1. |
A Ninja, A DJ
03:16
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i heard his music playing in pussytown
it was those boom boom chack a pitchack a chack boys
with the wonderful noise
the glorious noise
distant and static
and silently erratic
out of every home and coffeehouse attic
i was three years late in hearing the news
that his spirit left us on the notes of his english blues
i felt him over us like a cloud
he felt cold and distant but his heart was loud
he was a ninja
he was a DJ
he was so loving
and that was not a mistake
he was a ninja
he was a DJ
he was so loving
and that was not a mistake
oh what a maverick
oh what a tunesmith
he struck the amen break
like a blacksmith
he was our very sad english friend
feel his dances sung to know theres no end
some are just never born to smile
they just feel other things and never know why
sometimes its worse than having it stolen
cause you never once had the damn thing to steal
other faces become these places
and other things become your meals
agnes varda would have known a thing or two
maybe even put this good man in a film or a few
just people talking, old ladies and their inner worlds
and the english friend, drawing his door
he was a ninja
he was a DJ
he was so loving
and that was not a mistake
he was a ninja
he was a DJ
he was so loving
and that was not a mistake
oh what a maverick
oh what a tunesmith
he struck the amen break
like a blacksmith
i regret to say i was three years late
when the news arrived on paperlate
now we dance and shake our chain bells
and play our rusty accordions for him
i catch myself in his beautiful noise
and i find that i see myself changing to match
the image of his impeccable taste in women
maybe
they seemed to be of all the same mist
they matched his songs, dances, grooves
they shared his humor and wit and presence
i could never match the same candescent
breathing and careening
through the weary weaving
like the paint of A Thousand Li
and in all his ninja ways and his DJ skates
the love he put out was fully no mistake
he loved in full and we loved him back
he loved in full and we loved him back
and we loved him back
and we loved him back
and i heard his music playing in pussytown
the beautiful noise
the boom chack boys
he was my very sad english friend
feel his dances sung to know theres no end
he was my very sad english friend
feel his dances sung to know theres no end
a DJ, a ninja
with love
for the mistakes
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2. |
The Short of It
02:48
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so heres the short of it
when you said that i had to be babied
you were correct on it
somehow i had lived this long
a pile of atoms
no different
than when i was conceived
the first thing
that they ever did
to depersonalize me
was take myself
just my self
and bury it somewhere
i would never look
they force unfed my body empty
as blank as a picture book
i had needs
what were needs
what were interests
what were things
they were whatever folks older than me
would dictate into being
this is the short of it
whenever you told me to do or be some thing
i would listen
to the best of my limited understanding
i still didnt really know
how to move my face
how to shape my voice
how to scrub my brain clean
i replaced my old mechanics
and ran me like a new machine
straight in the thick of it
many times i came out factory new
i would never brick at it
until i did
til i stuck and jammed and blunted back to a
hollow heavy object
and tried to forget
and tried to erase
to press delete and clear
to reformat to disappear
i tried so very hard to prevent myself to write on it
but it just wrote on its own
the pen picked itself up and boom
70 pages
ramblings
endless conversations
between the pen and the page
the master and mage
a young and old age
the parsley and sage
in the short of it
i lived most of my life
in other ppls mouths
this was by design
it first was verbally, then literally
just to stay inside
to stay not melting in the heat
i melted into their FEET
thats the short of it
heres the short of it
i was a little baby drone
but you didnt know it
how could you
i sure didnt
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3. |
Women of Many Shades
02:29
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we are woman of many shades
we float like mushrooms through the storm haze
we always arrive in the dead of spring
the dead of summer
the end of the fall
we always appear like we can be all and we can be all but its not our call
everybody has their unique impressions
a demon of sand, a murder of seagulls
a hive of tentacles that leap all around you
the flora the fauna of a thieves arboretum
we are women of many shades
we twist our parasols into lemon blades
we teach in aerosol markings
we steep in our external uploadings
upon soil and sandstone
okay
everybodys got a bone to pick on me
and to pick with me also but you get the idea
there is mothers might in biting like termites
through walnut trees who use their feet
to murder in hiding
and never think you know the last side of us
the woman you met before is not the woman that stands before you
sure i wear the dress that she wore before me
it even smells like me
down to the brand of pussy powder
But
just when you think you’ve counted all a rainbows colors
theres an earwig that learns to talk and
whispers hey theres seventy more
and we
gain as much in our own sense of discovery
of these eyes inside us
of the orchestra that plays our song
just like in real life the players retire
theyre replaced with new talent
and the mix of tones gets that much more bright
everybody has their unique impressions
a demon of sand, a murder of seagulls
a hive of tentacles that leap all around you
the flora the fauna of a thieves arboretum
everybodys got a bone to pick on me
and to pick with me also but you get the idea
there is mothers might in biting like termites
through walnut trees who use their feet
to murder in hiding
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4. |
Dream Record 89
01:23
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i stumbled into a secret and affluent community of ppl living together who were all able to freely explore kink together.
