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house eulogy #115; fearsome scenes inside the old butterscotch mansion.

from Tortoiseshell Male in​.​.​. the Befuddling Mystery of the Moratorium by Tortoiseshell Male

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lyrics

walking lab complex:
a skin pouch of glands
the compulsion to converge
upon meeting point like wi-fi hotspot
the convulsion to emerge
as tasteless maybe over-opinionated
views change and flicker like the flames
and what white noise looks like
both of which light my breathing space when vitamin D is so receding
in the small patch of sky my misted window lets through
condensation dripping down eroding chipping flaking paint
and staining ceiling black
a lesson in error
did you really expect a thank you as the bearer of such bad news?
sitting in our stomachs uneasilly a distressed call
cut scenes limp across the finish line
the dribble of spittle on my pillow collects into a sticky pool
that carries with it the screaming sound of seagulls tearing clams from their shells
i wish i could be there to see you combust unspontanously
as regular as clockwork and as certain as death and taxes
i expect the expected like every today is much the same as the next
taking shelter from my obligations in a beached boat
no sand just stones make up our uncomfortably lumpy coastline
go and have a lie down and swallow this tablet
consorting with the average joe gets you nowhere slow
the scenic route this is your brain off drugs hatched
you're driving with your mind on autopilot
how were the pyramid schemes built?
entirely out of subservience and mousetrap wired with spiderweb
the permenant marker on my least hotrocked t-shirt
the inexpertly refastened
i'm waxlit again
i would rather waste your monopoly currency
on thin slices of more interesting peoples' lives than mine
it just flashed before my eyes
like a bad film reel flickering
on a stained projecter screen in assembly on non uniform day
and its highlights were few to say the least:
eat, smoke, drink, lie, fantasise, and sleep.

(or go back to the pillow like)

clock puncher silver bullet eating example of disqualification
the erroneous rites of passage lisp and limp onwards
lemmings best learn to swim in the spit of the unimpressed and most mangled
maybe impressionable the altar tapped discovered to be hollow wrong
snivelling and weeping willows and paper nailed to oak space filler
transfixed and single cell outwardly
i claim my masquerade facade is nothing more than a neverending set of russian hollow dolls
and paper lanterns
gaslit wash your hands and soldier onwards
you appear to be amounting to little more than a placid lack
evaporated bird influenza....
i'll take verbal constipation over verbal diaharrea
'you are here' sings the flashing neon arrow fit inducing above your head
marked on the map with a red cross, yes...
here be dragons like readapted foxes or moths
with the wings camouflaged into pollution marks stained on industrial estate walls
the fogs and thick smogs
the brick walls where curiousity shops
stood not yesterday, but the day before
forever and ever.

infinitely small speck of merciless ecosystem -
"he's a hypocrite but don't worry, because we all are!"
fingers and thumbs we are all fingers and thumbs
and they make the buttons more miniscule with every new version
but my extremities are still growing!
notify the network at once
it's a bit of a shock
for the chittering of insects that are too small to see
on this iridescent stairway following the left hand wall
it's a robot cleaning sewer
kicking the bucket upriver
the swamp, the streets both gloopy and glom
the sudden feeling of hard pavement
beneath stumbling feet
beneath mangled and elsewhere awareness

"what sort of person would do that?"
set a honeytrap for yourself or hide behind your fringe
as your heart sinks slowly into the stomach region
you don't know the way people talk round here
and send death threats through your door for overdoing the lighting
a little too much of the festivities earns you an RIP
in an envelope with no return address
"but i'm not dead! surely i would have noticed?"
the phone rings with it's usual sense of impending etc....
losing your virginity to who turned out to be a long lost sibling
only ever happens on the television, right?

in a few years everyone will have chlamydia
and maybe overpopulation will be compensated for naturally
rather than by surely inevitable intervention by inbred authority figures & bishops robed
my houseboat has sunk...
hazard
haggard
sopping wet
pressing foreign objects into your flesh
which form warts like frogspawn
and make new and even more malformed flaws in your old beauty.
looking to the hoodied merman at the not much help desk
or the door to door mormon will not be much help, yes
complicity is the big brother of invention
which must make me disaster's second cousin
a butcher among bakers who count superstitiously
outdated candlemakers replaced with a sparky
crafting outlandish implements from copper wire
you'll rue this day -
i wouldn't piss on myself if i was on fire or stung by a jellyfish
i'd just grin and bare it like filed down teeth.
saint augustine swept leaves and stole letters from shop signs.
the fringe over dog eyes obscuring its view.
we breed them for weaknesses that would render them helpless if ever released into the wild.
they struggle to breathe as they run on stumpy legs too short
and you can't even outrun an arrow like it was deduced a tortoise could....

credits

from Tortoiseshell Male in​.​.​. the Befuddling Mystery of the Moratorium, released November 5, 2008
Josef Motley - vocals, loops, samples
Mister Ostritch - sampled guitar
the renowned Yasson - sampled beatbox
background noise courtesy of the Fawcett Inn.

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