1. |
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in the sensory overload chamber massage the android until it turns on
die once every three minutes, something to look forward to throughout your day
when people ask me my gender I just tell them brunette
oh their brains are on peroxide, phony pride speaks only when it should’ve cried
naifs in decay return into TV, depression stunned celebs who are suborning people who need people to get in your face
catalog a new low and England is rife with lurchers
a jasmine chorus of mountain cur, she loves her Bowie-eyed bat faced girl
the shadow’s attempt on my life, autumn breaks it’s back for new hauntings
we saw the White Witch of Glenwood then got high and watched ourselves as re-runs
in lemon-tinted glass fans curb auto-cleft musicians to play together
pages of sound arc Andalusian raga the bloated influencer in repose
in the part of the brain that karma allows anyone perfect to be chic
maybe we should fight it always seems to make everything better
forget your mind it’s not going anywhere, or it’s going everywhere, which amounts to the same thing
graveyard pinhead straddled ghouled tears of worm for somber tuft slitherer of eternal bate, withholding naked calf brunette drowning partner,
itself’s forehead blood hiding the left hand to hovering mischief’s single dimension mis-cast imitator
dance, tell a joke, worsen the mood
listen to me
the ultimate purpose of white magic is to make my face gleam with seven rays of ice
cape heaps birds of no paradise in Ganzfeld experiments
feeding hours fulminate evil serotonin uptake inhibitors
it’s a good night to cry, I don’t have any tears left, it’s a good night to cry, I don’t have any tears left, it’s a fine night to cry
depression eels committing thought crimes, how does it feel to be a bust?
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2. |
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Moderation cannibal Edward Hopper sighing on canvas, I need every reference
Ofrenda in flames, too many dead flowers for the survived
Far too too far gone weeping sorority that spectate anything but themselves
Phoebe fakes orgasms has a career, Phoebe fakes orgasms nobody hears
My lover’s prayer is dripping in psychosis humming “If I Only Had A Brain” humming “If I Only Had A Brain” humming
Unsuspected thank you for noticing unattractive people have instant pathos
Apotheosis of apotropaic Neuromancers naturally animals shit the room where we’re doing confrontational yoga
Ex’s are cacti all A.I. has gone dry, Ex’s are cacti all A.I. has gone dry
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3. |
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Lovers like us lovers like us don’t cast coal into our bedroom eyes tragic dancer
Lovers like us lovers like us desire ends fear by causing it’s voyeurless glamour
Fear energy extractor on high watching liquids drip from her son
My treat limited coherency anticipate a posi result
I’m a mutt I drink human blood my mistake did I mention I’m a stud?
I saw you on the airplane even though I wasn’t there either to say
It’s okay no you don’t have to dream if you don’t want to chop off a finger every time that you make a mistake
You as the man in me is the woman staging in trouble
Lovers like us lovers like us don’t cast coal into our bedroom eyes tragic dancer
Lovers like us lovers like us desire ends fear by causing it’s voyeurless glamour
Don’t worry nothing can hurt you unless you really don’t want it to
Opt into the game solipsist so hard to long con to nowhere
I’m just like Molly I cannot cry, only spit when my heart is breaking
I have reams of wild country messa black and cacti spike we sang
It’s okay no you don’t have to dream if you don’t want to chop off a finger every time that you make a mistake
You as the man in me is the woman staging in trouble
I was creaming when I wrote this so forgive me if it makes you wet
If there’s any position you can’t cum in I haven’t found it yet
We played “chase the fox” and other sorted roles
Dreaming is the place where we can all finally lose control
You spark my joy you ought to know
I was creaming when I wrote this so forgive me if I make a mess
All I want to do is watch you getting off on your success
All of our secret anxieties have washed up on the shore you spark my joy for ever more
Deride a ride-swan gang a bong lovers like us opt into the game or remain hostile evidence that overly psychic songs are easy
Drown the eyes of that which pissed our ocean’s entire hexagram clarity leopard-sense kinked for antherozoidic balletic rude boys’ insemination
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4. |
Après Thee Dèclassè
05:19
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I was a pussy in case he’s a cunt mood is a frown and I hope that it brings you down I hope it brings you down
I was offensive or he was a twat a face in the ground and I hope that it brings you down I hope it brings you down
Nobody asked you pretend like you care there’s a splinter in your gown and I hope that it brings you down I hope it brings you down
I’m glad that’s gruesome bloody remnants of Alice Ann Bailey unsweetened for your displeasure wheezing competitors I have a hunch that
Knowledge is arrived at through abstraction music languishes in restive air Earth Angel abuse my substance
Sex gelatine miasma
Blavatskian Millenarian movement of theosophist scorned through mediumistic contact every tree dreams of blotting out the sky
She’s in his thorn of crowns and I hope that it brings you down
Is it important to say black chrome rodents?
