relax baby. you look like the american fflag/dont be so unchill baby/somebody might think your uncool. The guitar loop haunting you in the second half of the song was recorded from an accoustic guitar onto my cell pphone and to this day remains…

some light rhyming with a twist. I played the organ loop with the cord plugged in the out jack and couldnt hear what i was playing. that was a formative moment for me artistically. When I realized I didn't want to control how each song sounded…

weird beat poet sounding vocals accoustic meanderings some strange accompaniment.

this song is too funny. make up some words or just pretend its pizza the hut.

whip me you bitch

This song is actually what i consider a pretty song, well, instrumental. complete with tinkling noises, waveform hums of several pitches and rates

Juniper reads a movie tag line while an early improv piece explodes into a swirling strutting admonishment.

pressuns!

This song is a brontosaurus of an instrumental, stepping on trees and crushing houses. It is a force of nature which has not walked this earth for many years...now its on the internet. in this song i play a guitar, laminated placemat, etc.

this song is a take on classicism and neo fascism, and not sounding like everyone else.

can you justify reality?

that mood is so scary/comes forth quickly/ like im a spooked animal/ I know you have been domesticated/ through centuries/ so what possession/ telltale twitch jettisoned... There lurks something about/ spillings of toxic oil/ crytalline liquid…

lyrics by juniper arrangemnt by juniper, vocals by hot wheels.

cute and casio

a spicy latte instrumental. a little chai. a butch looking cheeseburger. now in stereo

so,so vision and quests/choices made/ artillery set/accessories found off a dead mans chest/ nature in pixels/ sight without smells and fingertips felt/ only plastic and components/ binary binds you/binary it blinds you/ the world it waits/ outside…

your 4x4 is my four post bed/ the ruffles and patterns really effed up yer head/in a world of strip malls and choreographed tv brawls/ we grow like a wayward chia/ im so happy to see ya/ the texting is no touching/ and heavy petting means no munching…

i dont know why this song is so racist. At least it doesn't have lyrics. The guitar will break your neck if the synth babble doesn t tear you head off first

a simple song about a man, a raft, a bottle, and a monkey. Blow me a jungle. guitars shift seamlessy backwards and forwards ina barely accoustic nod while a hapless sailor drifts in and out of consciousness, the water skipping over his toes and…

a protest song, out of time and space warp. a harmonica predomintates skillfully, while a deep slide guitar bass whizzles around, Her silky voice made distant in a reverb chamber while scant samples patter.