183427106 LP

by Grant Livesay

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about

Dear friends,

Actually finishing and releasing 183427106 LP to the world is quite possibly the most difficult thing I've ever done in my life. It's just another album in a watercolor sea of rusting sonic internet swarm, but like a phone number, a numerical password, an IP address, or even an age - it's a little piece of arbitrariness that stands for the infinite infinitesimal of individuality within our digitized generation: one tiny piece, likely to be lost amongst its myriad peers, that happens to stand for me.

My younger brother painted what would become this album's cover one night on the wall of The Gales House randomly when he moved in and it inspired me to go back and rap over these shitty beats, because nobody else would. I wrote these instrumentals in while I was enrolled as an undergrad (and two during my single semester as a post-grad taking a single class just because) at Wake Forest University, some dating as far back as mid 2010. I figured they could either rot eternally on external hard drives, or I could throw them onto the internet with hardly any promotion. Nearly all of the verses were written in mid-to-late 2013, over a year after I graduated, as observational rants. These stories are portrayed through perspective of an obsessive, frustrated romantic recounting his hypothetical collegiate experience and his disorienting move into a non-academic world with the rest of his generation, and without a place to call home or any shoulders to lean on. In some ways this record has taken just under five months to complete, and in some ways it has taken the better part of half a decade to fully manifest. And in some ways, while I'll stick to art always being removed from the artist once presented to the world at large, I've never composed a more personal and honest body of work.

That said, all characters and entities appearing in this work are grounded firmly in the ever-eroding turf of reality. Any and all associations with businesses, organizations, institutions, places and persons living and dead discussed in the lyrics on this album are purely intentional. But none of that is actually important. What is important is that you are constantly discovering yourself, and that in some way this record facilitates a continuation of that process, always for better and occasionally helping you to learn from past indiscretions. If you are offended by anything on this record, then good. I hope it's because you know that life is to be lived, loved, and never taken for granted. If you are mentioned by name on this record in any capacity, it's because I love you, you mean the world to me, and I wouldn't be here without you.

I'd be lying if I said this record wasn't written for myself. But it was also written for all of you, for all of us. Nonetheless, I'd like to somewhat informally dedicate this whole goddamn smorgasbord emotional train-wreck of an album to Dale Ruffin. Because. And because never has a project made me so thankful. Because never has a project helped me realize how much love there really is in this life. In our generation. Our life. Ten glasses raised to the living, to all our friends who didn't make it, and to all the world's children - those generations to follow us. Fallen or otherwise, I have faith that we will all stand together once again. That's why.

Sincerely yours,
Grant Wescoat Livesay

credits

released January 28, 2014

All instrumentation, lyrics, and production by Grant Livesay.
Cover art painted by Charles Ramsey.
Cover art photographed and edited by Grant Livesay.

Instrumentation written and recorded at Wake Forest University.
Lyrics/vocals written and recorded at The Colleton.
Mixed and mastered by Grant Livesay at The Gales House.

A Fella approved endeavor.
Thin Product Shun. 2014
All lyrics and instrumentals copyright of Grant Wescoat Livesay.
All rights reserved.

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about

Grant Livesay Winston Salem, North Carolina

truth is in the shambles of i am -

current work: thinproductshun.bandcamp.com

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Track Name: Cumulus
{the first words on this album are
“the first words on this album,”
for any and all persons concerned

robert magner a magnitude of gratitude i harbor for you
showing up out of the black and taking my car keys away from me
poetry and gin in the theater house with cooper chris
and alyssa allison all i know son is
that his son’s daughter’s name must have started with an
a and hey those days of gta san andreas and absolut one-hundred with pineapple
were the best of the rest we wasted in that place we never quite could quit
befit and besot by idiots and flamboyant djarum faggots all over the sidewalks
leading up to [loo tehr] a chair set atop
[been suhn] i’ve been a bit disenchanted children
chanting fuck barack in the barracks barreling down dorm corridors
pounding on our blue barred doors and tossing green at the sky by the fistful
squawking god forbid socialism
november two thousand and eight roommate thanks
for a few last months of shaking off reality between easy mac
and the stock market crash
a fair share of porn sites and double-oh-seven playstation two nights
even though i kicked your ass every single time
when the clouds roll in and summer is nigh
i recall two thousand and eleven and sigh

rather oblique
this all seems rather oblique, but
even though i kicked your ass every single time
when the clouds roll in and summer is nigh
i recall two thousand and eleven and sigh

eighteen thirty four two seven one oh six
all up in the mix
bitch, as a freshman
crescendo by the do’s and the don’ts
blurring lines of this artistic pitch
which sway wayward by the crane of the neck,
sessions at the counseling center [reh knowl dah],
laundry i meant to fold you,
hold you jessica, pamela, christopher,
grandfather you’re gone
as the boy in these songs
and i’m as calm as a lip balm
never applied before biology
bottles of pellegrino filled to the brim with vodka in the library
likely feisty goat french presses at our desk for ulysses
sestinas and seamus heaney, terrell, betsy, rest in peace
didn’t know you that well, leave for the sea
winston, fuck it i’m blasted
charleston, fuck it i’m plastered
but fuck it i’m the bastard of ceremonies
awkward vocal timbre and less than random [feh ruhl] moaning
as her necktie walks by
i admire your suit
and your loosely kempt composure
but I don’t ever want to learn the double windsor
even though i miss your kiss every single night
when the clouds roll in and summer is nigh
i recall two thousand and eleven and sigh
even though i paint you, miss, every single night
when the clouds roll in and summer is nigh
i recall two thousand and eleven and sigh

rather oblique
this all seems rather oblique, but
even though i miss your kiss every single night
when the clouds roll in and summer is nigh
i recall two thousand and eleven and sigh

