a light in the attic - only in lies

vowel live at stay sweet fest 3

vowel live at stay sweet fest 3

i'll tell you when i'm done / vowel / i'll tell you when i'm done 5" lathe

there are so few flowers these days choking inside your shaking hands, and i walk these streets to retrace my steps to come to where i left something i swore i’d never let go of.

our love was pale and every golden sun is a blade of cold twisting into stone. do you remember when we breathed that mountain air and held each other close and slept until morning? now think about what you’ve done.

i can’t resist the shapes our bodies made. we jumped into the sea and sank like stones. (it’s not real. don’t try to dream.)

where were you when the sun fell? every mask is a tomb.

Memoirs Of An Illiterate Penpal / Neil Perry / Antipodes

june paik - grenzwert

my hands are buried deep beneath the soil, but you handed me the shovel.

i can wake up from this. the lights are dimming now. and you always thought it best to show up unannounced, so keep your ring on.

no. i wanna go.

your latex stare craved of bitter intention from that man you never mentioned, from that bed that crept from your scalp to deep within your bowels where i now stir and swell and make your apartment downtown impossible to sleep in. or so i’d love to believe, just let me know.

i found it all in my head, all my blood clots to my brain. it’s always the same thing. and no matter how much you ask if this will comfort you i’ll always have this moment.

outside of town there’s an interstate. it will take you wherever you want to be. but i’ll stay in ohio, convince myself that i’m not alone.

the landscapes have their own pace, but the machines have lost their way. clinging to it’s owner, growing as we get older, but in my dreams i shot her, waking with a brain of fodder.

the fodder that you’ve known, from chances i’ve blown.

half a day spent shaking like a leaf, blown from a tree, or wet in the street, crawling toward where i’ll be buried.

i picture an unmarked grave, but instead it will read: “died four years after he stopped breathing, but still seeing green.”

calling all butterflies to fight the wind going against their direction. the patterns on their wings paint pictures on the sky, trying hard to stay aflight, but not tonight.

i’m day-drunk right now, so this is a warning:

the rest of the day will most likely consist of text posts of lyrics from the slipdiver album while i figure out the song order.

so my band slipdiver is releasing our brand new lp tomorrow. i has taken us over a year to put it out and we are so unbelievably proud of how it sounds. so, get stoked i guess?