I really hope it brings you down
Even love has cold hands when logic is the enemy
Incentives to return into the sea-caves, joro spiders menacing the eves, foreign voices beading on my hands and I am the demiurge of dead books
One more story of Lovers Rock what’s your worst trance I score to hold you in perfect hexagram
I am a de-activist like birds of paradise lost I can’t wait until you love my rose
Hahahahahahahahaha
Every priest a gossip girl every journalist a narc, fill your head with things you loath lonely boy shit posting on a bench in McCarren Park
Hahahahahahahahahaha
Photographer of Coprophagic turrets insects strike a chord the chemical castration of Turing black chrome rodents of fallow seasons and I hope it brings you down
And I hope it brings you down and I hope it brings you down and I hope it brings you down He said getting hit doesn’t hurt if you daydream decalcomania experimental prisoner crossed eyes sighs “liberation is too creepy” and I hope it brings you down and I hope it brings you down and I hope it brings you down and I hope it brings you down don’t look for yourself in trauma tears of worm worsen the nude mood follicles maternal erection S&M addendum
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5. |
Modern Art Bewilders
04:04
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Humans are flammable at misery Monday as accent lick the fondant bell my teenage heart stomps out for geek static you don’t say what you do not sing with your eyes which is fine by me
Laced laid heckler to black cell ballast my fuck castle un-submarined that wanted both her realms to be daft you do not say that which you do not sing with your eyes which is fine by me
My mind like a puck on the ice, when I am being withholding that’s me trying to be nice
Falling in love with you all over again inveterate troublemaker falling in love with you all over again
(Beheading games beheading games beheading games) I don’t need God, if I have you, what would I do with it?
Falling in love with you all over again in the depths of your ignorance
As wolf-wife you do suffer hormone catheters stain your crown Black Sabbath that’s an easy upper ego in flames beheading games
Arctic brats breaking their glass hymens hear them shattering
I was looking in the dirty mirror trying to be anyone less ugly when nobody’s around
He asked me if my experience with suicide has always been sex positive
As the bartender kicked away the stool for reaching top shelf mescal he told me that the head he gives is queer but he is straight
It’s impossible to make it to the end without feeling cold though I’m just waiting on a friend I’m just waiting
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6. |
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Burn out ideas repetition is key to madness abduction four puffs makes me a cartoon an expressionlessistic surveilled artist okay
There’s no human pain in my voice it’s something else’s
What if she’s just a conversation I am having with myself?
Put me on a pedestal I’m wasted you can be so creative with refuse
Only fame can make someone a has-been, she sleeps with her fans ‘cause they are faceless
Knowing someone’s name makes it feel sleazy, being seen is actual self-mutilation
Son of cemetery shopping wives only titter at rare mouth cuisine of single fake eye
The triplets of migraines bath in menstruation pools, towels stay white wow it’s magic
Sword play gives girls periods, I’m joking, the anti-form pervert bites his pillow
His stomach orgasms in black plasma cause the stalker knows no nuance
Put me on a pedestal I’m wasted we can be so creative with refuse
Only fame can make someone a failure, she sleeps with her fans ‘cause they are echoes
Refractions of raw sketches of pleasure, being seen is actual self-mutilation
Now he bites his weapon to do self-care publicly it’s suction time being the fuck of the funeral
Compete for my love, be so dumb be so sweet, she’s my only exalted one
Christina
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7. |
Hmmm
05:14
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Grief is an anvil to the skull, grief has an echo that lives in silences, inside of silences
Grief is the black ink that rushes to fill in the void she left
When nothing is okay, you knowing that you’re not alone only makes it feel sadder
Loss is an evil light that takes root behind your eyes illuminating what you’re not ready to see and won’t let you turn away
and won’t let you un-hear the venom that it has to say
When everything is fucked, you knowing that you’re not alone only makes it even sadder
Slumping in alleys swallowing voices cruise shaped war windows no one’s happy here we think too much of ourselves yet it’s still not enough
You’re having a plot twist, I send an asylum of good luck
Ergo we’re equals is easily a mess to unwound a changing line positing a question hex to impress some Rude Boy
Thomas once famously said “the novel of bullshit is dead” though all the people can’t be all dog all the time, he wants you to know he’s joking even when he isn’t
The cat-o-nine detects avant-garde, properly possess the shape, the hokey psychos in cardigans, I’ll only get to heaven if I’m written in (that’s your line)
No musicians to play/pay, guitars refuse the work, the flanger is in flames, the best shit is apropos of nothing so
Ergo we’re equals is easily a mess to unwound a changing line positing a question hex to impress some Rude Boy
Thomas once famously said “the novel of bullshit is dead” though all the people can’t be all dog all the time, he wants you to know he’s joking even when he isn’t
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