1. |
Blood Sea
05:03
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we were all born dunked in the blood sea, the chemical bath,
a couple hundred bubbles up on the glass
the funny smell of copper in the current is affecting the senses of all the
cellular submersible jellies up in a hurry
when a pulse from the deep end vertically aligns
all the critters into swimmers syncopated in time
because this has been a place, this has been a place,
this has been a place for change
I’m lost...
lost my appetite for chemies and light,
I got a taste for the....taste for the (oxygen)
laced with gas from the big mother bubble
suck in for the system out for the rest of them
now is a hell of a time to be an organism
born again of fission and fishin for other livin (things)
cuz this has been a place, (shifting out of phase)
this has been a place for change
member my yellow belly? now i got a backbone
I move it in a wave to send a sin back home
bend the feather spine and forget to remember why
because the gift of repetition is intrinsically mine
at surface level, the lumen appears, a curious sphere, a symbol of the aerial nears, my better
half better have a plan to gather the pieces that scattered the coast, marry them, capture the probe
land ho!__ belly on the shell bits,
rough on the stomach till the
plush of the fungus and the fern beds spread,
spread like a carpet bomb,
take ground cover where the wild things are
leave tracks in the sand and the mud,
treasure map path dotted out for the herons above
because this has been a place, this has been a place (or sampled dialogue)
this has been a place for change
2 feet planted in the earth, Illinois black gold
is the cradle and the hearse,
heat on my chest, spine in my back
river rock in my palm when the thought just snaps
and the sound that is made when a stone cracks stone
is forever engrained in the deepest part of my brain
because this has been a place, this has been a place,
this has been a place for change
this has been a place, systematically encased in a flux state
ripping matter into multiple configurations
shredding confetti until ribbon threads break down
into silly string mannequin manifestations
now break it down.
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2. |
Radial
02:35
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my body fills itself up, that water moves with the tides,
I don’t know if its the moon still pulling strings from the side,
or has the tension been cut a hundred thousand miles up
leaving a dang(a)ling thread for satellites to touch
the skin I'm in is younger than me
and it never felt the mother’s mother
or any number of cotton covers
hands callus and capture a couple days,
another chapter imprisoned in amber haze,
the thickened diligence (ah) filling the crevices,
them tidal nooks disappear and become the sea again
get it back
that sense of touch
that sense of touch
I let it go
I gotta let it go
I gotta gotta…
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3. |
Eastern Gray
03:37
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ever since the first breath, its just an intermission
in the mezzanine, pending till death
and I guess she knew it was a one way trip
digging pockets, little coffins, a profitable abyss
with possible repercussions, and consequence unaccounted for,
under the permafrost a bounty for the forest floor,
repetition, a clever little system, a canopy of
diligence concealing all the coping mechanisms
a treasure, a breast, a belly, a nest,
bury the cache, oak in the grass,
carry the burden of service to nourish the land,
a surplus of sustenance comes with a level of rubbish to balance the trash,
the perils of waste, preparing for days,
wearing the layers of skin to better the change,
to better the chance
organic camouflage captured on candid camera,
a lens of metal or mucus it doesn’t matter much,
a natural disaster is fabricated adjacent to the cicadas
concealing the little chatter box
last call coming, a giggle inside the hiss,
its a stereo sound of silence that covers the morning mist,
and the chorus of mourning thrushes that suddenly don’t persist,
all must hope for the miss
a treasure, a breast, a belly, a nest,
bury the cache, oak in the grass,
carry the burden of service to nourish the land,
a surplus of sustenance comes with a level of rubbish to balance the trash,
the perils of waste, preparing for days,
wearing the layers of skin to better the change,
to better the chance
all good things lay to rest,
entomb the treasure till better weather recesses into the west
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4. |
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5. |
Beds
03:38
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I used to lie in a bed of stripes,
flat like the plywood, fingertips and palms to the sky,
I used to find words in vinyl stars,
they were pressed into the ceiling by the hands that I no longer have,
I used to lie under a quilted bed,
canopied and windowless, t-shirt fabric burying bones
it was the room with the paper walls
so lovingly assembled by the hands that we no longer have
every seven years is a new set of cells, I heard that they cant come back back
every seven years is a new set of cells,
every seven years is a new set of cells, I heard that they cant come back back,
every seven years is a new set of cells,
I try to neatly fossilize every last bit of common ties,
but fibers fray when they’re stressed or just over-pressurized,
I doze under the deer, the saturn cycle nears,
ring around the coma, and suddenly neon lights appear,
cotton kamikaze insomniac south of 66,
I shot the sun with my .22 but i barely missed,
4 pillows facing east,
an extra gesture so my phantoms kindly rest in...
