13 & God
Album - 18 april 2005 - Debaser id 218458

I'm Sorry; I Mean I Knew That People Died
But...I Knew People Died...But...But...All...All These People Dying And Uhhh...I...I Feel Bad...I Know...I'm Here...I Have The Disease

In Not
Wanting To Have Their Eyes Pennied
Or A
Bone Shown Broken To The Open Air
They're...
Praying For Their Lucky Stars
They're Praying For Their Lucky Stars
To Shoot...

We Remain Such Gluttons For The Generous Threat Of Being Supreme Beings, Safe, Susceptible
Subject To A Man Mold Maker With A Tendency Toward The More Dramatic Side Of Everything We Are...

Flattered, I'm Sure, And What Does Modern Child Mistakenly Chalk Up To The Humongous Homogenous Win Column Of God

The Swapping Of A Dearest Dead Pet For A Fresh One Finding Someone Else's Wallet Or Per Say
A Snow Day

They're Threatening Their Lucky Stars...
They're Threatening Their Lucky Stars To Shoot...

We're men of station
We are trouble bent just the same
But we're not as hell as you

hour hero yes, had showed you there'd be days like this

and you find yourself longing for a certain drastic context
a dreadful circumstance that will tack great lengths onto your dictionary definition

to soothe your leaden understanding of bread, water, and money
now arriving by an alternate route at where the absence of such things might leave you
mind you, this is not more rich confession of a child actor
and as you would agree completely with a gift cyst as it appeared in your throat
and delight your tiny heart a moment with uncontested omnipresence will...

you've had the wind knocked out of you by something life size and you're afraid to say to your face
you stretch the pen and cheat the sleep

this sort of evening you want to say something you words cannot

note: which leaves your ghost blowing up globes
tying them off with an x axis c-clamp
and setting them down

for 7 days and 7 nights
you've sewn a cloth copy of your nervous system
to a turtle neck and pair tux pants
outside the city's dry all covered in primer
you have lost control of you hair
yesterday you were shot for a magazine cover
fatigue swapped your body build with all urge and by the door
you heard demo's creaking squeezing a squeal from your guilt against the clinging teeth of their cd-tray
all beneath the inner half of the door knob
hissing at its other head
hung in the sun

you're staring at a quill as the lump sum of its parts
and it's begun to look brutal

4 walls of day: and that alone
no empty hallway for you bearing the 100 bright light blocking doors of luck
and here in the favor of life i will
contrive no device against expectation, only announce
i have learned to respect the color yellow
for one reason or another
and in the insurmountable non strength of one's weight

and you're afraid to say to your face
you stretch the pen and cheat the sleep
since you all alone
has always been such the long audience
you spring forth, full with overconfidence
as if to say...superman

A Vision: Your Ghost

Blowing Up Globes And Tightening Them Off
With An X Axis Esque C Clamp
And Setting Them Down Through The Clouds
Onto Empty Department Store Shelves
Where They Sit Facing All Sorts Of Islands
Toward Dead Wee-Hour Isles

Has The Earth Come
Loose From It's Galactic Neck

(Beneath You)

Cut Off Above The Clouds Gone Let Go
From The Space Around Dropped Down
Done To The Sun System Floor
Crooked, Pearl Of The One Universe
Cleaved, Fell Rolling Toward A Corner Of The Cosmos
In The Blacked And Quiet Of Come Time

And You Are All, Lamb For This

Spring Is At Your Back Again
Though This Time Rare With Your Clarity
While Patches Of You Thought Whole
Had Turned Up Still Made A Tar Of Your Woe
And Flesh Where In

(Have You Gone Half Dead)

Yet Yet Have You To Let The Worst Most Be
As If It Were Atlas
To Your World Of Cope

And No One's Out There, Scared
You'd Set Your Eyes Off On The Ceiling
All Night In The Dark
Think Of A Song Or Maybe Breasts
Or Missing Body Parts

Without A Universal Law There Is No Gravity
Without No Gravity There Is No Atmosphere
Without A Atmosphere There Is No Chance In Life
I Don't Exist

Without A Chance In Life
I Don't Exist

These tin men are no nonsense
not the happiest thing
they make the call between black and white
and what grey is bore in between
and they say kids your age should
be reaching for the streetlights
while banking on their reproductive organs
and the work week's guiding light

this is the bound and tired
oath/anthem of our aged

an approximate and fearful
wild of hooks to belt from caged
by bills and bills and bills then will
til nerve-ed and one-named
you thief the you that nothing can pill tame
and sleep the sleep of cured kill refrain