it was very colorful, the buildings were all pastel colored and almost everyone there were furries and scalies of various colors and species. the central building had a large homestyle cafe taking up most of the first floor and the upper floors were all part of the indoor community center and bigger residential areas. i did find one person there who shared the kinks i was into (you dont get to know what they are) and fell deeply for them, but i was forced to leave because i was supposed to be on a lord of the rings type quest and my fellowship arrived to fetch me, navigating their strange surroundings in a comical fashion, but i promised my eventual return, pledging my heart to them.
i also learned that this community was routinely harrassed and intimidated by a hostile gang of lion furries riding horses. or maybe horse furries. they were very scary but also rightly majestic in their own way. another part of the dream was seeing the jungle book playing (bc anthropomorphic animals) except baloo was shifting in between his bear form and a never before seen human form, the animation and voice lines were used in multiple scenes. i would start singing outloud whenever he went WELL ITS A DOOBIDY DOO, YES ITS A DOOBIDY DOO and being told to shut up by several people because i was so loud, so i became really shy and withdrawn again, just like when i was young
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5. |
A Cicada Dance
03:47
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a cicada dance
a coreograph of rubbing legs against you
and feeling a sturdy back against my hips
one has the silent laugh
the other has a cackle so loud
it turns the roses purple and black
one has a kissable spine
and pelvic lines most sensitive
to a practiced pair of loving fingers
a growing tower of cocoons we shed
and buried under our bed
new hair and flesh and
fabrics worn and bled in sun
intent to stun
and make carrion
or new converts of everyone
lets take this old airplane hanger and
fill it with old furniture
and mattresses and cloth and blankets
then invite queer bodies all
a cicada dance
a glorious swarm
where moths can find new light and warmth
in all the cricket sounds now born
we overtake this base
our flesh abounds around the place
with wax and paint and streamer embrace
oh what a chorus
this grove of grass weve made for ourselves
the twilight chatter really sells it
the song and dance
the screams the lights from newly opened firefly eyes
oh the lovely hymns
the love i feel for her and them and him
no words no words no words no words
just lovely lovely lovely sin
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6. |
Every Legendary Blade
03:18
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ive lived 4000 years and im still scared of the dark
ive lived 4000 years and i still
light my candle like a spark
i am the scrybe of the dead
i am the fabled bladetaker
i wear a mask of bone
and pull from very warring stone
every legendary blade
every relic of the slain
wipe rusty needles off every body
plunder armor it leaves behind
all of these weapons date from days of magic
some look so ancient but make us look far behind
all the nightmarish phantoms that i have faced
and have fought and triumphed and spoils won
all of my victories
and my legends
all of the names i go by
cut in the trees and the sky
and im still scared
i am the face of fear
to villages i wander near
some cultures know me as the devil
and a dybbuk and a spectral steer
but only children must have wondered
what the weakness of the one who never seems to be weak must be
although i take the appearance of the wandering dead
it is the wandering dead that still haunts me
and so i stand like a scarecrow over human remains
over the triggers of a past and foretellings of futures
only my crucifix stays rooted within them
keeping me suspended in the eternal present
it is the fable of a knight in sisyphus like chains
warding away unearthly powers
with the flaming writing of Sutter Cane
this is the way of the fabled bladetaker
in my mask of bone
and drawing from my many tomes
every legendary blade
every relic of the slain
wipe rusty needles off of every body
to plunder the armor it leaves behind
all of these weapons date from days of magic
some look so ancient but make us look far behind
all the nightmarish phantoms that i have faced
and have fought and triumphed and spoils won
all of my victories
and my legends
all of the names i go by
cut in the trees and the sky
and im still scared
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7. |
We Prowl On Furious Feet
06:05
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we prowl
in droplets
of sunflower grass
welded paws to the wall
and up and over contortions
retractions alley fat cat race
if our food will fly south then
with our legs we will fly north to
change our feeding to terra fauna
roughly equal our size or less
but if needed we swarm like lions on an unguarded giant
we survey this whole island we
grow ourselves morose and fangled
furious feet
furious feet
we run our furious feet across water
we always land on the sand
we prowl
breathe in deep and feel that lovely croaking heave with every organ
