1. |
||||
Saw it on a card at the CVS:
It's just not who you are,
It doesn't have to be hard
I know we've been apart,
but you seem depressed.
It's just you grabbed me by the arm,
I can walk you to your car
I could listen to your grievances
I could feel your heart beat
even if you don't believe the things
I know and see and did.
So I repeat them:
I am truly sorry. It's dark,
every time we find a spark, we
can't keep it lit.
Part of me's like
pardon me for speaking less,
decompressing, reconnecting,
leaning in and being present.
You keep your friends
as close as enemies.
You seem defensive.
Leave it then.
"Leave it with [you]"?
Wow, read the room,
leave a message!
It's a blue screen of death,
no need to freak out,
just reset it.
Maybe some decent rest—
I sleep just fine, goodnight,
forget it.
Squeaky wheel or broken record,
same creepy shpiel over and over again
cause you won't just accept it.
So I guess it's self-fulfillingly prophetic
for a self-own, I guess I'll sell this cell phone
since you never texted.
I'm also guessing this is textbook rejection,
but I'm flying blind without any kind of
manual to reference.
Thenagain, what was I expecting?
Except for tempers tampered with, I reckon this is all,
on balance, quite refreshing.
After all we are a complete mess
It oughtta be alarming,
it isn't cool or charming.
Catch a falling star, you may be impressed...
Wait and see how far you'll walk chasing even less.
It's pathetic! Well, to you, maybe;
I'm pretty mellow.
Admittedly, the sooth is crazy,
yeah, I let myself GO!
Just bought these brand new baby shoes,
you never know...
if reckoning is not for you,
good luck ever getting stoned!
But I can't tell you what to do,
except leave me the hell alone!
What am I, some "sooth sayer"?
You'll find the truth may hurt.
Fortune tellers make uncool neighbors!
With the "wise words," grinds on my nerves...
what kind of nice person "doesn't do favors?"
Can't even steal their stupid newspapers!
Mr. Wizard, I will see you later.
See the difference is, we use data.
Do what you must, but don't assume the future will change much
all it's going to do is change us.
|
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2. |
||||
The suckers fade,
the upset buffers bluff and shave.
The margins pucker as the blade,
long underfunded and dull with age,
can't trace the line.
The youngsters came
a gyroscope of silent shame,
now gone ni'ilist, draped in cellophane,
afraid cuz they can't tell the way,
or time.
The masquerade!
Ask your sponsor. Master a trade.
Ack all offers, actors are paid.
The cast is awesome, extras are great,
director is fine.
And that's a take, the
sweetest plum in a sour debate:
we gotta contemplate sustained delirium
if we want a chance to say
goodbye.
F'all you're worth
is your experience on Earth,
something tells me that sum total
is not a quota, it's not assured...
it's yours to burn.
The gift is a curse,
you live in the lurch, in fits and spurts,
yr indecision kicks in and leaves you frozen
This isn't a pivot, change your approach
or adjourn!
All your words,
fingers gripping the lectern...
Look, you could have been more vocal,
or less colloquial and absurd
the way you were.
And are you sure?
These last 20 years are a blur
Though that suggests they're like a photo
Yet they're TOTALLY obscure.
So, force majeure?
Another day,
un autre dénouement passé,
And anyway you want to pay
we'll take it, we cannot complain,
although we do.
Under the bridge, upstate,
unto the breach now, babe, OK?
No, you freak out with a gun in your face! Fish,
cut bait, or reach out;
you keep running away!
They come for fame, or money, or love,
or a bug in the brain. They're just
insane: they make the exact same mistakes
expecting new outcomes when they won't change.
Adjust they may; puh!
Nothing but an incremental update.
Must be pilot season or something the way
they try to reason with fate and get mushed into paste.
Is that all?
Deep in debt, daughters at the debutante ball,
Always either boiling the ocean or jokin'.
When I say I want what you're smokin',
I want it gone.
That all you've got?
Another Def Kettle Jam bit about the pot?
Off in never never land, in slow motion…
What's not to like about a life not knowing?
A lot.
But the energy is totally off.
Which side are you on? You're blowing your shot!
Your eyes are all wrong.
If you're truly supposed to "show and prove",
Time to get going, dude! Telling me you're going to;
You're not.
Never thought I'd see you, a mirage,
like the ticking of a clock, amb ee ahnce, never get it til it's gone — and, it's gone.
Only missing, just forgotten, not forgiven, cuz it's fraught.
