Get all 5 ABEARICA releases available on Bandcamp and save 25%.
Includes unlimited streaming via the free Bandcamp app, plus high-quality downloads of Brains & Eggs, MADE OF SHADOWS, A Performance by Holly Faurot & Sarah H. Paulson, ABEARICA - EP, and Communiqués.
1. |
Tales of the Cupcake
04:07
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Envision yourself as someone else, another place
Another pace in steps, left in a wake, now take…
A look back at that life, at that day-to-day
And that nice, comfortable, and straightforward way
And think back to every single pinprick and pain
That made you, stays true to this very day
And think what it takes to be stressless and say
That the same pain you suffer you won't deflect the same
To some other in need of the same shit you claim
And tell me, when you’re there you won't act the same
That you'll recognize the pain and give more out to gain
While staying plush in much lux and avoid any blame
Will you pervade the same game that those you hate will frame
As those who deserve must have the nerve to claim?
This is the same damn frame of mind that invades
Every man that once was just an ass to be made
This is in the same vein as “hate the game, not the player”
This game of played players, pied pipers, soothsayers
Not this emcee that empties his soul onto layers
Of instrumentals and begs you for more than you made
Of a simple rhyme timed in four-four beats by the line
That you can't even read, you just feel it, aiiight?”
Yes, and nothing to stress, but who's next to molest
When you flex muscle to debt, really who gets the best?
Next to fall in line in soup lines as you pine
For the McMansion, McBordered by McProperty lines
It's the approximate time for the end, so let's send
You off with a fluff and a new virus for your friend
Halted against the shade of a last hill
They fed, were at ease and, finding
Comfortable chests and knees, carelessly slept
But many there stood still
To face the stark blank sky beyond the ridge
Knowing their feet had come to the end of the world
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2. |
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All I need are hustlers. None of you busters: none of you that lust the money and luster. Who will be there for poetry slams in prison facilities, inspire, set fire, expire hostilities? Who will cease to insist that nothing's as real as the grip of steel and the release of homo-erotic hollow tips? I'm hedging all bets with stacks of chips, the metaphorical kind you cop from these lips, it's the converted covert that makes your dome hurt from processing the poetry this metro blurts, this is just a short work made in the basement, bass mentality so real you can taste it, the basics are in this, elements are evident where this politan exhibits the intricate so relish it, like a mustard sting in your nose, these prose are shaper than bows, expose you to yourself like imploded lobes
Cleverish, devilish, absurdist propaganda
That flips you for real like a usual suspect and it's
Hotter than raw sex when you put it in context
Of fucking you mentally, knock you up with some sense
So how absurd can it be when I'm spitting?
Am I wrong or confused? Someone give me religion
Or I'll play the lottery and hold faith in the system
One day it will all pay off if I listen
My producer on this is a card carrying socialist, works only with leftists and only those he’s close with and so I'm privileged to spit on this, put my stamp with his amp on this and camp in the basement and plan our underhandedness. The next evasive action is to subvert the fascists and practice the mastery of informing the masses, without the crushing weight of censorship by the right-wing's monopoly on communication partnerships that will broadcast misogyny, hegemony, and status qou cacophonies, but will not recognize legitimate philosophies. It's absolute hypocrisy as they claim liberalism. Show me a liberal and I'll show you the killer in them. They'll give a little bit more to the poor to keep most of it and side with the right when state of war has been posted. It's a simple debate on whose rules you should follow: your own or some cocksucker telling you how to swallow.
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3. |
The Shaman
03:16
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A whisper
That's what it was
Nothing more than one word slipped from the lips of a
Former lover
One word
To put me into the trance of all trances
One moment to make me throw the bones and read the
Future
Sticks scratching on dirt floors, drawing my circle
Pounding dust I mark my entry
And with one loud clap dropped the bones and watched
Them scatter
Taking formation they present themselves in patterns
Only known by the proverbs they represent
Breathing deep
Inhaling saged air
The rhythm of my heart and breath in sync creating the
Drum that is my spirit
Lost in trance known only to those who have walked
Before me
I will mark my face in blood
And wear my scars like a shield
Closing my eyes I lift the bowl in front of me
And drop three dashes of water on the bone formation
One for each of the rivers in Africa
I sprinkle dirt on top of the water
One for each of the mountains in Siberia
The pounding in my chest quickens
A new song is being born
I lift my hands in gratitude
And sway to the rhythm of the drum
Pounding feet against earth my hands clap
One moment
One word being presented to me
"Remember"
To bring me to my knees
Memory has a distinct taste
Kind of like red but softer
And that moment turns into two
Sitting in a room surrounded by dust and bone
One moment surrounded by his sheets
Pulses quicken
Bodies shiver
Clap
Bones hit dirt forming past, present, and future
Candles burn
Sage thickens
I know he's gone, went to the other side
One hit, one flutter
And it was done
The Past
Saging his body
Lighting candles
Carrying him to his grave surrounded by leaves
And in that moment he spoke
One whispered word that sent me straight into oblivion
That moment he gave me the key to everything
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4. |
Bread and Circus
03:37
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Bent double, like old beggars under sacks
Knock-kneed, coughing like hags, we cursed through sludge
Till on the haunting flares we turned our backs
And towards our distant rest began to trudge
Men marched asleep. Many had lost their boots
But limped on, blood-shod. All went lame, all blind
Drunk with fatigue; deaf even to the hoots
Of gas-shells dropping softly behind
Gas! Gas! Quick, boys!
