1. |
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Blood blisters on my palms from gripping on too tight
to departed partners/empty confidants. Knuckles white
attempt to grip relationships/hourglass sands.
Fear of missing out synthesized inside my glands. Maybe
I should stop the search for substance in the social,
manifest vasectomy/solitude in SoCal.
Relations season life. Take the suffering bland;
it's just salt in the wound of the scratches on my right hand
Paper-cut friendships supply stimuli, but
the cuts add up and bleeding out's a messy way to die and
what's life but the pursuit of a comfortable grave? Not
spilling my guts might make it easier to attain.
I'm lonelier at this wedding than when I am alone.
I spilled my drink at this wedding and I wish I were alone.
I took the bus, drunk, from this wedding. Now I am alone.
Hopefully I'll fall asleep and into a coma
'cause
Honestly most of the people I've met
make me wish I had somewhere to hide away.
The trade-off is if I cut myself off
I'd probably never learn or ever change.
Honestly most of the people I've met
have had me searching for the fire-escape.
Deeply considering
locking in on my Myers-Briggs
type.
Blood blisters on my palms from gripping on too tight,
my only move; I never really learned how to fight
or say "no" to anyone (including myself.)
Puts a timer on my friendships and declining mental health.
You never disappoint if you never leave your residence
and now I'm closer to the cusp. I'm on the goddamn precipice
of blocking all the doors/nerve endings.
At this point severance is better than pretending cause'
honestly most of the people I've met
make me wish I had somewhere to hide away.
The trade-off is if I trim the excess
I'd probably never learn or ever change.
Honestly most of the people I've met
remind of that dick who wrote "Slide Away".
If I can hold out for a few decades
maybe this planet will burst into flames.
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2. |
Plot Point
03:08
|
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|
Processing the blood-stained queen-sized mattress that I just woke up in.
I am immediately worse than my median persona.
I've always hated this game so why'd I have to go and change it?
I wish my fingernails were long. I'd go ahead and tear my eyes out.
Wish I could access a different source of memories,
my memory card's corrupted. Format me please.
Here comes the exact moment we've all been waiting for:
a plot point that ultimately makes all of our lives worse.
You're my best friend with no umbrella and I'm a perfect storm.
I'm fucked.
Longing after Her will only lead to misery.
Longing after Her... What's wrong with me?
Hopefully it's an abnormality in my personal history.
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3. |
Calories
03:07
|
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|
Jacinta (my first love) things were so easy;
you told me you liked my hair. I thought it'd be wash-rinse-repeat
from that point on. Guess I was wrong, it gets more complicated every time
and I'm digging myself my deepest hole yet. It's essentially a mine
'cause I can't stop thinking about Her, especially when I'm not
in my right mind and enough cheap wine turns all my filters off
and I'm drunk on her couch 6 nights out of 7 if my week's going well.
This burn-out yearning has become a personalized Hell
'cause last night I saw a couple breaking up on Broadway at Calories.
That's not what I want for anyone, I think, I hope, I want to believe
that I'm a better person than that.
Zack's singing about how you and him are in heaven or some space station
and I wish I didn't feel different about you than I do about any vocation but
I don't get to decide how it is that I feel
so suck it up, drink from this cup, and keep these thoughts concealed
and I think that deep inside myself I want the best for everybody that's involved
and I hope there's no second, secret, deeper level. Lets keep these uneasy feelings unresolved.
Maybe everything that's eating me will go away.
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4. |
Rituals Pt. 1 (Flip Cup)
03:06
|
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Obligations
of the social sort beckon again
and not attending
would move my rating to a 0 from a 4/10
so I'm driving us all there, though it'd be better for my health
to stay home and fantasize about drowning myself
because my need to be liked
slightly outweighs my sense of self-preservation.
Enter the basement, now sitting adjacent
to Her so I can small talk.
"Is that a new wristwatch?"
Keg-stands in the corner unfold as I inform Her
that I'm sober tonight night. "Ya'know,
if you need a ride home."
Sober lies
become drunk messes, become sober problems
so I'm staying sober
to avoid upsetting this delicate balance
and I haven't given up on my dreams of getting over Her
but it's made much more difficult by the fact that she is sober-er
than I ever will be.
Quite frankly, honestly, uhhhh
It's hard to stay forlorn. My face is getting warmer
as blood rushes to it 'cause she said "I knew it"
in response to me reveling some deep reserved feelings
about Coldplay's 4th record.
She makes my head hurt.
This'd be easier wasted. The air has a taste and
it's vodka, testosterone, Everclear, pheromones.
