we'll leave the light on for you, valiant thor...

look to the sky. funny it never seemed so clear. it's a scary thought seeing as far as the eye can see for me. the look in your eyes, funny i've never seen such blue. your helping hand just holds currencies. is this food or do i wipe my ass with it? i'm not that hungry and i do not need to shit. Your checking out or cashing in on who's nation? one step ahead are those who make reservations.

surface/ tension

holding hands across a table. as close as this, we never really touch. i just thought of something. why are we whispering? holding talks about food and walks and fuck this shit. if these are talks why do i have to scream. holding hands isn't far enough even though we never really touch. beam me away from the surface. even though it doesn't hurt that much. Even though we never really touch. Beam me away from the surface. It's turn to piss and shit and politics. get me away from this place, is it here or you or me? I've seen the light. it was yellow then red. now i just want to go back to the beginning. Your eyes are blue and numb. my ass is fast asleep. My thoughts are parsecs away, and i can't talk for whispering with a mouth must cry to speak softly. The light turns green. The light I see is as fast as you. It emanates your feelings. i know I'm I'm selfish. I'm no longer touched. i know the indian burn and i know it hurts like fuck.

bratpack quality

wake up. good afternoon, dick. The eighties were a great place to visit, but... well.. just do the math on the breezeway with the bleacher creatures. The just say no nostalgia... i'll take a hit to the institution that you think is coolest and fucking burn it with the patches that you flag on your backpack. they look half mast ten years remover from roland grise. tired like the quality i had seen on tv in amy henry's eyes. i had a life to live in eighth periods and she had a laugh. too scared to kiss. she had a kid. we need some recess. I'm out. Your it. ten years too fucking late.

this song is...

some other space some other time. uncharted space in the back of my mind. unfriendly feregi capitalistic ways. hey, i can't until saturday. now you just wait a minute , jim. I'm doctor damn it, not a punk rocker. go on for days about space, waves, and time. space on the couch that i see is mine. green blooded half breed. The thin air makes the blood boil.

happy new year

hey mom, you look peculiar through the puddles. a photograph though silt, and distortion. framed in sand and concrete with the hope tree wrestling the overcast conditions. i want to walk against the elements, and shield the puddles until reflections make sense, and curse the rain for taking them away from me again. mary... there are not enough words in the earth. let's walk on flowers for what the represent. Hey, paul... i think i predicted this dynamic, and at the bottom it's to easy to reflect on shit you should have said. and if we climb to things that seem a little clipped, it's just another leap year. pitches and troughs are where regrets are made.

pray for gravity

you better cry. you better pray; for the gravity that holds down rebellion is essential to your survival. You better pry. You better nail. when the niches are chipped from the horizon you might just float away. you'll read the sighs. "push" forward , "kick me" behind, beneath "zero g". this weight makes me mean the generations of new improved originals. You know I've played missionary games until I'm green in the face, kids. yea that's derogatory with a capital k. let's groom the static vacuum landscape with water on the knee. crawl through new dialogue with our digits in our dust swept cavities. words are pointless here with a breathe of empty air limping in a horizon less frontier. tears erode my exclamation to holes in rows with hopes that we germinate.

pollyanna

star struck i got stuck in a hole of my own metaphysics. i couldn't hold down antidote because i grew sick from being cynic. mad at you for smiling back as if i had been bitten by the tenderness. that numb friendly feeling again is like a proboscis just sucking. maybe it's good i think to lose the reasons to hate you for not being mad. insignificance keeps me from feeding this prey. I'm realizing that I've long cut the teeth for fighting.

escape paleopolis (run on life sentence)

happy as a camper in the town and this house so long I've forgotten about reckless philosophies in a song that said the future is coming much to slow now that i have a license and a permit to drive to work drunk in a few hours so i better get to sleep and dream of weekend sobriety as i watch the same people through the glass in the bar from the sidewalk with a broken record and wrinkled hands i wonder what would have happened to the if we switched numbers an drank a few downtown a few years ago when there as too many of us here to choose from so i stayed home alone with a conduct code pressed like a record skipping for fear of an ethic on the face of a stranger alone seen reflecting disgust to green haired starry eyed dreamers going gray. smoking coffee with cigars by my self on a new bench again burning bridges downtown feeling cold thoughts come on about possibility and paradox in a life fail to pass as hard on those still around get mood swings around to pen pals who once lived by the beach and the pines and saw discontent left behind like a stranger in yellow dust scribblings on a windshield that I've seen this town through developments and complexes in wood failed to pass as hard to Paul and i when a bottle rocket flew and almost burned it down so we emptied our pockets and spent our jackets on flames beaten out as if days matter now to our house surrounded by years of sentiment and yellow sediment on everything i clean own love and am afraid to leave. The dirty old man i see as a coward is sitting in a red light at three am blasting boston waiting for permission to go to work tired in a few hours or wired sleep on smoke smelling sheets and a shower in rusty water gets rid of the wash me haunting me through the rear view mirror the cape fear river leaves me so far behind someone never seen but know. i should have never sang don't look back so late.

lunch box revolutionaries

hey, what's your god damned name again? just forget it i forgot it while screaming in your ear when you were doing the cute familiar gig. such big fans we were. blowing the world away. off with flyers of information scribbled on hands with inspiration and haste. written in minutes with memory erased. washed off and thrown way with the paper bag erratic type writer nonsense. i took your picture because a thief's not good with names or how blue bars look on paper. When I'm angry and middle class you're crowned miss understanding. driven off to war somewhere near the lunch box revolution so I'll write letters closer to your berets. watch precise silver hammers and black tidy ribbons tap away on antique singers. beat like desk tops. thrown in holes like treasure chests. create a legible name not easily beat. a legible name to easy to regret forgetting to write.

