Three albums released

D-Day weekend

by

the Bards of Mythville

The Marriage of Heaven & HAL

Animal Harm

Whose Bones Be They

 

Bards of Mythville

"Storms Across America"

Bards of Mythville is a musical group with an active online presence, offering music across platforms like ReverbNation, YouTube, SoundCloud, and BandLab.

Overview

Bards of Mythville is a creative music project that shares its work through multiple online platforms. Their music spans various styles and is accessible for streaming and discovery by fans and new listeners alike.

Online Presence and Music Access

• ReverbNation: The group maintains a profile where listeners can explore their tracks, follow updates, and engage with their music community ReverbNation.
• YouTube: A dedicated playlist features their songs, allowing fans to stream and enjoy their music videos or audio tracks YouTube.
• SoundCloud: Curated playlists by Douglas McDaniel include Bards of Mythville tracks, providing an easy way to listen on desktop or mobile devices SoundCloud.
• BandLab: Tracks like Baseball on the Radio (Kennesaw Mountain Landis Remix) showcase their creative process and allow followers to interact with their music BandLab.

Listening Experience

Bards of Mythville’s music is characterized by a blend of storytelling and melodic composition, often reflecting imaginative or thematic elements suggested by their name. Their online platforms provide both casual listening and deeper engagement for fans interested in the creative process.

How to Explore

To explore their music, you can:

1. Visit their ReverbNation page to follow and stream tracks.
2. Check out their YouTube playlist for a visual and audio experience.
3. Listen to curated playlists on SoundCloud for mobile-friendly streaming.
4. Engage with their creative projects on BandLab, where remixes and original tracks are shared.
   Bards of Mythville offers a versatile listening experience across multiple platforms, making it easy for fans to discover, stream, and interact with their music.

Voltage Terrain

Before 

high beams
at evening,
when dirty

desert streets 
make your mind
the only
available light ...

~

Kurt Vonnegut's
look-a-like, always
asleep in the room, 
died of pills

we were told

Twenty-two miles ran

away as summer flared

When blind bus driver

passed on by

my aurora took personal

Details of towers

growing more fine

A trucker stop

at Central Library

loading Alexandrian muses

Peaks of the Papago

red sandstone, pock-marked, 

once a holy higher ground

now helicopter overlords

hover overhead & overheated

High noon breaks

into the Valley stone cold sober

& the hazy dome of white shine 

shields rising temperatures

feeding visceral exhaustion, thirst

Clown car fathers

& firearm mothers

tore down adobe caches,

illiterate drivers mad on gas,

roofs made of mesquite beams,

replacing it all with joyride matrices,

concrete to waste, incorporated

First moon of June,

a sermon before the storm,

making Duck Dynasty 

role-motto crusty Christ,

lower vibration particle plasma

winning the argument

Same old grueling message

demanding automaton zeal

running again to softcore pawn,

winds of history to the back ...

Sunday's reliever never delivers

~

Grid fabricate. Stick short-ended.
Indian School Road bus
busted, income tax bunkered,
Maryvale cancer cluster,
dusted Conestoga shopping
carts, broken hoses, drones,
big boxes taco-laying those
who lost World War Three
long long long time ago

~

Violence silenced
Music & motion
beneath Kachina towers
tall, above our awareness,
atomic & electromagnetic

Indivisible, the flow

My Argument in Church (Before, During & After)

With my eyes rolling over

the quaint antique verses

presuming to direct-quote God,

I get Dante's "Inferno" in the gut,

a recipe fostering ignorance

& manifest destiny, division,

violence at any disagreement

Fables inundating normies,

deluding folks into delirium

that the Lord was actually speaking

when instead it was only a targeted

advertisement for bullies in the pulpit,

sure, sure, sure, black printed Bible

doing good slightly more than evil, 

but still but still but still ... Not worth it,

despite the human math. If mushroom clouds

hover over your enemies ... your many,

many enemies ... then you get a pass

from space brother Jesus? What a laugh.

No. No. No. Lessons of mortality

are taught by the Earth and the seasons,

and if you act not, breeding pestilence,

hummingbirds will drop exploding steel,

the fools errand to describe the afterlife,

that perfect lawnmower, 

that Mercedes mansion

is but moon dust everlasting

~ Douglas McDaniel

Tolleson, Arizona

Mythville Bookstore

 

March of the Dead Peasants

Sleepers, not evil doers,

always haunted by monsters, always.

Therapy turtled, hopefully remastered.

Replete. Complete. Not enough to eat.

O the hungry, polarizing beat.

Hypnosis gnosis, post-toasty, the ghost is.

Lilith's fair hand, warm with the wine

stolen from the temple. Deadly misled.

Didn't even know they were already dead.

