A Little Bit Ludicrous [2017] 1. Patapon's Foodbowl 2. Shut Up and Listen 3. Cool Shit 4. Not Even Me 5. A Little Bit Ludicrous "Patapon's Foodbowl" Fuck it. I’m free. I’m fucked. it’s folk. that’s fair. l really don’t care I’m just taking a dump in left field and even the left fielder doesn’t care doesn't ask me what the hell I’m doing, doing that way the fuck out there I greet him meekly and explain ... oh, I’m just taking a stroll Trying to reach Maurice taking a shit in Patapon’s food bowl You can choose to use a crowbar to pry open their tiny minds Moan and piss and tweet and click to convince someone to pay some mind Then shove what’s left of your compassion up some crack that’s hard to find. You always campaign on how little you care - take a fucking poll. Meantime, I’ll picture Maurice taking a shit in Patapon’s foodbowl After sharing your theory about how humpty dumpty was shoved off the wall you measure the chaos in a dismal test down at the local science hall Then, recruit an army of janitors to invade your favorite toilet stall Back on the fortress edge, you flash me your glory hole Now we both can peek at Maurice taking a shit in Patapon’s foodbowl You serve up reheated revenge with chilled resentment to all your guests I idiotically shoved two fist full in my face - Now it’s me no one gets And you’re so fucking mad: they all seem like lemmings or, worse, fucking pests When you’re tired of everyone's goddamn shit - and patience has taken its toll There’s alway Maurice taking a shit in Patapon’s food bowl "Shut Up and Listen I don’t give a fuck, but I still fucking care A dickhead with a heart - my brain is you know where I'm freelance bullshit artist, crafting my fiction Sometimes I just shut the fuck up, and try listening I’m an amateur loser with no pedigree. A professional fuck-up with no proper degree. When I stick my dick in the wind and just start pissing, I realize I might need to shut the fuck up, and start listening. Free speech is not a privilege - it is technically a right. Don’t disregard your adversary; offer a high five. It's demeaning to assume anyone needs your permission. It takes practice to shut the fuck up, and just listen. To the whites of their eyes, there’s two ways to reply Brandish your best rhetoric - or bite tongue and eat pride Pick your battles when confronting the inquisition. Resign for a time to shutting the fuck up and just listening Justice is blind but she can be long-winded. Half your talk is wicked, it’s not your duty to be pigheaded. You out to conquer all? Are you open to another position? Either way, you probably need to shut the fuck up and try listening God’s lawyers can be prone to sanctimonious verbiage The devil’s advocate is a distinct, yet serious privilege There’s more than one way to extract an act of contrition Not always, but yeah, I shut the fuck up, and try listening None of this is ironclad - just a rule of thumb There’s a fine line between prudence and something really dumb. Make room for subtlety in your flawless glorious vision I’ll humor you and shut the fuck up, and try listening I blow it out my ass and turn the other cheek. My breathe smells like coconut; I got a pube stuck in my teeth. What in our shallow, pathetic existence could be missing? Maybe I need to shut the fuck up, and try listening This kind of advice fits on the back of a car. Balanced, rational argument only gets one so far. So, I add crass irreverence - with a nod to tradition That includes shutting the fuck up, and just listening You can scare or shoot the rooster, but the sun’s still gonna rise. Could the dim explicit thicket shit - open your eyes? Or chintzy slabs of facts dash - your favorite opinions. It takes guts to shut the fuck up, and just listen. Make an *honest case - put a conclusion at the end Reason might fight bias, but we all chew on what we’re fed. Orthodoxy is shared among tribal affiliation. You’ll have to figure out when to shut the fuck up, and just listen. I made peace with my demons, now what the fuck do I do? Find a meeting of minds with someone in the room. With so much still to say, let this be my modest submission: Sometimes we all need to shut the fuck up, and just listen. "Cool Shit" people doing cool shit - trying to figure out what to do focusing on what really works and making it come true studying the shit out of everything trudging through the flood of negativity listening to everyone from slave to king tossing your best hat into the brutal ring inspiring us to do it too people doing cool shit - trying to figure out what to do focusing on what really works and making it come true quaint - like a notion of civility The thankless task of forging public policy quietly building trust in your community with a lavish budget - threadbare shoestring inspiring us to do it too people doing cool shit - trying to figure out what to do focusing on what really works and making it come true drawing from humanity’s old wellspring summoning the will of creativity humdrum stuff like fucking governing a disciplined life passion not a fad or fling inspiring us to do it too people doing cool shit - trying to figure out what to do focusing on what really works and making it come true prosaic - like a sense of common decency not beholden to the dogma of either wing from Chicago to Pretoria to Chongqing Reimagining the limits of what could be inspiring us to do it too people doing cool shit - trying to figure out what to do focusing on what really works and making it come true "Not Even Me" I’m not me anymore. I got busy, busy being born. If you pass this way again. I’ll be in the cloud or on the floor. Nothing now feels worth it. It’s all approximately worthless. I pass my days in a listless haze. I’m never whole, I’m always torn. The canned chorus of senselessness. The callousness makes me wince. I stop what I’m doing and just listen, in a frozen stupor at the stupid door. We all need some grounding in something boring or astounding. But every now and then, it’s good to get shaken to the core. I’m not you, him, her or them. I’m not even me anymore. When you conjure up the shame, It feels like a farce or a game. But I hear the chilling echo in the neglected annals of yore. Who am I to presume? Didn’t we both jump over the broom. In the din, my shout’s a whimper. In the silence, a roar. It’s neither here nor there. How quaint that you still care. All the best laid plans, You never know what’s in store. When all you’ve known has crumbled and even heads of state are humbled All seem powerless to direct where the biggest burden is borne I’m not you, him, her or them. Hell, I’m not even me anymore. In the captive mind of pettiness. In resentment spawned from thoughtlessness. I mutter gloomily: "I fucking guess". Like Winnie-the-Pooh’s friend, Eeyore. In the grand prison of self-righteousness, echoes boom; nothing’s confessed Like that donkey, I get depressed. Being right can’t be it’s own reward. Even all the wisdom of Solomon can’t get the dead dove to fly again or persuade the zealot fundamentalist from unleashing misery and gore Sometimes, it all feels hopeless when violence robs what’s precious. The despair, I can only guess. I have the luxury to ignore. I’m not you, him, her or them. I’m not even me anymore. Some people have an impressive, boundless gift of forgiveness Others bury their hate inside, dig their heels in and brace for war. A dash of agony is cathartic; Pampered self-pity pathetic We all have a struggle; Whether on the front lines or in fucking bubble core
Sometimes, shit doesn’t work, whether you’re decent or a jerk. Us, we'll hammer out a plan. We’ll just make up our own lore. I take no joy in another’s demise; a bird can’t haul its cage away if it’s gonna fly If you find a quick high in what you despise, learning shit will become a chore I’m not you, him, her or them. I’m not even me anymore.