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5. |
Take The Hint
02:59
|
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|
I'll take the hint
then swallow it.
Use my throat.
Down it goes.
Over it?
No, of course I'm not.
I wanna see you
in my cloths.
Write a song
(or finish half of it.)
I can't admit that she is
killing me
as we walk
where the river bends.
I follow
her lead.
"Other men
(not you, of course)
have tried and failed to ruin
him and I
and I hope it's over"
is what she said
and I'm the worst because it's what I
fantasize about.
I'm not someone you can trust. There's been some decay in my sense of justice
and I can't seem to make it improve.
I didn't ask to feel like this. Your solid words in my ears are mist and
I can't seem to see through you.
I swear by the scars on both my wrist I didn't want and part of this
(and I can't seem to see through you.)
You and him are both far gone
and I can't get out.
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6. |
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Waiting here on everyone.
Another drink to calm my nerves.
Crimson glow and alcohol,
the band tonight's alright,
I almost can forget that you will be making
an appearance tonight
so I pull this chalice back to my lips.
I don't wanna fall in love.
When I'm thinking straight I hate this shit but
the guilt goes down easier drunk.
Rum and Coke and chemicals
hit my cerebrum all at once
when your "how's it going?" slices through the mix, fuck,
I don't wanna fall in love.
Then we all take shots and in The Underground
the distance starts to fade.
I know you don't usually dance at these sort of things
but tonight you sway
and I wish I didn't notice these things
but it appears I do.
In your house, alone again, and you and him are fast asleep
so I guess I'll just leave...
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7. |
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8. |
Caved / Lonely
05:20
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9. |
Diatoms
03:24
|
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I jaywalk every chance I get 'cause someday I might get hit.
I've always been passive and if it doesn't happen at least I got around quickly.
I lean over the weir, fascinated by the fear of the force tearing me in half,
fantasize about going over in sailboat, Dreadnought, or life raft.
Don't like that fixation is the only path towards creations that I walk down these days.
Just get over it. Know that you're ahead and split your head from the melodramatica.
Spent 6 months imploding over the fact that I won't get a chance to completely screw your life up.
Why can't I quit? Why am I such a stupid idiot?
Why can't this be enough?
My friends are always tripping over the cracks in my foundation. Apotheosizing my issues is a full-time occupation.
The apothecary offers me something to help me focus
but I'm worried it'll make me further fixate on my bullshit.
I just want an opt-out clause.
My friends are always sinking from the cracks in my foundation -
if they did I'm almost certain they wouldn't be so goddamn patient.
I wish I were a diatom. I wish that I produced
something functional for other lifeforms to use.
Oxygen intake? You don't have me to thank.
My grandfather and uncle proficiently practice the
medical profession with the utmost precision.
One asks for scalpels, the other helps families
with all sorts of issues and hands out prescriptions and
despite what some might call a genetic disposition
to help save lives from all sorts of conditions
I am ready to die.
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10. |
Spotless Record
04:58
|
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|
Dimly lit attic. You tell me things aren't stagnant
but you've decided to open up the gates.
You're still together, it's now that just whoever
you want to be with is welcome to join the fray
but we both know that I'm a bad option.
We won't say it out-loud to keep our record
spotless.
My stomach's been sinking as long as she'd been singing
about the failures of Her family and Her friends
and I'm still thinking of scenarios; singling out
ones where she might have said, in code, "it's you"
but we both know that I'm a poor choice
as well as we both know the lyric that Her voice
carries.
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11. |
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I can tell that someday something good will eventually happen to me
but it wont be you. No shot of that. Bad things always seem to come in threes.
I've always been shit at chores. This specific mess is the worst.
My sun won't set because of Hers but it doesn't mean that this won't hurt
but the sooner I take the laceration the sooner I can start recovery.
I can tell that someday something good will eventually happen to me.
If I can ride this out I'll look for someone else's hollow embrace and company.
Maybe I can't fuck the pain away (my brain won't let me make that play.)
Your pockets have been home to me but being a stow-away won't solve anything
and I've been hiding in your carry-on for far too long. I need some reprieve
or just anything.
I can tell that someday something good will eventually happen to me.
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Knee Socks Saskatoon, Saskatchewan
Indie-Over-Analysis-Garage-Anxiety-Rock-Improv-Pop from SK,
Gabemin on Bass
Bradylad on
Percussion and Production
Decboy on Guitar and Vocals
Everyone on Occasional Synth
LP Interpersonal is out now!
... more
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