If you’re in a dark room, crammed up with colorful antibiotic pills and the only access to the outside world is either a broken down CD player or a cassette player that blurts out tapes in high speed, do not listen to this album.
Nothing beats personal experience. Especially the ugly ones
All set
Here nothing
Power is obsolete
We are all dogs
Situations are cracking
I am
Climbing
Up the
Walls
Somehow it was all tied up with a story he’d heard once, about a boy born with a golden screw where his navel should have been. For twenty years he consults doctors and specialists all over the world, trying to get rid of this screw, and having no success. More
You open your eyes and break them.
You make it thirty seconds late and the first drop of liquid skids down your pants.
You don’t move
You want the repugnant smell of perfume to scratch itself off the bed sheet
You think that water makes no sense. It only cleans skin
Your insides stink of nightmares. Your face stinks of stupid ness
More
Again and again through the day
I meet a cat.
In the tree’s shade, in the sun, in the crowding brown leaves.
After the success of a few fish bones
Or inside a skeleton of white earth
I find it, as absorbed in the purring
Of its heart as a bee.
Still it sharpens its claws on the gulmohar tree
And follows the sun all day long.