The revolution has been tedious with spells of giddy deliriousness and self-indulgent disobedience; serious, cheesy, and mysterious I dumpster dive for ideas from the Dakotas to either Korea I follow furthest conclusions from the Hague to fucking Bangalore. The narcissist dressed in a spiffy shirt; the swaggering amateur on high alert politely debate, but the trolls go berserk when the warriors claim to be pure I have a moral compass lodged near my hippocampus I won’t just blurt out what it says. I'm crouched in the fucking shrubs of metaphor I’m not you, him, her or them. I’m not even me, not me anymore. You angrily to squeeze the balloon, displacing the agony and gloom I squeak the air out slowly, drawing fake giggles and sarcastic snores There’s tons of indignation, from crude insults to high oration I’m just a modest scribe, an obscure, rambling troubadour I’m just a drop in the bucket, tossed in the ocean off Nantucket I’m a single grain of sand, lost in the snaking, rambling shore I’m so infinitesimally small. Go on, squint, you won’t see me at all When my dust gets blown away, things’ll pretty much be as before. I’m not you, him, her or them. I’m not even me anymore. "A Little Bit Ludicrous" To avoid feeling like a useless piece of shit I convened a meeting on the monumental mess A quorum of one, still there was some suspense not really surprised and fairly impressed I plundered the search box for recompense signed my surrender, dropped any pretense Gold and myrrh - and burning frankincense shit was everywhere, packed in really dense in short - to condense: it was all a little bit ludicrous the big top convention had already commenced shouting mean chants instead of drafting a defense some actually polite in a different context proud, if bitter, feeling dispossessed sifting through the scraps of Apollo's mess herded past the labyrinth of common sense captive to a series of unfortunate events hearing the paeans, then promptly taking offense in short - to condense: it was all a little bit ludicrous gratuitously huge - gorgeous immense amorphous, formless, and nebulous staring in the bowels of ruthlessness egregious, fruitless, and tortuous when the wrath surpasses metamorphosis its monstrous, obnoxious, and imperious the gracious stand aghast at the hideousness labeled sell-outs, bigots, even blasphemous in short - to condense: it was all a little bit ludicrous the minutes of the meeting - all its contents were just a shapeless heap and didn’t make sense mostly boring as fuck, sometimes pretty intense nothing bud light would care to present I watched it unfold at my own expense It just pissed me off and made me fucking stressed I chucked that crap past the wall and the fence passed a quizzical bird, perched chirping its two cents in short - to condense: it was all a little bit ludicrous after popping some corn for the apocalypse I needed a dose of the innocuous joyous, judicious, and generous fabulous, glamorous, and frivolous hilarious, ingenious, misce*llaneous marvelous, miraculous, and idolatrous variously vacuous and virtuous illustrious, impervious, androgynous in short - to condense: it was all a little bit ludicrous ---------------------- Demons [2014] 1. Demons 2. Hard To Fucking Imagine 3. Do You Like It? 4. A Dollar’s Worth 5. In Their Grip 6. Shit Is So Fucking Sad "Demons" I fought with some demons. They were scary and mean. They take shit from no one, especially not some fuck-up punk, like me. I tried to ignore them. But they showed up everyday. At first, I asked them nicely, “Demons, please go away.” Demon, demon, demon, demon, demon, be gone. What ransom must I pay. Demon, demon, demon, demon, demon, be gone. Demon, just go away. Now, demons are a persistent lot. They follow me everywhere. No matter where the hell I end up, Demons will be there. Cairo or Brasilia. New York or LA. Brussels, Beijing, or Washington, Or the San Francisco Bay. Demon, demon, demon, demon, demon, be gone. What ransom must I pay. Demon, demon, demon, demon, demon, be gone. Demon, just go away. After wrestling with the demons, I now have resigned. No plea or argument will help. I just gaze into their eyes. The demons, they stare right back at me With inexhaustible resolve. Maybe they’ll get sick of me, and my live will carry on. Demon, demon, demon, demon, demon, be gone. What ransom must I pay. Demon, demon, demon, demon, demon, be gone. Demon, just go away. Demon, demon, demon, demon, demon, be gone. What ransom must I pay. Demon, demon, demon, demon, demon, be gone. Demon, just go away. "Hard to Fucking Imagine" Like cupid with his stupid arrow. Tipped with either gold or lead. He shoots his target dutifully. That shit goes straight to his head. One tip sharp and paralyzing. All reason, it is shred. The other blunt, almost poisonous That fill you full of dread. So, I'll grab my narcotics. You reach for your phone. It's hard to fucking imagine Feeling more alone. The lights were drawn. The deck was stacked. The dealer wore a smirk. You commented derisively On the pattern of his shirt. Although the critique was justified, I asked you, Is it worth Pissing off the dealer And loosing all respect you've earned. I grab my narcotics. You reach for your phone. It's hard to fucking imagine Feeling more alone. I grab my narcotics. You twiddle with your phone. It's hard to fucking imagine Feeling more alone. "Do You Like It?" Do you like it? Do you like it? Do you like it? Do you like it? Do you like it when Robin sits on his head? Do you like it? Do you like it? Do you like it? Do you like it? Do you like it when Mika documents breakfast? Do you like it? Do you like it? Do you like it? Do you like it? Do you like it when Connor shows us his peter? Do you like it? Do you like it? Do you like it? Do you like it? Do you like it when Robin sits on his head? Do you like it? Do you like it? Do you like it? Do you like it? Do you like it when Mika documents breakfast? Do you like it? Do you like it? Do you like it? Do you like it? Do you like it when Connor shows us his peter? "A Dollar's Worth" An article of faith, like the virgin birth. Burnt pedals strewn across the wicked earth. Think shit’s fucked up now? It could get worse. Just don’t ask me what a dollar’s worth. A picture spews a thousand words. Your talk’s as good as a week-old turd. Blood, sweat, and tears. That shit’s called work. Just don’t ask me what a dollar’s worth. A silver tongue. A broken heart. A golden egg. A sack of farts. Let the early birds catch a thousand worms. Just don’t ask me what a dollar’s worth. A string of shells. A flock of sheep. Life’s expensive. Death is free. It shall be done, no matter how absurd. Just don’t ask me what a dollar’s worth. Money swears. The quants won't demur. A penny saved. Plutus observes. If greed is good, then God’s a jerk. Go ask Him what a dollar’s worth. "In Their Grip" Fasting in the desert. Forty days, same as Moses did. Swept away by some spirit. Three shots to make a bid. I won’t make excuses for being idle or being useless. The demons want me in their grip. Hungry for some bread Out in the wilderness. Starving for the word that passes gently through the lips. I won’t make excuses for being idle or being useless. The demons want me in their grip. Standing atop the temple, Where some say they tossed James. Asked to jump out to the rocks Like a test or a petty game. I won’t make excuses for being idle or being useless. The demons want me in their grip. High upon the mountain, On the road to Jericho. Promised all before me At the mere cost of the soul. I won’t make excuses for being idle or being useless. The demons want me in their grip. "Shit Is So Fucking Sad" Who's to blame for all the pain? Just wait and eternity From unspeakably horrible shit carried out with impunity To subtle transgressions, well-meaning, unintentional idiocy Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit is so fucking sad. Cynically hoarding all heroes. Have you no dignity? Gleefully peddling paranoid myths. It's belittling. Shit is depressingly familiar all across humanity. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit is so fucking sad. Persist in the struggle, the search for redeeming qualities. From the glaringly obvious, to the painfully tedious, joy it brings. The only remedy, grasping for something bigger than me. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit is so fucking sad. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit is so fucking sad. ------------------------- Sap [2013] 1. Meo's Shop 2. I Like You Like 3. What Are You Doing With Your Life? 4. Without You 5. It's All About the Delivery 6. Fucked Up As It Is 7. No Clue 8. Lucky Guy 9. Funny Thinking Back On All That Now 10. What It Means 11. Upside Down 12. Where Did It Go? 13. Mad At You 14. In This Here Life
"Meo's Shop" Oh, no. Did no one see it coming? Most of us oblivious. It now seems obvious and stunning We were all like children cradled in eachother’s arms I, for one, was helpless, at the mercy of your charm These are some things that creep inside my mind at Meo’s shop.
In my line of work, I have to grind my own sausage. Everywhere I go, I’m always in the office. In the fog of the culture war, I’m whistling in the trenches. We dig our heels & throw our weight behind the clunky wheels of justice. These are some things that occupy my mind at Meo’s shop.
Singed by the furnace when you tempered expectations. Not everyone was so impressed with your nuanced explanations. We all just gotta keep pressing on like an alchemists apprentice. Grind it out & not look back like Arthur and his chalace. No, I am not ashamed I got a job at Meo’s shop.
Sometimes I might, might forget to tell you. Oh, you know, the usual: that I’d be useless without you. Your voice is like a timeless melody inside my head. It’s the kinda song that haunts the heart regardless what is said. There’s no one who I’d rather pass the days with that you at Meo’s shop.
"I Like You Like" I like you like a junky hoardes his junk. like pepe le pew who thought that cat was a skunk. I like you. I like you. I like you. I like you.
I like you like an accountant with his sums, like a defenseless flower bending toward the sun. I like you. I like you. I like you. I like you.
I like you like a dog sniffs out a crotch, like a sweet old man with his pocket watch. I like you. I like you. I like you. I like you.
I like you like baker kneads his bread, like a fucking song that gets stuck in your head. I like you. I like you. I like you. I like you.
