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.

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.

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]

"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!

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.

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

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.

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.

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...)

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?

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.