No decisions, only talking, never living, just the thought.
|
||||
3. |
||||
Can't say we aced that test.
I mean we gave it our best, even shaved our heads,
and we're still not famous yet!
It's a phase, it's a PHRASE, not a raison d'etre.
I like things that make sense, like paying the rent,
or shameful regret after betraying your friends.
You're so brave to try and make amends
Erecting a vain monument through a dilated lens
to an arrangement violated.
We could brainstorm problems, anticipate them...
Or handwave, and stand to make the same mistakes again.
Ooh our favorite! Might as well savor it!
They want what they want.
Can't change the volume.
Seems on, but it's just not.
That's not me, it's all you. But I've got
it all ready, the grandfather clocks in
the ballroom.
Maybe what they want is wrong.
What do all do?
I bet they all do an awful lot.
I want to be wanted,
I can't even call you.
It may seem small, but it's just gone.
It all seems to fall through
have you forgotten what we've lost
already, the grandfather clocks?
And the ballroom is empty,
all due to everything.
Nobody wants to be wrong,
OK, wot would y'all do?
What we all do
all day long:
Fidgeting to shake off the stress
and the pain that collects in the base of your neck
In exchange for remaking your environment,
for parades and grenades and retirement,
it's kind of insane.
It's just information, I guess...
it diminishes with age if you're clinically depressed
and you can't keep pace with the internet.
Amazed all these mazes ain't finished yet
It's a mess
so you hit refresh
Don't know how they do it,
your thing.
Somehow they just knew
in bus i ness
The way around is through it.
So boring.
The game is playing you
so instant death
I'm ignoring it.
but it didn't stick.
yeah or forward!
begin again!
it's all ruined.
a little more th'n
just DO IT.
It's your thing!
But you know you can't prove it.
Your case is hollow, through and through.
They can roll the montage, but who wins:
God is elusive, we're all doomed.
There is no ice above the earth.
1: It's what we all do. [laughs]
2: Who's that?
1: What?
2: Hang on. What is?
1: I just mean, we all do these things, these little things, you know, and then we notice — that, which we comment upon, we make commentary about. I dunno. It's just what we all do. Ha, haha.
2: It doesn't sound funny.
1: It's not. It's actually a lot of serious work, but most people think it's just, you know, Seinfeld.
2: Seinfeld wasn't a lot of work?
1: I guess… but it was funny. Anyway, though, the first laugh was probably just uncomfortable, un, nerves, but the other, yeah, there's no "serious" human sound, or word, nothing you can do to add, uh, the significance—
2: Sure there is.
1: Well, I don't do that.
2: You must.
1: What? Why?
2: [silence] [clears throat]
1: What, we all do?
[canned laughter]
|
||||
4. |
||||
"Taking my lead..."
Seems whenever my
bets beat the spread,
you raise the stakes on me.
And honestly, maybe I'm cheap.
But keep the jokes in that vein,
don't explain the game to me,
jeez!
"It's plain to see..."
No brain disease, just vapor.
Like my agency, on paper
it's complete — but not me.
One day we'll move
at the same speed, until then it's
"Jeez, MONdays, dude!"
and you'll never break me.
"Take it or leave it." And
basically, you'd have to be
insane to believe it,
is that your secret?
"Smashing records..." ...method acting,
brash and reckless. Your friend is asking if
your office gave you some cashier's check,
should I say you have it?
"Try it and see!"
One autocthonous decree
can keep a populace of sheep
from gnawing through its knotted leashes.
"It was all a dream..."
Too obvious. These days
these deus ex machines
ain't made the way they say they used to be!
But clichés are free.
Same old examples;
blame Joseph Campbell,
Seamus Heaney, Colm Toibin,
HBO, or Billy Joel...
Just please don't call me!
Though, if all you need is a decent
vocal, I'm your nominee. Vote!
"INDIE/SPOKEN WORD/V.O. --
this even-tempered 'Evil Schoenberg'
repeats sequences of tones;
who needs motifs, or a real composer?"
Oh sure, I'll keep going,
no sir, it's not a joke.
You ask me cuz it seems I know things;
but as you'll see I don't. Let's go!
|
||||
5. |
||||
A cock crowed as we rode out...
Long way down to Ohio.
Stark highlights in profile...
We gotta go, it's a sold out show! Shoulda
Caught 'em last year at the Fireside Bowl,
Instead of here, now, when it's snowing.