I like you like kitty cat with itty bitty paws, like a stable democracy with rule of law. I like you. I like you. I like you. I like you.
"What Are You Doing With Your Life?" What are you doing with your life? That’s no rhetorical question. Chip in what I fail to mention. Sketch out your own intentions. What are you doing with your life?
What are you doing with your life? The ghosts of rage implore you. Their pleas with never ever bore you. Condemned, they never ignore you. What are you doing with your life?
What are you doing with your life? The dosage may sedate you. The skeptics will underrate you. The haters sometimes deflate you. You wonder: what are they doing with their lives?
What are you doing with your life? The mob will try to shame you. The circus will attempt to tame you. Pull stunts, mislead, & bait you. You wonder: what are they doing with your lives?
What are you doing with your life? Half query – half mantra. You find people out there to help ya. Collaborate, respect, & trust ya. Asking: what are you doing with your life? "Without You" It just takes too much energy to smile. Choked up by the swell of these tears. I keep on trying to numb all this sadness With a steady stream of whiskey, weed, & beer.
Now, at first I didn’t believe it When you said you would be leaving. Leaving me alone without you.
Then there’s all the talking with these people. I say “hi”, nod, & joke, then say “goodbye”. But I don’t even know what they’re saying. Cuz my mind is all on you tonight.
It’s just too hard to fake. Not sure I can take it. Being all alone without you.
Hardest part of all is the nighttime. Biding time in the prison of my head. All is quiet. Nothing is stirring. Wishing in vein you were by my side instead.
I don’t know what can shake this. I don’t think I’m gonna make it. Being all alone without you. I don’t know what can shake this. I don’t think I’m gonna make it. Being all alone without you.
"It's All About the Delivery" Read me the phone book. Kelly blue book. Angsty teenage gobbledygook. L. Ron Hubbard’s “Mission Earth”. the screenplay to Ben Hur. The preface to the 1933 edition of the Oxford English Dictionary.
Cuz it’s all … it’s all … it’s all … it’s all It’s all about the delivery.
Read me the tax code. List of the popes. Detailed transcripts of day-time talk shows. A biochemistry textbook chapter on gluconeogenisis. The arcane rules & social etiquette laid out in the Book of Leviticus.
Cuz it’s all … it’s all … it’s all … it’s all It’s all about the delivery. Cuz it’s all … it’s all … it’s all … it’s all It’s all about the delivery.
Subject me to a means teast. Reader’s Digest. The most boring things one might suggest. Disambiguation. Disclaimers. & Privacy policies. Preflight safety demonstrations. Tedious Socratic inquiry.
Cuz it’s all … it’s all … it’s all … it’s all It’s all about the delivery. Cuz it’s all … it’s all … it’s all … it’s all It’s all about the delivery. Cuz it’s all … it’s all … it’s all … it’s all It’s all about the delivery.
"Fucked Up As It Is" You ripped out my still-beating heart. & took a bite out of it. You chewed it up & spit it out & threw it on the ground & proceeded to stomp on it. It might seem at first That it kinda fucking hurt But, oh, I’m getting used to it. Fucked up as it is, I admit, oh shit, it’s kinda true I love to hate you.
In the good old days We had an unspoken pact Of mutual assured distruction. An arrogant prick & a self-righteous bitch, We were a pair conceived in heaven By a sick, sad god With a twisted sense of humor & a serious mental condition. Fucked up as it is, I admit, oh shit, it’s kinda true I love to hate you. Fucked up as it is, you have to admit, it’s probably true You love that I bother to hate you.
"No Clue" I didn’t need a reason. That was just me teasing. I know now that you, like me, We have no fucking clue. We have no fucking clue. We have no fucking clue. We no longer think the other has a fucking clue.
Someone heard some bullshit From someone’s bully pulpit. He was just repeating what Someone thought they knew. What someone thought they knew. What someone thought they knew. Someone claimed to know why, but they have no fucking clue.
We all have our opinions, Our masters, & our minions. But please, dear god, just shut your face If you have no fucking clue. If you have no fucking clue If you have no fucking clue Someone who was really there just might know more than you.
"Lucky Guy" Who is that guy who finally caught your eye? Who said he’d love & care for you until the day he dies? Who offers up his shoulder whenever you need to cry? Who? … Who? … Who is that lucky guy?
Who is there in the morning when you first open your eyes? Who gets to hold you close to him as the sun begins to rise? Who gets to look, uninterrupted, into those gorgeous eyes? Who? … Who? … Who is that lucky guy?
I only wish the best for you & heave a heavy sigh. I don’t pretend to understand all the many reasons why. All’s I know is I’m not that guy.
Who gets to hold your hand in the waning sunset light? Who gets to run his fingers gently down your check after a fight? Who gets to kiss those lips in the still of the night? Who? … Who? … Who is that lucky guy? Who? … Who? … Who is that lucky guy?
"Funny Thinking Back On All That Now" Remember that time when we both got really really high? We stared into our eyes until we both thought we were gonna die. Nothing fazed us. Details Hazy. Both almost went bat-shit crazy. Funny thinking back on all that now.
Edging right up to the precipice, Where thought & consciousness abruptly end & meet mental abyss. Minds were blown. Way past stoned. We surrendered to the empty, droning tone. Funny thinking back on all that now.
OD-ing on banana hash muffins. Watching Bruce Almighty with no way of knowing what was funny. Jim Carey. Do you have to pee? Please pinch or punch or stand on me. Funny thinking back on all that now.
Things went on like that into the night. Slightly freaky. Avoided tweaking in the creeping morning light. This is it. That was that. We crammed the rabbit back in the hat. Funny thinking back on all that now.
Staring at the ceiling from our bed. We passed out then woke up. Apparently we were not really dead. Still kinda high but coming down. We got pork buns in Chinatown. Funny thinking back on all that now.
"What It Means" A flash & then darkness too brilliant to see. A bucket full of universes tossed in the ocean deep. Nothing & everything simultaneously. Often times I wonder what it could possibly mean.
I took my query where the river meets the sea. Countless people doing countless things. Standing up or on bended knee. I’ll keep asking around to see if anybondy knows what it means.
Time tried to tell me but his breath stinks. I’ll inquire with the angels next time I’m on the brink. I’ll shout to the heavens: “What do you think?” But try as I might, I might never know what it means. "Upside Down" A promise is a promise. Words only sounds. I can’t wait to see you When we’re both around. Oh, I’m sick with it. I’ve fallen down. Oh, girl, when I see your face my shit gets flipped upside down.
Banished & forgotten, Never to be found. Imprisoned with some angels. To you, I’m bound. You crumple with laughter. I adjust my crown. Oh, girl, when I see your face my shit gets flipped upside down.
Your dagger & your halo & your slender gown. Me with my ambitions strewn On the ground. All my dreams & schemes In a heaping mound. Oh, girl, when I see your face my shit gets flipped upside down. Oh, girl, when I see your face my shit gets flipped upside down.
You wash your feet in milk ‘fore you hit the town. Is there nothing I can offer you? I’m coming unwound. You think flesh is weighed in dollars; Wisdom in pounds? But, girl, when I see your face my shit gets flipped upside down. Oh, girl, when I see your face my shit gets flipped upside down. "Where Did It Go? One night I got ambitious & wrote down all my thoughts in a song. On a crisp, clean sheet of paper, I did it, and it didn’t take long. It was so damn good – or so I thought – that I sang it again and again. No one was there to listen. I just crammed the fucker in my head. Where did it go? Where did it go? It was just right here last night. Where did I put that notepad in which I like to write?
On the following morning, my breathe reeked, and I had a headache. I went to sing that song again to see if it sucked, or if it was OK. But I could not find my notepad – near the couch, kitchen, or the bedroom. I ransacked my own apartment – until I remembered: Oh yeah, the bathroom. Where did it go? Where did it go? It was just right here last night. Where did I put that goddamn notepad in which I like to write?
It slowly came to dawn on me. It sent a quick shiver down my spine. Beyond several burnt out candles, a pipe, & a couple empty bottles of wine. I gazed into the toilet, where my worst fear was confirmed. There was a crumpled piece of notepad paper next to a long brown turd. Where did it go? Where did it go? As if I didn’t know. Some motherfucker used my lyric sheet in a pinch on the porcelain throne. Where did it go? Where did it go? I was starting to recall. Was it really me who used my own lyric sheet to wipe my drunk ass afterall?
