1. |
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Square states an unmovable assertion
never wavering, immobile in the face of opposition
Triangle interjects to disrupt a static view
pointed questions digging furrows in the mortar of tradition
Pentagon and Octagram, Crescent, Cross, and Star
we’re all pegs looking for spaces that accept the shape we are
Circle sings us round together
won’t let us be parted ever
rolling back again forever
no matter what shape we’re in
days dawns anew, we start again
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2. |
(Not On) the Cards
02:28
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In the coffee house of cards
we tic off all the books we read
through hours we weren’t in our beds
paying the night our disregard
and the queen of cups our lucre
We wait to see the closing play
gathered together in our pack
our author’s grip will break our backs
we fall into the discard tray
unmarked by an onlooker
I’d like to order coffee
but I daren’t miss my train
I’d like to order my life
but my brain quakes with the strain
I’d like to order coffee
but I daren’t miss my bus
I’d like to order my life
but not when it’s such a fuss
The TV saga of my life
scripts that aren’t yet begun
I can’t see how episode one
could find approval from my wife
I can’t see it on the cards
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3. |
Tearing History Down
02:22
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I never doubted it was true
If you won’t learn from history
It just repeats on you
But all the same it must be said
We sure spend a lot of time
Discussing our days with the dead
History can’t quite be history
until it’s firmly in the past
Remembrance will turn to necrocracy
When with ghosts we stand steadfast
Sins of our fathers will persist
While our forebears hang around
Their mode of thought can’t be dismissed
Make room for what we’ve learned since then
Get started tearing history down
Don’t make the same mistakes again
The past contains much that should not be forgotten
Meaning derives from both beautiful and rotten
Give us some credit—I swear I’d still recall
Heroes and villains without their corpses in the hall
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4. |
No Arcanum
04:57
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XIII. Death
the prophets, playing it safe these days,
remind us we must die
we are enjoined to change our ways
change as good as a rest in peace
life as we’ve known it soon would cease
we’d rather set the world ablaze
than usurpers dignify
We count the cards in the hand we’re dealt by life
We’ll feel secure when we secure another’s strife
the youth who wait to take a seat
will follow suit we pray
we don’t like to be seen to cheat
with trumps collected in our sleeves
safe there from imagined thieves
we suffer worse things than deceit
from a world that’s gone astray
0. The Fool
trick after trick we’re taken again
the basics of living are rendered arcane
shadowy dealers continue their reign
trick after trick we are taken again
to speak truth to power we may call upon a fool
but be left with no more than a sorry excuse
while the fetters that bind us fail to unloose
while daily malignance proceeds to unspool
from continued sorrow we’re left to deduce
to speak truth to power we have called on a fool
XVI. The Tower
this place was a prison a short time ago
with a tower overlooking the yard
a thunderbolt shattered the structures that held us
no longer is our exit barred
but the flash of the lightning has burnt on our brains
our lost tower haloed in remembered powers
we dream of reshackling ourselves to the past
so life in the tower might finally be ours
13b. Death (reprise)
decayed patricians lie in state
their rule we won't discard
from days the great were truly great
folk today rate naught but scorn
should be more thankful they were born
we let them be while they prostrate
themselves in our graveyard
We count the cards in the hand we’re dealt by life
We’ll feel secure when we secure another’s strife
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5. |
Blue Woman Yes
04:23
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the clown costumes on all us men
smelling like autumn leaves
when the great white bear promised
to make us all rich
if he might take our youngest daughter
as for authority, everybody outranks me
although I’ve got my crotchets, all right, all right
empty your mind and listen only
play the sleepwalking scene tonight
nothing has changed since he has been kissing her
watch her prove it once more
dragged by white horses
up and down the street
naked in a barrel of sharp nails
vague lucubrations
of clever magicians
on societal rubrics
fondly abandoned
dismantling her
appetite for joy
thereupon she resumes her plod back along the road
not altogether full of hope
but full of conviction
she should not have been born
we don't in the least understand
nothing has changed
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6. |
Guessing Game
04:12
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A story can hold every part of you
a self built on extempore bluster
When we ask you just exactly who you are
a bit of bull’s the best that you can muster
Your story will be guessed if it’s not told
We all glimpse what we assume’s the inner you
All the things about yourself that you don’t know
When we tell you them our guesses become true
Whatever we guess will become the truth
To decide for yourself would be so uncouth
Whatever we guess will become the truth for you
A story can be everything you’ve got
that bit of bull that gives your life its lustre
We’ll tell you just exactly who you are
with a certainty that’s guaranteed to fluster
To stop us wrapping you inside a box
Lay claim to the container of your choosing
Self actualize before the moment’s past
And never mind the futures that you’re losing
Whatever you guess will become the truth
Commit to a role while you’ve got your youth
Whatever you guess will become the truth for you
Whatever you guess will become the truth
No need to consult with a psyche sleuth
Whatever you guess will become the truth for you
If you’re not one of us, you must be one of them
This fantasy of self, we’ll find a way to stem
But you’re not one of us, if you’re not one of them
—then who?