Lotta lies hidden in the lines you wrote,
Instead of clear vows, did you notice?
No!
You put the lime in the coconut,
And let it go.
You're wasting time on the overdubs,
Just do a new'un.
Don't put a spime in your protobuf,
or sell your soul —
Yeah, knowing stuff some people don't don't make you
Superhuman.
Lock, load is the lowdown;
Guess the roof rack is the way to go.
Butterfield Road down to Yorktown — who's The Dork now?! Roachford on the radio...
Just us and the trucks huffin' dust, we swerve... Wow, MOTO "Cincinnati" bumpin' so loud...
Probably 20 years 'til we hang up the spurs,
A granfalloon bus full of old clowns.
[clown honk]
This ain't my first rodeo, I know the ropes.
Psst, ambrosia's just erythritol and Coca-Cola.
I could point to Ponyoak and say I told you so, but we can
skip the parasocial do si do; party's over.
Nah, you heard the crowd!
It's always been just business but it's personal now, and you know that
The last man to stand up's the first one out.
You thought it would be different, but your
Doubt’s in control,
'Cause the van's transmission is about to go —
You tried to point it out, the concerning sound.
Word is there's a line on a house show —
How ‘bout No, or we go and we burn it down?
What goes on tour, stays on tour,
The stage's allure, the wasted time and
Places endured, like your brain is blurred,
Life escaping, making it worse, but every
Time they ask you barely hesitate to say
Sure,
let's play some shows.
|
||||
6. |
The Spins (feat Willits)
04:18
|
|||
dancing on the stage with all the jesters and actors
rounding off the edges, slather layers of lacquer
my diatribes and monologues, just famous last words
i'd lift you up if i could, but i won't bend over backwards
when the new thing becomes a routine, vultures convene, hash out leverage
tired, self-defeating rhetoric. "there was no way to prevent it!"
hoping we'll all throw our hands up and be forced to accept it.
if you don't care then why are you so fucking relentless?
is it really that intelligent to rush design?
frankly, i would kill the world in nearly the half the time
for some semblance of humanity, or a sign of life.
maybe i'd prefer to be alone, at the very least, not mind.
drifting where god won't consent to gaze upon,
in the planet's quiet corners, i can hear my thoughts:
selfish, impotent frustration to appease my wants,
and a mental audience's cheers and roaring applause.
oh, yeah, sure. heard that before. forgive the things you can't ignore.
forget that they've been keeping score cause if you don't then this means war!
fill the void with spunk and moxie, and by proxy you'll match form.
it's either jokes and tropes galore, or else we'll see your ass in court!
like i wouldn't laugh myself sick all the way to the bank
like that doesn't make me nauseas when you bring it up, kthx.
it's easier to do my best, interalize a false perception
that i have some moral standard if it never gets tested.
i try just to pick myself up again
but then i let myself down
i try to drown out all the bullshit
but my hypocrisy is too loud
i try to stand on my two feet
but i've got them in my mouth
i try to contemplate how to fix this
but then i say my thoughts aloud
then i try to pick myself up again
just to let myself down
so i just pick myself up again
and then i let myself down
|
||||
7. |
Traci Lords of Acid
02:54
|
|||
smelling like the bar and a cheap white owl cigar,
with her make-up caked in laugh lines on her face.
and her marijuana glow is lighting up the local show
but the scene gets more exhausting every day.
"oh, that's neat! you're in the band?" and other cliches i can't stand
after the demon alcohol takes hold.
raving like a loon while i'm howling at the moon.
that's always how the night seems to unfold.
traci lords of acid, with her endless multi facets;
she's a lover and a fighter and a muse.
she's a child with a gun and a buddhist rolled in one
and too clever to let up her cunning ruse.
while punk rockers stand like cows just outside the slaughterhouse,
cause the grass seems so much greener when you're drunk
with a pack of cigarettes. i guess this is as good as it will get,
but someone please wake me if it gets the slightest bit punk.
you know, i've been around the block as much as i can stand to walk
but haven't got a wealth of wisdom for my age.
but i keep walking all the same because there isn't any shame
as long as i figure it out one of these days.
and i will sing for stress relief. i've got a fast growing belief
that our species is as mean as it is dumb.
so i look forward to my death to cure my brooding shittiness
and i'm so thankful that one day my death will come.
|
||||
8. |
I Get It
01:48
|
|||
there is bad blood in the water and i can relate.
there's no limit to the monsters that a person can create
if you don't care about them, cut them out, or manage to equate them with
the symptoms of the system that pervade and permeate
every facet of our culture. you want change? well, here's a tip:
either march on to their drums or you will march on to their whip.
now the ghosts have left their graveyards and they're beating down our doors,
and i get it.
i know people want to be unchallenged in their social bubbles.
when i sing about my troubles, that can make shit real uncomfortable
if you question what it's for and who's assigning all these roles.
i assure you that's the angle but it ain't quite the end goal.
maybe lean a bit more gently; maybe don't bring up some topics.
propaganda's not a war of morals, just a game of optics.
so, demoralize the workforce; give them exactly what they asked for.
that's good business.
