Everyone Is Insecure!

by Immediate Family

  • Streaming + Download

    Includes high-quality download in MP3, FLAC and more. Paying supporters also get unlimited streaming via the free Bandcamp app.

      name your price




(Listen to me (this album)) high and (on) headphones..

..Recorded over the course of several years.. some songs last night; most songs a disturbingly long time ago when I got my wisdom teeth removed and spent a week at my parents' house with nothing to do but record shittily into the mic of a MacBook with an acoustic guitar and the keys on the keyboard (Think: A, S, D, F; Who needs a MIDI controller??). There was enough there to compile something like this album, and I've worked real hard this past week assembling the pieces; recording more when it felt right. ..Cat hears something on roof and is freaking me out.. High and headphones, but not too high.

In case you're wondering - the lyrics posted here aren't actually the lyrics, they're the lyrics to a rap album I started writing, came to my senses, and abandoned. Ennnjoooyyyyy!!!


released December 1, 2015

Yahyahyah, don't you see?



all rights reserved


Immediate Family Portland, Oregon

Immediate Family is what happens when I (Brett) work on something for so long that I learn to stop worrying and love the process again and again and again and

contact / help

Contact Immediate Family

Streaming and
Download help

Track Name: Everyone Is Insecure
It begins like it did before,
Then it ends when the formula of former folds under its running course.
A collection of missteps - of miles not travelled, but negotiated,
Thus creating trials of denial and direction.
Certainly subversive - inevitable deception.
..Nursing on the surface of personable inertia -
Attempting to connect while consequently sucking the life out of everything.
Beautiful, unusual, suited for the clampdown.
Camping out, counting the stars of its own sky.
Pry apart the sad sound counseling the know-how,
Monitor the pace of its pulse, but know it can’t die.
Assemble armies of language arts martyrs and pardon their extraordinary stories of partial importance.
..Enormous in the scope of their size, while abnormally miniscule, cynical cries for the minimal.
Man, life isn’t little, just difficult.
Lonely in its length, the sanctity of spiritual doubt is the outs, and the outs are what we know, so we stick to them.
..Predictably sick with our prevention - numb, becoming comfortably common,
Summoned back to the source only to calm it.
Calling forth agreeable solutions to my loss, so the problem is I solved it.
Track Name: Courage Mom
I’d be taking a loss by showing little remorse.
My right to doublespeak grammatically mistaken for balls.
..Keeping in touch with a phonetically superior boss.
Take the bus and keep the traffic, you’ll be late for the cause.
It doesn’t matter that the chatter is incessant - confessing something pleasant to please the dead peasants.
Each word, her minor miracle.
At last, they are dependent on anti-depressants to complicate their presence.
You’re talking and I’m listening and listening - but nothing.
The pattern forms a rhythm that is visually becoming but sonically disgusting, and frankly, tough to stomach:
I vomit up the sound and swallow back the substance.
'Umble as Heep and addicted to the weak - success is but a moment in time I cannot keep.
The streets of London are beautiful this time of year,
My gray area charm suddenly speaks and freaks out the drones, rewiring their circuitry.
Replacing boards with bones, somewhat surgically.
Zoned, then rezoned, to be deported passively.
Quite rapidly my senate lends this gravity.
Disarm the border, but devastate the barriers.
Bury them breathless babies, I swear they’ll get hysterical.
Sponsoring the veto like you’re tight with Tarantino: Living in oblivion.
Take five and return with something logical, docile, philosophical, if at all possible.
We’re peaking a little early and the plot’s becoming comical.
De Niro drama is strictly chronological.
How many painkillers do you need to balance out the weed and finally get some sleep?
This mess has gotten out of hand, I’d rather not agree but the final irony is irresistibly complete.

Is everybody hurt?
Is anybody okay?

