1. |
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you say on your worst days,
you feel like a molotov cocktail mixture
of Elliott and Cobain, on their best-
and that's nothing to be proud of, no,
that's still no great success.
you say it's not that you're addicted to opiates,
but you can't shake the feel that the world they invented for you
just don't make sense at its best,
and no work of art you impulsively invent
would ever bridge the gap.
oh, but me, I was never abrasive enough
to tackle the injustice of
living my days out without asking who, why, and what for.
I register behavior from circles local and culture greater than
any real cost of reward.
I am sympathetic towards your game;
I will step aside and let you play-
where you bring us to your leader
with our inner argumentative demeanor
gagged and bound, drag us across the ground
if you still have your doubts that we serve you now.
when I felt too much, I strove to go numb.
when I learned too much, I wished that I was dumb.
a hangman's noose knot tangle
chokes the neurons as they strain,
psychiatrists would kill to get their hands on this brain.
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2. |
Star Sign Dissociation
03:52
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I don't want to read my horoscope anymore.
I just can't identify with my astrological sign.
I just can't identify with anything that I feel inside.
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3. |
Jim Carrey Hymn
04:05
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|
you can reinvent yourself,
til you don't recognize me.
there will be so much for me to discuss
with your new memory.
now every decision that we make
spins our gears at a faster rate,
and when they slow to a stop we'll have learned it all
for nothing.
I'm waking up young again tomorrow
and doing everything correctly.
I will indulge and never think,
and goddamnit, I will be happy.
I'll be happy.
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4. |
Boots of Spanish Metal
02:48
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5. |
Angel Knock
04:07
|
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|
the angels are knocking,
the door is locked.
the stench of salvation
wafts through the walls.
I have a headache,
can't see past the fog.
I stim on my pen
til the ink explodes.
that was a hypnosis;
I was dreaming too hard.
when I woke at your heels,
you let me to the trough.
all my old inspirations,
they seem trivial now.
my will tried to act on them;
my mind wouldn't allow.
can't you see I've already pulled the curtain?
can't you see you're chasing a ghost that you thought was a person?
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6. |
Requiem for a Peacenik
03:38
|
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|
he never found peace within himself,
but it was a thrill to put himself through hell,
and get lost in a drug addled fog,
babble half-baked truths he thought would save others or himself,
but all he'd done was fucked and fought,
skipped from country house to luxury loft,
left friends, family, and partners in his wake,
naive to the war in his mistakes.
he had advice to bestow on us:
we could have peace-
the peace he couldn't find within himself.
we could have peace-
the peace he couldn't give to anyone else
we could have peace-
in knowing all we are is each others' hell.
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7. |
A Name for Later
02:36
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8. |
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|
three liters from Pavia,
one case from the west side of the state
running our lines with us
as we practice for this Human play-
it's written that we can't give too much away-
we examine each other like paintings,
make our best stabs at the artist's intent.
we explain what we think it is we're seeing
with an air of presumptive pretense,
but we end up with an inaccurate mess,
a Rorschach test of gibberish.
our history we'll forget,
like finer details of bad dreams.
can't be sure if we're really here,
or mere projections on some event horizon screen.
we tried to weave it into being,
kitsch love for our misfit commune,
but all we found ourselves doing
was passing the pain around and right on through.
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Holy Profane Detroit, Michigan
Lo-fi word spew and pretty noise experiments
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