1. |
Salamanca Vortex
04:40
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Springtime sunset needles through
The patchwork clouds
In spools of radiant gold leaf thread
And weaves itself
Into the dumper astrogreen
But this merry lift of brighter months
Awaiting round the corner
Is half spoiled by some
30 something faux-goth cunts
Chewing my fucking ears off
About how
“They can’t live without darts
But they’re not addicted”
As if the distinction
Should mean something to me
Or I said I was keen
To dissect in depth
The oh-so supreme nuances of
Their relationship with nicotine
This goes on and on
So on and so forth
As my forehead grinds the floor
And I bare the oppressive collapse
Of doubt about my life’s direction
Like why
My priorities are put off permo
But a feed of grease from Mykonos
Is all to easy for me to sort
Which can be brought on by just 15 minutes
Of talking to these kinds of
Brooding boring Lord Byron
Sorts of dickheads
So ah ya know oh just be warned
Oh be warned.
T’sall a sorry backdrop
To my blank stare daydreams
As torrents of pattern-clad limbs
Twist themselves into a
Salamanca vortex
Of grott enthusiasm for Post Street
So potent not even my
Arrhythmic weariness could resist
The pull of it
Currents of whipping hymns amass
Signalling the imminence of the mish
My babasee bush babies born from
Vibrant tufts of wild grass
And soft bracken fronds of the landscape
Manifest the part of Kubrick larrikin droogs
Dragging me off luxurious perch of
Codger-core shit talk I revel in
As dire as this evening’s been
I froth that lush inertia found through
Beer garden limpeting to the first chair
I get locked in the bleary crosshairs
And just siftin it til last drinks
This pisshead state of affairs might
Suit my ambitions 99% of the time
But it's not what
This Friday night’s lined up for me
The Salamanca Vortex overcomes
Yeah
The Salamanca Vortex overcomes
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2. |
Rooted Varieties
03:04
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Plucking networked flowers
From a fibre optic chain
I blush at the eroticism
Of the eucalypt scent in rain
Lucked out on the mountainside
But the tarns recall my name
And you fucked me harder with pisstakes
Than our bodies did entwained
The halos of the old world
Are hired to link restraints
Storm against my window weeps
For gutter-fallen saints
Frostbitten on the organ pipes
My hands gripped stolen paints
Past months rise up like leaking ice
Now gruesome with your taint
Anticipated vowels pushed out
In cycle of cliche
But breath floats up serenely
In this damp and morbid space
That thermos pressed against my chest
Was my final saving grace
No consolation in the constellations
On twilight's lilac face.
Friction free exchanges spark up
Culture wasting flames
Panes of glass are whipped and break
But only in my brain
kunanyi's views yanked on my id
And sang to me I'm saved
Envisaging that southern isle
My final peaceful state
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3. |
Swampgum
01:55
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4. |
Shibboleth
05:53
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Born bursting out
From gilded cocoons
And suckling on that
Poppy slit’s
Waxy milk of residue
Who held the blade
With fame did slice
Stains the lips
Enshrouds in white
The dripping skull
Neglected crown
A gifted static halo
For the live stream
Baby shower
Yeah you gave that
Pixelated halo
To the baby shower
Moonchild faberge codex gigas
Shibboleth sanity supplements
Thesis
Moonchild faberge codex gigas
Shibboleth sanity supplements
Thesis
Gust which lash the polaroids
Of lovers on the dome
They make them move
The tattered corners
Lick and moan
The crib becomes
The slaughterhouse
The masses melting
From the womb
Of culture all are one
Are whipped right
From the start
Are pacified
Are smoked like
Bees in honeycomb
My one
My son
The last to know
You’re the moonchild
You’re the moonchild
You’re the moonchild
You’re the moonchild
Moonchild baby
Why you looking blue?
The gaze of the loving world
All falls back to you
And
Moonchild baby
Why you looking blue?