seneca canons

no stop watch could hold time long enough. no bike path away from what's in store off shore. or a critical mass between this place and the wave face that saw i 40 west just head due north where evacuation routes lied to illiterates on tours in empty tanks in the battle ship. They pointed a safe way to exhaust and congested wits swept away by a girl named hurricane. 10 u.s.s. dollars saw portholes of paint. stuck in the mud so it wasn't sinking. their canons were no match for the seneca guns. They were filled with concrete and outdated aims. The confederate armies artillery was oxidized. The bars just bent in the barnacles hold. Their stars burnt out in the wind of gods breath. their heritage eroded in the surging storm. king kong went to pieces after post production. The crow ate led paint on the silver screen. gene montley saw the heroes from the sidelines in the battle of the planets in the county seat. godzilla wasn't paying a ferry toll. rodan didn't give a shit about historic brick. ghidora took the d an o a t and at it. rodak laughed at the deadlock in atlantis. The tsunami washed away initial culture shock that flooded with fear the ignition sparked and stalled at the base of the fallen arc of friends swept away by a girl named hurricane.

left handed (tonka)

make a crater

it's safe to say that I'm burnt the fuck out. It's not you, it's just dust flaming. blame dense atmosphere. skipped along and created sparks and flames until i couldn't hold your hot hands. We broke up cold above the stratosphere. Ten thousand year from now people will flock from miles around to stand at the edge of this mess we made. And you will have forgotten about me. they'll charge admission. we'll jump the gates, steal souvenirs, and carry rocks away. It's not because our pockets are empty. still searching under the shower for dirty currencies fallen to earth with hands with high hopes and hearts with thick lenses. i'll start a tab at the hole in the fence. it got dark at the end of the line with a neck sore for second chances. did you see that? it happened so fast. that was fucking great. then it ended. i guess it didn't land, but if there's anything left i wonder were it hit so i can find it again.

roachkillaz

i can't wait to kick out of this shoot. the bars don't breath and the spurs are bleeding. bleachers and buzzards rob the desert of view then steal the waters that were running away. sickly buzzers and bells are crying. implying i should stop going on living. The clowns are funnier stabbed and cowboys much cooler crushed with their culture. when the dust settles here there will be none left standing. I'll take it to the stands to dance on the heads until the masses have been steered of their uncultured cheers. my way of dancing has a pain in the ass. i have quite a few steps to show spectating man that this asshole knows shit when he steps in stampedes. if you wan to dance come and get it. The parched hearts of vultures are fixed. they sway in the wind and sun without patience. those eyes are beating in my back like beams. They radiate the living with caustic intent. it's sad to think that the sun wants you dead when you're the only voice lying for miles at the sand. sarah has the only gray eyes crying for miles ahead. It's not the sun that's burning your ears. It's nice to know your name crossed lips way back home. The subject of speech that's slurred is smiling. It laughs at the accent and jokes with spit. If you're thirsty come and get it.

summertide

the highway home is serpentine with fruits and labors that carry death. The summer smells bovine where the blue bottles repel the lightning bug strikes. swine never lingers long enough to fly to see it's weak levy fall to the riverside. we wade and bathe against red tide until we smell like summertime. tobacco is sweet in our lips and mouths with yellow teeth smiles and black lung sighs. dig a cavity deep enough for little time. a shallow room for smoke and dirt to fill. push peat aside for coffin nails in a grave sealed with tar for winter time. We boil and ferment the chap lipped mash. It cracks and bleeds and burns the inside. pain makes me smile for duplin wine. i pick the scabs and vines of the carolines. farmers launder their shit in sties. washed in currents against their creaking spines. under weight of feathers and tar pitched from pines bath their guilty spirits in burning turpentine.

march against october

pail skin and porcelain teeth are not eluding me. They shine like a beacon in the shade at midnight. security was left in your chat room to parade a new darkened hue, but i think my smile is sharper than yours this evening. you better watch out for me. i'm a member of the fvk. i borrowed a few words for a eulogy to better remember you by. your reflection was there when you put on your make up to play. presentable now for the massacred this evening where i invited your jesuit friends to waltz in october. i started a march. i started a fire. a book burning party on route to the trial. bring king james. bring and rice. They'll keep you warm while living forever. spit the blood of virgins. spike the blood of christ. They made you stager too close to the fire. tried by cross, convicted by steak. sentenced in flames by november.

what you gave me

prepackaged pieces shrink wrapped. foil paper tied with twine and taped. When you were out cold i peaked into the hidden places where you kept the warm place inside me. contracted a smile like a decease. i had ants in the pants and got cooties for christmas. When i turned "punk", and withered faces still shined around me.

don't change (inxs)

chris murray: drums, guitars, bass, vocals, alarm clock, romulan warbird.

tracks 1-5 is the "vs. the predictability of dynamics" demo recorded in june of 96. track 6 was recorded on a 4 track in 97. tracks 7-12 is the "vs. gravity" 7"/ session recorded in july of 97. tracks 13-20 was recorded in december of 97. all tracks recorded at baby ace studio in wilmington, nc by seth moody.