An ecstasy of fumbling
Fitting the clumsy helmets just in time
But someone still was yelling out and stumbling
And flound'ring like a man in fire or lime—
Dim through the misty panes and thick green light
As under a green sea, I saw him drowning
In all my dreams before my helpless sight
He plunges at me, guttering, choking, drowning
So do not tell with such high zest
To children ardent for some desperate glory
The old lie. The old lie.
The old lie. The old lie.
The old lie. The old lie.
Dulce et decorum est Pro patria mori.
If in some smothering dreams, you too could pace
Behind the wagon that we flung him in
And watch the white eyes writhing in his face
His hanging face, like a devil's sick of sin
If you could hear, at every jolt, the blood
Come gargling from the froth-corrupted lungs
Bitter as the cud
Of vile, incurable sores on innocent tongues
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5. |
Semi-Automated Machinery
03:50
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Live poor, die poor, this is what you fight for
My war, I want more, show me what you would die for
My sons, nice ones married into wives' sums
Now guns make funds, take none of my grandsons
Handsome, prancing through their lives and dancing
On your dirty graves for your bravery advancing
Last things, last words, nothing for you bastards
Past is dead and the memories don't last
You're just one number added to another, but
The other's too much for us to really bother with
Last month's pay gets docked for when you swallowed it
We'll tell your family that we're very, very sorry that
You won't be coming back from a war that we regret
To send them the news on behalf of the department
That their son is stuffed in a compartment
You're not without a letter from the President
You're just part of this killing machine
Replaceable, tastefully snuffed out from the scene
You joined in a change at an American dream
Dreams sell and we'll tell you any mother-fucking thing
You aspire for more, what are you waiting for?
We'll give you college money and worldwide tour
Pour buckets of that money into companies that want it
They'll strap you with the best vests and guns, but keep the wallets
Peep the science, lingo learned from the violence
Our greatest commodity is all you people dying
Live poor, die poor, this is what you fight for
My war, I want more
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6. |
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I will wave my American flag to fan the fire that it's caught in
Beg for Armageddon and regulate my own damn ends
The fandango's dead for the partygoers in your gasmasks
And armed with flamethrowers
Their SUV motors are running to catch a ride through the
Gates of Hell and prepare their genocide
As they hide in the shelter of the wretched womb
They have destroyed by their own fucking pride
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7. |
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I cannot stand for it. I am crippled by apathy
I'm exempt from your laws, every one a hyperbole
Absurdity served to me with a side of unnerving
Certainty that you’ve unfurled in tri-colored worshipping
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8. |
Tree of Woe
01:52
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Tearing at my own heart, scraping skin under nails and
Blood blacken the light letting down my pale body
Eyes darting in anxiety of the loss of control that is about to overtake me
Only in extreme deviance of lonely thoughts can I feel energy
I will take you away from your life; implant you
Holding you still by your shoulders so you can't run away
Tearing down walls of missions of equal rights, of racial equality
Of anyone knowing anything except me
I am not the center of the universe . . . I am the universe
God is a whimsical killer of progress
A speech impediment and a dying man's last word
I do not know organization, chaos, good or evil
Illness does not rack my body or my brain. . . I am resolute
I will take what I want, leaving my dead soul behind
And becoming the only future anyone will ever know
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9. |
Lunchbox, part II
04:00
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It really ain't the place nor the time
To reel off rhyming diction –
But yet we’ll write a final rhyme
While waiting crucifixion.
But we bequeath a parting tip
For sound advice of such men,
Who come across in transport ship
To polish off the Dutchmen.
In prison cell I sadly sit,
A dammed crestfallen chappie,
And own to you I feel a bit –
A little bit–unhappy.
This is what comes of Empire building.
This is what comes of Empire building.
This is what comes of Empire building.
This is what comes of Empire building.
If you encounter any Boers
You really must not loot 'em
And if you wish to leave these shores,
For pity's sake, Don't Shoot 'Em!
Let's toss a bumper down our throat,
Before we pass to Heaven,
And toast: “The trim-set petticoat
We leave behind in Devon.”
No matter what end they decide –
Quick-lime? Or boiling oil? Sir
We'll do our best when crucified
To finish off in style, sir!
And a man's foes shall be
They of his own household.
And a man’s foes shall be
They of his own household.
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10. |
Oracle of Delphi
04:04
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There is one reality that we are all bound to
No matter what you hide behind, it still found you
So cower under the lights as an industry Drag Queen
We’re naked with the emperor, pathetically sad scene
All left to grab strapped to a gurney and stat
All that is left is twisted muscle and fat
And when we turn back its all fade to black
And nothing, but embellished memories are going to last
Do I believe in myself or how you believe me to be
Tell my confession I am unable to speak
Every second melts into days into weeks
And I wonder from the smell how much longer I will keep
Eggshells crackle underneath my feet
And I don't even need to understand my defeat
Look over to the crust growing over the street
And see that nothing stays together, welcome in the rough beast
Where do we go from here, it is better you guess
I am not here for answers, no direction or progress
What did you leave behind other than waste?
What sense of comportment what style and grace
How can you qualify anyone’s taste when
You traipse through the world like it ends in your wake
What do you say when you look in the face
Of the next one to carry on your abominable race
Did you ever think about slowing your pace
Before the bones became as cracked as the lines in your face
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11. |
Chateau d'If
01:15
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Pink botches fading on her neck. There's no protection needed, the only movement is microscopic. And the violating seed, the life it represented is life without need because it’s life without ness, which is total absence indeed. If you had seen what see had seen last, thru the steam of her last gasp with the semen draining from her ass, she saw the studded finger in the grass. The clutch relented, let go, curled around the lace of his boot and his steel toe, his fist twisting a finger, taking whatever that symbol was that she finally knew meant forever.
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