~ Douglas McDaniel

Tolleson, Arizona

American Mythville Bookstore

Man Behind the Curtain Moment

Dissuade your eyes, citizen,

there's no pedo human traffic king,

'cause it's all off the burner now,

the fully baked potato, ironic of Dorothies.

Even if grand wizardic witch revelations

overthrow the conspiratorial under-toe:

No sea change. No see the change. No, see?

Nothing to see anywhere with eyes so wide shut,

not with the invisible wardrobe redacted,

not with the war over the Peace Prize ... re-enacted.

Oh hell. Oh well. Tho mighty arrows fail, O lordy lo,

the longbowmen sure are getting in a lot of decent practice.

~ Douglas McDaniel

Tolleson, Arizona

American Mythville Bookstore

Good Walk Spoiled #13million

Eyes rolling, concrete broken,

government talking in tank,

spoken over bread & wine

& destiny manifest, streets

with pixilated populations

imperfect sleepwalking,

not officially evil,

blue smoke coughing up

inferno gut gone Dante,

inciting violence, violation

intolerant, gone Golfwaffe,

dragons flying over all seas,

real-world real-politic beneath

pushing up orcs, daisies lining

boulevards denting machine monsters

with angry signs, targeted advertisements

summoning revolution, private & public

Bunker Buster Blues

Hey Davey Davey,

 hey Davey hey

All fun and games

 until you lose a navy

All game theoried with missiles clicked

onto load at Tehran,

 where lights are out,

'cept for stars 

streaking wonders

across the night sky

All stone scorpion

 tails toward

decapitated towers

 of leadership

All second coming

 deceitful servant, 

national bloodlust,

Ghost of Arch-Nuke Ferdinand

sucking violence

 into the black portal

Little Black Plastic Radio Box

Under the covers

with the radio on

great discoveries

into the night

arcs of architecture

sonic beams spinning

Beatles, Kinks, Bowie

& Three Dogs Knighted

in secret rebellion

Album oriented later, rocked,

raised by wolves

at Tower Records

Upper-middle-class boys,

mom said, always reminding,

with enough expendable income

for a wall of eight-tracks,

stoner training devices

all that voodoo entices

Sheer freedom's license

Motion without the violence

~ Douglas McDaniel

Tolleson, Arizona

Mythville Bookstore

Thoughts Before the Big Haboob

 City of bitches & dudes

aware lost only imagination

for fashion & fantasy baseball

but nobody's playing

Neon moon halved

storm always moving in

heavy carefree airs

Sidewalk rolling 

without wavin'

Within invisible waves

escape is made

then came escapade

shipwreck shit

at some dump 

called Friendship Inn

Megaliths in movements

seekers of salvation relief

broken humanity streets

hugging the church gates

crowding the fire lane

Sirens & automatic angel

broadcasting classical

at McDonald's parking zone

Calming muses

to satisfy criminality

All angles covered regardless

urban barrack secure

junkies with needles

in the shadows

Dollars lost, free coffee

lathers & soap, pool,

air turned to Iceland

Identification nation

late night into the beat

 of immortal moonlight

soft cement blues glow

tumbling betwixt the towers

Humming buzzing boulevards

shouting social static

& distortion

to the rhythm

of high heel shoes

Sleepwalkers

not officially evil

Sunday morning sent cruising west

wastelands deserted

except for the American carnage

making airport runways

one two three 

... what for

unavailable

Land home

dreaming dreamier

gothic hunger 

to devour the world

Cavernous luxuries 

& humble demeanor

plasma ghosted

still quite alone

under mortal sunlight

feeding the ether

In moves the haboob

dirt curtain horizon

shepherding cumulus 

thunderheads over

gloom-dark grey-rock 

mountains & ice cream

 truck tones tinkle

 in the twisty down-pressure

of atmospheric 

baubles of dust

Curious downwind hawk

circling updrafts into dark clouds

Who but anyone

but the downtrodden

could guess what winged things

hope for or believe

Great jets of Zeus hollow-phonic

bass-boom currents

Dome symphonies of sonic layers

mind troubling senses

for transient man

touching Apache tears

with no sins washed

grand gully-washing thrust

thunderclap lightning

God not done talking

~ Douglas McDaniel

Tolleson, Arizona

Mythville Bookstore

Disconcerto #144K

 

Kingdom heaven

upon us

Another Esto Bonney

chorus erupts

Total empathy

wide river worldwide

Totalitarian shame

Thanking little baby plastic

Bill Gates

Luciferian-lit 

voltage terrain

running smoothly

at decent rates

Saying smiley faced

Gesundheit to all great

oligarchic Golfwaffe!