rather oblique
this all seems rather oblique, but
even though i paint you, miss, every single night
when the clouds roll in and summer is nigh
i recall two thousand and eleven and sigh
Track Name: On Dressing Formally (Suit Up)
at times the leaves fall to early
yet we seem to merely sigh and keep cursory

when i was co-president of [eff em ell ay] [dubuhlyou effyou]
who knew new recruit would noose herself
tomorrow necktie or otherwise
o'er dorm room door
mother so dear, how do you feel about it now?
junior vice for the tolerance hall
and shit hit the fan when showers got clogged
supposedly with semen
so sex underneath faucets was outlawed
crew oddly rude but i don't think fluid was the issue, see
a friend of mine was raped in the same stall a year prior
she wrote on the quote wall "you can't fag drag with a bicycle"
her being publicly out i wasn't sure what the problem was
with the latter but of course it garnered more chatter than the former
welcome to the forest
where we're tolerate any tree for its greener leaves
be they he or she
fir, oak, or cyprus
but if you no pine don't climb o’er wrought iron fences
and don't wine once you're within our parameters
'cause no crimes get reported to the newspapers
and yes we accept sexual favors
at the house down the street to keep underage consumption on the beat
nod your head to the beat geed
the greek letters already seized every brick off the quad
no need to sneeze
unless you ski down the slopes of university
away from those damn townie dope fiends
ostensibly to run down [air uhm arke] employees
and send them thirty feet in the air closer to six feet under
a wonder her lungs are asunder
collar buttons bursting in the wake of our blunders

i like all your neckties
but i don't want to wear a necktie
we die for the neckties
sometimes i want to wear a necktie
Track Name: Chant Grin Chagrin
monochromatic flow
for the indigo angels
i painted with a vast hand half past the stroke of distraction
fraction of a clenched fist misprinting friction on a canvas famished
the grandfather in my grandmother’s kitchen no longer chims chim cheree at the hour
and hour by hour charleston recedes to the sea while the water colors wave unto thee

brush, brush, brush, brush
movement as such and the ensuing hush
trust, trust, trust, trust
movement as such and the ensuing lust
brush, brush, brush, brush
movement as such and the ensuing hush
lust, lust, lust, lust
movement as such and the ensuing touch

west end winston and paul said snort this sand before we fly to japan on the othership i don’t want you to bowing down to this once you make it
best advice i ever took to the face quite literally
puffing orange fuzz and shitting on the bathroom floor
disgorging in the aforementioned shower stall
the same one i passed out in after sleeping with constance
chris i wish you could have been on this record
i always wanted to rap like you, another reason
why we should resist mixing art with academia
meandering iambics as my swinging heart’s inertia
i heard you, firstly, wordsmith, cursed by
the infectious affection of a new york lectern lover
hovering mothership upon which to harbor your ideas
and project paintings of your poetry
yet woe were we as our womenfolk muses left
sniffing amphetamines on their verandas, chanting:

i’m an open book if you know the url matter of fact blue ray just press play and please stop loving me (nah) just a little bit faster (just a little bit faster); i’m just a little bit plastered (i'm just a little bit plastered)
i’m an open book if you know the url matter of fact blue ray just press play and please stop loving me (nah) just a little bit faster (just a little bit faster); i’m just a little bit plastered (i'm just a little bit...)

i’m heading back to three-three-six, whether it’s a fifteen minute cruise
or an unexpected kiss
to drown in nostalgia
alex i can’t shake the nightmares
or the sex tips
as i spit out my soul over b list synth beats
laura
i’m sorry i can’t keep from revealing surprises
and my mind, well it sits
antsy on each and every piece
of your miniature furniture collection
deadweight on your bedroom’s bookshelf
i still keep the thank you card from your
visit to the dentist on my window ledge
and all the speed i hope i never take again resides under it
crumbling
epileptic fractions of happiness as the memories of you
lying on a couch in the radio house
or lounging in the [mahg] room for luncheons
jesting about gin getting a pitchfork ten
and grinning

i’m an open book if you know the url matter of fact blue ray just press play and please stop loving me (nah) just a little bit faster (just a little bit faster); i’m just a little bit plastered (i'm just a little bit plastered)
i’m an open book if you know the url matter of fact blue ray just press play and please stop loving me (nah) just a little bit faster (just a little bit faster); i’m just a little bit plastered (i'm just another niche rapper)

brush, brush, brush, brush
movement as such and the ensuing hush
trust, trust, trust, trust
movement as such and the ensuing lust
brush, brush, brush, brush
movement as such and the ensuing hush
lust, lust, lust, lust
movement as such and the ensuing touch

rust, rust, rust, rust...
(leaves fall with the color of corroded metal and memoirs
rusted jugs of turpentine for dirty ears and my repertoire... repertoire... repertoire...)
Track Name: Blue Moon & Orange
i used to muse on the sound of an artistic...

i used to muse on the moon within your irises
when we kissed outside and you kept your eyes open
focus on the features in the creek
locus while it rains of a coryphée in heat

blue is at wrist of boxing glove
lover made painting of music tree
tattoo above hip said breathe
mouth below tattoo said please
blue is at wrist of boxing glove
lover made painting of music tree
tattoo above hip said breathe
mouth above tattoo said leave

tattoo above hip said breathe
mouth below tattoo said please
tattoo above hip said breathe
mouth above tattoo said leave

as i exhale betwixt your legs
i just want to taste where language comes from
cum on your face occasionally
and love you like my heart never left
this dexterous theft’s bereft chest
pressed for bass and treble clefs
lest the race for life’s pacemaker
piece perfect tempo entail
achievements of eternal rest…
crest and trough, troubadour
paint forlorn more discernible than waveforms
there’s a great storm with all your
whores’ eyes on the horizon
from winston to charleston,
there’s a great storm with all the
world’s thighs open
from winston to charleston
bygones be tides, pause…

