"Aged voice memos gives way to field recordings of my childhood backyard. Frenetic guitar samples and synthesizer chirps morph into birds whistling. Chimes ebb and flow above warped poetry, repeating into the horizon. These sonic anchors grounding me, like a tired old antenna upon an aged rooftop, still sending out messages after 30 some years. The soft sounds undulating from within, standing as some kind of hushed resistance against the chaos of the outside world, and the difficulties of achieving a good night’s rest. Here on this rooftop, interpreting clouds, I’m transmitting waves of sound and patterns of light into the sky, and I’m less tired, and that feels good."