Can't tear towers down 

Only ones 

we've got

Sum human

conundrum

Thanking alien overlords

Bunny in song

not a hawk

Stone-shaped black heart

Magical elixir

William Blake darkly artful

Fed once Jesus

by the mouthful

All the graffiti

is painted over now

God ain't 

Art Garfunkel

Child once asked

Grandma & Grandpa

if communion wine

Kool-Aid tasted good

They laughed

relieved 

not blood

Preacher speaks:

O of all the great

 things to say

before a flood

Floating tomb

believe deceive

Deeper muse

Deeper

O gawd we're all so

skull & crossbones

confused

Whose bones be they?

Yours?

Bouncey housey

in a big haboob

Poor managers

let it all sail away

Yo you're the media

& you're late

Serving up sound bytes

& salty satire comedy

cracker uppers

So if protest drums

out there who knows?

Just too damn busy

for information flows

These leaders flaming

high inflammation

cocaine up their nose

Dirt perfect particles

spraying in the face

Front moves in

Fifty miles per hour

Time enough for a note

Not a question so much

A make-you-wonder

What-the-fuck!

Bible bummer

is only

one

hundred

forty

four

thousand

Chosen One

babies on board

Alien overlord starship

lacking boats

for everyone?

Bet Bezos has ticket

& so does Soros

Only one pet allowed

Meanwhile, baked on Earth

protests need some percentage

success

More percentage

more than current run ... Run!

Prayed about 

this Trumpist tattoo

in church prayer garden

built beside car wash

Jet engine loud

& couldn't keep

third eye open

But eye one good 

eye two okay

Thanking alien overlords

once again

Well as Zuckerberg

in a manger

making me better, man,

maybe

Takes rael cowboy

to light one up

in such demonic

dust devil winds

~ Douglas McDaniel

Tolleson, Arizona

Mythville Bookstore

Solar Storm

Electromagnetic molecules

of public violence

fell upon the parking lot

in front of the Bank of America.

Drunk on vodka, off the rails,

fighting like a wild cat.

Used to this kind of thing.

A Navajo woman 

getting angry in the CME,

banging her bottle

on the car window

bouncing off plastic, see,

and then begins

the melee

Like some earthquake

shaking the continental shelf

into liquid

(So much for running away

to Obstruction Island)

the crazy lady swings

at anything she can miss

... I take the rolling container

waving it into the air forward

spraying the perpetrator

with the juice of our Lord

She stares at me suddenly

cold shocked 

stunned ashamed

then pounces  

O all the melting souls dizzied

in the animal magnetic. Birds spinning

in swarms around the Caribbean cruise ships.

Magma churning underground. Set on spin

by the breath of the sun. 

CME me, please! Mutate my mind!

 Bend the vibrations higher & higher!

Oh psychedelic breeze!

Please can you just hone me

& tune me & groom me

into a better human being!

~ Douglas McDaniel

Tolleson, Arizona

Mythville Bookstore

A Visitation with Doctor Bones (For John Berryman)

Eyes peeking out pain from sockets

as the catheter goes right off rocket

past the unimaginable shock of birth.

Spread thin like salad dressing

by the American Medical Association.

Served up for billing purposes.

Let me be your gravy train.

Let me be your next victim

of the artfully intelligent artificial

laser-guided Davinci surgery machine.

There's not even a purr,

Doctor, do you concur?

Having already navigated

your impersonal professional gatekeepers,

read your data-driven beepers, soaked, no,

deep-fried into molecular

Sauce of Information

Inflammation A-la-Mode,

do you concur, Doctor Bones?

When I was young if they cut you up,

gutted you like sea bass, oh, they had class,

they stuck you in a hospital for your broken ass,

with nurses & smiling feces faces

shaped like bed pans, an energy

almost as bad as the airport,

but they didn't throw you out

on the street just for sport,

doctor, do you concur?

Meet the new cruelty.

Culture that consumes.

Keeps you live long enough

to let you die & die & die,

splayed across the operating table:

Doctor, what are the words?

Am I oxycontin able, pain pills

for the electronic staples?

A feast for your gauzy tray ...

Doctor Bones, am I going to be okay?

On Tolleson, Arizona When You're Dead

Chart a course to Starbucks.

Keep an eye out for bathroom crashers.

Hub of liberal-o-cracy, just a haze away

from Monument Mountain,

where the first surveyor's meridian line

was struck in the "arid zone" region,

at the confluence of the Agua Fria & Gila ...

I realize, this is more than just vaguely journalistic,

as a fact, but when you're deceased,

just can't follow the facts. And it's more

than just the loss of fertile soil or irrigated fields,

the flash-in-a-pan for gold roll, now so old,

... here comes the espresso rush, the touch

of Tolleson turned into parking lots

for trucks & gas stations & big boxes

so full of slaves all they can do is crave

the only corporate transactions

this cemented fabrication can provide,

words flowing in every direction,

free as birds, oh, the words, the words ...

