by Coin locker kid

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A way a lone a last a loved a long the


released November 2, 2015

Prodiction and leerics and locals by the Coin locker kid.
Additional locales by Ballerine Nadiya.
Trick 7 simples "I Like You" "I Wouldn't Laugh @ You" and "3AM Nightgown Walks" by Ballerine Nadiya. Treek 12 sumpals "Claire's Mittens" by Ballerine Nadiya.
Base guitar on trick 4 and drumb seemples on tract 7 by Domonique Ellis.
Gettar on track 5 by Matthew Epstein. Conditional gutter off tread 5 by James Morris.
Guitar on track 6 by Vlad Opara.
Guitar on track 8 by Daniel J. W!shington.

Reduced on a Roland SP-555 Sampler and a BR-1200. Partly wrought on a Moogfest Teenage Engineering drum mashine prototype thing generously lent to me by Adam Chelton, a Realistic Concertmate 450, some FL Studio, and an old organ thing.

O very spellshell thinks to Ballerine Nadiya for everythought and the moon.

Deadicated to my mudder. Tollollall.



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Track Name: Everyone's house in dream colour.
Kill the color.
Black and white
will do for now.
Black and white.

Seal the letter.
Red and black.

my favorite way to be.

You'll care then.
You will.


Will it come in silver?
Just a little sliver...
just a little blue.
I'ma follow you.
Has it been a fortnight?
Close it is to midnight...

Paint the body red.
Colors in my head.
Track Name: Let's be friends.
You been looking at your swollen ankles
with your feet out first.
And didn't rewind.
And didn't rehearse.

You been looking at your curling toenails
with your legs bent back.
And couldn't recline.
And couldn't relax.

Life is special with you.
Let's be friends.
Track Name: Glass splinters.
Will you give me what I want and more?
If you won't then what'd you come here for?
If you've come to open up my eyes, I'm
not a fan of any big surprises, nor
will I love.
I remember when you first recorded me
in the bed and I became your slave.
Warm, cold pizza in your microwave,

I was five and you were six.
Riding horses made of sticks.
You were in the schoolyard
showing everybody tricks.
Was it blows or was it licks?
Was it broken? Was it fixed?
Was it bleeding through the nose?
Or was it boarded up with bricks?

And you said to me,
"Been so long you seemed dead to me."
I spoke with you in my memory.
I saved the letters you'd send to me, whilst

You will receive what you've earned.
The radiation will turn.
Will you melt or will you burn?
Drinking drop from torn IV.

Track Name: Kids in the woods.
That's a real dead doe.
I thought you oughta know...
but you wouldn't let me go,
and the twigs below in the grass that grows
in between our toes
will snap like bones in a dislocated shoulder
of the woman back home
in the bed.
It was known, but instead you have shown me the dead
and you said that we're never alone.

On the planet there's a spirit.
You can feel it in the woods.

Kids in the woods. Kids in the woods.
We're just human kids in the woods.

It's a dying squirrel.
Crooked fingers make it uncurl.
Here's a lunchbox, death, and a boy, and a girl
and it feels we're the only ones left in the world.
I'm strapped to a bed; I hurl.
Handful of pills like the pearls on a necklace.
The insides of an oyster.

the bipedals'll talk about nothing.
They twist metal and think that it's something!
The branches form a sort of a smile,
but here you don't need a Gameboy.

Kids in the woods. Kids in the woods.
We're just human kids in the woods.

For a minute there I lost myself!
Track Name: Adventures in babysitting.
I found you in bandages
whilst defecating on one knee.
Babies cry and crazies die
in memory and surgery.
You sought a place where all was found -
(Nothingness is hollow where we leak imagination.)
infinite light-years overground.
(Fallen bodies cascading in endless misadventures.)
I politely ask,
"Do you know the time of day?"
Something in our past
tells you all I wanna say.
You sought a place where up was down -
(Everyone is wired, lifeless, from station to station.)
reading tea leaves underground.
(Fallen bodies cascading in endless misadventures.)
easy above.
Easy in death.
Strangle what's left.
Seek what you sought.
Reap what you sew.
Eat what you know.
Bile and dog food,
worms that glow
within a place where love's abound.
(Everything is dying in perpetual vacation.)
Kill the color, kill the sound.
(Fallen bodies cascading in endless misadventures.)
Track Name: T gondii.
I confide in anything.
Stranger laying next to me
says he can't believe, but
I've got something up my sleeve.