orange mold mighty pervasive invading basement tile giggling at yonder god-forsaking beat maker making up lofty aesthetic ideals installed on three gigs of ram and a pile of rummage, condom wrappers fashioned makeshift night stand
and rapping to mona lisa leave it be moaner groaning when the sun saturates stained black bed sheets seated on the same square feet bare feet flex upon before french one oh one oh one young lover in fifty with a motto so fit and so filthy fucking so many sons and daughters it seems, [huph mahn] zero seventeen
dead crickets and cookie crumbs caked on my welcome mat
for all your lusty lonely souls to find their way back
mostly busty but i certainly posited my pencil dick on more than a few sternums
i mention this sternly
the walking dead ought to rest their knees occasionally
carnal equinox and i tit-fucked through that whole premiere, amc, straight seasonally
paid for plenty of dinners, edited infinite papers
and kept a fair number of your progeny from the eternal gentry
grateful? i think i’m just hateful
and a fair number loved me
this outward aura so comely…
so come to me

so come to me...

before the moon falls from your eyes back down between your thighs.
Track Name: Tattoo Harvester
i don't mean to interrupt but yonder rupture upon her wrist is dancing for attention
miss put the shiv down and shuffle your feet t died so recently
and truthfully i've enough to write about right about now
you're right handed so why slice into your right hand
is this not a precision dance madam teary eyed and lisp prancing for attention
well you've damn well got it please fucking stop it but more along the lines of
let’s talk for a while after all we used to fuck for a while until well i damn well stopped it
that's the shittiest april fool's day joke you said
i was too high to know what day it was and walked away instead
too bad it wasn't april then da da da hyacinth there sure is blood on your sunflower
but i can't tell which ink is crying out more loudly
as we tucked your arm espousing underneath your heart
odd how we don't speak on that subject and so i kissed you last september
sobriquet undressed, you let me touch your left breast in front of a bar on fourth street
and somewhere underneath my drink i wondered if your sunflower had wilted
Track Name: Petrichor
monochromatic flow (what) for the indigo angels (shut up)
i painted with a vast hand half-past the stroke of distraction
(why are you still asking questions?)
fraction of a clenched fist misprinting friction on a canvas
(punch a hole in the wall)
famished the grandfather in my grandmother's kitchen
(well, it's raining outside)
no longer chims chim cheree by the hour (we're not paying any attention)
and hour by hour charleston recedes to the sea
while the watercolors wave unto thee (you fuckers)

with all i’ve seen
and all whom i’ve been
cliché it seems yet i scream:
fuck you and your mans fuck you
fuck you and your friends fuck you
fuck you and your girls fuck you
fuck you and your whole wide world/fuck you and this whole wry world

they say wear your soul on your sleeve
so i wore hoodies all year long to cover up the brevity
my pink and un-inked biceps bore
the lore of young man yet unwritten
forever smitten
spittin’ krishna for the pigeons
eatin’ bojangles combos with vixens
listen, the flow is legendary
christopher, come back to me
we were cut of a cloth that calls for mending
from the tattoo of a needle and thread
on your wrist left handed poetics popping narcotics
goddammit we southern
and all up in your daughters
sippin’ on forties and reading john milton
paradise lost fool i found it in her dorm room
for a makeshift art porn shoot watching lucille bluth
and blasting mars volta “soothesayer”
in between shakespearean sonnets
preferably one-eighteen, turn the page, you got it
turn over, you know you go’n get it
skeet and skat for sex phonetics
skippity boop bow, shout out but don’t sing it
cocaine love, you know we done did it
erect explosion shameful
and all y’all haters go by the way of gravity’s rainbow

with all i’ve seen
and all whom i’ve been
cliché it seems yet i scream:
fuck you and your mans fuck you
fuck you and your friends fuck you
fuck you and your girls fuck you
fuck you and your whole wide world/fuck you and this whole wry world

(if the mouth is trust
but that shroud is a bluff
then the flowers are trussed
and if we’re loud enough
if we’re loud enough…)

what’d you do at nineteen? i had started drinking
and commenced a shadow’s of amn lan party throwback with my sibling hamid
hardest difficulty, perma-death no resurrection welcome to reality
and sure i tried being single
jeff recommended abstinence but there were lyrics to be written
do you feel me? the ones dancing in the rain certainly did
pain baptizing toner underneath their skin
slee we sure had hella summers
between your rollerblades and my sexcapades
or whatsoever these days they call ‘em
faux-artsy fodder for fecund penmanship
and far too many lagers, pardon:
next author is david foster wallace
darling let’s read infinite jest and talk about it
no joke not kidding can i get a bitch who is down
to wear hoodies and riposte poetry
in a mountain downpour over wine
or just a golden molson
nod to canada
and holla for my androgynous ovate valhalla
solemn persona as the public on my shoulder
grey as the sky when god’s cup runneth over

with all i’ve seen
and all whom i’ve been
cliché it seems yet i scream:
fuck you and your mans fuck you
fuck you and your friends fuck you
fuck you and your girl fuck you
fuck you and your whole wide world/fuck you and this whole wry world

(the clouds erupt…
the clouds erupt…
and as the clouds erupt…
and as the clouds erupt… )
Track Name: Hoodies No Shirt
brush your trust away
we're painting lust today

i wear corduroy caps with tears in them
and ten year old hoodies with the zippers missing
prefer french kissing, and fringe intimacy
with all your best friends' best friends listening, singing:

hoodies no shirt, hoodies no shirt, hoodies no shirt, hoodies no shirt
middles fingers to the sky, why?
hoodies no shirt, hoodies no shirt, hoodies no shirt, hoodies no...
hoodies no shirt.

