K E Y:  ✄= art ✎= lit ♪= music ✪= video;  = highly recommended content


40 more lo-fi songs that exist for some reason. "Always Wanting More" is a Jay Reatard cover.

Lead single "WALRUS LOVE" officially co-opted as the theme song for The People Are The Enemy The Podcast! Very cool 😎 [PRESS RELEASE]

"No Way Out"

How I wish to feel indifference towards this situation
As if it were a situation at all or something worthy of having feelings toward in the first place...
Generally speaking, that is the general demeanor of an ideal psychopathic savant, the demented generosity of those patron and antiquated, mistaken in droves, the few who watch over me, be damned
Like imperfections in ink showing through, the happy accident does not exist
Does not exist so much as a flicker of spit in a dream, a dream where some stooge has the gall or the nerve or such a complicated case of adoration that he lassos the bonanza, squints his eyes just so, maybe even bends a little or tricks his spine into thinking about bending, and says with a charitable amount of sincerity, how's your luck
But luck is dead
Luck is under-mixed paint and bird shit
It's crying on a scuba dive and thinking about the tropical fish that sort of half-scares you is not swimming, but knowing, maybe even a God of some kind
But luck is not pining for the zoo without the keepers' plight in mind
That's something else completely
It's not an animal
Playing TAPS for talent, even if
A soft distant hum you're morphed into a horn out of longing and unabridged, fairly universal, far off life, out of key, sings rebellion in your ears
I could go on and probably will
The hum horn whispers foolish nothing
A change in work, do you work long hours, have a high workload?
Maybe you should watch more movies, complicated and unnerving films of the underground
To relax
Or you could transition the work into a Huck Finn skeleton
A runaway with glue on bones
And all the falling leaves and strangers' smiles, loose change and no friends glory would make a new person new, engaging and discreet
Discreet as the unseen zookeeper
Hummingbirds for bees (in this delusion)
But a certificate hangs on the wall, the glum support of a single tack has morphed into the letter--you guessed it
An overhead view of the want-want meta cage and pronoun
And the zookeepers have friends, beekeepers exist
All none the wiser as wisdom is dead now too, now
Divisive realms spur a might, falsehood, pull the wool, etc.
In the filing cabinet, you will attempt to dip your hand in manilla happiness until some cosmic glove materializes on the flesh, not unlike a shilled sprinkle application at the ice cream shop
But you'd settle only for the moment that a dog-on-leash laps up the droplet of a deformed vanilla cone in August
Tongue on pavement, to be the liquid ice cream nucleus of mythological saliva touching concrete is a freedom (like an angel or a ghost)
To fall witness a tragedy by definition
A squashing nightmare, 9/11 on steroids
If we had wings, I could fly
Like our grammar changing on these hyper-modern plains, we would just be something worse than animals if our collective creating didn't aneurysm the holy fuck out of this world's brain (barn)
Bob is your uncle
And like wisdom and luck, your uncle is dead
There is no imperative tone, not even a peek-a-boo version of real motivation, the kind the younger people around me flaunt in spite of their glazed-over gallant eyes
Cheddar is the opening, Swiss the gist, ad unknowingly expensive shit-stinking import the finish that will never come
Ant about art about town
And the town is your every thought
Go kill yourself
My self help is on the way, in on book on tape and it was free 
A garden just a few seeds short of full bloom, wild flowers for the deer
To eat and get plump with, and explode my withered dreams onto an unsuspecting car in the form of feces and nice fur
Feces and nice fur indeed
Why would we aspire for beauty and being regular when a whole planet of cancers and fancy erections exists for our enticing?
If we dreamed up an economy surely there is a horror we wouldn't dare be so uncool to miss
And so we wait, my friend
On the newfangled horrors in the wings, and the sleeping giants in our custom-size fictionalized caves