Where did it go? Where did it go? As if I didn’t know. Some motherfucker used my lyric sheet in a pinch on the porcelain throne. on the porcelain throne. on the porcelain throne. "Mad At You" Mad at you. Mad at you. How could I stay mad at you? Mad at you. Mad at you. There’s no way I could stay mad at you?
You flash your eyes and pout your lips. Your poker face fucks up my shit. You reduce me to a helpless boy, Part accident, part wicked ploy.
Mad at you. Mad at you. How could I stay mad at you? Mad at you. Mad at you. There’s no way I could stay mad at you?
You take me to a state of bliss. I don’t know how I put up with it. One thing no one can dispute: You’re so cute. It makes me puke.
Mad at you. Mad at you. How could I stay mad at you? Mad at you. Mad at you. There’s no way I could stay mad at you?
"In This Here Life" Hi. My name is Adam. I thank you for having me At your birthday, wedding, leisurely gathering. If you are hung up, stressed out, fucked up, fed up, Or thinking of yanking all your pube hair out. You’re welcome to come, pipe down, just listen. We’re all just finishing up awkwardly bantering. In this here life, there are no guarantees. You’re shit smells, too. So, try not to be mean.
No matter how simple or seemingly teeny, Our words & our actions are completely meaningless. No one will serve you a PC subpoena Or haul you away with the thought police either. Let rip your brain farts, verbal diarrhea. Ease up on hyperbole, contrived hysteria. In this here life, there are no guarantees. You’re shit smells, too. So, try not to be mean.
Now, I must be leaving. I hope you believe me. This song’s just an ode to basic human decency. Brief meditation to exercise empathy. Plea, nay a challenge, for R-E-S-P-E-C-T. M.O.s, pet-peeves, beefs, & personal grievances. These, we all have. It is here we will deal with them. In this here life, there are no guarantees. You’re shit smells, too. So, try not to be mean. The Jester [2012] 1. If I Were Me 2. Someday 3. Anything For You 4. Do What You Do 5. Bello 6. The King 7. Holes 8. Almost At a Loss 9. Stupid Assholes
"If I Were Me" I'm shit for brains. All this bullshit's on my brains. I was hanging out with the lizard. He just gave me his seven best buckets of rain. Buried in my bullshit are kernels of undigested pain. Now I'm a walking, talking cliché. I know it's lame. The story's always the fucking same.
You say that one times one times one equals three. I don't know what I would do if I were me. You say that one times one times one equals three. I don't know what I would do if I were me.
I stuck my hand right though Some stupid, eternal burning flame. Now nothing, nothing, is invisible. & even Peter, he forgot my name. It's a harm-wrenching twist. A mystifying mist. Now nothing at all can comfort me. Not even getting high, drunk, or pissed off.
You say that one times one times one equals three. I don't know what I would do if I were me. You say that one times one times one equals three. I don't know what I would do if I were me.
"Someday" Someday. Someday. When the sands of time have fallen. & the shattered hourglass has blow away. When there’s nothing to be known. No insults or threats to throw. When no one’s around to fear The Reaper’s final moan. Someday.
Someday. Someday. When the shadows have all lain down. When the sun expands & sputters out. The Earth’s just a cold rock spinning around in space. The seas have boiled & burned away. Beauty has long since ago decayed. & The white-gray ash of ugliness is all that remains. Someday.
Someday. Someday. When there’re no truths to behold. & Every single myth goes left untold. When the hearts that held them dear have stopped cuz they’ve grown old. Every thump, beat, pound, & patter. Every whisper, grunt, & roar of laughter. Every tick-tock, white-noise clatter will eventually fade away. Someday.
Someday. Someday. All the memories that each of us has saved Will wane, fail, ebb, crumble, peter out, or wither away. Not even heaven’s grace Can intervene to save us. The great cosmos will carry on As it did before there was any of us. Someday.
"Anything For You" Is there anything, anything that I could do for you? Anything, anything, anything for you.
I'd float your boat. Lend you my coat. Take the words right from your throat. I could pull your leg. Yank your chain. Wind your crank. Or pick your brain. I'd choke your chicken. Scare your monkey. Pet your cat. Or call you honey. Nothing could be too big or small. Name it. Anything at all.
Is there anything, anything that I could do for you? Anything, anything, anything for you.
I'd take you by the arm. Buy the farm. Keep you warm. Do no harm. I'd serve your muse. Light your fuse. Break you news. Or fix you booze. I could piss you off. Or turn you on. Clean your pipes. Or cut you lawn. No request would surprise me at all. Name it. It's your call.
Is there anything, anything that I could do for you? Anything, anything, anything for you.
I'd hedge my bets. Stave off empty threats. Forgive all debts. Help clean up this mess. I'd down my tools. Bend the rules. Chit chat with fools. & ride this mule. I'd kick a habit. Pander to the rabbit. Tell me what it is. I'll do it, goddamn it. This is a chance you don't want to miss. I'll do it. As you wish.
Is there anything, anything that I could do for you? Anything, anything, anything for you. "Do What You Do" Nickel-and-diming in a micro-niche, when my fable fell on the floor. It was you who tapped my gently on the shoulder. The fates took turns banging on my door. Just woo me with another lucid verse. I don’t care what any of it means. Just take me to wherever you’re going. ‘Til tomorrow, I’m totally free.
I’ll be happily confused and awfully amused. You just do what you do.
Awestruck and dumbfounded by the shitstorm’s rage, I took refuge in the cellar, where I found you on the stage. You fashioned a blade made of double-edged wit. An alloy so sharp, you pierced bullshit with it. Even though it’s strong it’s not too heavy or brittle. It’s actually quite light, and you can bend it a little. I saw you gallantly stab and gut words of their meaning. Then, you wistfully add, the moon’s so pretty this evening.
I’ll be happily confused and awfully amused. You just do what you do.
Down in dank basement’s soft flickering light, You groped your ideas in the dark naked night. You got smudge marks on the image of long-exalted sage. Then took out God’s handbook and ripped out a page. You crumpled it up and lit it on fire. Because irreverence is sacred, you said, and can be inspiring. You spun long yarns, like about one crazy night How, down in the Podunk fiefdom, you fought the good fight.
I’ll be happily confused and awfully amused. You just do what you do.
You squeezed all our sadness into a small pool of joy. Then bent expectation like a child with a toy. You rammed our disgust with a dump truck of trust. Met ecstatic relief with straight-faced love. You purged all our anger and filled us with fear. Left us all wondering how anyone could be anywhere but here. You surrounded assumptions and dissolved all our doubt Until cynicism retreated, if just for an hour.
I’ll be happily confused and awfully amused. You just do what you do.
After pausing a moment for dramatic effect, You closed your eyes, raised you arms, and took a deep breath. You opened them up, pulled out a vacuum flask Filled with some kind of potion for one final act. You drank the concoction made of God-knows-what, Mumbled, cursed, then said, quote, “Who gives a fuck?” Awkward, silent smiles cracked all through the room. You took a bow, waved goodbye, and said, “Hope to see y’all soon.”
I’ll be happily confused and awfully amused. You just do what you do. I’ll be happily confused and awfully amused. You just do what you do. I’ll be happily confused and awfully amused. You just do what you do. I’ll be happily confused and awfully amused. You just do what you do.
"Bello" There we were in a fictitious field, Under an invisible bridge. We would talk for hours, just Facing the imaginary wind. & Giggling at the verdict Under a grapefruit moon Me holding out my empty dish; You dangling your little spoon.
Bello, Bello, Bello - How could you do this to me? Bello, I already miss you. Now, I don't want you to leave.
We took our thoughts to a watering hole, Through the park & down the street. You crouched with your plastic toy claw, Me choking on poetry. We ran into the man who says nothing. He was clutching the kitchen sink. You wanted to pretend to punch him in the face. I suggested that we buy him a drink.