harbinger
binge bringer of the reckoning
I reckon she should recognize
rise and stop speculating
surprise
speckled with freckles
and remnants of drunken intimates
in time for a shower and breakfast
crass legacy
these queens next to me
alas: fuck a quantize
latency god’s great gift to mankind
blessed be procrastination
permeating adolescent to adult’s essence across the nation
spacious:
locked myself in a dorm room
with tumblr porn and canned soup
summation wine and enough rhyme
online dictionary lists to oh shit
there must be arsenic in the chicken coup
truth: that’s bad broth
tell her to scoff and quaff the squawk
for the cock’s next batch of rich bitches brew
fucking gourmet… fondue
and yes, honestly I’m quite fond of fondling you.
heckle me why don’t you:
she with a hoodie unzipped no sweater
for best access to breasts unfettered
but let her keep her dignity, hands off
such a tantalizing media trope… nope, hands off.
cursed ruse: i do it for the nouns, verbs, and rampant mistresses
uh… i do it for the love of words and beaucoup des bitches

hoodies no shirt, hoodies no shirt, hoodies no shirt, hoodies no shirt
middles fingers to the sky, why?
hoodies no shirt, hoodies no shirt, hoodies no shirt, hoodies no...
hoodies no shirt.

all bummed out
album
no pens
ran the rhymes through a sieve without thought
oral missive
reference to that of being pensive
in case you missed the particularly senseless.
mistress no distress just plentiful listlessness
a list of lustful businesses and frequent visits
solicited by explicit appearances of remiss visages
and diligent deference to cleavage
provided by the aforementioned apparatus
hoodie no shirt the maxim and fashion of your gratis
and gracious am i grateful
loquacious and so hateful
enraged by these gratuitous
demonstrations which i revel in
vainglorious, irises drenched in “vinyl teargas”
and forced anagrams fanned over panoramic landscapes of your sternum
fanfare, dammit you worsen by the subsequent verse
lurking amidst
remembrance of when i had more songs at large than listeners
by about a hundred
and i have a hunch that this stone won’t quite roll you over
or nigh get you naked
at least obsession is all relative
if there’s one thing i’ve learned
it’s to never throw rocks without purpose

hoodies no shirt, hoodies no shirt, hoodies no shirt, hoodies no shirt
middles fingers to the sky, why?
hoodies no shirt, hoodies no shirt, hoodies no shirt, hoodies no...
hoodies no shirt.
Track Name: I Grant You Black
in a poetry workshop as a freshman my professor inquired for my opinion
as to the current state of the medium
i responded that the problem with modern art is, at best,
today’s works are no more than tidbits of gold surrounded by shit
gilded in silver; and that my endeavors were no exception
they still aren’t…
i’m still just throwing rocks

i grant you god damn daughter-fucker
giving heart as your namesake
between art and the game play
start and follow the more intriguing dialogue path
seething among cervixes and worshiping diagrams of ass
try again the load screen seems to work just as consistently in real life
actually ashley you were fascinating long enough to man handle pan’s labyrinth then
fade out
through the rabbit hole jt has your painting of the rabbit hole and i sure hope he’s well
same goes for you these days as i cough and i quell
quaff and swell behind closed doors on gales
failing slightly less than spectacularly
the spectre in my mind pries with the wry slight
“son you’re dying silently
speak a little more have a fighting stance
appropriate for an encounter where the mobs hold high resistance
increase your chance of a critical misstep
fall towards self-empathy from physical intimacy"
aerie, baldur’s gate had your wings burnt off
and david i swear you taught me so much
the last thing you told me was to keep in touch
with my obsessions

and of course i haven’t spoken to you since
let alone send any emails
i don’t write poetry anymore now that christopher is gone
it’s a shame
apparently you used to live in dean’s house
who was so supportive regardless of my addictions
i should visit his office more often…
Track Name: In All Honesty, Remember To Lie
as i toddler i threw rocks
we all threw rocks
i'm still throwing rocks
we're all just throwing rocks at each other

ooh samantha don’t you be that way
but thanks anyways for sleeping with me at your mom’s place
i had a wet dream on your air mattress
after times square sushi bourbon and as a matter of fact bitch:

i hope you get laid often
i hope the stars shine down on you
but i know i couldn’t remember your
birth sign if my life depended on it
and i don’t mean to start shit
but girl...

astrology is for those who can’t handle the real world
and i hope the big city’s kind to you
and i hope that my little dick reminds you of it
kindness, that is
kindness that is
kind of sad that the one thing you lacked in your life was kindness
you bitch
and i’m saying this out of courtesy
cuz ooh for a minute girl you meant the world to me

and now when i gaze towards the sky
i wish i’d just lied and fucked you one last time...

one last time.

as a toddler i upended sunflower pots
and wore them atop my head as hats
not much has changed since...
not much has changed.
Track Name: After New York
epileptic fractions of happiness
epileptic fractions of happiness
epileptic fractions of happiness
epileptic fractions of happiness

epilectic fractions of happiness (why)
for the weakest track on this whole record (what)
didn't quite rhyme (lilting like a banshee)
kind of funny... (so reprimand me)

i heard somewhere we laugh so we don’t cry
if that’s true, then at the center of my universe
i am the funniest man alive

(lackluster lyrics... lackluster lyrics...)