Trying not to breathe.
(I admire your resolve.)
and uninvolved.
It just needed to be.
Problem solved.
Track Name: Oh, perispomenon!
--It really is grotty being gritty.
--The dirt and the mud. It’s all so much fun until it isn’t and you’re sunk. Nobody can come dig up the bones, they burrow way deep down past squeaky squawking whispering whistlers and turn up somewhere just above the devil and his company lodged and stuck between a pebble and a stone. Now all you’ve got is grot and you’re in want of a spine.
--I feel somewhat removed from my spine these days. And my membrane has melted.
--You're as slippery as a glass slipper now, I can smell it. Sometimes a duck just isn't a duck.
--I'm out of water.
--Who gives a fuck?
--Well. It’s so nice to see you again. At some point I just sorta figured you had vanished from everything. That’s what it seemed like at any rate. Your letters stopped coming and I just kept writing and writing and it began to feel as if I was writing to someone else. Like you slipped out of your skin and some skeleton from a crypt somewhere put your face on and muscled its own ideologies out of your mouth.
--Why, but such nonsense coming from the likes of you! You were the one that stopped writing, silly goose. Duck duck. Mucky muck muck.
--Why would you say that to me? I'm being serious now.
--I know you are but what am I? You even told me why. You said you felt confused and you felt hungry and tired and speaking to me was becoming Sisyphean. I’m not sure you had a good grasp on whatever you might have meant then, at that time.
--This is strange. I have no recollection of this. Must have been someone else.
--Everybody's someone else to every other person. I missed it here. I missed the cicadas and the mosquitoes and the humidity and the sticky stickyness of it all. It’s just so real and it’s so now even when it’s not and outer light seeps through tears in the veil.
--Where did you go anyway?
--I went to a place where I could think. I must say the air here is still as acidic as I remember.
--And what did you think about?
--Everything. Emptiness. The contours of the heart. ‘Twas very cold, and in the sinecure of my mind I observed a sort of sneering pleasure at the discomfiture of the dreariness. Do you find your emotions affected by the weather?
--This Winter was pretty harsh. The melancholy nudged close towards depression. I felt really, really lost.
--Interesting. Melancholy can be carnivorous; in the guise of man it is cannibalistic. At the altar of man it is deicide.
--I find my comfort in it when I'm lonely. I take comfort anywhere I can get it.
--Sometimes I think about the time we were in the woods and I introduced you to all of the dead animals. You were quite unnerved but you were a very brave little boy.
--Dead animals?
--The doe and the squirrel and the fox and the butterfly and the broken, twisty, spindly brittle little trees. You don’t recall? Your face turned as red as a firetruck! Your eyes flatlined.
--This is absurdity. Every time we went to the woods we sat by the river and we loved to see the turtles sputtering about and falling down the hills.
--The turtles were the best dead thing! You pick up the shell and tip it over and it’s nothing but lovely gorgeous beautiful turtle goo juice! Spills right out like liquor from the canteen, splashes on your feet and the broken twigs, green gooey spunk between your toes, reptilian, in your pores, makes you feel like you can walk on the water and trip and drown and wake up chewing chewy terrapins in a dusty divebar beneath the desert.
--Well. I reckon that's interesting or something --
--You’re interesting! You’re like a different person yet you’ve changed not a single bit! It’s almost as if you have refused to grow on the outside, but you’re growing all wrong-way, like your head is stretching deep into your stomach, like you’re speaking with your bum and defecating through your eyeballs. This visage is tainted but from within, and if I were to rip a piece from you and place it between my lips I’d be duly poisoned. What’s with you?
--With me? You're acting weird. I… my mind. It’s like I fell down a flight of stairs and --
--Second story, third story, fire escape, broken window, cracked ribs punctured lung headless spineless raw meat mutilated!
--It wasn’t physical. In the slightest. My mind broke. One day I woke up in the dark and I thought I was dying. I turned on the light and I still felt dark. I looked at the lamp and it was as if someone had crucified a child but done it really good so the kid was still breathing, and dying slowly, and the panic was gone and it was just content there and the kid would never die, just stare at you with sensory phenomena distilled into a simple act of witnessing. That’s what the lamp was like. It was just so little and traumatized and staring at me in suspension. And I was like, this isn’t right.
--When I went away I thought about disassociative elements. And what leads to depersonalize, at least inasmuch as your hypothetical hominid is concerned. You feel confused? Pick up a glass of water and feel like you’re interacting with a prop on an empty soundstage? Does a wet glass surface feel like skin to you?
