Most Inscrutable Liner Notes Ever

The Wikipedia page for the album.

I have taken the liberty of breaking the text into random paragraphs, to ease your perusal.

Who was the author, Barry Titus? We find record of him under his wife's Wikipedia page.

WAIT QUICKLY by Barry J. Titus after Jim Hall and Bill Evans

Rimmed iron wheels chew candy between tracks window smithers Xmas tree window silver money fleeing present unone given coca cola smiling blank wall perspires omens heads nodding close gaped lips seen stick stuck taxi sign disrobes May 15th, 1959. hanging about her knees mail bundle wheeled cripple clutches Read Wall Street clock white sun monocle IIV or VII long blink see eyes time? Apparitional liquid hesitates a foot, a universe below the white paint-trussed varicose cieling. Liquid slips, drops, unoutlineable shape, presenting absence, glides unreal, an excuse for splattering focus, a school of Dolphins or a dark Grecian head.

Virtuoso: practice makes perfect. Two sharps. Ice crystal diamond egg frog oan wrkwrk-wrxwrx. Donned rubber belts nose mouth. Nub knuckled fingers bounce overfilled heat tear salt balling. Again. Two sharps. Ice crystal, diamonkey, egg, nail rubonk, snill. Huhhh. Snill. rubru, nail, frog, diamond many windows flash ice. Air out. Curtain fingers, cieling lines, French door bars gripped unstill sun broiling play, fat ended keys with black spines.

"How could the Augsburg festival have been in Vienna, hah! Loewy?" Paint corner her jagged lip fingertips petrified red cream smile flicked starving grotto. "I mean is she a satirist or," her tendon muscle stomach dieted twist the flat skirt front. "I think she needs a milk man, Loewy." The shambled, bent, stripped fingers forked each others angles. His imagination chained in Veronica's orange ochre wallpaper, blankets. A quicksilver limb paints the swamptoon. "Yes, I do!" shook, he shivered, remembering, room loose daggers broke ice bergs about them. Peanut butter note, Fang, Fang. Ice Fang back wriggled sorcerer hand hung dead skin frog fangs back Mama into Eassie leap shrunk from the door hid sharpened tusk hallway awwwrice fang bump jump.

"Six fifteen," growled grate hunched on the sofa. "You're presence is expiring, I mean, inspiring." Blue, yellow tinged, Mars capillaried, eye, blue crystal, whites slash, "I know what I want! Why is it such a struggle for you? I feel revolutions." Lie quicksilver idealisation limb delusion chrome rationalisation dance dragged curtained bog cracked ice amazon child's burning nerves. Always left whiskers, uneven fingernails, premature orgasms hairy legs, long nose pranthula.

Go play. Eat chocolate cake, peanut butter, pickles, but clean your room and wash your elbows. Ceiling lines, piano leg shadows, French door bars, eleven to four thirty. "Ma!" shook the still fingers. Rectangled silence coagulated, scraped waiting, dangling. Daddyeeee drove him smack clamored up back fallen stairs into the quilt where a silk wrapped, dark quaked moon bled tears. Run vanity open smear black commaed cheek. "Coups d'etat!" forehead burst powder, lipstick ribboned run eye shadow sink spit spigot greyened clear washed black rubbed lather pushed red pressed tan smeared blue smudged grey circled one eye deathlaughcue hiccupping criggle vermouth spread on the table top gash crystal core neck glass cupped fingers polished green.

A silver ghost hears. Life illuminates a paper screen. Eyes dance truth's instrument. Sieve, sickle and sloat, red grimes grey molds parted skins furrowed tissue lives skeletal screams. Long brown stone blunt nose raised, "Naked day?" puffed sound slices blush. Tongue stuck inside closed teeth. Torso immobile inflame face clacks ticket counter leaned hat veiled hat pulled hat swivel, "I don't know what to say." Jagged leaning brown limbed face. His eyes crumbled smiles smoke dust wound warm bricks.

     Posted By: Paul - Sat Jul 08, 2023
     Category: Literature | Vinyl Albums and Other Media Recordings | Surrealism | 1960s

Apropos of nothing . . .

That cover reminds me of one of the great missed opportunities in my life. Imagine a woman with long black hair wearing a peasant blouse, blue peasant skirt, and red boots, face down in a pond, her arms spread, her hair swirling . . . and it could be yours for just $30.

I was deeply in love with a beautiful and talented young lady who drew a photorealistic 'lady in the pond' scene in preparation for a project: she wanted to make a mold and produce life-sized shells out of fiberglass for people to float in their duck pond or swimming pool. She needed just $50 for the materials to build it. She'd only have to sell three of them to recoup all costs . . .

As I said, I was deeply in love with her, but $50 was more than a week's wages (1972), she had no experience building molds or using fiberglass, and while I loved the idea, I knew she'd be hard pressed to find three people willing to shell out $30 for a one-time joke.

My 'failure to share her vision' meant 'we were never meant to be.' She walked out and I never saw her again.

It's been fifty years. I've forgotten her name, the color of her hair, or why I fell for her, but the picture she drew is one of my most vivid memories.

If I hadn't been so analytical (and cheap), who knows what could have happened. We might have married, had eight children, and started the largest and most successful landscape art company in the world.
Posted by Phideaux on 07/08/23 at 10:15 AM
It resembles an imitation of Proust or Joyce by stringing along words. Or the ramblings of a drunk...
Posted by KDP on 07/08/23 at 10:46 AM
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