she wasn’t wrong when she said i didn’t write because i wanted to fight it
composing this that is, i wouldn’t call it music
tragic? no, just a lonely egocentric sob story; so world please ignore me
i don’t want to be heard and how I deplore that word
quite the professional noun "i" is indeed: my word
and yours. one capitalistic aspect we all can share
on a massive scale devoid of economic hierarchy
or language barriers
fuck i wanted to take a ferry to long island in january
freeze inside of lady liberty and then fuck you again
and fuck you moronic simpletons, these amblings were not meant
for your fresh new kicks and expensive desensitized bliss
and fuck no this is not poetry, obvious to anyone who matters artistically
spatter my spittle on this lcd screen
on which forever i am misspelling lysergic acid diethylamide acronym foreseen?
probably not, that’s why it’s humorous line.
catch the joke? yep. that’s a fucking humorous line.
i heard somewhere we laugh so we don’t cry
if that’s true, then at the center of my universe
i am the funniest man alive

i heard somewhere we laugh so we don’t cry
if that’s true, then at the center of my universe
i am the funniest man alive

(lackluster lyrics... lackluster lyrics...)

oft deft but most times either deaf or in debt
minus those last two. well, sometimes those last two
but I would like to think I heard every last goddamn word she said.
wouldn’t we all? too bad. the forced indentions
of ill-placed and worse interpreted intentions are the banal
brush strokes that have ruined modern art.
so call me brilliant now because I just indirectly criticized myself
but am quite cognizant of having done so…
and now he’s not rhyming and simultaneously speaking
in third person. the audacity, his subtle pausing
allowing us time to paint in whatever we so desire,
a maximalist minimalist we’ll call him – paltry –
hang him up in the met
while he hangs himself in his own house
by age twenty-three in some estranged homage to
ian curtis: turgid.
he heard somewhere we laugh so that we don’t cry
if that’s true, then at the center of his universe
he is the funniest man lamenting

i heard somewhere we laugh so we don’t cry
if that’s true, then at the center of my universe
i am the funniest man alive

(lackluster lyrics... lackluster lyrics...)

please now banshee won’t you kill me (darling), i am so tired of laughing
please now christopher won’t you kill me (winston), i am so tired of crying
please now rachel won’t you kill me (charleston), i am so tired of singing
please now samantha won’t you kill me (yonkers), i am so tired of breathing
please now laura won’t you kill me (claire), i am so tired of painting
please now grant won’t you kill me (why?), i am so tired of being... (alive)
Track Name: An Homage To Isle Nigh
brush brush brush brush
movement as such and the ensuing hush
trust trust trust trust
movement as such ant he ensuing lust
brush brush brush brush
movement as such and the ensuing hush
lust lust lust lust
movement as such and the ensuing touch

(i can't breathe)

monochromatic flow for the indigo angels i painted
with a vast hand
half past the stroke of distraction
fraction
of a clenched fist misprinting friction
on a canvas famished;
the grandfather in my grandmother's kitchen
no longer
chims chim cheree by the hour
and hour by hour
charleston recedes to the sea
while the watercolors wave
unto thee

please let me go
please let me go
please let me go
please let me go (stupid drunk to do this take)

when the rum flows run i write best
used to rely on robitussin and rejection,
though all i wrote were nausea and obnoxious
sex seekers betwixt class and blessed self-dejection:
the rest is less than vested interesting.
locks on dorm doors. god bless the ones who
literally stayed the fuck out.
as a fallen sophomore i was diagnosed with h-one-n-one
and fell into bed with a young woman
who steeped me shit tea and honey
the year before when I was ill.
she made me the same tea a year later
to cope with indigestion and it still
tasted terrible. upon recovering
i ran to the woods where the drow drooped aplenty
and briefly courted a charlestonian chevalier of photography.
my collegiate career seems marked
by the court and french failures.
there were bad beers and a cock corset in saluda
plenty of pictures quite frankly I hope I'm never tagged in
until this album comes out and i…
stop painting

stop painting (indigo)
stop painting (angels) (salute you easels, prepare your palettes)
stop painting (for perhaps we can but paint ourselves...)
stop painting (stop painting)
(into the palimpsests of nostalgia we must delve...)
stop painting... (stop painting, no)...

claire you're incredibly interesting
you remind me of what i wanted charleston to be
the new bridge has pylons in the sky
and violinists play outside the old slave market
charles came to me when i returned from charleston
and i still keep the delsym nurse richard slipped me in henderson
it reminds me of a birthday present for a girl i met from charleston
i got stupid gin drunk with my cousin's husband in charleston
the beach by wild dunes smells like shit and nick mentioned
i wasn't living up to my potential
my parent's lived it up on their honeymoon at wild dunes
and when charles painted his room we used
the resort towel to soak up bossa nova
dripping like pylons from the sky
and claire i pray i don't paint you
to be anything like charleston
but dear i’m afraid i may paint you
to be everything like charleston

monochromatic flow for the indigo angels i painted with a vast hand half past the stroke of distraction fraction of a clenched fist misprinting friction on a canvas famished the grandfather in my grandmother's kitchen no longer chims chim cheree by the hour and hour by hour charleston recedes to the sea whilst the watercolors wave unto thee.
Track Name: We Met At The Coffee Shop
live for the low fidelity sample
and church camp nostalgia
collegiate seraglios
and old salem decaf coffee
beeswax candles
methodical moravian doctrine
relative hymns for haecceitism
and the modern hagiarchy
the current student body
sunflowers hungering
for affections returned from your amorous plundering

lightly salted, sweetheart
you’ve picked my ribs apart
suckled sour bone lonely in just under an hour
circumvention seems secondary to digging
and in spite of my circumcised mind i prefer to take the dive willingly
dip then plunge pen asunder and ascribe
preamble to the body before basking inside
metaphor play and burst capillaries
enamel clenched as fingertips upon parchment sheets
white ‘till soiled; anon:
for me your name is "laura" – moniker opal
a trope for cordial social metonymy
north a grey impalpable state betwixt new york and pennsylvania
lady mary liberty bastion tower from joyce to antiquity
a fiction: mythological desire for the unascertainable, a curse on
women men children and your anonymity a fantasy – worsen –
grant that we may all love whom which we cannot name in person.

