held high positions, held their deeds of transfer on their laps and smiled contentedly nodding approvingly at various intervals during the sermon. Houseless vagabonds cleaned the bathrooms and were expected to rehearse the same story lines (only the story lines, not the meanings) during Sunday school and just wait until our special day to arrive, like the coming of the Lord. So, with my mind fully convinced that all meaning came with the signing of this contract, I was eager to do so, as you can well imagine. I didn't do a lot of hunting or speculating on compatibility, I just decided to do it. Compatibility, what was that exactly? Aren't we adjustable creatures after all? The house did not have a whole lot of character on the inside, it was rather similar to everything else I was accustomed to. It struck the same chords in me that my own family had growing up, which was what I was familiar with. And for some this would have been good enough, but upon hind sight I might have tried moving on from some of the trauma there, because my decision ultimately amplified the struggle. So I guess we could say that the bondages and pitfalls I was accustomed to were never addressed at all. Perhaps because we are recklass creatures of habit without ever realizing what our habits are exacting in consequences. This probably lays claim on the results of my house choosing. There it stood. Strong. Fortified. Sure. Dominant. All characteristics I admired because they made me feel safe. How I desired a place of my own, where all members inside attended church, spoke the correct theology and said prayers before meals. Yes, keeping up with all that houses require wore me out, but that paled in comparison to the image I could now keep up at church. What a trade off! My strength, often my dignity, and my dreams traded for a high place in the assembly of the saints, a welcomed position as a keeper of the house, my backside warming the seats in front. Club doors swung open! High church societies bowed in my direction! As the days and years wore on, however, back on the homefront, I noticed how dark the window panes were. They just never seemed to let the light in. It could be the brightest day imaginable outside, full of glory and resolution, but somehow inside the walls of my adored house, the illumination never changed the perspective on anything. I am an artist, I know how light has the capacity to change the perspective on things, but it just never transpired inside those dimly lit rooms. Believe me I tried to scrub them, open them, cover them, but it seemed the harder I tried the darker they got. Also the walls. They were cold and made of cement. How I overlooked this when I was house hunting, I don't know. I could not hang a single picture or drawing on them and painting them did no good. One color looked the same as another. Of all the things that encroched upon my soul this was it. Starring for hours at those unmovable cold walls. I went about keeping up a fire as the only recourse but when I had too much and could not take it anymore I would tend the garden out of doors. There was a shed in the back of the house I would spend long hours in. The light came in profusely. I could bring my hand up to any task, illlumined by light, and it seemed to find success. Poetry, paintings, songs and all manner of creativity. I wanted to stay there after awhile, and avoid the cold dark house altogether, but I would look out the creaking door from my shed to the house and I would see the shudders begin to shut by themselves and the smoke from the chimney dissipate. I would leave my second nest and run into the house just in time to stoke the fire again, and arrange the tables, cook up a meal and stare at the walls. The unmovable walls. I feared the day when the house would close up like stone altogether. Was it today? Was it tomorrow? For years this went on. Whatever trauma I endured in childhood, it was nothing like this. My neighbors would worry and wonder why there was such a blazed trail between the rickety old shed and the main house, but no where else. If I was so into trail blazing, why didn't these paths benefit anyone else in the neighborhood? But they didn't know that the single trail left me no time for deep friendships, or relaxed tea times, or long prayer meetings. Everyday was a task of survival. So the questions inevidably came. "Was I neglecting my place?" "Was I contentious?" "What was I doing in that little shed?" "Why was I doing it?" "Would it do any good at all to throw tins of paint out the windows and send songs into the air from a rickety old shed behind a large grey house, in the middle of no where?" Counseling, that is what they all decided I would need. But I wondered what it was they want to talk about? One time I ventured to "reach out" as they called it, to somehow prove I wasn't a crazy person who hated everyone on the outside of my trail, perhaps my motive was ultimately self preservation of my ego. That ego dies hard, my friends. Or maybe to just simply prove to myself I wasn't crazy. The jurys out. Â
Nevertheless, I think I had had about enough of all the assuming. "Look!" I said to my shell shocked neighbor, who had been busy chatting on the phone about me "the windows are closing up!" Just to turn around and see the windows wide open with the fire ablazing. I turned back around, shame faced, to the neighbor who had paused her phone conversation just to hear me blabbing about some nonsense that had zero proof to go with it. That was the last time I was doing that and silently walked back to the house. Whatever was going on, when ever it would end, all I knew was that late at night, the comforting sound of the wind stopped against the cold walls like glass shattering. The firelight was barely if not visable at all against them and I would just lay there alone, pleading that God would bring the daylight soon for every breath was exhausting, sleep never revived me, and no songs were ever sung in that cold dark house.