--It doesn’t feel like anything. But everything feels like glass. Everything is like I’m looking through glass and a window made of flesh pressing itself against a monitor with images moving around on it, in black and white, like surveillance footage, and there’s this superimposed text that flashes red and says Live your life now.
--Wow. Oh mountaintop!
--I’m lower than the valley. I’m a ghost in a cage watching a television called life. The boundary dividing matter and antimatter is like a large splinter gaping the core of me. Bloodless.
--The wall has shattered and the armies of unreason are spilling into your kingdom of naive posterity! Ah, the loveliness of the humans, remember that drive, remember that spark, remember that sense of identification with all of this dung! It’s a tinny tin tin encasing this languid gang of sardines. So have you been clawing at the barrel then? Being trampled by blinded crabs?
--I'm losing my mind...
--Less the trophy of your body betray the reliability of its constituents you might take relief in considering your presence before me now. You seem… stable.
--I am not stable...
--Yet you are a stable. There are some horses there, and some sheep and some goat and here’s a pitcher of a milk and here’s a heap of high hay ho hay. I do remember you tied down to the bed wrapped in gauze and naked otherwise and you shake like a leaf and I know in my head that this must be what it was like in the manger with eyes upon a nasty little charlatan poised to save the world.
--What bed?
--In the hospital?
--I've never been hospitalized...
--You are always hospitalized. You’re there right now! Luckily for you I am a nurse now, I got my CNA and everything. And I am a midwife and I have the keys to the medicine cabinet too, such is the reach of my responsibilities. Isn’t that exciting? When you wake, you look out of the windows and all you see is a dingy brick wall. It’s like a liver dipped in wet concrete.
--You just keep losing me. You're like gastroenteritis. I feel like liquid in God's ear right now...
--Everything is liquid in God's ear in a psych ward in a hospital my dear friend. When is the last time you've seen your mother?
--....... what did you--
--Answer the fucking question before I reach up your ass and pull your spine out and eat the little brain bits clinging to your skull and shit them back out onto your skin suit --
--Stopitstopitstopitstopitstopit --
--Answer me vitriolic black bile --
--She's just bones in a box under the dirt with worms in the eye sockets. Dying of famine, hunger, fatigue.
--You fuck! You forget so easy. Naturally. Selective.
--Stop it just shut up --
--Why do you believe your mother is dead?
--She is. That's because she is. I opened her mouth and her tongue was blue and there were all these bits of uneaten sandwich staining her teeth and it smelled foul as --
--Well water of course!
--But water doesn't smell like anything.
--Yes. But sometimes a duck is not a fucking duck! Your feet are just so wet like the behinds of your ears now, aren’t they? You ever wonder why your feet are wet upon dry land?
--Well I guess I never really thought about it until now. It’s like I’m standing in secretion. This is very odd.
--Yet you believe your mother is dead. You're full of such fun my dear friend!
--It is really wet. But I’m dry. So whatever. I remember when I came to the house and she was sitting on the bed naked, sucking on her thumb. I freaked out and she asked me why I was upset. I’m glad she’s dead.
--Remember when you threw a chair at your mother at one of your father's dinner parties? He was celebrating yet another momentous occasion of literary conquest! Good times.
--We're wasting our time with vapid bullshitting. What is this music anyway? Is there a cassette tape deck out here --
--Oh and oh and oh the dead! To wonder who and where they are. Do you know we often find negative in others the things we most dislike about ourselves?
--But... I'm alive.
--And we tell ourselves sweet, sticky gooey bedtime stories to guide us through the night and starve off disconcerting images. One time, I told myself that there was a little woman with wings who gave me money for every tooth that fell out the cradle of my mouth. Another time, I told myself that a pale demon with a great beard took little bad child-things and stuffed them into a woolen sack for their transgressions. Another time I told myself a man on a stick died for my sins and if I put my faith in him I’d be whisked away towards the first star to the right and before the morning came I’d be free, and I’d be free before a hellish hellscape transpired in the material domain. The innocence of humans is a cesspool of disappointment.
--I'm sorry I disappointed you.
--You will never disappoint me my dear friend. For it is with you I’m on this path and as one we will dance into a night far darker than this.
--I didn't want the horse to drown.
--Everyone deserves better.
--Sometimes you escape the world.
--Pretentious acrimonious flesh puppet mulch.
--Sometimes you escape the word. And in its wake are these little codes and these little clues and they’re flat and blow around in the wind and your words are like… petals from the flowerbed of…
--Of what?
--Of a god.
--Mwahahahahaha. Oh... perispomenon! Whatever. At the risk of any accusation of pretension, I'll put myself out there and say that for the record, I think cassette tapes are super cool! But it doesn't matter. Not really now not anymore.