the bleak midwinter has been here since our beginning
and your love feast will be held regardless
when december’s red haired moon swoons in the lamplight
breathing come to me and hysterical
i’m coloring the moon and hysterical
the hyacinth become chrysanthemums
upon my canvas blood from wrist to fist
cyanosis to crimson to a wine of grape delsym
twitching at the bewitching hour: brushing this

monochromatic flow for the indigo angels i painted
with a vast hand half past the stroke of distraction
fraction of a clenched fist misprinting friction on a canvas famished
the grandfather in my grandmother’s kitchen no longer chims chim cheree by the hour
and hour by hour, charleston recedes to the sea while the watercolors wave unto thee
you fuckers.

louis knew, perhaps that's why he gave me a moog
which should rhyme with rogue
who brew a smooth double mocha porter
that drowned a korg drum machine accountable
for a number of these sonic smatterings
between cheap merlot
and freshly roasted espresso beans...
bitch.
Track Name: Fuck Unoaked Merlot
summer object of affection left
for philadelphia
our final action was watching
a youtube video of a duck desiring grapes
and i think i know now how gandolfini felt

brush brush brush brush
trust trust trust trust
brush brush brush brush
lust lust lust touch
mind if i touch?

sinking teeth into the ink garnishing your epidermis
when you ride me in reverse until i hurt
some nights jaclyn i miss licking cigarettes out of your throat
and your consistently supportive art composure
the most dangerous game devil ever did play
was convincing himself he was not the devil
and the most heinous game i ever did play
was convincing myself that i was not the devil

spit fire lyrics in a pin stripe suit
for a rapt attention audience of you,
a microphone and cinder-block walls
between benders and calls
as the mini-fridge mildew accrues
darling your shawl seems a mite bit mishandled
quite cold outside, cop a flannel
october is laughing and i swear to rhymed rapping
i would break form to take you to saluda
who would miss us, laura?
just for a weekend of pinot noir
blue ridge park-way off i-twenty-five for the day
then back to the colleton to spark
like we did when we were children
wholesale at rosedale pabst blue ribbon pilsners
i feel you, should’ve sealed the deal with the truth
but tongue-tied, no lie, i think i’m evil
and so this song is dedicated to bad wine (corkscrew)
and all of my collegiate concubines (just for you)

sinking teeth into the ink garnishing your epidermis
when you ride me in reverse until i hurt
some nights jaclyn i miss licking cigarettes out of your throat
and your consistently supportive art composure
the most dangerous game devil ever did play
was convincing himself he was not the devil
and the most heinous game i ever did play
was convincing myself that i was not the devil

went from hand knit black beanies to a forest folk five panel
if i could do it again i would have done more drugs
and died before i could have wrote this album
christopher’s in charleston and laura darling
i think i may be your christopher
wishing that these sentiments would manifest in song
or a bottle of your finest chianti
remind me why i'm obsessed with the mountains
and the fountain of youth i bathed in in your presence
essence of reminiscence festering in my mind’s eye
saluda’s moon is shining
vexed vespers of inspiration on these spirits
rearing up out of winter coats
and i suppose chortling a smorgasbord
of whorish infidelities:
“i bet he will lose her, i bet fella’s losing it
hella branded by his vying muse’s ruse
musically the devil is in the debrief truthfully
why can’t you just be who i paint you to be
while loving me for exactly who i am?
‘cuz i’m running out of canvas.”

sinking teeth into the ink garnishing your epidermis
when you ride me in reverse until i hurt
some nights jaclyn i miss licking cigarettes out of your throat
and your consistently supportive art composure
the most dangerous game devil ever did play
was convincing himself he was not the devil
and the most heinous game i ever did play
was convincing myself that i was not incredible
Track Name: The Love Song Of M. Minded Painters
(i'm afraid mermaids nobody is fucking singing to you scuttle hey hey i don't hear singing where's my anesthesia when are we going to spark like we did as kids no singing quick stop these are our voices)

imma smoke with my sleeves rolled up
leaning out the window straight scuttling.
and we’ll all smoke with our sleeves rolled up
leaning out of windows straight scuttling, scuttling

hi
i’m your average generation y rapper
twenty-three years old
cold and of course
i cry out through my laughter
to bold to come clean
say what i mean
so i mean to keep saying
nothing
on to next chapter
the next stanza
the next strophe
the next… ellipses
drowning in a sea
of my own inability
to truthfully see
i’m in love with a woman with a name
just the same as you in love with another someone with another name
playing another “what if…” lonely late night game
wondering if i came clean could you ever feel
the sanguine february breeze
at four-oh-three in the morning
cleansing my four door cab-horse naked in the lamplight
but it’s snowing outside so…

imma smoke with my sleeves rolled up
leaning out the window straight scuttling.
and we’ll all smoke with our sleeves rolled up
leaning out of windows straight scuttling, scuttling

stuttering
blundering but with the gusto of a blunderbuss
delving through the bluffs dying for a diamond in the rough as of yet uncut
until a succubus bares her bare bust …what the fuck…
and do i dare try sushi
though it’s been prepared wry culinary beauty
or should i just share my fear of impunity
honestly requite is really quite new to me foolishly
or it would be if it was returned
of that i am certain
or at least prefer to presume
when i don’t swoon
laving in a watery grave of perfume
under each and every new nude moon
that i find romanticizing
if only for the time being
i am able to ascribe meaning
but that second seems long past resolve
and love, “that is not what i meant, at all” so...