Bello, Bello, Bello - How could you do this to me? Bello, I already miss you. Now, I don't want you to leave. [x 2]
We met up with the king in his castle, With his two fists full of salt. He challenged us to a staring contest. I immediately laughed & lost. But you stood there, with your glare & stared Him down 'til he lost his cool. Now the image of your eyes are burned in my mind & I still feel like a fool.
Bello, Bello, Bello - How could you do this to me? Bello, I already miss you. Now, I don't want you to leave. Bello, Bello, Bello - How could you do this to me? Bello, I already miss you. Now, I don't want you to leave. Bello, Bello, Bello - How could you do this to me? Bello, I already miss you. Now, I don't want you to leave.
"The King" Yeah, you traded in your terrible tantrum. & Now you’re thoroughly thronging the theme. You know, I don’t give two shits or half a fuck At the risk of sounding mean. So, you straddled the sycophant & Slobbered over several sad souls. I’m sure all the wide-mouthed, wackjobs now Will puff it up with pristine prose. I heard you thwacking the loser. After gawking, I found my stash. It was right where I had left it In a sack, stuffed behind my dram.
Who gives a fuck? Go blow a die and squeeze your luck The jester put it to the king innocently: “Who gives a fuck?” The jester put it to the king bluntly: “Who gives a fuck?”
The jester has a unique position, Last in line for his majesty’s ear. Distinct among the court, he’ll tell it to him straight, Regardless of what the king wants to hear. Oh, he’ll bring in all his royal functionaries, With their opinions and reams of facts. Every blow-hard pundit, crank, talking head, & Breathless, fuming partisan hack. Then there’s the yammer of the moral crusaders, The cool, bland technocrat, The bunk jargon piffle & hooey egghead drivel, Yeah, the king listens to all of that, but…
Who gives a fuck? Go blow a die and squeeze your luck The jester put it to the king impatiently: “Who gives a fuck?” The jester put it to the king earnestly: “Who gives a fuck?”
One day the king was getting restless. He confided to his groom of the stool: “I wonder of the things of ordinary folks In the dominion over which I rule.” So, he summoned his best knight and his butler, His standard bearer & his herald-of-arms, The royal secretary &, of course, the jester To lend the trip his dispassionate charm. They all descended the castle staircase, Down through the cold, empty, stone foyer. The king’s entourage then crossed the jaw bridge To explore the realm for the day.
Who gives a fuck? Go blow a die and squeeze your luck The jester put it to the king succinctly: “Who gives a fuck?” The jester put it to the king with no hint of irony: “Who gives a fuck?”
The sweep of the landscape was stunning, As they moved briskly down the slope Of the commanding heights of commerce, Where the dealers gamble & monetize hope. They pass the picture-perfect, gentile estates Through the brainstorm and data mines. Beyond the labs that bottle lightning & Dreams produced on assembly lines. They make it to the depth of the valley, Near the base of the towering spires, Where the clerics, hawkers, artists, & peasants All toil merely to inspire. The king happens upon a place to rest At the outpost of humility. He & his attendants are left to reflect On the fringes of his sovereignty.
Who gives a fuck? Go blow a die and squeeze your luck The jester put it to the king plainly: “Who gives a fuck?” The jester put it to the king simply: “Who gives a fuck?”
"Holes" There’s a hole underneath each eyelid, inside of which sit our eyes. There’s a hole where the window sits, for us to look outside. There are two holes in our snout to sniff to breathe or to blow. There’s a hole in the middle of both our ears and a trap below the nose.
There are a whole lot of different ones, a whole lot of different holes. What’re you gonna do with yours?
There’s space between our fingers, so we can pick things up. There’s a yawning gap in the golden silence when no one can shut up. There are holes in our argument sometimes when we think. There’s a slit down the middle of our ass when we have to cause a stink.
There are a whole lot of different ones, a whole lot of different holes. What’re you gonna do with yours?
There’s a hole in the head of the cycloptic trouser snake. There’s a ditch beyond the bushes where at night it lies awake. There’s a hole where we come from & six-foot deep one when we die. There are little wells in your cheeks when you pout your lips and wonder “why?”
There are a whole lot of different ones, a whole lot of different holes. What’re you gonna do with yours?
There are holes so black and massive that not even truth escapes. There’s a wormhole in my pocket, where I fit all boundless time & space. There’re holes punched in the cards we were dealt, laid facedown on the rug. In all the barrels in your arsenal & two pairs of arms wrapped up in a hug.
"Almost At A Loss" Jimmy cracked corn, but I didn’t care, at least not at first. Like Aunt Susan said, man, that guy Jim must be cursed. There he is all day, cracking his corn for better or worse. You can fistfight the facts, but pull your head out your ass before your bubble bursts.
Bring out your big ideas, so everyone can see them. Bring out your biggest sounds, so everyone can hear them. I’m almost at a loss for what it’d take to keep believing That things are finally starting to turn around.
I mined my mind for some golden rules. That made my head ache and the room kinda spin, Laid-out, shit-faced, better off dead, trying to wipe off this shit-eating grin. I even failed preaching to the choir, since half their ears were made out of tin. So, I threw up my arms and tried to kill them with charm, but even that, they considered a sin.
Bring out your big ideas, so everyone can see them. Bring out your biggest sounds, so everyone can hear them. I’m almost at a loss for what it’d take to keep believing That things are finally starting to turn around.
I looked up some theses on the tragedy; there’s too many for any one to read. There were 10,000 pleas and heroic offerings laid at the feet of the beast of greed. & There was scant defense for the herd of white elephants, charging in a great stampede. The echo chamber shook when every prick with a book recited their immaculate creed.
Bring out your big ideas, so everyone can see them. Bring out your biggest sounds, so everyone can hear them. I’m almost at a loss for what it’d take to keep believing That things are finally starting to turn around.
I dusted off the gemstones I collected for free in the vast junkyard of dreams. When a funk wafted up from the rhetorical dump, taken from sea to shining sea. The scapegoat shepherd cringed when the wretched stench mixed with rancid verbal red meat. The sacred cows mooed and the fat gorilla screeched. When the music stopped, someone lost their seat. "Stupid Assholes" Thoughts can be like peanut butter, all stuck to the tongue. Talk leaves lips, that shit sprays & spits, like rounds from a machine gun.
Don’t listen to them. It doesn’t matter what they say. Idiotic, thoughtless talk just leaking out of their faces. They’re just being stupid assholes. Opinions can be like bubble wrap, snapped one by one really really really fast. When they’re all popped, what’s left is a useless, wilted piece of plastic crap.
So, don’t you listen to them. Who the fuck cares what they say? Idiotic, thoughtless shit just dribbling outta their thoughtless faces. They’re just being stupid assholes. Don’t listen to them. It doesn’t matter much what they say. Idiotic, hollow babble, just wafting outta their vacant faces. They’re just being stupid assholes. They’re just being stupid assholes. Fix [2009] 1. Obligatory Highway Analogy 2. Call a Stone a Stone 3. Convenient Dinner 4. Begging to Differ 5. Oh, My Darling, I Wish You Were Hear With Me 6. Just Singing a Song 7. Self-loathing Song (1) 8. The Girl At My Pity Party 9. Self-loathing Song (2) 10.What the Fuck? 11.She’s My Friend 12.Annie 13.Sunny Day 14.As Sharp As a Horse 15.Tammy’s a Nice Girl 16.That’s Him. He’s Your Guy 17.Debating a Time Metaphor 18.Forget About the Crease 19.The Universe Is All There Is "Obligatory Highway Analogy" The highway, yes, the highway is the analogy I will employ to sing about Love & other stuff, about which you’ll find out soon. Two thousand, two hundred & forty seven goddamn miles is a long way to drive without the one you love. Without you in the car with me, the road is just a long-ass strip of cement - with painted lines. A wicked fucking scar on the proverbial heart of this enormous continent. Through plains, woods, mountains, &, of course, the desert. If you’re feeling sad & need an image which will represent your pain, Picture that barren, empty road, laid & flattened right through your brain. You’re driving realy fast, windows down, hair blowing, going to the great unknown Blaring your favorite song, singing along. Where you’re going – who the fuck reallyknows? An old, reliable comparisons works for me. That’d be the obligatory highway analogy.
