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What if all these books never gave me anything like what she gave me? And what if the monuments we build or the corpses we can still dig up from the soil don't teach us anything? And what if creating more of us doesn't give us anything more? The path up the hill leads to the windmill but walking it does't lead us anywhere. The order we put here is so we do not lose our way. Apparent is a magic trick, in the tentshow the only role I play is the digger of my own disorder, without precedent or soul, the father of my own entropic son. What if like a bullet from a jealous gun we become dogmeat in a crime of passion? In white sheets against the riverbanks in a gurney that's unfit to carry. Two create riverrun flows of crimson and the third is lodged inside the spine. To be casketed like wine in unforgiving and eroding soil. Never ending always ending floating away potent and dissolving.
The simple slave, in sweat-soaked sheets, aims his shackles, and cuts off his hands. The simple slave, in smoggy pantheon, aims for release, and cuts off his head. Apollo falls asleep behind the wheel. A scar reopens to a wound and pleads in a whimper for infection. And now this great dying beast, that I've chained round my neck, in a torrent of feathers, a face of paper cuts. Fragile tributaries of blood stain powder white wings, framed and catalogued for collection. The simple slave, in fallow fields, shrugs off his burden, and falls asleep.
Destinations withering, desperate in blue light. Stranger, fill this hole in me under beaten sky. Not unlike you, I am afraid. Destinations withering, face separates from eyes. I would like to serve myself but if you're pretty tie me up. Strangers wear the cachet shell, shines but it was weakly won. Not unlike you, I am worth more. Tokens are in place of feelings. A flock that feels of no importance in a web that's permanent and wide and I am at the center. But still I cannot strive to feel. Not unlike you I do not feel. Not unlike you I do not want to feel.
Bankrupt 03:11
I fashioned myself a hatred for beauty. Envy steeped in alcohol for eight months. I found myself spitting on murals of possibilities and waking up with bloody fists. I sewed into my arm a reminder of the dread of waking. Not that it was necessary, but like a flare shot into the sea, it signaled to the emptiness that I was ready. I woke up vomiting, disgorged a collection of corroded copper coins. Arranging their paltry worth, upon my sunburned chest, and begging anyone to rake them off. I dug into the dew-laden soil, a hole of perfect depth. This accumulated language, bankrupt and tawdry. Throw it in and grasp my throat with fury. Every thought absurd. Every word empty. Every error exposed. Every moment wasted.
A glass cage for an animal, it knows the price of this apparent freedom. Inflatable, the past careens down verdant hills. In caves where night has taken up and solitude does visit, even in the afternoons the sounds of its diurnal creep. I know I'll die, too immune to live too desperate to die. Where is the lever for the reward? Are all words void?
A Tax 03:33
Fear is overtaking me. This land mine mind, and your tripwire hairs. The taste of gunpowder on your lips. Why does my sight unfurl in these moments of desperation? Careening towards the precipice, the plummet I have faced a thousand times. I can only apologize when I am in shambles on the floor. And I will destroy myself before I can destroy myself, before I destroy myself.
Flies 03:47
A palpable fear exists love is a ghastly figure. Between illuminated warmer bodies still untapped I am. I file them into ranks. I file myself alongside them, turning another corner of an empty maze. So what if as a child that I believed in freedom? Hands through the wilting tree of grand escape. Head first into a system just like all other systems. It makes a reference to utility. We serve like flies, with our hands with our hands out to the sky just to surrender. I've got my null mask on, their flesh and shiny things, their wanton bubbles burst with envy for attention. The world is sensed through glass, capturing the frills of life. Lepers in a colony of virgins.
These freshly picked flowers that you pressed with your body. Beneath the hardwood. Beneath the shadows. Yellowed, brittle, pure. They fill my mouth with the taste of stale earth. My hunger, unmoved. I promised you nothing, but a firm hand, a sorry smile, a gesture of conceit. Beneath my flesh, I feel it flourish. This sickness, go, spare yourself. Bed sores and fever dreams. Warmth and despondency. To sleep through this mockery, I await. The sweat it beads, the stench of disease. Come to me, come to me, I await.
The white buildings in the desert are cast out of silence, deliver a massive machine to the earth. The ground produces waves obscuring the possibility of unalienating truth. The sink holes reveal large submerged caverns. In them animals turn what they are. My vessel breathes in air with no means to tread water I will never escape, not even in my thoughts.
Swallow 02:39
If by miracle my children have a thousand names and they are all the same, they'll sink into the hourglass with me as have my grandmothers. At the end they'll say enthusiasm is hard to find, so is this the end? I grasp for it, approaching the sink. Sending empty catcalls into the hydrous trench.
Apologies 04:50
Gagging before green walls. Adopting postures of defeat. Hanging pendants from every weakness. Gnawing at my own restraints. I feel my bones splinter inside me. My nerves knotted, gnarled, and bare. Dry mouth spitting at every mirror. I will call this by its name. Surrender.


released June 9, 2014


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Wreck and Reference Los Angeles, California

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