imma smoke with my sleeves rolled up
leaning out the window straight scuttling.
and we’ll all smoke with our sleeves rolled up
leaning out of windows straight scuttling, scuttling

scuttling scuttling scuttling scuttling....
straight scuttling scuttling.
Track Name: Dead Weight
monochromatic flow for the indigo angels
i painted with a vast hand half past the stroke of distraction
fraction of a clenched fist misprinting friction on a canvas
famished, the grandfather in my grandmother’s kitchen
no longer chims chim cheree by the hour
and hour by hour, charleston recedes to the sea
while the watercolors wave unto thee

the radio made me want to shoot art porn
but instead i just wrote this album
music, you sexy thing, you’re too far gone
here i am writing just another album

delilah you delightful black dahlia
persistent diatonic diatribe of my existence
between thighs of mine eighty-eight ivories
fairing tides of sonic tincture on the
song long lost forgotten seas of these unfortunates
warships of intimacy
worshiping the larceny of heartstrings
do you follow me? down to the river to prey
upon all the malleable minded painters at bay
basking in their own dead weight
and hopelessly in love with one another
but far too fearful to stutter
uh… uh… christened miss listener… hey, i think i’d like to fuck you
or at least play grand piano in your presence
after all to some degree the two of you are synonymous
languidness painted on an indigo dress
your monochrome monotone damn near angelic

the radio made me want to shoot art porn
but instead i just wrote this album
music, you sexy thing, you’re too far gone
here i am writing just another album

nigh time i let my locks tumble
sampson so keen as he fumbles
key into cunt so sumptuous
internet, thanks for teaching me to fuck so thoroughly
yet aging cyber deity, you worry me
when winter’s been here since the beginning
we’re but disembodied bits of some snow-fallen god resembling
the seasonal shit from this self-proclaimed heavenly flock of pigeons
listless, fixated on target painting
entertaining but the entrance fee
and severely tainted by the training be it karma, craft, or creed
some fixed combination of the three
a trinity enclosed by the deadbolt artistic sexuality
lost inside the womb of human language
negligence of the flame is love’s inferno: temporal regret
odd self-replicating hellish double helix
when the last ember dies i hope you scream phoenix

the radio made me want to shoot art porn
but instead i just wrote this album
music, you sexy thing, you’re too far gone
here i am writing just another album
Track Name: Babinski Sign
brush brush brush brush
movement as such and the ensuing hush
trust trust trust trust
movement as such and the ensuing lust
brush brush brush brush
movement as such and the ensuing hush
lust lust lust lust
movement as such and the ensuing touch

hook hook hook hook
huh huh huh huh
hoof hoof hoof hoof
hooves to the turf and claws out by birth

who the fuck
wasn’t plucked
from the tuck above a rupture
stuck nine months prior thrust
with all the fervor luck could muster
amidst the fuss of coitus and blusterous
transfer of love curds?
in other words: not you -
madam imbued with freshly-spewed fondue,
much ado canoe in the cavernous break through cap screw
came to and withdrew, thank you point of view
pornography
oddly ensuing odyssey of our progeny
fondling wantonly
in their younger more sumptuous years
rabbit ears and souvenirs below the neck line
found womanhood in the sanctity of saddle
so get off your fucking high horse and straddle

hook hook hook hook
huh huh huh huh
hoof hoof hoof hoof
hooves to the turf and claws out by birth

oooh move your feet now baby (go'n 'head and move your feet)
i said oooh, move your feet now lady, lady (don't you wait for me)
oooh move your feet now baby (go'n 'head and move your feet)
i said oooh, move your feet now lady (and don't you wait for me)

succumbing to banality’s overbearing weight
we oft feel forced to embrace the least flagrant of the uninteresting
destitution bound artist’s destiny
sympathy transmitted disappointments
cancel my next epidemic
these women prefer digital pyrotechnics
and lukewarm sex techniques.
yes, heaven has a brand new haircut
betwixt your hips and well below your waistline
mind if i snap chat our strip session face times?
as long as i can taste the brine
leaning dangerously o’er watercolors painting isle nigh
suffice to say seize the day and sigh
thy blank canvas naked and bald as a baby,
so lady point your toes to the sky

hook hook hook hook (go'n 'head and move your feet)
huh huh huh huh (don't you wait for me)
hoof hoof hoof hoof (go'n 'head and move your feet)
hooves to the turf and claws out by birth (and don't you wait for me)

for my retired friend infatuation
i apologize for speaking so sexually in cypher
but the you i painted will understand
i’ve colored you so you could
stand on a pedestal in my celestial hortus conclusus
dormus mea crescent animi florum groomed
‘til we eclipse traumatic canvas
i’ve become less a bastion of habit than a schematic for addicts
let’s just pretend twenty eleven never happened
or anything since for that matter
what matters is you’re the most beautiful
and i’m a nigh goddamned gardener pruning
verses for turgid lyric-writing juvenilia
sunflowers whose parents professed romantic bacchanalia
to hyacinths kissing penning du fu in the porch-light
erudite highly unlikely
their front yards and footprints were rather unsightly
but i hope you live forever
and i die sometime in the night rain yesterday
following ten glasses of wine
raised to all our former friends who didn’t make it
and all the world’s children
raised to all our former friends who didn’t make it
and all the world’s children... who have fallen.

breathe.
Track Name: Don't Forget To Tell The Children
daedalion, i'm sorry for your daughter
i saw her pitch sunflower off of cliff
parnassus; hawk’s beard and bless you
resemblance is an unmanned rescue, adieu
liakoura perches on my veranda sympathetic
hypothetical she despondent in the morning
lute strings lackadaisical
as hummingbird wings
singing o’er frame vestigial
suicide notes:
tears doting drying on a singular tissue
tossed in wicker basket
razor in a rose thicket
dry summer pyre
valium expired underneath
mother’s teaspoon heirloom
tarnished
sorry father shouted
who gives a fuck about the varnish? i doubt he
will forgive himself
and if i do kill myself
it’s better for the writing, ironic…
from her notebook, reciting, she said to me:
“there will never be another until yesterday
i'm sure there were several,” and so
we placed a picture of her
next to the aged green rocking chair;
that one with mismatched legs
porch bound by the chrysanthemums and
hyacinth she detested… that she detested…
but wrote alongside, regardless
hyacinth she detested… that she detested…
but wrote alongside, regardless.