shifting like mud in a bag
with every movement
of this hip ive grown
inching our way by feet by feet
springing off by boat way round the bend of puget sound
taking and living the calvin dream of yukon ho
furious feet
furious feet
we run our furious feet across water
we always land on the sand
we grow very sharp
and grow very long
and our brains they get so wicked
in robbing the worlds kong
your sun cannot cut through the
willows that knot through the sky y y y y
we prowl
wrestling in bogs
with hung alligator men
opened like logs
hands cuffed to the table
casts in a line into the inversion
no lure and no fly only limb by limb by limb
flash of an innocent
camera is your only eye
it all hits me and then i know
it destroys me with just one blow
blink and miss the bedroom youre in
tinseltown in drowned twinkle lights
smoldering in this swamp and this
musky hair; the queer debonair
furious is the feet and the claws
and all the fours we run on
out of the trees and into the street
blasting up the road and concrete
every car and truck demolished
replaced with the dirt roads return
tinseltown is now tinselwood
ruffians and lone strangers could
make a very strong comeback
and hole up in their new posse shacks
made out of massive fender stacks
and other forsaken junk that we
take back and mold into
our junkyard paradise no curfew
all the effort into reviving the life
in our soul and mind
reborn into trash so we can die into the same trash and recycled into new tools of love keepsakes and mementos of love
keep my wishbone
in one piece
and give it to that
whom is
closest to me
so they can
wear it in a necklace
in returning to the sea
your sun cannot cut through the
willows that knot through the sky y y y y
we prowl
we paddle
we grow dorsal limbs
rays
refract
through
the seaweed
rays refract through the seaweed
as all returns to the rusty green
that was once the entire sea
in the maritime legends of old
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8. |
Allowed To Forget
03:28
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you were allowed to forget and i was not
allowed to forget and i was not
allowed to life a life of peace of mind
finally you could forget about me
and everyone else who were as big of creeps
whether intentionally or not
it may or may not surprise you to know
that i have been fighting to forget too
fighting for my own sense of closure
and there was a point i almost got there
years ago i almost got there
i almost remembered feeling happy
but you had friends, powerful
powerful friends. and they
seemed dedicated to protect you
to enact some personal avengeance
they said themselves that you deserved to
rest and forget for living peaceful
but i must be punished i must be nailed
straight to the wall and then reminded that i
would never change, that i could never change
could never prove anything to them so
cast me out, cast me out now
i will not tell beyond those who know
and years later we uncovered
the texts, the flaming litanies
walls and walls all about me
as antichristlike and other things
i was advised not to read them
i wisely abstained, id likely bleed from them
those who did see it were horrified
greatly appalled at what was once routine
and regular practice
i was a target of this practice
i was once a target of a widespread tarring and feathering practice
now id never know internal peace
for being undercooked around the wrong person
i would always have to wonder what and who is boiling out of view
and wonder if the coded messages and tone of voice that i was sent
was really a threat of death
but who did i fail? and how did i
seems like i was always just a
egg that still had yet to hatch
and i was judged for my fucking shell
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9. |
Still Untitled
02:38
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on floors of hardwood
on lush pairs of persian rugs
in mid november
with agave scented candles burning
lays I within a pillowy bushel of
comforter quilts in stockings and large shirts
with loving arms and whispers binding me motionless
and i breathe
and i empty
and i dont think
and i dont be at all
old video games are played
from that great golden 90s age
ive gotten better over progressive
yearly made attempting
suspicious money
hidden in these valley hills
struck by the lightning
of several homemade meals and i
am well fed
i am well fed
limited company
in spare rooms where i hide myself
low stimulation
to concentrate and really talk so
deeply
with whom i find myself tightly
tangled
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10. |
Jin-Drip
05:39
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jin jin jin jin jin jin jin jin
jin jin jin jin jin jin jin jin
(rhythm device)
conjunct to my sun
yr venus in aries
conjunct to yr sun
my venus in pisces
conjunct to my moon
yr cancer rising
too many trines to
count between us
(repeat in cycles)
sextile between sun and moon
a whole wall of virgo from mars thru saturn
in opposition to my venus
and in opposition to yr sun
(also repeat in cycles, interweaving with above)
jin jin jin jin jin jin jin jin
jin jin jin jin jin jin jin jin
how do i write
in a way that’s legible
how do i write
