Even though I just said I was going to only record stripped-down songs from now on, I did an abrupt 180° with one of the most layered/blown-out records (though effectively so, I reckon) in a long time. I'm not sure what the future holds, but I'm proud of this one: it came together fast and hard, and actually has some surprising length (twss). The dumb A.I. prompt was something like "Garfield entering a cave that is also Garfield's mouth" — I hope everyone can see what I'm doing with these covers btw. On to the next one. #100 coming up soon!? WHOA.
♫ TRACKLIST – 13 TRACKS (46:19)
1. An Increase in Crustaceans (Saccharine Flashback) 02:55
2. Gentle Fencer 02:41
3. True Love in Georgia 03:39
4. Blessed Metrosexuals (Moo Cow Gets the Gun) 03:41
5. Check Yo Scalps 4 Ticks! (Song for a Future Cinema) 04:02
6. Eclipses Ill-Equipped for Fog 03:16
7. San Jose 03:38
8. Hot Canary Killshot 03:17
9. My 9/11 04:00
10. A Deadend Called Desire 04:07
11. Meeting Peter S. in the Rain (You'd Look Better in a Rickshaw) 04:48
12. Ringtone Writer 04:00
13. Heaven, Bring Me My Angels Now 02:15
Music & Words by Vernon Howl ©
01 An Increase in Crustaceans (Saccharine Flashback)
A cadence of ableist technology
Rings true across the ocean floor
Fill up on chinchilla blood, Leslie
An increase in crustaceans? Check the score
This saccharine flashback is a little bit too much
Lost the plot intentionally but the plot is all we got
Detox the body, filter out the brain
11 cubic centimeters make me go insane
Wisconsin swans in the NYC seas
Severing ties with what they always wanted to be
Drinking and driving in a hybrid car
Without a destination, can be so bizarre
02 Gentle Fencer
Me and my friends
Meeting up on the weekend
Taking in every single passing possibility
And when it ends
We'll find our memory sent
Via postcard to our future selves waiting silently in agony
Gentle fencer! How do you do it?
You win the match with precision and prudence
Gentle fencer! My face is unglued now
They'll all mistake my smile for a frown of a Judas
03 True Love in Georgia
True love in Georgia
Is really hard to find
It’s not like a peachtree
It’s so damn easy to be unkind
You gotta come down
From this new high
We have to find out
If true love was born to die
The air is so hot
& That's grounds for cold-
Blooded murder
I see it has been foretold
What of our land
How could she burn
Ladies on fire
Each one taking their turn
Peachtrees combust
Incinerate orbs
Litter thy grass
So these fruit trees will be torched
04 Blessed Metrosexuals (Moo Cow Gets the Gun)
Miniature golf is the only golf that matters
To the lonely but blessed metrosexuals
We give our sister wives a Cranford sandbox
We always take them to the lantern fly tombs
They raised the world's largest strawberry in a lab
Then they fed it to my dad
A strict carnivore since the age of ten (dad said)
Squash that berry or I'll be mad
I'll send every last motherfucker straight to their grave
If my name isn't Donny Dave
But of course that is a pseudonym (numb)
You beat skitdaddle when moo cow gets a gun
If wasn't clear before, my father's bovine
But I'm still human and that's fine
It's not a toy, it's not unjust joy
And no, my friend, I am not being coy
05 Check Yo Scalps 4 Ticks! (Song for a Future Cinema)
So long, salami: I cried that after every meal
Of lobster from a pail, cattails and antlers congealed
The Christmas songs will grease your way to hell
As the cinephiles stare and wonder why they couldn't tell
Good films from bad, bad films for good
Check your scalps for ticks, kids, this is understood
During the year my plumbing got gummed up
With South Korean Sprite cans and cups
I said, Martha, do you believe in me?
She said let’s walk and talk, I could tell she couldn’t see
06 Eclipses Ill-Equipped for Fog
Most eclipses are ill-equipped for a fog
But I will not be among them
My star burns brighter through the night
I’m not here for this conundrum
So take your riddles, little boy
Throw them in a sack
Tie it to those rusting dumbbells
And dump it in the pond out back
Wrap me up like a burrito
Sell me for pennies on the dol
I am not porcelain or metal
But a foodstuff named Molloy
I am full of meaty goodness
But my soul is so impure
It's laced with caustic fractal acids
Or something, I'm not sure
07 San Jose
With omnipresent lechery
It can be hard setting boundaries
But please know you can still go
All the way to San Jose
Your second cousin Sharon wrote a children’s book
The Impossible Plight of Immunocompromised Ducklings in Denver
It was littered with a purple prose
And more ninja in-jokes than one would have ever supposed
Baby, I'm a beach a whale
And I'll probably end up back in jail
Hoist its body up out of the sea
Please help, lift it with me, lift it with me
08 Hot Canary Killshot
Esmeralda telecommutes
Not because she has to but cuz she thinks it's cute
Bubblegum pop is satanic, it's true
But that's not why I like it, though I like it for you
Hot Canary Killshot
Hit song on the radio
It doesn’t exist yet
But maybe someday, who knows?
Running the risk is expensive
You can hit a kid or a feral pig
I don’t like your tone, your inflection
I guess that’s just natural selection
09 My 9/11
You are my 9/11
Been down, looking for some kind of heaven
It doesn't have to be a perfect 10
Just looking for someone I can see again
Our mutual interest
In the serial killers of yesteryear hurts
Sets off assured destruction
Of our hearts, our prospects, the earth
You can suffocate in the eyes
Of a child who has died
If you look at them squarely
So lower your head and sigh
10. A Deadend Called Desire
Nobody ever called desire
With golden pipes or spires
The fire is burning bright
It will quell every last dream tonight
You can be your own disguise
And sleep well in your mind
Put on that seafood charm
And stop doing irreversible harm
You can drive down
A deadend street
Called desire
But don't start
Any fires
11. Meeting Peter S. in the Rain (You'd Look Better in a Rickshaw)
Ate a
Mylar bialy
On st. Patrick's Day
And thought about
Meeting Peter S.
In the rain
Ever live in a jean house?
There's denim everywhere
You look good but you'd look better in a rickshaw
This trip ain’t worth the fare
You can't move a muscle
You've been paralyzed by Pixar
You look good but you'd look better in a rickshaw
And the valet smashed your car
12. Ringtone Writer
A lactose Capricorn smorgasbord
Is neither hide nor hare
And the lemon drop peppercorn, baby
Is never ever on sale
Be afraid of the ringtone writer
Be weary of the bleeps he pens
If not for his beeps, chimes, church bells, screams and doot doot doots, he’d be
Busking earworms till your dead
There is no way to defeat this
Without a sleazier Jesus
There's no telling what I could have meant
If I was at 100%
13. Heaven, Bring Me My Angels Now
Singing, oh goddamn there's a retro death toll
Taking the numbers backward again
So Heaven, bring me my angels now
It’s been too long since the end
I can only remember the punchline
Of a confrontational joke
The last thing I felt before sadness
Was respect for a bug on the spoke
The photographer told us everything
About a type of centipede
Said he ate up all the baby cockroaches
He was just the thing we need
SEQUENTIAL
