1. |
A Spot On Sports Analogy
03:42
|
|||
2. |
Instruction1
02:24
|
|||
3. |
||||
4. |
...and Gary!
07:01
|
|||
|
There are so many
Spikes and piercings
So many lovely
Little deficiencies
How I love your precious metal
And how the shadows play out
And rust my tongue
Because our bodies are all stained
|
||||
5. |
Instruction2
04:24
|
|||
6. |
This Is My Prayer
05:35
|
|||
|
There is no
No restraint in place
No limit to the depth
Of degradation
There is no
There is no complaint
No limit to the depth
Of degradation
It’s all poison inside your mouth
It corrodes the tongue so you always bite
Much more than a surface abrasion
You puncture the skin and gnaw your bones
It comes from the back of the throat
Fertilizing every burning word
A fluxing cauldron of mucus
That coughing can’t quite cough up
It’s all poison inside your mouth
It corrodes the tongue so you always bite
Cuts right through your gums and lips
Replacing a hole that won’t be missed
Bandages removed, even uglier wounds
Blotched like a flesh-paved crotch
Ugly eyes and jaundiced skin
Don’t kiss them, don’t kiss them
I’ve always dreamed of being married
In a burned-out mausoleum
Always dreamed of being carried
Into a charnel house -
The light
The light
The light
Pouring down on me
There is no
No restraint in place
No limit to the depth
Of degradation
There is no
There is no complaint
No limit to the depth
Of degradation
I must be one bloated pig
Let the healing process begin
I feel like the skull, palmed and spoken down upon
There’s a pause gawking awaiting some kind of reply
But despite any reaction from the audience
It sprays, blanketing them with slippery enzyme
A pore-clogging poison to fertilize every blemish
boil, blister, pimple, and lesion on their dull faces
Mandibles separated lying crushed beneath a brutish foot
|
||||
7. |
in The Stink
02:52
|
|||
8. |
Instruction3
02:52
|
|||
9. |
Quiet the Instruction
04:06
|
|||
10. |
||||
|
(I was at this party, trying to hide under the stairs. The bros above pissing beer on my head. Stepping sideways and blacking it out, blacking it out)
First I notice the smells: lawn mower exhaust, a cheer from the grass, pine sap. "You’ve got to show me the bouncing trick tequila bottle, it’s magic like cigarette ash, it conjures your legs amphibian."
“Man we get SO FUCKING blurried” echoes down the hall. So I says to the DJ:
"Play the song about surfing on mannequin arms and mannequin legs, play the song that brings doom to world music."
My friend’s caught his appetite. He’s splathering in some primitive tongue, smooshing the syllables into my cheek.
I’m looking for the bathroom. Had her down on all fours, he did, yanking on her tits, milking them like a cow, he did. He continues to pull and twist the woman’s breasts into balloon animals – says he has to smooth out some wrinkles. He hands me the pre-surgery pics, x’s over the nips.
"Pleased to meet ya - the name’s Christian Slater MD, it’s all noninvasive, ya see? No scars. no scars of any kind.”
(Cigarette behind one ear, corona – no lime)
“I also do lips,” he adds, grabbing at his crotch and thrusting his hips.
"Hey where ya goin?
Why ya in such a hurry?
Man let’s get fucking blurried
Let’s get fucking blurried."
|
||||
11. |
The Jerk Store Called
03:30
|
|||
the Trash Pile
Live Trash Take2
starring World of Truckdrivers:
TBD
Trash in/out
If you like 'HEELED', you may also like:
A bleak experimental pop vision built entirely from loops.
go to album
A mesmerizing ambient album ten years in the making.
go to album
Pneumania
by E L O N (Elon Katz)
Glitchy minimalism from Elon Katz, where songs are composed of pinprick synths and murmuring beats.
go to album
Morir y Renacer
by Conjunto Primitivo
Hedonistic sonic collages that unspool cross-generational Latinidad and diasporic innovation.
go to album
21 De Agosto, Macaruya
by Dalibor Cruz
Adventurous Chicago producer Dalibor Cruz makes heavily rhythmic experimental electronic music shot through with jets of noise.
go to album
Mueran Humanos
by Mueran Humanos
The terrific debut album from Berlin industrial-pop auteurs Mueran Humanos was out of print until this reissue on the band's own new label.
go to album
Gross Net Means Gross Net
by Gross Net
The solo project of Philip Quinn (Girls Names), this is dark-edged electronic work with a needle-sharp take on life in the U.K.
go to album
