More Up To The Sky

by PAN

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PAN is a wide open container. PAN is a leaf in the betel vine. PAN is to move. PAN is the God of the wild, the woods and music. PAN is of Arcadia. PAN is spring. PAN transcends time and space. PAN is the stereo field. PAN changes. PAN draws us towards it. PAN moves within and without us. We are of PAN. PAN is all.


released May 11, 2015

Words by Toni Oswald
Guitars by Rod Brakes
Synthesizer by Max Davies
Mixed by Max Davies and Luke Cawthra
Mastered by Max Davies
Photography by Georgia Van Gunten
Cover photograph by Toni Oswald

© ℗ 2015 Gothedelic Records. All right reserved.



all rights reserved


PAN Boulder, Colorado


A Poetry Audio Nexus of musicians, poets and performers dedicated to the pure act of creativity, cultivating a zone where time is different and everything changes. We are drawn together in collaboration across the planets as an act of freedom against the current zeitgeist of sameness and order. We worship at the altar of the imagination. ... more

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Track Name: They Speak In Dreams
They Speak In Dreams

For all the voices undone
this is a road of claws
a road that cuts the tongue
a shell
a six
a seam

Down into these dreams
we measure the tarnish
and grieve opium salvo

Weight of arms
your eyes measure the light
to catch
to catch a gaze of ghosts crossing a shallow river
speaking glossolalia

This is a sorcery that binds time
as your body breaks down
an invisible echo
a desire touching past
a fragile desperation annihilates the voice
execution later resurrected in vermillion

now you are only that voice
now you are only that voice
now you are only that voice

whispering over water

A slow trance of sound
gathering nightshade in fields of red string
possessed by this voice
never seen
never seen
never seen
never seen

Speaking with photos inside father's old box
a relic of place
shipwrecked in memories
fingerprints of dust and grief

you are a secret no more you are a secret no more you are a secret no more

you are a secret no more you are a secret no more you are a secret no more

and nothing


nothing is what it seems

they speak in dreams

they speak in dreams

they speak in dreams
Track Name: Unfolding

In a place where sorrow was long served,
the dark black lip of it
settled into the dew of dawn
curving around their necks
where children of the potential rose
like flames

Before you were dead
you were born
covered in your mother's fluid
you flowed out
a river
a waterfall
a watercolor for Ra

The assassin of lies
brought forth the golden birds
waiting ten thousand years
as they rode horses across the stars
a gallup through time

It is a blinding
to see the children's shadows grow
as the great orchid opens
a bloom let down below
petal lips
it swells like string unfolding pleasure

a story
a re-mapping
a baby
a heartbeat
a color wheel in the garden
a key
a parallel dimension
down on Elysian St.
this is a river you have been crossing
a child in the driveway
a frontier before us with a line running through the center
a circle
a swish
the crystal that spoke to a fish
long black hair
leather strap
a sky smile
a smirk
a seahorse
nettles grow around the moat
a blue rose
a civil war diary
a gun
a burn in her skirt
that necklace from Peru
turn that page
a scrapbook of the dead
prayers of people
a string that speaks
a riddle
a portal
the rainbow bridge
children of the potential
a ritual at dusk
Track Name: The Ancestor
The Ancestor


There is a ghost
standing center circle
white moles guard four directions
a black moon and and earth moon take to corners
where we have no map
where no one knows this ghost

This ancestor holds a black rose
symbolic ghost of blood
a resurrection
of white cloth

Yolk to yolk
like a wheel
this circle has spoke

Where it's dry
white flour mixes with gauze
cast caked
sand it – a rain of white powder
Ghosts there
memory's dust
holds a whisper back
you cannot imagine the sound

Yolk to yolk
like a wheel
this circle has spoke
stretched taught
holding the path in place
Twelve circles
ten lead to another world
epic journey of DNA swims these veins

When you leave this world you will have no eyes.


In the summer of my eleventh year many ways were lost. Tied to the blood I grew tight like those that
had caked before me. A box of secrets put in a red wagon I pulled through the heat that shadowed me everywhere – I was ablaze in my familiar's folly.
The world was dense – I looked for openings but could not find them anywhere.
Fear trapped in yolk unable to speak. Words were at the bottom of strings tied to the beginning of the beginning, like fish pulled up from the deepest sea, reaching air they will never breathe.
I am a mythographer of old dimensions, maugre hollow eyes. I burst forth into name; a line of blood filled with secrets.
The invisible string is tied to my pointy finger as a reminder not to look – but to see! The mind needs a form, so the cloak is a covering for what the eye will not see.
The child pulled the red wagon, shiny in Ra's light. Babies laid down to metal, hot to touch. These ghosts in me are the ghosts of blood. Dried and dark, but not unseen.
When you leave this world you will have no eyes.