I was born in New Jersey, USA, in June- which the tabloids often leave out- grrrr -- and then I grew up to become an indelible pennsylvanian Pop Star. life wasn't always this awe-some, though, and in fact, it was hard! but only some times. That kind of just goes to really show that you in fact caould even turn out one way or another to in fact show the world how your truest nature indubitably blah blah blah bloblobla whatever. in 2003, I was born. in 2023, I'm a Pop Star, but there is much more to my story, ok? read between the lines-, that is my favorite phrase, or otherwise, "get a clue," meant nicely though. so..... bcdnqr.....
Excerpt from 7/19/22, the midnight-morning after it
probably: i meandered around the school while calls to XXXXX's
phone returned futile tones of absence. i've heard his "leave-a-message"
thing many times, left unchanged since eighth grade and
all, but this night i thought about the strange memory which
that silly recording draws from. it made me really sad. he'll
have a lengthy audio message to mull through in the morning in
which i lament everything: in short, the loss of the Delaware.
whatever. well, more ilke "ouffffff." i took outside to see the
big sky of montana, crossed the main street directly into the
neighborhoods whose streetlights stay off to maintain view of
the true sky. i saw the faint-contrast dust of the milky way and
all the same constellations i'd ogle at in XXXXXXXX XXXXXX, in
malaise and euphoria and waxes and weans . some time passed and
a stranger drove up to me in an old cadillac. his lights blinded
my sight of the stars- i shielded my eyes and made a stupid
face, yell-asking him whether i was being a bother in some way.
I thought he was going to kill me, right then right there in the
street. he didn't respond multiple times over, while i could
only get a faint view of his face through the light-enraptured
windshield. out the car, a silver-years fellow in a
hawaiian-tourist-adjacent fit- "i hope i didn't bother your
sightseeing," or something to that effect he'd told me. he was
driving to a town thirty miles yonder, he said, and wanted to
see the stars too before he left, so he joined me as strangers
often don't. we spoke about the treachery of red lodge. eleven
years he stayed there he said. eleven years cultivating the
identity of "Bridger Dan", so he told me was his name. i
confided with some personal trouble stuff, really how to cope
with global warming and everything else so bad. he offered no
reassurance or silver lining to what i expressed. we moped in
what we concluded was the oncoming death of the world, and hoped
for aliens or something to present themselves in history's final
arc. Bridger Dan is old and addled, but i have youth still. I
told him i've still got a lot of time to see some aliens."
I understand them more than you, i think, they're a consistent motif in my life. basically my family's always had cats in the house, always at least one- ✝ Cassie, ✝ Gizmo, ✝ Star, ✝ Eric, Suki, ✝ Sheldon, ✝ Xena, yea ... When i was traveling the country, I would scribe this one particular cat drawing anywhere it made sense to and so it became a central sorta visual motif for me. It's tattooed on my right ankle- just above it. cats are reserved and cool, i can only respect the game you know. They get it
be in your dreams tonight. He won't be within
the realm of perception, like a character in a
movie, so to speak.
Rather, you will see his face and sense his presence, but it will be as if you are the movie and he is the lone viewer, sitting in the empty cinema.
A cinema with one seat reserved solely for him. You and the rest of your dream will be his movie, and he will silently observe. Never interacting, not for a moment.
And yet, somehow, you will still know that he is there. Are you comforted? Or do you feel sinister intent in his gaze? Do you sense that his presence is dangerous?
Or is he only here to protect you? From what? From what? From what? From what? From what? From what? From what?
Pity, not even God can save your soul now." - corny copypasta about the "EVER DREAM THIS MAN?" that was in my notes app
dreams that I can fly, like all the time, at the
very least it's been once a week for the past
ten years ish.... this is how the physics work
there: think mario 64 wing cap, i'll be standing
in the yard yeah, then I get a sprint on-- a
skip in my gait brings me some liftoff, big
fucking leap and bound sends me over the trees
bordering our parsonage home, then it's kind of
just a mental game staying up there and all.
changing direction midair is hard- I've got like
a 15-foot turn radius to do so, if i tried to do
some tricky shit crossing up a bird or something
i would plummet to my death. that's one control
scheme... otherwise - and this is more often
accompanied by interior environments be it my
apartment or home or some office/church/whatever
- i'll have the power to make myself all
anti-gravity mode, clinging to walls and just
kind of looking at the tops of buildings like
its satellite imagery. I don't have a preference
between the two necessarily.
If you have
similar experiences or other dreaming contents
e-mail me now
My first car was a white 1998 Ford Contour, the basest of base models among its peers, i think, named "Toby," my transportation through-line of the first noahmarino album... We decided to kick his bucket (scrapped for a ripoff cash return) the week I'd done up the mononucleosis pt 2 video, and i was fucking broken driving it all meanderingly stallingly to the grave. I listened to father & son by Cat Stevens on the way there, bluetooth-cassette adapter thing getting in its last viable use, god that car was fucking cool. Yeah there's strong sentiments baked into my family having just scrounged it for my 17th birthday, my driving down and up and down to Delaware (+my I-95 fender bender), me & lost bike buddies tying ropes around the whole back the car to hold their gear all loosely outwardly exposed, yah...... This car could have fixed the world
I really like to write and put music to it, sometimes it happens the other way around, or sometimes one without the other. "noahmarino" is my truncated artist name, it's very chic, pop star-ly.
when I was a kid i'd listen to video game ost's, esp. kirby & the amazing mirror, sonic adventure, smash, homestuck or minecraft, yoshi's island, but the GBA one, also undertale ost.. Sort of almost exclusively video game music until I was like 12. I wouldn't tell anybody that for a while, then there was a while i'd tell people and try to "justify" it somehow, but time helps me say it was pretty cool, me being like that and all. today i'm very fond of Arthur Shea/ARTHUR/Joy Again, Memo Boy/OTTO/Pudding Club, Björk, Hooky, Pram, Antena, WEEN etc on top the aforementioned ost's. there is a synthesis here to what noahmarino means to me, but beyond that, these are very much what inspire me
i did during the pandemic, when I toiled in a basement
for two years with the Pennsylvania dread and all. my
died, which really sucked (⪼Cats).
I was gifted a Casio HT-700 (ever
thankful!) & i saved up for a 4-track, both
undergirded the production
for the album, very coarse and unrefined, w/ lyrics
worth some further workshopping. I'll leave the rest of
the context for those in my life who knew
where I was at then, for better and noticeably for
worse. Thanks to everyone in my life for your patience
and presence, then and now.
know how my name came to be, through some
retelling or another I've given during the
going on in my head. basically, don't think anything
into my name, the noahmarino one or the other one, you
can't glean anything from that or the differences
between, anything there ever was
to say about these things will bleed through somehow via
the texts or the subtexts or the supertexts or the stxet
... keep your eyes on that! There's no grandeur here.
it's me, always,
and you, sometimes.
Noah Heraald Marino
buddy were subject to run from the dark,
but it had turned to be nothing:
We had left home, out to probe another presence unknown, in sleep cycles maladjusted,
seeking the vestige of Pennsylvania spirits who roam between the nightfall and conversation.
Shy to speak up, yeah the haunting was in being alone; Fills the silence, shadow house on Quarry Road
There was something in
spilled a long time ago- people
settled on the river wonder why it
Take me down to the load deck fended off by chain locks; whatever, w.ever! whoever'd watch us now?
What a nerve, our dumb flock, our stymied words and gumdrops... I have not yet written out the lyrics for this part