"Call A Stone A Stone" Call a stone a stone I just like to hear you talk In your smelt shop of thought There’s no material for irony But that’s ok, we’re hanging around Figuratively, not literally It’s not raining in your heart There’s no rainclouds in your heart
you didn’t have to say, but I knew your day wasn’t terribly terrific when I asked you how you were doing you said, “OK, I guess” you didn’t need to be any more specific you shrugged your shoulders exhaustedly and said, “What do you feel like eating?” you were hungry
"Convenient Dinner" I feel like an individually-wrapped Piece of processed cheese product Someone used me to make dinner But they didn’t take off my plastic wrapper They just threw me in a big pot With other pieces of individually-wrapped processed cheese product And we all melted together in a gooey mass of plastic and processed cheese product
then someone threw in hard, uncooked, dry macaroni, mixed it together and served it for dinner
"Begging To Differ" dropping heaving ideas from dizzying heights discarding perspectives of other peoples’ lives stepping on emotions on the floor in a mess laughing in the face of earnestness
begging to differ begging to differ begging to differ Nothing to offer
a bag of conclusions wholesale cheap a list of grievances and reasons to weap in a furious rage the gavel is thrown cursing existence; flinging stones
begging to differ begging to differ begging to differ Nothing to offer
"Oh My Darling, I Wish You Were Here With Me" Oh my darling, I wish you were here with me. Oh my darling, I wish you were here with me.
"Just Singing A Song" shaking hands with time eternity is doing fine do do do just singing a song while shaking hands with time
kicking up some dust in gravity I put my trust do do do just singing a song while kicking up some dust
cussing at the wind an argument no one wins do do do just singing a song while cussing at the wind
staring at the sea it mercifully ignored me do do do just singing a song while staring at the sea
"Self-Loathing Song (1)" I’m a shit rag. I’m worth eight & a-third cents – do the math. I was dropped behind the bathroom sink in 2003. Now I’m a crusty, smelly, discolored, shit-stained rag. No one cares about me. My philosophical paradoxes Are as useful as pee. I’m a shit rag. That’s all I’ll ever be.
"The Girl At My Pity Party" No one showed up for my pity party, Except for you. And you even brought cake.
It may sound trite to say that you’re thoughtful. But sometimes what goes without saying needs to be said.
It’s just you and me with a piece of cake each. We headed out to the balcony. You sarcastically say to me, “Nice party.”
I joke, “That’s so funny I forgot to laugh.” As you hand me a cone-shaped paper pity hat. We talk all night and forget that we’re alone.
No one showed up for my pity party, Except for you. And you even brought cake.
"Self-Loathing Song (2)" I’m almost completely fucking useless. Crumple my soul into a wad. Empty my garbage can of a skull. Turn my limbs into mulch for your garden.
"What the Fuck?" Holy shit. Why are you such a dick? I tried to be nice to you. But you obviously don’t give a shit. It’s a shame we coulda been friends, But you’re too cool for school. So, fuck you. Man, it’s really too bad. I kinda liked you.
Maybe you didn’t mean it. But I’ve tried several times to be nice, But you come across as such a fucking prick. "She's My Friend" She’s my friend. No one will ever take her place. She’s my friend. No one will ever take her place. She’s been through all the shit I’ve been And came out the other side clean. She can say it all with a look or a pause and know what we mean.
She admits she’s wrong and won’t wear out her name. She admits she’s wrong and won’t wear out her name. She knows the place where she comes from and questions why and who. Though she’s lived a privileged life, she won’t lazily package you.
She’s someone who hardly lets me down. She’s someone who hardly lets me down. She sweeps away my shallow puddles and listens without a sound. She’s seen the place where I come from though from another part of the city.
She’s looked in their eyes, right past their curtains. She’s looked in their eyes, right past their curtains. She’s shuffled feet with Jacks and Queens and seen scars on diamonds and hearts. She looks on like she’s in there but doesn’t want any part.
"Annie" Annie, Annie, damn you’re hot. I don’t love you, but I like you a lot.
If you were painting, I’d rip you off the wall. If you were a side of spinach, I’d eat you all gone. If you were a pair of comfy sweat pants, I’d wear you to bed. If you were a really good song, I’d get you stuck in my head.
Annie, Annie, damn you’re hot. I don’t love you, but I like you a lot.
If you were a bottle of whiskey, I’d share you with my friends. If you were Moby Dick, I’d read you til the end. If you were iodine, I’d pour you on my wound. If you were death itself, I’d welcome my own doom.
Annie, Annie, damn you’re hot. I’d don’t love you, but I like you a lot. Oh, Annie, Annie, goddamn you’re hot. I don’t really love you, I just like you a lot.
"Sunny Day" sunny days. my favorite days. if you don’t em, whatever. I’m gonna go out and take a walk to the park. so, I put on my pants and I put on my shoes. and I lock the door behind me. it’s sunny and bright and warm, just like I expected it to be. so, I walk downstairs, two flights, onto my alley – it's a small street. it’s sunny and bright; it’s sunny and bright. yay. so, I walk down, take a left first to 11th street. I walk past baked urine.
but it’s a sunny day. a sunny day. my favorite kind of day. oh I love sunny days.
so I walk over to mission street to catch the 14 bus. its kinda crowded in the afternoon with mostly Hispanics. and I pay my dollar fifty that I remembered to get. ooh. do do do…
it's a sunny day. a sunny day. its my favorite kind of day. it's a sunny day. a sunny day. its my favorite kind of day.
so I get off around 19th street. it's a good street to get off because its right between 16th and 23rd. so I walk west toward Valencia street.
it’s a sunny day. a sunny day. that’s all I really care about. I take out my patch of tobacco. and I roll a cigarette. it’s a sunny day. a sunny day. my favorite kind of day. it’s a sunny day. it’s a sunny day. my favorite kind of day.
once I get to Valencia street I look around self-consciously. people in their tight pants. people in their bandanas and their hats. and I look up toward the sky. but I have to close my eyes because it’s too bright just to look straight at the sun. I feel the warm sun on my face. its feels really really really really really nice.
it’s a sunny day. a sunny day. my favorite kind of day it’s a sunny day. a sunny day. my favorite kind of day
"Sharp As A Horse" Egg on my name. Toast and shame. A peacock tail For a brain.
My heart is shaped Like a potato. Dig out my eyes And boil my roots.
Pour the rain Out on the page. Blame the pain for locking Humor in a cage.
Flattery in a sandwich wrapper. Folded dreams in A plastic sack.
Your voice was As warm as a corpse. My tongue was as sharp As a horse.
"Tammy's A Nice Girl" Tammy’s a nice girl. Tammy’s a nice girl.
She’d kinda pudgy in a cute kinda way. She’d make me feel relaxed with always something to say. She’d ask me how I’m doing – I’d say, “OK.” She would nod her head and talk about her son.
Tammy’s a nice girl. Tammy’s a nice girl.
She’d sit next to me quietly when we both had stuff to do. When I would look dejected, she’d say, “Man, what’s up with you?” She’d crack raunchy jokes and tell me about her career goals. I’d crack a little smile and say, “Hey, that’s pretty cool.”
Tammy’s a nice girl. Tammy’s a nice girl.
"That's Him. He's Your Guy" On Clement street Under the tacky neon sign There’s a man with plenty of time That’s him. He’s your guy
Go on. Go up and talk to him Just take your tongue from your cheek He’s smart and cute, funny and he smells ok That’s him. He’s your guy
Back out on Clement street Beyond the gawking passers-by He collects his things and meets your eye That’s him. He’s your guy
"Debating A Time Metaphor" Time in a bottle will get stale. Drink it before the expirations date passes.
Wait, time doesn’t fit in bottles. Time doesn’t actually expire either. You can save time or kill it. People expire. Everyone dies. People have only so much time to live. So, if the “bottle” here represents the time each of us have before we die, I suppose that makes sense. Fresh time. Time in a bottle will get stale. Drink it before the expirations date passes.
Basically, this means “Don’t waste time.” But why not just say that in the first place? Why come up with a poetic chorus? It can put people off or just go over their heads. People are busy living their lives. Why do you have to sing and stylize figurative language? Time in a bottle will get stale. Drink it before the expirations date passes.
