Floored

Chet Atkins' early years (Disc 1 of 5) wafts its way upstairs
old-timey jams between saw buzzes and hammering—not to the beat.
Measuring, laying the self-install wooden planks over poured concrete.
The knights of the kitchen table rap the keys of their aluminum
devices—iconic, but not to the bluetooth air-wave-form music
and infinite prowess over the 802.11 radiating our cabin fever souls
while snow and cloud blanket Gaia and Sol.

The Green EP paces itself along, centralized sound accompanied
by a symphony of sniffles, hiccups and the revolutionary Kitchen Aid;
mixing and mixing and mixing and mixing and mixing
the recipe for warmth in a dip of buffalo chicken for the big game.

Free-time reading and free-range cooking partake in dance with
the floor-by-floor workers, respectively. Where one commits his youth
martyred to the preservation of the future, the other commits to the
antiquity of words and experiences to bridge the new to the old.