See the drift of construction workers

in orange jackets, grimly greeting the morning

central caffeine station, looking for the cosmic bus

right on out of here, past the barrier reefs

of castle-crates big enough for industrious kings

who hot-branded the compromised wetlands

on my two-wheeled alchemical trek

& nobody here is getting wet ...

Who cares what the invisible see?

The Canis Latrans in me still runs free.

- Douglas McDaniel

Tolleson, Arizona

Mythville Books

On the Eve of Transit

The sky is brown dust 

at dusk on New Year's Eve

hovering over 

grimly tented nomads

& the night quiets

into an avalanche roar

& slowly I went low

behind the orange & white cones,

hiding where I've never hidden before

as the last night lights up

into a firecracker blow.

Meet the New Cruelty.

Meet the new universal scream.

All connected by silver strings,

pulsating seas of love & war.

Grasp the leap of faith it takes

to believe anything is quantum real.

Look & see: That chaotic madman

 of heavy-handed governance:

He nailed a closure notice 

to the door of the library.

Thomas Jefferson's rational animal

 bows before the burning

& doinks the kick toward 

the field goal posts of autocracy

in a dissipation of the glories

during that holiday ditch betwixt

Christmas & New Year's Eve

when the Earth lets out a breath

for those moments spared

from all the trampling around,

the compromised ground littered

with tricksters & tomb raiders 

& the know-how of Aknaton lying dead,

coal-black cables of Bad Bwana disrespect,

crazy white people shit

like salt-water aquariums

in the mile-high desert,

fresh-catch seafood at the ski resort.

Nothing but blunt pain here for growth.

Feel the new cruelties

pressuring the pineal pearls

in our oyster-fried hind brains.

Whisper beneath the muttering

of the so & so suckers

 in the neo-liberal mausoleum.

Meet the monk in his cloister

rolling hysterical on the river dancing.

See him speaking to vaporous ghosts

held together in some sudden

revelatory silent tsunami,

trying to make the words shimmer,

make them shine & shine & shine.

Him big Edward R. Murrow,

speaking truth to the ivory towers

with reports of rainbow smoke

mucking up the Mars-red Moon,

glaciers cracking & fizzling into herds

of Fibonacci sequence seahorses

& firenadoes raging across the cities.

Please spare us his year-end review.

Enough to say sanity was rare,

irrational animals tossing about

the singed globe with "passionate intensity ..."

Oh dear, Mister Yeats, I'm getting lost

in your reveries, gassed by your prophecies ...

And here's another: Look. Let me

introduce you to the new looming cruelties,

tight as the security at Times-Square,

pompous & pumped & primed

for the new Nero & his Trumpigarchy ...

Can't wait to get a selfie

with the next Ground Zero's dead heroes ...

But Captain! There aren't enough

metallic cages for them all!

No worries raging in, no worries raging out,

just shake your piggy banks all about.

Hear the tinkle & the shout.

Just wipe away the human stain

with your family's black rifle,

your Sheriff Joe Playbook,

your racially profiling amigos.

Gotta get me a Bible because

at the American greed-head

fireworks display before the transit,

the entire neighborhood

percolates like popcorn at midnight.

On the first day of the year,

the barbecued shreds of the celebration

tumble like weeds in the terrified wind.

The Bones of a Cheerleader

Not answering phone calls from Texas.

Too many lost relatives there buried

below the Alamo. Bedded down

with the bones of Davey Crockett.

Detectives say the skeleton woman

kissed & caressed & blew new breath

into him to go there and die

& she had the bones

of a cheerleader

Ain't eating ice cream no mo

no mo no mo .,. Not answering

phone calls from Kellogg or Coke.

Not from the president.

Not from Jesus or Buddha,

with their bones hid safe,

all phones being burners,

or even the bones of chairman Mao

Oh no ho no oh no

He had the soul of a cheerleader.

A suitcase in the ditch.

Jammies with pink polka dots

burst out from the sides.

A chess game missing three pieces.

One empty Hello Kitty wallet

left to fade in the desert sun.

One unhappy story unknowable.

There were no bones of a cheerleader,

The very next day I don't know

if I am ever going to be okay.

She had the bones of a cheerleader,

an angel with no light for a day

of smokes torn to shreds for tobacco

in my zombie space alien pirate party tray. 

Nothing more resourceful than a smoker.

Nothing to say to the devil running the day.

I have the bones of a cheerleader.

That's what the doctors say.

- Douglas McDaniel

Tolleson, Arizona

Mythville Book Store