OK, to be fair, it’s a decent metaphor. Figures of speech are fine for entertainment value or, at best, temporary inspiration. But they don’t really help you in everyday life. Maybe they provide a spark of motivation. I don’t know. Maybe I’m being too negative: but who really gives a shit? Time in a bottle will get stale. Sure. What do I know?
Time in a bottle will get stale. Drink it before the expirations date passes.
"Forget About the Crease" Lying on the bed, not thinking about what you said, But the fact that you were next to me. You had forgotten about the crease. Your back pressed to the sheets. Your lips were broken. You asked me if I cared That the blue sky was scared. I said, “Don’t worry.” The hair on your back Lay straight fanned and black Your eyes were open. Your nose was shy.
Talking to you underneath an oblivious moon. We both were honding Our hands during that time, Your fingers curled up in mine. Our feet were moving. I asked you if you knew How the yellow sun flew You said, “That’s funny.” Your lips and your cheeks Your bra strap and little knees Were all rosy red I offered you a drink.
"The Universe Is All There Is" no opions to brandish no wit to weild sarcasm surrendered to the giant wheel no axes to grind no bridges to burn conviction as certain as the blue dot turns indifference smiled fate doesn’t care garner the will to dream to dare
home is rock, fragile like fizz the universe is all there is
no columns to measure no empire to keep life is priceless death comes cheap no anthem to sing no asses to kick dismantle assumptions brick by brick scripture is read faith leaps rituals rot values keep
home is rock, fragile like fizz the universe is all there is home is rock, fragile like fizz the universe is all there is Big Kid Now [2008]
"Big Kid Now" You’re friends with shepherds; You tend to sheep You know nothing free comes cheap You genuflect & hum your hymns Tomorrow you’ll get up & do it all again You’re into the past; You know it’s now You’ve heard a couple different pronunciations of how You’ve looked at your books; Looked at your movies Tonight, why don’t you give me your cooties You’ve met captain sham, even shook the man’s hand You’d finish my left over green eggs & ham
Oh, wee, ooh, wow You’re a big kid now
You have a heart, it’s in your chest On Tuesdays, you put on your Sunday best You can use a fork, chopsticks, too Knives, ice cream scoopers, & spoons You take three times one, divide five by two You know what Brian Boitano would do You sit in the front, stand in the back Call out the crap but you know just when to clap You can shut your mouth; & hold your horse You expect no less from me, of course
Oh, wee, ooh, wow You’re a big kid now Oh, wee, ooh, wow You’re a big kid now
"The Snakemen" As they pee in your pool; or see you step in a pile of dog poo They’re gonna laugh out loud; & say that they didn’t do it They’ll peek at your cleavage; & hold you like they mean it But if you misplace your hope, they’ll shrug their shoulders & say they haven’t see it They’ll pop all your kernels of corn; & break all your norms & if you feed them after midnight, they might change forms they’ll storm the castle greyskull, looking for the secrets of eternia but then even man-at-arms won’t save you from the snakemen
they’ll bring up the birds without mentioning the bees & throw a pot of honey on a hot pan of grease but will they have the decency to leave you a heart with a less-than sign and a three they’ll huff & puff outside the house made of bricks & burn effigies of porky the pig; but they don’t know your address to the house of sticks
"Monkey Goes to Breakfast" Monkey’s in the bedroom changing his mind Apple’s in the office changing her tune Neither one had the motivation to change their clothes
Kitten’s on the phone spilling the beans Wendy’s online spilling virtual ink Each one was looking for the guts to spill their guts
Apple worked hard at breaking the bad news monkey stood aloof breaking the worst laws each one thought they had each other there breaking their fall wendy lent a hand making a mess helping kitten in the kitchen making breakfast but monkey woke up late, he was still making his bed
Monkey marched to breakfast sticking out his palms Apple, in her mood, she was sticking to her guns she pointed to Kitten who had syrup sticking to her face
Monkey snuck away tired of it kitten sneered back counting on it but no one, even wendy, could do much about it
"Note to Self" Your panda-faced pants & plaid pajama slacks will one day wear out from affection you’re tongue’ll run out of saliva when your insults don’t inspire ya so get yourself a new set of distractions the cosmos is heavier than had been said & the loudest mouths will scratch their head you need a new name for perfection
pick a language to lose pick a new time for your ten o’clock news
when the lion can be proud of all its enemies nothing but the blue whale & the sea anemone will make you feel bigger or smaller than you imagine when your animatronic teddy ruxpin is both kinda scary & kinda comforting remember the compartment for the cassette tape when the dictator gives you nothing to write down & the benign king fails to impress the town you need a new name for catastrophe
put on your favorite pair of pants keep looking for another second chance
"Pie Or Soup" I like your font Do you mind if I look at it? Could you please lend me your pants? I could use a new pair of philosophies I’m having trouble finishing my se…saying what I mean
lean forward for me I’d like to smell your pumpkins We could make a pie; or we could make soup we don’t need an alphabet I cordially invite you to get some food
I think I dropped a bunch of my confidence Out on market …. Street No one’s turned it in Probably because they’re no place to turn it in to If you can’t deliver me from evil, how bout a pizza?
"Stain On My Shirt" The stain on my shirt (what about it?) Nothing’s broken, nothing’s hurt (so, what is it then?) It’s just a splotch of ketchup (oh) The stain itself (show me) It’s shaped like Missouri I had to leave right away So no one would notice
Debbie and Tiffany (who?) They both know (how do they know) They were there when it happened (I bet they laughed) They’ve agreed To let things be the way they are They’ll keep it a secret, just us three (what about me?)
When I get I get home (from school) Mom’s gonna know (I bet she’s gonna be pissed) But she’ll be cool about it She’ll just have to wash my shirt Right away (just like every day) 6 Outta 9 w/Beats [2006] 1. Samba Blues 2. Flute Waltz 3. Talkin' Bush 4. Rock Ballad 5. Let's Feel Terrible Together 6. Sad Disco 7. Noise In My Head 8. Long, Quick Tango 9. Let's Make A Porno
"Samba Blues" give me a barn that's big enough to whack give me a stick & something to shake it at i'm gonna hope against all hope that i got enough liquor & plenty of dope to help me cope with this thing called the samba blues
i found my muse but i lost my favorite attitude it fell somewhere between the whisper & the boom just when i thought i was immune you coughed all over me now i probably got it too; i'm the latest victim of the samba blues
i got a pair of eyes: my most effective disguise now just remind me how to tell a mound of hurt from a pile of lies what's it gonna take: a mountain of love, an ocean of distain, or a desert of blood? these all look small next to that bug called the samba blues
now i ain't the first, i'm far from the last i used to look to the future, but that's mostly in the past man, this fate is kinda worse please puncture me or let me burst there's nothing i can do i'm cursed with the samba blues
with a throat full of noise i've picked out my news with all these fates in front of me, there's gotta be one i'm doomed to choose but despite all the when's, the who's & the boo's; & the overblown hullabaloo i'm destined right now to settle for the samba blues
"Flute Waltz" how many times do i have to fall? how many ways are there to get around this wall? born in a small & over-looked place didn't have to drop far to fall from grace somedays i'm fine; other days i'm down blathering is better when good friends are around to share with you
tombs made of rock; tombs made of skin tombs made of bedsheets; leave me in this state that i'm in shuffle my borders; realign my kin on who's authority do i get permission to begin to challenge you?
