1. |
On Plunging A Toilet
04:49
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It’s not the sight, the smell, the taste, the sound,
The clinching stiff that catches in my wrist,
The painted chrome but plastic lever fills
then spills the cold but boiling murky flood
That splashes trickling down my fuzzy cheek
First anger rises dries then dies like smoke
It’s not the fact I monthly buy this fate
But still I wonder why I purchase this
I ask myself, “Why is this happening?”
But not in somber existential sad
Soliloquy. Is there a toy or wad
Of paper hung up on some screwing root?
I know that this is just what you do, but I
Can’t help but think that this is a metaphor
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2. |
Deeper Hidden Meaning
03:21
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Did you read what I wrote? Did you hear what I said?
Did you think all these guidelines suggestions at best?
I’ve read your first paragraph numerous times,
And I can’t bring myself to read one more line!
You’ve got me wondering. I’m scratching the top of my head.
What are your reasons, and who is your audience?
This doesn’t make any sense! How is this organized?
Where is your evidence? Why should I keep reading this?
Did you start with a plan? Did you write a rough draft?
Did you wait till the night before to even begin?
The reason we study the humanities is to
Build up your empathy, but did you even read?
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3. |
Bloomsday
03:49
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I’ve been walking around just avoiding my house
I’ll drown my fears in politics and alcohol
He’s much younger and bright
An Irishman erudite. The poet foam who
Floats above this bowsy trash.
Tie me to the mast! I can’t go back home;
I don’t know where that is anymore.
The citizen is screaming. Mina’s baby’s breaching.
Molly won’t be mine, and Paddy Dignam’s dead.
Those young girls I’m learning: sandy ankles swirling--
Churning up the wine dark porter sea.
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4. |
Telephone Part 2
03:24
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If you don’t mind, could I call you every night?
I don’t want to tie up your phone line,
But could I just call you every night?
I want to see you in the morning
I want to see you when you’re uptight
I want to see you when you’re boring
I want to see you every night.
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5. |
Salad Days
04:42
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The days keep dying off like they’re named for dead Norse gods
But no Ragnarok will bring them back again
The weeks all run their course with numb unyielding force
And we’re so weak we creep across the finish line.
Salad days will fade away
when we realize we’re made of clay
But water washes us with life,
and we’re reborn in risen life.
The months all slip away like sand under the waves.
We’re stranded on the beach bleached in the sun.
The years go by so fast, each more quickly than the last.
Why does time speed up as we get old?
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6. |
Alleluia Cone
04:45
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We were traveling traveling
a long long way from home and Bollywood
When forty thousand feet from the fatal earth,
Her jihad exploded, and we fell in song.
We were trying to trying to assimilate
But we don’t fit in, we don’t fit in.
They all think that we’re terrorists
Because of the color of our skin.
Allelujah Cone, where have you been?
Allelujah Cone, where have you gone?
Jealousy and envy and anger
They did us in. They did us in.
She found love in the arms of another man.
She found heaven at the peak of Mt Everest.
On judgement day the holy trumpet sounds
Fire from heaven fell the fire fell
And it burned up the sinners and saints alike
It burned everybody the same.
We made our way back home
To reconnect our souls.
I laid my dad to rest
And learned to be his son.
You threw her from the roof
Four stories down
Then blew out your brains
And finally went home.
Allelujah Cone!
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7. |
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Inside the city of burning sand
shaer jahiliyya - al-Lat’s commands
Baal is running from Mahound and his men
His twelve wives are waiting for their husband
The prophet heard the demons whispering
The poet wrote the words as they were spoken
Don’t shoot the messenger, forgive him
But the writer is a whore. What’s the difference?
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8. |
Secret Of Summer
05:32
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The lazy summer light that opened up our eyes
A little before ten:
It bleached the concrete white. I sneezed, you laughed,
As distant church bells rang.
Wandering toward the bookstore, you told me where all
Your neighbors lived
And where your parents worked. The familiar streets
Remind me of being a kid,
Of saturdays on baseball fields, the smell of pavement after rain
Of Eucalyptus by the lake, and sunsets on the violet bay.
We made our way back home our feet kept time
With the cardinal’s song.
Cicadas in the heat sing constantly
All summer long.
It’s funny how you can’t go back, you know,
Through the same stream twice.
I dream about the places where I grew up,
But now everything has changed.
The wind was whispering to the leaves, it sounded like a secret.
The sun was scorching quiet streets, it shimmered in the distance.
Everywhere I want to be no longer exists.
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9. |
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Between convulsions like slowly beating wings,
The epileptic girl clothed in nothing but butterflies
Prophesied. “Walk to the sea,” she said, but
Burning with lust and burdened with empathy,
He could not believe.
He followed in his Mercedes, but
He could not believe.
She led his dying wife and all of the villagers
Straight to Mecca through the desert to the sea
Anathema! Their faith so startling
But a torrent of rain destroyed all their enemies.
Some died or rode inside the apostate’s car,
And on the brink of death, they flew the rest of the way.
Did the waves stand back and let them pass,
Or did they drown and come to nothing?
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The Anapests Boerne, Texas
Drawing on an array of sonic influences, everything from The Police to Parquet Courts, and lyrical inspiration from everything between Herodotus and Heidegger, The Anapests marry introspective lyrics to high-gain rock.
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