Roots Go Around....etc.
I was wondering how I would go about this self interview in a refreshing way and/or what I would say (and since no one reads anymore I may have to change fonts just to shake things up and keep people like myself focused). Maybe not. How do you change fonts on Tumblr?
I had no ideas at all, except the obvious, âI âresurrectedâ a few good songs I had written in the past, did a little mixing and released them, for two reasons: one solidify their origin (copyright, if that means anything anymore note: Taylor Swift) and bring glory to God.â
It occurred to me, hindsight often lives up to itâs name as the 20/20 version of our vision, that these songs were definitely rooted in something. Pain.Â
I donât know if you are like me, but there is a level of introspection that I love, all the flattering kind, and there is definitely a level I despise. It leaves me, well, unsteady. Unsteady like a tree without roots. Unsteady like an attempt at balancing myself on one of those yoga ropes..(thatâll be the day).Â
I like to pretend I have all my ducks in a row. I like to wear the mask that shows everyone that I am somehow in control, but right out the gate, starting with âBridgesâ, questions plague the listenerâs ears. The question of pain and unanswered questions.
I think questions can drag us, maybe unwittingly to healing and deeper roots, at least itâs definitely a good start, I have found, but itâs a good idea to know where to take the questions, am I right? Otherwise we just spend our existence wandering from shrine to shrine heaving with anxiety over these questions that pile up, one on top of each other like a way overloaded ice cream sundae.
I think âRoots Go Aroundâ starts the process of looking for the right place to bring questions and resolve is definitely part of the album. Maybe itâs spoon fed, but itâs innate in me to get to the point quickly. âRoots Around Christmasâ (complementary album) sheds a celebratory light and perhaps even a âconvictionâ of faith over the matter. For example âBeholdâ.Â
The two complement each other, even though I arranged them with similar motives. The one thing we artists can never do is escape ourselves when we create. Even if a thing (final product with title and release) is furthest from our minds at the point of creation, and I would like to give God all the praise, here, he makes utter messes mean something.Â
All I have to do is bring the questions.Â
The Story lyric video
Country rooted, faith soaked and covers all the bases.

Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
Free to watch ⢠No registration required ⢠HD streaming
Oldman: lyric video
a quick bite for your soul....
(<a href='https://soundcloud.com/undergroundcrowds/won-and-done?utm_source=soundcloud
(Undergroundcrowds)
Itâs a source of pride..
Stay aloof, stay unconnected to any tribe, stay unlabeled.
Jesus stayed in this realm...for awhile. No one was able to label him. He was on this side of the fence and then that one. Leaving the midst of crowds when it got heated.
But the day came. That fateful day of his greatest submission and the labels hung on Him as if they were true.
So what does this mean for me? One day âChrist Followerâ will stick to me provoking wrath and indignation.Â
But if that day never comes, I would not have been a follower but a fraud, not even a friend or acquaintance.Â

Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
Free to watch ⢠No registration required ⢠HD streaming
https://twitter.com/undergroundcwds/status/1106490005705363456?s=19
Theres a story going on over at the website.