"Talkin' Bush" its not even fun to make fun george anymore any name you think of - he's been called it all before a king, a pig, idiot, history's worst president a smirking chimp, the antichrist, with a white house hotline to jesus christ dick cheaney's bitch, a man who bets, hold on for second, i'm not done yet a lying-liar, a cheating-cheat, election-stealing, oil-thief satan's pawn, evil's spawn, have you heard enough, shit, i could go on he snorted coke, dodged the draft, a womanizing smug little ass terrorist-in-cheif, he's got no guts, he makes hitler look like a lazy putz he's a former drunk, a frat boy punk, during the american dream he probably woke up this guy's in charge of the land of the free? man, he couldn't even run a baseball team oh, i'm talking bush
this man stand for unity? he can't even get his subjects & verbs to agree he minces words, sounds absurd, he's tongue-tied prick with an absent smirk man, i don't know whether to cry or laugh, there's an army of bloggers tracking his gaffes cataloguing the whole world's doom, asking what the fuck? why? what for? & who? does anybody know anybody who even voted for this baffoon? your mom? your dad? maybe an uncle or two? yeah, i think i'm even related to a few your brother? a sister? or maybe an aunt? or a cousin dodging IEDs down in iraq before he bombs another somethin-stan, let's pray john mccain will hand him a map oh, i'm talking bush
"Rock Ballad" let's get on a plane & move to hawaii do i really need a song to tell you why if i went there alone the beaches would suck it wouldn't matter much if the sun went down or kept coming up but since we're here together, let's get outta cali please drag my pale ass all the way to maui
or we could make an escape again & fly back to china we'd hear the expats bitch, but at least there no one would find us uh uh baby, i know you're not japanese i, for one, can tell a pound of pork from a chunk of cheese we're leaving california where everyone smiles don't talk to me about oceans, inches, dollars, or miles think of it this way: we're not in fort wayne or duluth or anywhere for that matter stuck left of new york or east of someone else's truth
if we got married right away, we might seem too tall besides, we've begun the beginning of the end of it all with batches of will & ovens full of luck someday, honey, you & me are gonna get unstuck yes, i know, i've been far away, it can really suck if you don't look like them, talk like them, complain like them, or even fuck like them
"Let's Feel Terrible Together" let's feel terrible together we could stand in eachother's shoes talk right past eachother, while we trade disparaging news you point your finger & reallocate the blame eventually we could share the same name
let's be cynical together & expound on eachother's doom plot out a torturous monotony & find out if there's enough room for all the attitudes, hardened in the crossfire, or storage space in the tomb
one more cough amidst the fever one more droning snore just another pile of sand in some desert or a wave beating on the same stubborn shore if your shoosh is deafening enough somewhere someone gonna hear you
let's feel terrible together & kneel by eachother's feet talk about those too bullied to speak, while arranging new places where we could meet by the time we've catalogued our sins new, improved messes should begin
there's a supeona out on your conscience, now help me wrestle with this here guilt we could puncture holes in eachother's point of view to see which one fills & which one wilts meet ya on the high, deserted moral ground where god's favor is said to be found
one more puncture in the silence just a little stab at violence one more shot in the dark to figure out what it is that could possibly drive us to weep throughout a life or smile during death claim monopoly on pain or steal some stranger's breath
"Sad Disco" i can't remember what i was gonna say but i bet it was gonna be good i don't really know how to start but i guess i never would there is no manual to manage this task how you are or how you could collect all the whetherman's hardback forcasts or when that wind smacks, where to buy a hood or detail the sound of the tree that fell way off in the distant woods
the dog will arrive on the foreign porch from danger he will run; in safety he will snort to condemn their pursuit of any sort to lift their fists in a defiant retort name the bogeymen & all their worst sins with one set of data but competing lists of when to show restraint & whom to blame when to sigh, & when it's ok to hate arguing now is not too late they can agree on the end but not the means of their fate
nowhere is fine. & fine ain't so bad ain't so bad is what i have, if you stay by my side
i wanna get next to you but you've become so cold i won't remember every little thing but i will what i'm repeatedly told i sat there with my nostrils flared wagging my hand, shaking my face i rummage through my mind to find the darkest shade of pale i opened my heart but it spilled everywhere it's protected from theft & filled with stuff you put there & whatever is left, i give up, i don't care
nowhere is fine. & fine ain't so bad ain't so bad is what i have, if you stay by my side if you stay by my side if you stay by my side
"Noise In My Head" there's noise in my head quick, someone give me a pen i'm gonna write this all down so i can look at it again i'm gonna listen real close & try real hard i do this shit so i don't get bored
waiting for you is driving me nuts i've got the plan; who brought the guts? it's all bringing me down but i keep bring it up i took all this time the least you can do is give a fuck
jesus christ, there's so many fucking people i've got a partner, who could use a steeple? we're two soldiers fighting the stench i got my riffle & she found a trench
gosh, i love new york free speech & bjork been in asia so long, i can't use a fork shanghai looks like a pile of penises there's people going forward, this time let's hope they mean it
this is what i do i give you more babble let's get high let's play scrabble if you open it up enough, they're gonna come i don't really give a shit where you're from
leave me alone give me a break cut me some slack give me a good yank drop me a line or click on myspace i'll give it a few years, but after that fuck this place
"Long, Quick Tango" i wanted to write some kinda song not sure what its about, but make it kinda long there'll be some drama, suspense & lots of rhymes & awesome like when marty mcfly traveled through time give me your attention & i'll give you my words i'll come up with the adjectives, the nouns & the verbs pick your poison & grab your herb what was once the voice of reason will now sound absurb forget that we are members of the monkey herd this better be good, christ, there's a while to go oh, this is just the start of the long, quick tango
i'm a little chatterbox, short & stout if you can find my handle, you can pour me out sit back, relax, while i try to figure out what it is exactly this song'll be about submit while i pick the shit you gonna hear buy a beer, you know here you are among peers i'm 10% mouth, but the rest of me is ears ask pat to bake a cake as fast as he can he'll either make you really hungry or american lay the flying radical over the thing for rice i'm not sure what that means, but i thought it sounded nice most anything'll go with the long, quick tango
i woke up this morning with your armpit in my face there was faint BO, mixed with that tampon taste morning breathe & dried lube which was caked on my penis, naught between us, when you queefed in my face today might be the day we quit the human race that hyped-up contest; where we'd come in fifth place behind the assholes, the hooligans, the proud & disgraced remember that time in your apartment when we musta ate something weird & picked corn kernal skins from around our buttholes - it was a romantic way to begin its just another verse in the long, quick tango
go ahead kacey use the word "motherfucker" in your song please just don't do another goddamn epic folk song there's not enough space to name all the folks to give props but i just gotta say madonna, bob dylan, stephin merritt & tupac i listened to eminem once for 2 solid months; i became an asshole but i grew more nuts i have some inclination but not too much to smile some cuz only so much anger can be fun so i'll listen to herman dune & the moldy peaches & wish i was on one of those warm, sunny beaches you hear what you like in the long, quick tango
the faces of ideas have hearts, too they may not always walk right or talk to the same gods you do but they're people, sure enough, just like me & you baby, when i'm lonley i'll google you hanging out on the couch with my friend rita she's cool but i doubt if you'll ever get to meet her chillin out smoking hash in beijing listening to leonard cohen & carlos jobim talking about pointy shoes & banking policy & barrels of guns & other tired theories you can make up the words to the long, quick tango
the statue of liberty is kinda hot holding that torch she probably gets tired a lot she's got people-sized eyes & a pretty big heart but clear the room when she's gotta fart - she's a french chick count your blessings, lift up your heavy head i might have been spilled but i was born instead i don't wanna know what country i'm standing in but it ain't bound by language, dress, or skin it ain't dictated by cult, or clan or whim & there's a public committee gets to discuss sin you don't need a document to hear the long, quick tango
i'll fail better next time, i promise you i just gotta lose these world war III blues a tisket, a tasket; i was born in a basket i'm thinking something, just not sure how to ask it yes, i confess, one mouth can make a mess with sounds big, beautiful & meaningless if the first sin was not disobedience it was that lunacy arrogance this the conversation must not end i can't decide what's worse: pure pity or plain stubornness put it all to song; its the long, quick tango
"Let's Make A Porno" let's make a porno, honey you & me you can start off on the top & then turn around for me you say that its more work for me, but i don't mind, you see let's make a porno, baby just you & me
i don't mind pornstars, but you know its not the same see, they get paid to fuck eachother, then there's all that fame but we still get to get it on, in sweet obscurity so, let's make a porno, & watch it for free
let's make a porno, we can do all the nasty stuff all alone in our own bed; we decide when enough's enough we don't need a cameraman, maybe just more lubricant let's make a porno, come on, it should be fun
let's make a porno, honey you & me first we'll rock back & forth, & then you bend down on your knees i'll be peter north this time & you pretend your miko lee let's make a porno, baby no one has to see |
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