(five, one, five, zero, five, one, five, zero, etc..)
i hear people praising jesus but i see the way they're living
and i hope for their own sake that he's a fake or damn forgiving.
i have read the bible front to back, i suspect that they're deceived
because the lord will fuck you up for shit you simply won't believe.
you can call it all conjecture, but we all know how that goes
when the tortured artists form a breadline, flood the streets in droves.
now the ghosts have left their graveyards and they're beating down our doors,
and i get it.
|
||||
9. |
||||
it makes little difference to me.
i don't talk to other people. i don't stream or watch tv.
and it's not like every choice is indistinct, i wouldn't think.
but i've been wishing in my hands and haven't got a single thing!
besides, i might be on my way out of this madhouse any day now.
i've been making every move count with the patience of a hungry dog.
and all this talk of what's allowed, the theatre of a burning crowd,
a spectacle of red spectacles, executioner's hoods, and funeral shrouds,
and pageantry, and savagery, and profiting from tragedy,
and pitchfork wielding mobs collectively divorcing reality,
it's like, i need some time to think! i think i need some space to breathe...
i want to shout into the void but the void has gotten crowded.
i get the obvious impression i should leave...
'cause that may give my thoughts merit or some perception of street credit
among the ever-growing weirdos who fetishize pain and depression!
(will i ever learn my lesson? if it needs nuance, they won't get it.
but there isn't much that surprises me these days...)
|
||||
10. |
||||
hot take: i've got too much on my plate!
(you know, somebody has to say it: these are just reiterations.) you can totally relate?
aw, shucks, that's great! "i can't stand the bellyaching from self-serving ingrates,
anyway." what's the saying? oh, right: sour grapes.
"you can't lose if you don't play." who wrote the rules to this game?
are these authentic deepfakes and what exactly is at stake? just want to get my story straight.
are we on the same page? who still reads nowadays?
is this history repeating or just circling the drain? who cares in the first place?
fuck it, go at your own pace. learn to keep your boots laced...
you might need to stomp a head to get ahead (or run away. you know, this isn't a race!)
everybody is a saint until they show their true face,
like i'm going 'round in circles and i'm also being cornered. is there a name for this shape?
"the artists have no talent, and the critics? no taste."
unsubstantial clickbait, and it can't be understated: this is not up for debate.
some people hoard ill-gotten wealth. can i afford to keep gates?
and all these budget constraints make for shady handshakes. i'd like to file a complaint!
oh, the horrors of a mouthpiece
if you're giving them out freely!
sure, the hate speech and the mean tweets,
but mainly snitching to the police,
trusting billionaires completely
if they make the platform easy,
pledging neo serflike fealty...
and i'm just fucking baffled, really.
frankly, i hope that y'all kill me
'cause this song and dance is silly.
polite excuses: toothsome, flimsy
to feign like you're forever busy.
i don't think you really feel me
'cause i know that you don't feel me.
do you understand it, really?
i don't think you really feel me.
truly, this isn't a biggie.
i just hope somebody kills me.
you can ask Spring Oaks to bill me
at the Cassadaga cemetery.
bullshit snark and salt. please say you don't like that...
like Wisdom was my dump stat.
parading psuedo intelligent, circular philosophical arguments
'til they fall flat
for a Like or a laugh.
do you like me yet?
|
||||
11. |
||||
lonely road
it's been a long time coming
i suppose
a slow collapse beats jumping
hanging around
on this heartache sunday
throwing out the things that still remind me
taking down the picture
that you drew of me
my own smiling face
reflecting cruelly
standing my ground
on this heartache sunday
rip it to pieces. everything reminds me.
standing my ground
on this heartache sunday
throwing out the things that still remind me
the things that remind me.
|
Skirtchaser Florida
Anything not nailed down is mine. Anything I can pry loose is not nailed down.
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