sing a sunken lullaby and kiss another year goodbye,
a third of every moment is delivered to the third eye,
waking on other side is measured by the number of the
quiet times we catalogued the touches of another spine
...peace
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6. |
Chemicals
03:02
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carry the canister and click it,
the pressure of the compressed air,
no fresh air comes with the messenger on this one
sender gets a refund,
a letter on the leg stem connected to the raven,
how does it sound on my body?
how does it sound on my red heart beat?
how does it sound on a piece of concrete?
thinking in a chemical, dressed (up) as a miracle,
pelican dive in the deep end, connect the dots,
red belly flop conceals the yellow spot,
shifting colors to confuse the hawk,
a simple game played by the chameleon skin
double dipped in the warm sink reservoir
Hotwheel color car, white hot hood cool trunk is the calling card,
yeah I remember the spending of endless summers
constructing the cardboard cockpit just for the fun of it,
toggle toggle switch, (throttle lift) copper conduit brings
artificial life to the horizon while i swallow spit,
what I created was the born baby beautiful
son of my left brain, daughter of the right brain,
mother of invention and the father of reflection,
see, I filter memories and flush out all the chaff
like a million little krill sifting through the gates of paradise,
made from husk, the mesh beard of baleen,
when the two touch, it sounds like the same thing,
how does it sound on my body?
how does it sound on my red heart beat?
how does it sound on a piece of concrete?
thinking in a chemical, dressed (up) as a miracle
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7. |
EVA
04:21
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air tight, barometric pressure levels are right,
my mini habitat is faster than the sound of a bite
forget the rare off chance that my off white suit
doesn’t operate properly or could suffer a wound
but I gotta have faith in my pelt, my polar bear skin,
embedded with levels of different chemicals nestled up in the filaments,
a fine fur capable filtering, sending all the
big solar flare rays back to the same vast
patch of the space that they came from,
past all the planets and the asteroid belts
where the belly of the beast swings in the dark felt,
filled with the bones of the pisces,
a black bear with the yellow dot stare
and a fixed few points on the invisible dome,
ursa in motion is a physical clone
of all the kodiaks and grizzlies on the surface below.
leaving the vehicle on the cusp,
a cub in the earth’s light
just a bare bone husk,
separating the cavity from the first strike
just a slow burn thrust, a subtle
adjustment to counter roll/pitch jumps,
and the shuttle umbilical isn’t tethered to nothin so I need
constant assurance from all the mothers that I trust,
the mother of a minor star, majored in astronomy,
mother that I once had, who protected me from dad,
his appetite a habit I could never understand,
I’ll blame it on the burden of consumption
or there was somethin in the salmon that created all the havoc,
all the magic in the meadows of the past,
all cast in an iron pot, fire and a lotta thought,
it’s not a miracle we’re here, it's just a common cause.
