1. |
Fodder
01:55
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you’re circumnavigating your fate, yet totally devoid of a pace. you won an award for the wait, and you wanted your worldly ways. you gaze into mortality’s face. she’s telling you you made a mistake. you moved to redo hibernate, and now your time in the womb was a waste. and she knows of your impeccable taste. she’s totally unwilling to trade. she never thought you would be so unafraid. no you never thought i would be so unafraid. you’d rather come up with a sizeable quake, then surf around the world in a day. you gotta sort out all the fodder and fade. and now you’re lapping in those lavender waves. they’re swirling and violently vague. you gotta sort out all the fodder and fade. all the pretty synapses that fire in your brain. the pleasure pressure pride and the pain. you gotta sort out all the fodder and fade.
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2. |
Truffula
03:21
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he’s living out of his means. that’s what he means by living. behavior flavor changes with the scenes in which he’s given. he’ll stick his needle in your skin and suck out all the blood from you. you’re just another shape that he can bust out with his truffula. chameleon-come-alien, he’s feeling he’s failing at being a being who be breathing enough air in his lungs. but it’s like infinity’d be great, if could free-base and abuse it he’d do it. he’d smoke it or shoot, have him a chaser of music. now he’s buzzing, shit he’s wasted but afraid to misuse it. don’t want to waste it, also don’t want to wait until the day that he loses it. and that’s damn inevitable, shit he’s written the date down. the days until his nervous breakdown- ain’t a sound to make him nervous, because worthlessness is perfect and a purpose is worthless. and so i say to you that nothing really matters- he don’t eat nothing but nothing, he’ll never overload his platter. he won’t amount to much. that’s much ado about nothing. he can see his future in those clouds that he’s puffing. wearing a barrel with suspenders meets a business suit collided. he’s a motherfucking fat-cat-schizophrenic-hobo-hybrid. and he can see a recycling symbol on the side of his head, might of shared some shit he’s already said. might already be dead, won’t be ready to perish until he assembles some sentences in his head that he can cherish. words are just a force-field, feels his words are forced. so travel through this babble-labyrinth to find the source of the punch line. he knows life’s a joke but sometimes he’s not laughing. finds it hard to relax because relaxing feels like slacking. peace of mind’s a puzzle. his mind’s in puzzle pieces. every vocal chime is just him trying to find a thesis. if he don’t find a thesis shit at least he’ll have a swan song. there’s lights up in the attic but it’s just like he don’t like to leave them on long.
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3. |
River Hymn
04:42
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bodies are floating and growing along on the river. bodies composed of the cold h20 of the river. clustered and swollen uncontrolled orgiastical quiver. digging and groping their shoulders with slippery fingers. pull out the carpet from forms that you thought were official. tear out the whole bottom half of my fractal peripheral. rive out your eyelids, decide if they’re still beneficial. i had live through a winter of worries and scurries and flurries and frowns, but i’m not down. ripped to an infinite realm of elliptical killing. quist ain’t afraid because he already fell from a building. body endures but the soul must be sure that it’s willing. bliss dissipates a pathos’ perception is spilling.
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4. |
Yay Assimiliation
05:06
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there’s rumbling below our feet and crumbling pavement. dragons are exploding from the street, we’re failing to chase them. let’s just sit and gaze at another cluster-fuck of scaly amazement. because if we grab a hold of their tails this world wouldn’t make sense. this is what we is. this is what we asked for. never find that in your pocket-book and never find that in your passport. daydreaming ain’t shit. reality is better. better write god your accomplishments and scribble him a cover-letter. yay assimilation. hip robotic apathy. listlessness is life and love is dead. here’s the situation- you’re not really into that, you’re into being into it instead. we don’t want no cookie-cutter shaping our existence. we reject the formulaic life. irony’s delectable but we’ve become the batter because we’re so busy trying not to try. an airy apparition- something less than optimal but something more than vision. something more than possible. but every time this ghost go find a block to build a sculpture, i can’t chase a heart out of a square. rambling and wandering and ambling and pondering and all i ever wanted was a place to do some conjuring. but if you call this posturing self-consciousness a culture, i will always find it hard to care. whether you’re coming or going, it makes no difference darling. bubble-shaped aquarium, i’m up against the glass and i’m tapping. somebody extinguished the flames or how the hell did this happen? fishies fast asleep and if you wake us we’ll be viciously vapid. we used to lucid dream back when our eye-movement was actually rapid. yay participation. immigrant to insular. watch how fucking adamant we shrug. this is not a haven, this is a society. centers of the universe ‘r us. i’m spending all my time right now in silly glossolalia because i can’t get my soul inside my words. you ain’t from around here. you’d know that theatrical rad stagnancy’s the only soul that works. more than beat-bohemia, we’re hipster hemophilia. zany xenophobia disguised as xenophilia. finding causus belli’s been my one and only object. how’d jefferson davis ever win? i saw peter pan outside with scarf and horn-rimmed glasses smoking cloves and acting passive with the ghost of stonewall jackson and i told them if you ever want to start a little project, i can make some noises on a synth.
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5. |
Involved
04:37
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we gonna breathe this whole thing. the more i think about it we were never on the same page. you never thought i would be so involved, no you never thought i would be so involved. the more i think about it we were always solving mistakes. i would climb inside your little mind and now your eyes are opaque. it’s hazy kind of safe. like a bath that i’m sitting in, skin begins wrinkling. believe that’s all that i could take. and i made you my indulgence because indulgent was the way that you stayed, and one of us had to change. now i’m searching for a sound to drown out the pound of my heart that says our moment of darkness was a permanent phase. but you probably got afraid. the topography has changed. i’m imploding in your wake. and escape from an escape. i don’t think that i was ever meant to be your resident sage. i never thought it would be so involved, no i never thought it would be so involved. i would try to guide you but you locked yourself inside your own cage. you were like an alkaseltzer tossed into infinity’s shore. you dissolved down to your core. but then your core became a sponge and in the psychedelic struggling you’re saturated, all absorbed. you’re a herald to the chaos and you’re excellent at finding it more. you revel in staying sore. now you’re picking at a scab, elaborate fantastical fight because a permanent plight will make for better folklore. your problem with books and your problem with bugs. what a massive cackle from a frame that was so fragile and frail. too ecstatic to inhale. and the wings of your skittishness didn’t merely flitter they just spanned so wide they had to flail. obsessed about an energy you generated naturally yourself. you didn’t need extra help. now your physical expired, retired to separate peace to finally get off your feet and take a hejira trail.
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