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1. |
A cross
02:22
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Fourth letter is D. Fourth priority is deity. A hole in my soul, I’m nowhere near whole. Holy black hole, cross-carrying mole. Forgot about trees. Forgot about me. Forgot about Him, the spectacles within. Ritualistic cleaning of sin. When I exit this mask, I’ll be born again. I'm a tiger in the snow. Wax sculpture, blood ritual.
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2. |
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Shit, I should eye what I want from the shoddy farmer shed - not to repossess, but to inspire field work. I’m obsessed with meaning, there’s none in this seat i’m sweating in, none in this spliff I’d call a skin for a wedding ring. Roll up green reem in a page from the Bible and pass it to your neighbor, to take a page out of the Bible. I’m converting to a sect that I considered a rival. I’m concerned with encryption, I’m converting the files. My host prefers boots so he’s burning my sandals. Barren space is hot. Where the fuck are the camels? I wanna stop breathing. Where the fuck are my Camels? Enough of that whining, it’s time to feed the marsupials. Feed em or you flatlanders will be eating your overalls.
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3. |
Tusk & trees
03:42
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Numbly crafted by the fire. Burn all night, gums get higher. Come on tusk and tree. October showers on the leaves. Flames they lick the bark; you are in the house. Diagnosis-phobic family, dying to avoid the clipboards. “Do you get nervous easily?” Check ‘no’ for all springboards to pills, meetings, greetings, therapeutic proceedings; they’re possible trampolines to pharmaceutical beatings. Truth-phobic self, with no wealth of maturity. My feelings stay locked-up like I got stock in security. Agencies are missing, I’m not responsible for kissing the lips of the devils that work tirelessly to flip things. Down at the racetrack, Pat fills his backpack or knapsack, with beer, whiskey (no year). The label is clear. I've got no love for white wine.
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4. |
16 on center
04:18
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My father's a builder, the hours are hell. I've got hands that mold sculptures, I build kitchens and shelves. Let's go make a cabin away from the city. The trees are all twisted; the night rips them pretty. I can that you're listening from the way that you're living.
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5. |
Treadmill
02:39
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Storm raining down gives me plenty of time to brainstorm ideas to make me appear more attractive to you all, especially you. Suppose you could choose: what would you want me to change about my physique? I’ll hit the treadmill, find weights and lift em, shave my beard and grow a new one that works better with my jaw. Internet photographs rain on my various parades: Reminders that I’m not in shape, reminders that we couldn’t find a way. I know this should be for me, the whole work-out freak thing, and it will be, as soon as you don’t give a shit. Bike rides and carrots, clear booze in backpacks, “Health man” fanatic, because I like you.
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Dealer Plates Philadelphia, Pennsylvania
Dealer Plates is Jack Tael and Bruce Hamilton making music for rock-dwelling slugs. What lies beneath remains to be seen.
Cowboy pic and banner by Terence Mallon
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