in a way that feels original
how do i think
when i become the ink that the pen was holding
nothing but a drip drip
nothing but a drip trip
skipping on the record in my lips
you really like my hips
wow
and my spine is powerful
have a long discussion about kundalini
and yr down on me
right here
on the beach
okay
making a bunch of recursions
i just get stuck in yr car
stuck in yr mouth
which one was mine again
are they both mine
are they both yrs too
damn you get rough
damn
damn
damn
ive never been so adult about this
never been allowed to be this feral
never been anybodys window
never been a push on the cushion away
never felt touch as old and tender as wood on the newest sapling
never been held so firm never murmured quite like i do when i hum with you
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11. |
Dream Record 812
01:39
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i was always on trains
travelling seemingly at night, always
it was a mixture of the transit trains of portland and the amtrak with some sort of art deco romantic sheen cast over it. the sleeping rooms were massive. actual full size bedrooms stuck on the train. my parents were there, until they werent, and were actually just another random couple. and then, a whole horde of naked trans men boarded the train, with a few cis ones mixed among them even. they were muscular, lean, thin, fat, black, brown, white, all colors of hair, all styles of hair, and all very, very handsome. i couldnt take my eyes off them. i tried to be very coy and nonchalant about the attention i was giving them. they were kissing every other trans masc they encountered on the train. one of them apparently noticed me, and how red in the face i was, he spoke to me in this beautiful smoky voice, asking if he could kiss me too. i said yeah, about to faint. we shared the most deep, passionate kiss, and i felt myself levitate. traces of the black hair that filled his head ran themselves all the way down and i just stared, as he and his entourage walked their way into the next car. what a face melting parade of ass that graced my presence. while everyone else was aghast and outrage, i had died and gone to queer heaven. i wish i never had to wake up from dreams like these.
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12. |
The Neon Ancient
04:34
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i could have seen so much more
couldve been exposed to much more
frightened beyond my young wits
seen other types of abyss
i could have been older born
seen things thru lens i was deemed too young for
shown complete galaxies of mood and mind
and the one i was destined to find
lines and leaves and strokes in the songs
sung by old masters in earlier tongues
sentiments shared, pathologies known
patterns and feelings never overgrown
i could have seen greater gems
from when they were first uncovered then
hypnotized in their refracted light
irrevoked, erudite
i could have seen every paint and planet
and place all invented in yesterday
all to give life and make one want to stay
immersed in its silver lakes
perched in marble tower rooms
almost reaching the underside of clouds
the art is mesmerizing and strange
centuries in technique ahead of its day
the neon carvings of ancient life
clear massive disks full of runes they would write
underground forests encompassed in stars
worshippers sing around urns and jars
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13. |
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a world was opened up to me
and i set fire to it all
so gleeful and maniacal
i tore through every broken street
every rib of this cage i was climbing
i fell back on the organs like a water mattress
wearing cleats and acupuncture quills
stuck in all the wrong spots
except for where i actually hurt
did the conversations end
ive had to stop saying your name
and hope it falls out of my pocket
and yet theres still words that get exchanged
about absolutely nothing
i dont ever receive replies anymore
so i may as well be talking to a cut out
or just a brick wall with not a spot of graffiti
i look and you no longer have a face
i listen and you no longer have a voice
did the conversations end
you were so vulnerable
when you were trusting
how could i be like this
a child in a grown ups only space
all my dreams are all about other things now
thank god
the ghost of you has barely any shape now
as well
just an eroded body print
upon the clay of the earth covered in tire tracks of ATVs
of the boys in my dreams
i am boy crazy now at almost 30
some times your music plays in pussytown
and i just grimace and keep reading my book
but once in a while
ill turn a dial
on my modified pocket radio
and slow it down from a 160 to a cool 102
and i hear the words come though
of someone say something about being somebody
to a sunshine girl
at least thats what i hear
and i think about how we both became someone
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14. |
In Every Pussytown Cafe
04:24
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Dani Lee Pearce Denver, Colorado
nb trans songwriter orignally from the west coast
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