1. |
The Body
01:42
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I can’t pay my bills back in words, the only way to show remorse is to truly be gone. There lays a new skin on the table, just waiting to put me on. The feeling doesn’t matter anymore. I can’t project sensation onto the neurons back in some new body that my haecceity’s rejecting. I feel tricked by false remainder my better mind just can’t hold on. If i die a creature I will always be your freak, for forever in the darkness I can just be latent heat. I used to be some angel but my thoughts were so deranged I will always be paying back for the monster I could be. But my feelings just don’t matter anymore (not even to me). I can’t project real emotion onto the neurons back in some new human body that my haecceity’s rejecting. I feel tricked by some remainder my false mind just can’t hold on. My feelings just cant matter anymore. I can’t project my real emotions onto some new neurons back in some fresh human body that my haecceity’s rejecting. I feel tricked by the remainder my false mind cant hold on.
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2. |
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Danny’s a real good guy, he loves shaking his head. He’s a yes man, he’s my small offensive friend. I wish that he’d look at me at least sometimes when I spoke, He’s always distracted by the window its like he’s always seeing ghosts. His wraith is in tension with memory and self, it’s a reflection of him when he loses his health. It's the times that he wants connection but the stress is a tension. He wants to be all alone when he’s with his conniption. The wraith is speaking so fast with advice that he misses in the gluttony of being the one making the choice. He speaks so automatically its not even his voice anymore. Danny's a real good guy he loves hearing new jokes but the only place he laughs is in between the clouds of smoke. His eyes can be glazed over it’s his way of being stealth he can gaze at the wraith that’s in the window with no questions about his health.
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3. |
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I’m caught up thinking on and on about our recent bed sleeps, about holding you platonically underneath the bed sheets. Friendship bundles up the nervous wrecks into night creeps. Sucking love off of your torso till it makes my heart leap back into a rhythm, baby shocked with saline. Your toes are so cold but I can be your light beam. We’re far to close to feel the fabric breaking, the rub is friction and different placing. But soon I won’t be interesting anymore. But soon you won’t lean on me anymore. But soon you’ll see friends aren’t fun anymore. It’s this certain kind of friend that makes my marxist lungs leak. After losing the my place with you self harm fits in nicely, not enough to sleep forever but enough that things look bleak. In bed with you a special new forever lasts in the speech. There is a faction of self that is caught in-between doors when one’s not totally closed but nothing’s opening more. In these time betterment just seems like a shame. At least all things change.
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4. |
Doubt
01:02
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I had a thought that I forgot. Things get lost in ether born to drown of frames. A frame of past. Nothing lasts. There’s no such thing as future days. All my fears are vying for the skin.
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5. |
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Last thursday night I found the black in my eyes in the portions of the time I tell myself earnest lies. I am finding myself looking at the same dark skies. I’ve found nothing of note just more extension and time. The matter is displaced in my memory of case, recalled a door was ajar when it was really misplaced, that our bedrooms were far but slept in the same place, when you were really in Spain and I was really in space. All I crave is to grasp the rock in left hand and hold out the other to receive the blow the lash the whip the godsend shocking me back to self. Whatever place that is i just pray some day it happens, that the dark inside the pupil rots to white of a spotless mind. In someplace that escapes me in the Alzheimers onset i kept recording new songs to ensure I’d not forget but features of face now lay on cutting room floor. All my friends are just feelings I’ve lost the sensation for. The tape has run out all life recorded off record. I just sit in my house while I try to remember. The ones that always come back center around the way that your neck curves, every image I have is drowned out in the reverb. All i crave is to smooth some hurt with just hands and sharpen the other, to receive the knife the cut the pain the godsend shocking me back to self. Whatever place that is i just pray some day it happens, that the dark inside the pupil rots to white of the spotless mind.
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6. |
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Man I’m so excited to be back in your car,we can drive to sun set it isn’t that far and when a thunder storm comes we can get struck by lightning. A repressed part of me has come back out in the lighting. I can see my demon standing still in front of your shotgun holding soul in transition of a part of some ransom. True transition of self always seems like a pity, we should go back and watch tv in the city at your house.
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7. |
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looking in the mirror to see if you looked at me. Who looked at you no one, specifically. The world only gets smaller and then you become a stranger, a stranger to yourself some new unknown complainer.
new york calls to me all 8 million at once, an overdose of sorts no eyes to feed or want. san francisco exiled me the fruit that ate the females, a flaming sword held aloft to strike me down when my pen fails.The paranoia in context, I always stutter when I speak no one hears or sees my body covered in bleach, still looking in the mirror.
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8. |
The Two Remaining Limbs
02:06
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We are cut from the same cloth, bursting loss in form and void, but I’m still sitting drunk in Saint Germain looking at the wooden caste of jesus whose eyes have grown dark with rot. The bronze age brought on newer harder ways. We can go back to the hostel and keep on drinking and stand in silence dancing for two more days. The best part for transience is losing whats inside you, we can revolt on self with Paris in the spring. Wraith is sitting on the clock, his whole ephemeral self is shaking, involved but only reminding me of things I’d forgot. The tower lit up like Berlin reminding me of what was lost while my two remaining limbs detach with breeze. But we can go back to Portland come the summer where we can stare in silence till it rains. The best part of being home is realizing that nothing could be lost so long as body’s obsolete in loving things.
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9. |
My body is a Uterus
01:42
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Baby it’s sentimental. I’m gonna send you pictures of me not giving a fuck while you take the potted pant we co-created with our union and you smash it on the ground. I flex and wash the soil off me, my body is a uterus. Inside I hold ceramic shards in twin with male aggression, I’m waiting on the storm that breaks the incubation loose. Evidence bears intention, screaming like the beast at the filth that instigation bleeds, the foul necrotic corpse smell of a lost love post relapse intervention. You are everything I don’t need. I flex and watch my fluids draining, my body is a uterus. In time I’ll hold the memories up to light to see transgression, I’m waiting for some distance before looking at my greed.
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10. |
Goodbye Memory
01:48
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I’m sorry I forgot. All things fall through both my ears, it’s not your kind of face its the fact that I’m not here. Take joy that your still in my repression, that I’ve lost hope in depression reminding me of the things I used to love or fear. Oh memory, goodbye memory. The sweetest sound Is the one that that you forgot you loved to hear. The one with association/ deteriorating connotations/ rotting piece of mind from just last year. Oh memory, goodbye goodbye memory. The loving touch is the one that you forgot was near. You’ve failed me once too often, the living cell is just a coffin now for the empty matter that you left sitting here.
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