I’d be taking a loss by singing seventies songs.
The late greats hesitate because they’re deeply appalled.
Disintegrate into the Earth in which your parents were born,
Three generations of patient plagiarism are gone.
I disapproved, so I proved it by the book.
I took the law for granted and the foundation shook as it should flow with the current, not the currency of crooks.
Reread that same text, then burnt it to write a hook.
Last night I dreamt that I was dead: snorted Xanax, then ecstasy, my nose opposed my head -
So I grabbed for the apple, but the orbit simply said:
"My name is Toto, Tito is a vision of your bed."
Again, the tornado disrupts my old radio.
Short-wave signal coming through like Fredo:
Disappointed, disconnected, then corrected with Drano.
He may be finished, but there’s so much to say!
Eight and a half, nine, who’s counting? Who decides?
..A circular hazard, a body of work for the post-refined, dry-heave, dining dead, arguably kind blind mage that thoughtlessly casts bright eyes.
It’s light fare for the demographic daring to share the glare.
Pairing off – mating for life!
A simultaneous indulgence, nauseous for the no-hands stamina.
Examine the holes, not the dice.
A break from caged radical, Fargo, ‘how could you?’
..Disquieting stares; Coen coma for the counter-culturally discreet, thus distraught uncensored careers.
..Elliott swearing such beautiful disrepair.

It’s first name basis for the kid most likely to be wasted -
Wasting what’s left of his better half, life entire.
Admiring the idols he’s bited, aspiring to pilot the plane straight forward into crashing compromise.
Sizing up competition fixed, invisible ditches.
..Reminders of the chorus we constantly cry:
'We cannot fail if we do not try.'
Track Name: Early Numbers
All I can say decisive to the game is, "humility is common, and confidence insane."
Prey upon the people who prosper, then complain.
Pray for crooked chemists who smear science’s name.
When beauty is American, America is great:
A man can pay enough attention here to never see.
When boredom is a stretch and thin merely a trait,
We constitute and glorify an empty Kevin Spacey.
Praise me, I’m a baby, an isolated case.
A lady making faces across the room is crazy, or makes me so.
I’m talented and balanced like Adderall.
Taking a prison guard hostage because after all bowing to the process is a bridge,
Burning like a California forest wants to live.
Causing no commotion, I’m caustic like a crib.
Cautious as a straight face seriously stitched.
Which wing do you want under? The left, what’s left of summer,
The right, an equal distance from fall, rendered asunder.
My brother, I apologize for father in advance,
He does that dirty dance that cancels out the thunder,
Then rains for all the suburbs surrounding city lovers.
Take two steps back you evil motherfucker.
I’m loyal to another when god is in the air.
I swear I wouldn’t care but I’m working undercover.

Inspire awe, maturing, you’re a cold call.
If Vicodin’s a crisis I’m going to hold off.
Loopy lovers a cover for coming too strong -
Jimmy is a dumb doll, Emily a soldier.

Optimism’s a positive opposite, violating expectations, then mocking them.
Coding movie dimensions, but dropping them.
..Understanding that love is approximate.
La-la-la love.
We beat the odds and though we’re tempted to run,
We run in place because it’s pompous to document landmarks and monuments.
Momentum bother me, man, I’m a lobbyist.
I’m buying in, but it’s blatantly obvious.
Illustrated through shameless composites of daughters of doctors that heal only nonsense and vindicate robbers of guilt, but not conscience.
There’s a pill for that? Sure, I will swallow it.
Feeling better, uh-oh.
Track Name: Justin
Decorate adrenaline, detonate seven words synonymous with severance.
Emulate noxious nonsense with a dental plan - offices and gas chamber kennels in ovulating specimens.
..Benevolence desolate and gesturing back to his boy etiquette.
Pasteurizing positive policy like pestilent narcoleptic sovereignty, contrary to literate corpses:
Are they sources of knowledge or generic brands?
Disassemble the parts, you’d be retarded to piece together car-seat pulses with a baby on board.
Tone it down Charlie Brown - a counter to the cork.
..Adorable enough to Halloween your porcelain horses into shattering morbid preconceptions of mescaline:
We opt to trip DXM.
..And commit the wicked fix of a kettle embezzling black to memory but not to -
Pioneers piling bags upon baggage, setting out for the mouth of the south by south settlement.
Treading it! Oregon trail chasing its tail to benefit backseat causes of convulsing sentiment.
Rest somewhere near the queer, dare to compare the sad face of your constant companion with fear.
I hear that society’s no longer in tact, much less humane:
Better sell it back!
Adopt the crass satchel, riding, abiding by the laws of a damsel: A Gretel for your Hansel.
A mantelpiece toppling forward into cancelled fanfare, waxing fragile in advance.
Such an easy target, harken back to bargaining bullshit to the bands of aborted school kids instrumental in biting the style of storks:
Ineffectual as the flight of their courses.
..Important to the uninterrupted enjoyment of this single experience, delirious with obvious nods to the unseen but positive forces rewiring our minds to reset the dread: DXM.