(there will never be another until yesterday
i'm sure there were several and so
we placed a picture of her by... )
Track Name: Falling On Swords
for the fallen…
we are the whoreson dogs,
boards and bawds, let’s to music...

welcome to the department of medicine
where we serve bibles and alcohol
when neither of them will help you at all
check books or diaries
go ahead, draw your pens and fucking die for me

welcome to the department of medicine
where we serve cigarettes and adderall
when neither of them will help you at all
love-struck and trifling
go ahead, paint your sins and fucking die with me

syllable syllable syllable villainous
feeling it philosophy at four in the
morning yawning dancing
storytelling falling on swords of
these quandaries yelling fella i’ve
fallen heaven is this hell i inhabit
crawling bawling out my soul to an
audience pondering pandering
fantasy bantering on and on and on
and on
pause
for a sip of blue moon and orange
old boy mouthing sympathy for
mister vengeance, torrid
torn between heaney’s “two lorries”
digging for torment it seems
pouring over paintings faintly
resembling life’s plight
chris, sometimes i wish you were close
so the password on my iphone is the same one that yours was
certainly futile worrisome
and were i someone else stronger
i might have stood by you longer
nonetheless nothing’s left
once we strip all the color off the canvas
underneath winston’s trembling lunar lantern
in a rampage of rampant fancying
that if the pen is a sword for lyrical lunges
then the time is nigh i plunge upon it

welcome to the department of medicine
where we serve bibles and alcohol
when neither of them will help you at all
check books or diaries
go ahead, draw your pens and fucking die for me

welcome to the department of medicine
where we serve cigarettes and adderall
when neither of them will help you at all
love-struck and trifling
go ahead, paint your sins and fucking die with me

new york knows you’re only beautiful when you’re broken
charleston knows you’re only glowing if you’re toking
winston knows how to hide their homeless and their hungry
while i am loathe to admit here i am at twenty-something
still unemployed
even though they’ve doubled my salary daily ever since i entered
this business
raking dead leaves half-a-decade later
dale, our best friends didn’t even listen to “synaesthetic experiment” and nathan, you were right about the world
yes, we’ve failed our own generation
fuck their terrorism and their economy
we’ve forgotten how to build communities
lost the will to stand together and truthfully
i don’t know how to be intimate anymore
the same night we smoked camel nines on your porch
i ended up in bed with a woman who i didn’t have sex with
then or any of the other several times i’d been next to her
she fell asleep as i read sestinas of crayons and coalmen aloud
all these paintings seem to be of indigo clouds repeating
but with the exact same leaning
that perhaps i too, should be leaving…

welcome to the department of medicine
where we serve bibles and alcohol
when neither of them will help you at all
check books or diaries
go ahead, draw your pens and fucking die for me

welcome to the department of medicine
where we serve cigarettes and adderall
when neither of them will help you at all
love-struck and trifling
go ahead, paint your sins...
and then rise with me.
Track Name: Deciduous
monochromatic flow for the indigo angels i painted
with a vast hand, half past the stroke of distraction:
fraction of a clenched fist misprinting friction on a canvas
famished
the grandfather in my grandmother’s kitchen
no longer chims chim cherree by the hour
and hour by hour
charleston recedes to the sea
while the watercolors wave unto thee

nine and we jostled
by the waterside behind willow springs court
the night before a sunrise easter service in god’s acre
at old salem, songs of nature’s nascence
after infants skipping stones impatient
jim wrote of gingkoes in god’s acre autumn
laura and i walked through god’s acre during autumn
after chris and i had walked through god’s acre one autumn
and i think i lost it all in the autumn
queer how loves and laughs of yesteryear
become tears while the jeers and jests of retrospect
are in fact requiems, cleverly masked regrets,
joke prose of children’s’ post-traumatic
lament: if my sword is a pen then i have fallen upon it

throwing rocks into the creek
we tossed a volley of death upon
an unsuspecting family of ducklings
i broke one's neck and watched it drown
that's why a decade later you held me down and
touched me while i pleaded with you not to

throwing rocks into the creek
we tossed a volley of death upon
an unsuspecting family of ducklings
i broke one's neck and watched it drown
that's why a decade later you held me down and
tried to love me while i pleaded with you no to

nineteen and unwarranted
a sophomore virgin when he groped my cock forcibly
firm and i’m sure his passion was genuine
yet this unrequited intimate liaison
has defaced my whole existence
but underneath great pain is greater perseverance (if you dig)
serving a life sentence in a littoral indeterminate prison (if you live)
of your own painting, mauve of your own making
between cerulean wrist and blood of your own fists spraying praying
that the palimpsests weren’t worth saving (they weren't)
bathing in a pool of foolish uniform shading (yes we were)
searching if when the turpentine is only pulling off this one color,
then why am i so surprised by these pictures i've uncovered?

throwing rocks into the creek
we tossed a volley of death upon
an unsuspecting family of ducklings
i broke one's neck and watched it drown
that's why a decade later you held me down and
fucked me while i pleaded with you not to

throwing rocks into the creek
we tossed a volley of death upon
an unsuspecting world full of ducklings
we broke their necks and watched them drown
that's why.

for any and all persons concerned,
the last words on this album are
"the last words on this album"}