album #2 (#1 on length)
ALOPECIA
by
WHY?
I noticed the cosmic connection starting this past February.
[the vowels pt. 2]
i'm not a ladies man, i'm a landmine
filming my own fake death
under an '88 cavalier i go
but-but-but-but nothing but the rear bumper's blown
but i's born for this flight,
united 955 on the fifth of july
back the SFO
i join the dark side
in a thin disguise caught
on consumer grade video at night
faking suicide for applause
in the food courts of malls
and cursing racing horses on church steps
playing the wall at singles bingo
all time gringo
did anyone hear me cry there
through a toilet stall divider
i swear i care.
[good friday]
...
playing lead lay in a bad way on broadway
sending sexy smses to my exes new man cause i can
on the road trying to break an old van
...
it feels exciting touching your handwriting
getting horny by reading it and repeating poor me
...
the kind of shit i won't admit to my head shrinker
not even in a whisper to my own little sister
i just act like a dick and talk shit when i'm with her
...
hung over on a hardwood floor
from a dream about how your dress
hangs off of your little breasts
i'd rather be dead than call this song
how i lost your respect but god bless or get neglected
and i'll see you when the sun sets east, don't forget me
[these few presidents]
at your house the smell of our still living human bodies and oven gas
you pray to nothing out loud
two first names and an ampersand
embroidered proudly on a kitchen towel
you're a beautiful and violent work
with a skinny neck of a chinese bird
in a fading ancient painting
...
even though i haven't seen you in years
yours is a funeral i'd fly to from anywhere
...
i thought, there is no paved street worthy
of your perfect scandanavian feet
my crooked chinese fingers groped
the machinery of your throat
[the hollows]
as i lay me down to fall asleep
with my demons dying and my pilot light weak
i curse the last six months i been hiding behind a mustache, yeah
and to those last ten years i been howling a paper moon: fuck you
this goes out to all my under done under tongue lung long frontmen
(this is what the ghost of someone's dad says)
and all us earth growths, some planted
and some pulled
(shut up and put your money where your mouth is)
...
this goes out to dirty dancing cursing back masking, back-slidden pastor's kids
(from behind bars it's not so hard to see he's risen)
...
this goes out to all my underdone
other tongued lung long frontmen
(even just joanna newsom's left hand)
...
[song of the sad assassin]
we lifted the body from the water like a gown
you took off your bra to wrap the wound
though the man was dead, and there was no need
then your face turned red, when you said to me
i'll suck the marrow out
and rape your hollow bones yoni
...
i feel
like a loop of the last eight frames of film
before a slow motion lee harvey oswald
gets shot in the gut and killed,
...
[gnashville]
...
gnashville. never in the night.
never in the night when the knot grows tighter than thinkers can untie
and all the last half dammed rivers have gone dry
does the cock crow thrice until someone is denied
or the morning comes
...
we're left with half truth psalms
in an indecypherable scrawl in some vague extinct language
ancient ink dull, almost vanished on some old brittle scroll
(that's what the ghost of someone's dad might say)
[fatalist palmistry]
i sleep on my back 'cause it's good for the spine
and coffin rehearsal
...
but i am still alive and loved
and wide-eyed in my time
...
and you ask me is there anybody else that i'm dating
...
but your painted pony is fading
...
but god put a song on my palm that you can't read
...
and when we say your name
our tongues catch flame
...
[the fall of mr fifths]
just another sunday paddleboat ride
on a man made lake with another lady stanger
if i remain lost and die on a cross
at least i wasn't born in a manger
i can sense somewhere right now being prayed for
seems like i always arrive on the same shore
from where my sails set maybe with one less lady
than my vessel left with, is that a threat
oh i've stayed scarce this last year yes
but be assured in unrest
...
god i'm sorry, i'm just being crazy. i'm sorry. i'm just being crazy, i know. i'm gonna take you know, kay? you're fine. everything's totally fine. feel a lot better now.
[brook and waxing]
...
while i'm alive i'll feel alive
and what's next i guess i'll know when i've
gotten there
...
[a sky for shoeing horses under]
...
when i'm eyed i tongue my bottom teeth
and look at the sidewalk in front of me
as my tennis shoes go in and out of the frame
and of the slew footed empty guy walking on goose eggs in the mission
swap meet brown 31 fishnet hat cocked to the right
i only played chess once in my life and i lost
...
[twenty-eight]
tell me are you single yet
...
from the grown kid's spokesmen's notebooks
lil pone go slow and hollow
like an empty rowboat looks
left to float alone it follows
where any air goes, it's took
[simeon's dilemma]
stalker's my whole style
and if i get caught i'll
deny deny deny
today you're 25
i made you something fine
it's in the palm of my new hand
it's out
you're mostly what i think about and
i'm proud
i've been coasting on this singles route
but i still hear your name
in wedding bells
...
you're the only proper noun i need
...
pull me, pull me on out of this tree
i'm stuck up a branch waiting
clearly caught between
two things unclear to me
are you a female young messiah
for stowaways in dugouts
and are you what church folk mean
by the good news
...
[by torpedo or crohn's]
...
living in the tier between two spaces condemned
in one of the many places
you're not i am
hiding from my friends in the bathroom at thrift town
to write this tune down.
...
if i'm not raw i'm just a bit underdone
...
life long local foreigner i
raw lung homegrown faking co-ed naked choir
second tenor highest riser blessed clever compromiser
...
only those evil live to see
their own likeness in stone
my brother said that
...
[exegesis]
If I really meant it
I'd embrace a dead cat
or enter into a bet
that I could be hung high
from a telephone wire
with no poor boy's pot
no books under foot
no stack of yoga mats
or foam chord cushion pads
to lessen the pressure of the phone chord choking my neck
by
WHY?
