1. |
Sloughed the Skint
07:56
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You're not really sleeping
You're just daydreaming
You can't speak
On your feet
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2. |
On It Ending
02:34
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The words on the page are just out of reach
The reply from the chorus says:
"No one wants a speech"
Get down
Get down
Get down from your chair:
"No one wants a speech"
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3. |
Luxury Milk
02:19
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4. |
Split Like Planaria
03:11
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When I was…
I had my face smashed in
My chin cleaved
I split like planaria
One side desperate
Died in the children’s hospital
No one brought balloons
Flowers left to pollute the room
The hungry twin consuming
What they call twin-twin transfusion
Down came baby
Placenta and all
When I was…
My parents didn’t recognize me
The hungry twin consuming
What they call twin-twin transfusion
A nightmare for the resident
A nightmare for the resident
When I was…
Sleeping beauty’s lips were still numb
The hungry twin consuming
What they call twin-twin transfusion
Down came baby
Placenta and all
Down came baby
Placenta and all
Down came baby
Placenta and all and all and all
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5. |
fracking2
02:46
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6. |
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I go over to my friend Scrotemanski’s house after school because he’s late-80’s rich and his parents are never home. We go down to the basement and videogame until our fingers blister and pop into raw patches of albino skin; we operate on GI Joes. Scrotemanski’s sister is a skater. She’s got the Lithium CD single so we go into her room and read the lyrics to Nevermind. We both agree that “Territorial Pissings” is our favorite song in the world, especially the part where he sings “Smile on your brother.”
Scrotemanski's family took me with them on a Florida vacation. We walked for twenty sidewalks and then ran up the sand dunes, tumbling down the other side and then stumbling in the sand as our leg muscles piston-shot like hydraulic pumps. My head underwater, I close my eyes and propel my body with frog-kicks far, far out.
When I surface, school bus ferry boats cut fast swaths into the waves; I’m well beyond the swimming area, the life guard chairs vacant – like I could even see without my glasses, but I put my head under again and open my eyes – coral reefs, fish (?) blurs, or something worse. Close my eyes and kick back toward shore, to have rippling sand and tufts of green things beneath my feet.
I come out of the water like a Lost Boy who lost his Indian feathers. The Scrotemanski's are gone so I beg a local family to adopt me. New dad's got a van, blue-collar van with tools, and rust, and no seat belts. New dad is wearing a jumpsuit and looks half Indian – hair greased and slicked back. He’s divorced, so I think I’ll take the job. Us Lost Boys don't need a mom. We chew on unmelted hot glue gun sticks and sit in silence like men (my mouth is waxed shut anyway).
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7. |
Buried by the Basement
04:53
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Merry was suspended appetite, purple wallpaper, and Ritalin prescriptions. She entered this milieu part of an afterschool project, a watershed Juliet.
Our first date a partially disastered helicopter crash. She looked right pekid in her girl shorts, skin blotchy and flushed, and not because of accident coloboma, but the discovery that my ringless fingers were like partial chromosome deletions and containing none of the code that could complete any sky-dropped family portrait.
Merry was suspended appetite, purple wallpaper and Ritalin prescriptions. She entered this milieu part of an afterschool project, a watershed Juliet. Bereft of complimentary nucleotides, I wanted to place my hand on one of those stick-kindling thighs and soak in the aftermath of our clashing auras.
I held out a sleeveless arm and turned away. She had the sewing kit open and heated each needle under her tongue. Sympathy stuck to webbed fingers, we saddled into the ferris wheel bucket and were jerked skyward.
She was so disappointed in the realization that I was no dentist elf, no spotless polo and khaki pants wearing MBA, DDS, or CPA. Only partially polite, nothing but crumbling marble window sill and smudgy glass. So there on the amusement attraction, she deflected my reach without even the slightest disgust and then slipped out the open space at our feet like a shadow.
I stayed on the ride for three complete cycles but it was quarter past twilight and she was a goner. Her mother standing below calling her name. My forearm looked like a drought-stricken Christmas tree farm.
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