lessen the rate, a roll or a pulse
chambers in motion to counter the cold
enter the den, the hollow within
protection from chemistry, signals begin
above and below
a silence is known
the eye, alone, when looking up at night
is capable of seeing the station ripping the sky,
your eye, alone, when looking up at night
is capable of seeing the station ripping the sky,
an eye, alone, when looking up at night
is capable of seeing the station ripping the sky,
a bear, alone, when looking up at night
is capable of seeing the station ripping the sky,
summoning a signal from the last ones standing,
something in the system isn’t right,
17,500 in an hour still stands,
but it feels like I’m still not alive
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8. |
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9. |
Weddell
03:41
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coming of age, coat on my arms,
I feel, like Barbarella on the ground,
It’s been long hunk of months, not quite a year
thats a big enough chunk for the fur to feel fixed,
I’m alone in the day, we all alone in the night,
together, settle with the weather and the light,
only get a glimpse of Carina and the Hydras
I dress just fine, skin tight in fact,
for the sea to receive me (skin tight)
for the bite of the seasons
and the bite of the blackfish,
kill time till she finds my wake,
she breaks bread and my seal so the flesh can escape.
even though the first heart beat came to
in the red belly room, warm light brite
fire in the sky on the move,
shadows on the wall of the tomb
cast shapes on the lids of the pup in the blood cocoon,
it took a push from the shore waves,
never knew all the short days,
on the cusp of the crust where the air hole busts
like a crater in the moon dust, thats us,
that under-currency purposeful in its urgency,
below the curtain them urchins scratching the surface clean,
a purple beam, tangled inside a prism piece,
unfurl the banners, expand them to make the systems breathe,
(the 4 blues)
ice from the glacier,
blood from the inside,
light from the everlasting sun
and the gill shine
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10. |
Evaporate
03:42
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the rattle from the Sandhill spout,
an echo from the Miocene thunder clap,
it ripples and tears, eventually evaporates,
red blaze, a beacon in the density (a beacon in the density),
a single pulse in the glow of ochre memories,
the mass in haste, expands evaporates
these memories buried under centuries,
bound by bands of clay,
these memories buried under centuries,
the thermal lift, a cushion under feather tips,
Platte river, a sliver of a landing strip,
the thread bends and breaks,
each filament, a trigger for a millisec,
wove tight, the flock is simply deafening,
a static screen, a static sky,
we gotta flight, we gotta flight plan
we gotta flight plan filling the position of the missing man,
these memories buried under centuries,
bound by bands of clay,
these memories buried under centuries,
with a catalyst, the senses can unravel
and break,
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11. |
Ground (Interlude)
01:18
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was the tremor in the ground
leftover from the sound
that you made
sighing through two palms?
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12. |
Tremors
04:07
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cut bangs like prison bars, framing up a new face,
it’s just a new construction made up of old growth,
the fiber’s main production operates in slow mo
and all my memories suffer from all the chemistry
that governed all the seven and then some years
hat I’ve been setteling (in),
I wonder if the tip of the longest filament was along for the ride,
a follicle in infancy that witnessed all the crimes,
rooted in the youth and suited up in a thrift store budget
and covered both in a canopy disguise,
camouflage for the untrained eye,
distract ‘em to fabricate a new vision of invisible beings
that never seem to see each other cuz the fur above the brow
has grown long enough so it covers the blue (the blue),
I can only think in metaphor,
just to say it doesn’t cut it (ah),
its' a pillar and its cellophane,
like the weight of an aeroplane,
see the tremors in the ground were just echoes of all the sound waves
felt in the belt of the Orion and the equator caves
sourced from an origin of foreign soil,
they say it emanated somewhere down in Florida,
the recording that I got it's just a faint sigh,
we’re still developing in silver gelatin,
that salty surface that’s better at just remembering,
the grains embedded will never combine together
in any new combinations until they come face to face
with the flames of the final ritual,
pictures to paint a fictional funeral no procession
just bricks arranged in some exes that multiply all the senses
with burgundy skies and fences to witness the piles of paper
combust into consequences,
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Catching Confetti Chicago, Illinois
Catching Confetti is a music project by Chicagoan Matt Milkowski. His debut release Bear Hug explores the invisible threads and cycles that connect the natural world, memories, and spaceflight. The album pays special homage to 3 animals in particular: the sandhill crane, the eastern gray squirrel, and the Weddell seal. ... more
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