I noticed the cosmic connection starting this past February.
[the vowels pt. 2]
i'm not a ladies man, i'm a landmine
filming my own fake death
under an '88 cavalier i go
but-but-but-but nothing but the rear bumper's blown
but i's born for this flight,
united 955 on the fifth of july
back the SFO
i join the dark side
in a thin disguise caught
on consumer grade video at night
faking suicide for applause
in the food courts of malls
and cursing racing horses on church steps
playing the wall at singles bingo
all time gringo
did anyone hear me cry there
through a toilet stall divider
i swear i care.
[good friday]
...
playing lead lay in a bad way on broadway
sending sexy smses to my exes new man cause i can
on the road trying to break an old van
...
it feels exciting touching your handwriting
getting horny by reading it and repeating poor me
...
the kind of shit i won't admit to my head shrinker
not even in a whisper to my own little sister
i just act like a dick and talk shit when i'm with her
...
hung over on a hardwood floor
from a dream about how your dress
hangs off of your little breasts
i'd rather be dead than call this song
how i lost your respect but god bless or get neglected
and i'll see you when the sun sets east, don't forget me
[these few presidents]
at your house the smell of our still living human bodies and oven gas
you pray to nothing out loud
two first names and an ampersand
embroidered proudly on a kitchen towel
you're a beautiful and violent work
with a skinny neck of a chinese bird
in a fading ancient painting
...
even though i haven't seen you in years
yours is a funeral i'd fly to from anywhere
...
i thought, there is no paved street worthy
of your perfect scandanavian feet
my crooked chinese fingers groped
the machinery of your throat
[the hollows]
as i lay me down to fall asleep
with my demons dying and my pilot light weak
i curse the last six months i been hiding behind a mustache, yeah
and to those last ten years i been howling a paper moon: fuck you
this goes out to all my under done under tongue lung long frontmen
(this is what the ghost of someone's dad says)
and all us earth growths, some planted
and some pulled
(shut up and put your money where your mouth is)
...
this goes out to dirty dancing cursing back masking, back-slidden pastor's kids
(from behind bars it's not so hard to see he's risen)
...
this goes out to all my underdone
other tongued lung long frontmen
(even just joanna newsom's left hand)
...
[song of the sad assassin]
we lifted the body from the water like a gown
you took off your bra to wrap the wound
though the man was dead, and there was no need
then your face turned red, when you said to me
i'll suck the marrow out
and rape your hollow bones yoni
...
i feel
like a loop of the last eight frames of film
before a slow motion lee harvey oswald
gets shot in the gut and killed,
...
[gnashville]
...
gnashville. never in the night.
never in the night when the knot grows tighter than thinkers can untie
and all the last half dammed rivers have gone dry
does the cock crow thrice until someone is denied
or the morning comes
...
we're left with half truth psalms
in an indecypherable scrawl in some vague extinct language
ancient ink dull, almost vanished on some old brittle scroll
(that's what the ghost of someone's dad might say)
[fatalist palmistry]
i sleep on my back 'cause it's good for the spine
and coffin rehearsal
...
but i am still alive and loved
and wide-eyed in my time
...
and you ask me is there anybody else that i'm dating
...
but your painted pony is fading
...
but god put a song on my palm that you can't read
...
and when we say your name
our tongues catch flame
...
[the fall of mr fifths]
just another sunday paddleboat ride
on a man made lake with another lady stanger
if i remain lost and die on a cross
at least i wasn't born in a manger
i can sense somewhere right now being prayed for
seems like i always arrive on the same shore
from where my sails set maybe with one less lady
than my vessel left with, is that a threat
oh i've stayed scarce this last year yes
but be assured in unrest
...
god i'm sorry, i'm just being crazy. i'm sorry. i'm just being crazy, i know. i'm gonna take you know, kay? you're fine. everything's totally fine. feel a lot better now.
[brook and waxing]
...
while i'm alive i'll feel alive
and what's next i guess i'll know when i've
gotten there
...
[a sky for shoeing horses under]
...
when i'm eyed i tongue my bottom teeth
and look at the sidewalk in front of me
as my tennis shoes go in and out of the frame
and of the slew footed empty guy walking on goose eggs in the mission
swap meet brown 31 fishnet hat cocked to the right
i only played chess once in my life and i lost
...
[twenty-eight]
tell me are you single yet
...
from the grown kid's spokesmen's notebooks
lil pone go slow and hollow
like an empty rowboat looks
left to float alone it follows
where any air goes, it's took
[simeon's dilemma]
stalker's my whole style
and if i get caught i'll
deny deny deny
today you're 25
i made you something fine
it's in the palm of my new hand
it's out
you're mostly what i think about and
i'm proud
i've been coasting on this singles route
but i still hear your name
in wedding bells
...
you're the only proper noun i need
...
pull me, pull me on out of this tree
i'm stuck up a branch waiting
clearly caught between
two things unclear to me
are you a female young messiah
for stowaways in dugouts
and are you what church folk mean
by the good news
...
[by torpedo or crohn's]
...
living in the tier between two spaces condemned
in one of the many places
you're not i am
hiding from my friends in the bathroom at thrift town
to write this tune down.
...
if i'm not raw i'm just a bit underdone
...
life long local foreigner i
raw lung homegrown faking co-ed naked choir
second tenor highest riser blessed clever compromiser
...
only those evil live to see
their own likeness in stone
my brother said that
...
[exegesis]
If I really meant it
I'd embrace a dead cat
or enter into a bet
that I could be hung high
from a telephone wire
with no poor boy's pot
no books under foot
no stack of yoga mats
or foam chord cushion pads
to lessen the pressure of the phone chord choking my neck