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7. |
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boy in the mirror with a cheap guitar
playing for toothpaste and an Ivory bar
but in my mind’s eye I’m a superstar on the TV
girls line up—you know they just can’t wait
to meet me, touch my hair, they think I’m great
I see them smiling as I masturbate in the toilet
now I’m running late for work again, again
now is clearly not the time—oh but when, when?
girl in a journal writing with gel ink
putting down feelings—making space to think
enmeshed in words I hang above the brink of discernment
my quips and poetry have real street cred
oh heaven knows I’ll be great when I’m dead
pontificating as I shave my head in the garbage
life’s been creeping up on me again, again
someday I’ll finally get away—oh and then, then
we are perfect in our dreams
meet with success in all our schemes
and at our feet life’s treasure gleams, ripe for taking
but our everyday life demeans
all of those grand and noble scenes
from time spent curled up with our should-have-beens before waking
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8. |
Broken Bottle
03:36
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Broken bottle
must not spill
must not spill
a drop
but I am broken
I am broken
broken bottle
gushing flowing
crushing throwing
arms of
shards of
broken
glass
embrace
the flesh
release
the blood
open my heart
to you
open my bottle
broken bottle
but still
it doesn’t spill
it doesn’t spill
a drop.
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9. |
Your Discarded Cigarette
02:25
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Extinguished well before my time
Snuffed though my flame was fresh lit
For the rarefied air of the interior
You discarded your cigarette
I’ve tried to forget the touch of your lips
but the memory still filters through
Such a drag that you won’t take another drag
I still smolder down here for you
Rejected!
Quite alone and forlorn
though not used up or worn
to unreached consummation
I was ejected!
Fingers no longer held
Swiftly I was propelled
to premature ruination
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10. |
Crack in the Wall
03:26
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Sunlight slips in through a crack in the wall
Shadows are pushed to the side
But the rays don’t go deep in the darkness to trawl
And from most will an eidolon hide
Walk through my garden of things that used to be
Retreat from the present slight
Today is blinding, my vision melts away
In the darkness my ghosts hold me tight
Glimpsed you today through a crack in the wall
Could it be a trick of the light?
I divine you inside with me, your scent recall
And I speak with you most every night
I can remember every way things ever were
But which is now? The present moment’s so absurd
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11. |
Footworn Roundabout
03:17
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Beneath my bed, a row of shoes
ghost feet standing inside them
remembered speed, remembered stride
I’ve wondered where that got to
when I’m passed up on the street
rubbed off with time onto the pavement
there’s some lingering still in my old shoes
Another day I’m walking round
suns set, suns rise
leave ghosts behind, we’re moving still
toward future phantoms
we’re circling round to meet
set out upon the same road everyday
find it wrapped ‘round a different world
but I’ll tie my new shoes on
and walk out of the door
and do my best to listen
for each new day’s sacred song
and we can learn together
to sing along
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12. |
Library Ghost
02:50
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When night falls and the lights go out inside my library
When people are no longer there
Wisps of shadow drift across this silent sanctuary
Coalescing in my favorite chair
I read the papers and sip at my spectral cup of tea
Then choose a book from off the shelf
Passing dark hours in a mode pleasantly solitary
I quite like being my myself
The library was always my favorite haunt
Frequented this place since I was far less gaunt
Lingering languorously, no call to avaunt
My athenæum holds all I’ll ever want
As daylight gathers strength I start to lose solidity
My form dissolves into the air
Though to the people coming in I cede reality
The library we all can share
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13. |
Smoldering Joy
02:50
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A single bright spark
may alight in my heart
engendering a flame
the touch of joy makes it start
voltage through ventricles arc
I hope you feel the same
this warmth inside me
a radiance to light the darkest night
this fire I’ll set free
and you’ll soon see this world is burning bright
smoldering joy
life-changing magic in your eyes
you’re one love I’ll sure be keeping
smoldering joy
sparks showering across the sky
while around us love’s inferno’s leaping
When this joy touches you
your heart may start to spark too
heat pulsing in your breast
but if your heart’s cold and blue
I will know just what to do
loneliness I’ll arrest
smoldering joy
lightning strikes you through the air
this energy is so amazing
smoldering joy
there’s kindling littered everywhere
so soon this pyre of love is blazing
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Timothy Patrick Hinkle Millcreek, Utah
Lofi DIY psychedelic folk singer. Guitars strummed. Kazoos hummed. General thrumming.
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