Track Name: If Everything Is Relative Then We Are Built On Glass Spines In Shattered Bodies Touched By The Stem Of The Sycophantical Parasitism
Never Trust A Hippie Priest With An Uncircumferenced Boner...
3|C: respectively as above is the lesson child's heart folkgore fancy feast num nums as it is before me and i below... who said its funner not trying at all if dumber is funner, hell. hell can be summer and mephistopheles a masseuse woe marys exorcised through americana whores on bored made by a drug for a drug in lines produced. this is the unpure form of the devil's love at work. stepped on half shit everything leads to a method in eventual perfect balance at some point tediously teetered at some minute moment best breathe ever dies quietly by the side of the road. skull crushed under the wheel of a truck unaware or just bad luck of a black cat post kitten who lives in the solid sordid under ritualistic crossed wood from an old gnarled gate plank splintered and tore from frame indefinite seasons past arbitrary run offs. empty and full simultaneously it serves to distract the mind. which after all is the joy.
Track Name: Traitor, You Left Flucksus!
there are straight lines harder to draw without curves and bends. unsullied softer sorts of special places having no recourse for to bites to be taken from on peeled bitters lined with rhinestones that glitter like the prepubescent hide of a young ones sod as gary watches tentatively. in reflection and tug at bad tasteless stains to be laid as it is put out on heart strings. everything you experience in life is an inside joke known only to you. this is an intangible sort of gold we are given. what is done or come by is reigned in chance and heir through randomness indefinite. so in this very one here is in a cress. from older moments dead passed by foreshadowing dunes of dryer always more desolate current locales and places held and holding in current-lies applicable if not recurrent if not both or none if gone by again, etc... and so on to the void. this here was recorded live before a vast array of inanimate objects and even fewer by bemuser. circa 2013 or 14... or was it 16? Doubt it but it's as good an age as any to start the lie at. From the even more vastly in array respectively of sound caught on tape basque and uncommitted to the machine. supposedly also applies nicely or not over everything. imagination is god. so what then does a dog dream over... don't not do drugs when you are sold them for fair market value and equivalent to a score. a western may be martyred. stay tuned out for more after next. bias forest of r own kindling split upon. here's to the one(s) that ever go apeshit for no good reason other than thinking other thoughts. this is for them. the one's with the psychotics standing around boardrooms of the very same and more so... what month is it may in? mayan possibly? no. stick guns are made from the bark of a wooden tree and burn like matchsticks and gasoline poured all over the family & lawn that won a ribbon. next time blues! we are dwarfed in japan though we stretch every morning toward the floating orb and hum or whistle by abode.  <3 the Clan and <3 from band  3|C / Ignorant Ear Tapes / DYSGEUSIAN