With an artifice pissing diesel fuel,
the boundary remains undefined.
Where the crevice is kissing bloody stool,
the enemy sustains, underlined.

Of a god.

Track Name: Change your hair change your life.
I expected this to turn out
kinda like the brain when they pull the worm out.
Kinda like a lame anesthetic, or the doubt
that's glowing by a candle that will never burn out.
Grow it in your stomach.
I'm worn out.
Lick a needle right before they pluck the thorn out.
You're a little weasel crawling in me
through an open door
every time I wish I'd never been born. Pouty
little girl; hollow heart and far gone...
wait until you've grown.

I think you're stupid.
Play me and I'll always win.
I really like you.
Cut yourself and let me in.
I think you're bleeding.
Macrocosm conjoined twin.
Start again. Start again.

Certainly you'll never find out
what you really want before it rips your mind out.
Goofy little cuntfuck, why'd you sign out?
Systematically, emphatically you'll undermine doubt.
You're peeling off your skin
just so you can dance about
and make a spectacle and obfuscate your lexicon
to free your mind and try to let it go,
which could work, but it's purely theoretical,
and nothing's set in stone,
even if your mother said, it so...
don't speak.
I'm living in an enthymeme.
You try and pay the rent
and do the things that wiser people deem necessary.
The incessant vapidity of being is barely
a distraction from its fluidity,
which is kinda scary, considering its acidity.
To pop your cherry doesn't strip of you of validity.
I have a fear:
my world is getting rid of me.

I think you're stupid.
I really like you. (Or I despise you.)
The macrocosm. (Your microcosm.)

You must be stupid.
Play me and I'll always win.
I really like you.
Cut yourself and let me in.
I think you're bleeding.
Macrocosm conjoined twin.
Start again. Start again.
Track Name: Michael jordan.
Sometimes you dry with the laundry.
Sometimes you die and you haunt me
in this house.
Stray cat kills the mouse.

Sometimes you sleep through the morning.
Sometimes the spectre that storms in
wakes you up.
Faulty reception breaks you up.

I thought you hit a ceiling.
But you keep raising the bar.
You're like the Michael Jordan
of being fucking hard to understand.

Say you wouldn't say you wouldn't say you would.
Say you wouldn't say you wouldn't say you would.
Say you wouldn't say you wouldn't say you would.
Say you wouldn't say you would.
Track Name: Come into my room.
If you give me what I want and more...
my heart can be an open door!
Make a wish before I close my eyes, and
hold tight before it cracks and cries!
And I feel in love!
Every memory and de ja voodoo seems
like a silly game of knight and knave; well,
everybody wants to be your slave!

Come into my room. Come into my room!
Just don't come too soon...

I was six and maybe you were five; you
hadn't even really felt alive. My
white teeth told your tongue to stop.
Post-feminism on a hot black top!
Did you understand?
Far from yesterday; you still could be a man
if you view it as a path to pave, where
I'm never gonna be your slave!

Come into my room. Come into my room!
Just don't come too soon...
Track Name: Greys.
You're pathetic and you're not even real.

Track Name: Vampyr.
The mosquito in my eyes is
pulling my strings.
He theorizes
many things.

I ask too much.

And every time you
feel you're going nowhere,
clinging onto devils,
know that love is out there
bringing people closer.
Bleeding flesh of doubt and fear.
Love is a vampire.
Peer into the dark.

The mosquito
in my eyes.

I want to meet you.
I want to feed you.
I want to need you.
I want to bleed you.
Track Name: Quark.
"Everything is particles and cracks."
Maybe, but you read it in an article, relax -
from a dirty magazine, tucked underneath the pillow.
Tearing at the seams; you were weeping like a willow
when life curb stomped you in a steel toe
boot. Blood shed on its snow white suit.
You're dead and it's hard to refute
what I said in the time that it takes.

you and I meet in the next life.
Where horn toads and frogs will
rain on me.
Tell me the heavens will open,
and I won't think you're crazy.

What prism are we in?
I underwent a schism now I'm slipping from my skin.
I'm losing vision, you're growing thin.
Binary fission. Earth won't spin.
Since when?
I can feel the end!
Everything around me quits playing pretend
and the moment where you found me
is the moment I began
and the skeleton is drowning into particles of sand.
Gunshot bang bang whimper hydrogen
implosion get simpler. I defend
my left arm. Kitchen. Steak knife.
Blood as warm as the planet that will take life,
which descends in a visage of entropy.
Atrophy swallows the stitches.
Pretension is apathy clawing the itches
that burst when you laugh at me
struggling to wake.

I'm sorry
I'm not the one
to be your
final home.
As I loved
and hurt you,
my heart
grew into stone.


What's a stranger to do?
Slide a foot in each shoe!
Just the same, but brand new.
Kiss the void and turn up! -
my children, let those bodies burn up
spread those ashes, dance in the dust.
Young children, now's the time to join us
and rise from your bed!

Wakey, wakey,
Wakey, wakey,
eggs and breaky,
eggs and breaky,
God just take me!
What's taken me so long?