The gaze of the loving world
All falls back to you
And
Rupert’s eyes are my eyes
Rupert’s eyes are my eyes
Rupert’s hands are my hands
Rupert’s hands are my hands
And
Rupert’s mouth is my mouth
Rubert’s mouth is my mouth
Rupert’s tongue is my tongue
Rupert’s tongue is my tongue
And we use it
To lick you clean of sin
Because we thought you
Liked it moonchild
Read that codex gigas
While you can
And
Speaking shibboleths to friends
And
The press is waiting
On your doorstep
For your last releases
And the thesis
And the thesis
And the thesis
And the thesis
Which you leave us with
Is death
Shibboleth, shibboleth
Shibboleth, shibboleth
Shibboleth, shibboleth
Shibboleth, shibboleth
Shibboleth, shibboleth
Shibboleth, shibboleth
Shibboleth, shibboleth
Shibboleth, shibboleth
Shibboleth, shibboleth
Shibboleth, shibboleth
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5. |
Yussef Dayes Typebeat
06:08
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Razors concealed in an oncoming low
Shave the treetops of southern Tasmania
And slice apart a thousand duffle coats
Worn by spectres which still clock into
Sorry midnight through to dawn night shift grinds
This hourly bind I’ve managed to pry
My twilight frame asunder from at last
Oh what a surprise to find myself the timeless ghost
What a surprise
What a surprise
Listen to Yussef Dayes in the park
Days spent dazed in haze at the park
Listen to Yussef Dayes in the park
Days spent dazed in haze at the park
Wake up
Eight long blacks in swift succession
Couldn’t launch my belief
That the day had started and
Yussef Dayes might well play
That “Love’s the Message” but
How’s that help me out today
Yussef Dayes
Listen to Yussef Dayes in the park
Days spent dazed in haze at the park
Listen to Yussef Dayes in the park
It’s over
And festivities pile upon my loneliness
Exposing its gawky gatecrashing for what it is
On lawns, steamed up cafes
Chattering golden buzz around
Saying nothing in particular
Besides unwanted rain
And I put nail on keyboard tonight
And tomorrow I see your face again
Listen to Yussef Dayes in the park
Days spent dazed in haze at the park
Listen to Yussef Dayes in the park
Days spent dazed in haze at the park
Wake up
Eight long blacks in swift succession
Couldn’t launch my belief
That the day had started and
Yussef Dayes might well play
That “Love’s the Message” but
How’s that help me out today
Yussef Dayes
Listen to Yussef Dayes in the park
Days spent dazed in haze at the park
Listen to Yussef Dayes in the park
Days
Spent
Dazed
(Yuh, ay, yuh, it’s lit, oh)
Picking flowers for my best friend’s 21st
On a wave of endless herbal tea
Can’t stomach the first sip
Of my overfizzy Asahi
And my bahn mi arrives from Uber Eats
Saigon Express and I find its contents
Cold and soggy by the time they touch
My ever chapping lips as I run my eyes
Through the crowds of friends and try to
Find someone who I even halfway know
How to interact with right now cos
After months of social inwardness and isolation
I don’t have a fucking clue
And I run my fingers through the cold wet grass
And hope something of its gentleness and crispness
Might imbue my conversation with what I used to know
How to do and oy I run my eyes around and around the circle
Trying to find anything but your face anything but your eyes
And I don’t know what to do so I guess I’ll just
Fall back to that oh-so classic Tasman Hughes solution
Yeah
Fall back to that oh-so classic Tasman Hughes solution
Bottle to my lips drink it down
Lift it up
I drink it down
Bottle to my lips drink it down
Lift it up
I drink it down
Bottle to my lips drink it down
Lift it up
I drink it down
Bottle to my lips drink it down
Lift it up
I drink it down
Bottle to my lips drink it down
Lift it up
I drink it down
Bottle to my lips drink it down
Lift it up
I drink it down
Bottle to my lips drink it down
Lift it up
I drink it down
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6. |
Alabama Hobart
06:01
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It started off
Whispering in the
Earthy darkness
Subterranean catacomb
Conversations climaxing
Tongues lap rhythmic
Entwining saliva
Along
The twisting pronged
Tributaries of the Styx
You wanna commit?
We’ll take that easy
Achillean dip
And unladen ourselves
Of the seediness
This humid night
Was making
Above the river midnight
Underneath the fleshy soil
Plum teardrop of moon
Loiters looming
Out of place and
Swanlike shifting
Tracing an elucid lightness
Ballet on the overwhelmed banks
Bearing silk scarves of
Fragrant lavender in bloom
You’re wanting it on tissue paper
Or a lounge of incense ash
Elysiums here and
Ya know
Pleasure’s not that bad
But there is comfort in the final saw stroke
Unsheathed critique removes me
Of the wastewood of my being
Underneath my sawdust altar
To the rebirth
Any longing glances
Are unseen
The cuts were long and
Whirring teeth blunt
And rusty but
Didn’t they do their job just fine?
Could I really doze off
Blissed and heartfelt
By the hidden forest river wide
While that sawmill’s roaring form
Outside informed me of the
More-real-than-art-school-lovin
Shadows dancing on the cave wall
To this song?
When the call of taming processes
And drive to industry lures me back
Afterwards
Where flowed the sap
Smaller practical
Invulnerable and unvarnished
Lies merely a splintered
Spat out plank
Cynical wooden arsehole
Obscenely
Sneering up at culture
From my coop
Surrounded by the sanguine nymphs
Narrating happy waltzes
Of these hidden dreamy
Groves and grooves
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