Disappearing drama conniving to resurface then emerging victorious over men undeserving of spirit honor.
Unnerving like the colors reoccurring in purgatory purging us partially while splitting our eyes in two directions.
..A third path leading back home to the cycle, unending is distracting inaction mesmerizing the urges of persistent contestants:
I guess I’m following you!
Decorate dismemberment, pestering the morals of thwarted exceptionalism - dabbling in dead end nationalism.
A catalyst crashing like a knack for anachronism, biding time for social aneurysms.
Rhythm is a miserable mystery – fuck Eleanor Rigby.
I’m admitting I’m an accurate depiction of a portion.
..Interrupted enjoyment, singled out with boring, ignoring the importance of want before needing to believe that the minority is special when effectually assembled, especially susceptible.
Ready, but perpetuating rumors of my reset:
Knowing that I could, but I won’t believe it.
Track Name: Blacking Out pt. II
AA Crash, a master - black out hell.
Judo for the dude that gained too little weight to tell.
Real concealer, 4 x 4 welts –
Shelved, shirtsleeve attitude for mutilation, self-inflicted.
“I’ll tell you when I’ve had enough!”
Luck deserts me thirsty, juggling the judgment of controversy.
Ornery, but begging for mercy; A terminal belt fit for urgency.
A seminal working space emergency;
A chemical cell trapping nerves of personally addressed and notarized dives of silenced authority.
Twenty-one years oppressed by the orderlies -
Cordially denying in compliance with enormity the laws laid out by abnormally choreographed dances of demoralization -
Observing the skillset and minding control.
Second thoughts on low: alternating alcohol and cough syrup, taking each high too far.
A dark, cloudless sky unites fog and stars.
Self-medicated, climbing, bring forth the crash..

Banking on bulk supplies, entice box-of-wine to wax legit.
I really can’t afford it, but also can’t afford the torture tour.
..Swirling insomnia, sweat, decked out without minimum four glass of classless atrophy.
Phantom tactics – attaching passionate applause to whim.
Shaky-dog deprivation craving stimulation with a grin;
Simulation tasting of the trend.
Once again, make the same mistake over.
We’re getting much older – becoming less adult.
I swore this was my last drink once, and now I swear it again.
Track Name: Friendly Ghost
Live to be forgiven or kill to be a criminal.
A villain manufacturing manslaughter is biblical.
Typical proportions meticulously sized –
Surprised? You must have not been assigned to die a miracle.
Small is my salvation; a pawn in presentation.
I’m fleshing out the stars to be called a constellation.
If I could just be parallel point in your parade the shade disguising dominant traits in silly female mistakes would be revealed as functional disgrace.
My case and point resting in fanatic fucking phases complimenting dazed and dumb, indifferent gazes shot across the room like I’m receiving something sacred.

Not to try your patience, all I’m trying to say is:
We invented the platform, not the rules of the game.
The game invented us partial and impractically plain.
Play to please or cease to be allowed to work the wisdom out, to take notes from the underground.
We were born to belong but chose to run it around.
Star architects – ’87 – Wow.

Second time around, now versed in astrology.
..Immersed in my apologies, obsessing over sodomy.
Obviously, it’s a sin to generate hypocrisy, concentrate modestly or venerate mythology.
Call the cops, this act is a novelty.
We’re puppeteers and the dolls are democracy.
Honesty’s a fractured piece of the policy.
..Infatuated with the merits of a swollen comradery.
I can see that everyone has fled. It’s you and me, the lords of the dead.
The seamstresses mend our holy tatters to shreds,
Bag the evidence and then burn what is left.
I concede to being vaccinated for two –
It’s insurance for the nervous; Plan B is a true risk.
Lover’s tryst – we will form from a tomb.
We’re doomed to fight decaying fate unraveling through.
Kill to be a cynic or live to kill the criminal.
Residing there behind those eyes is a difficult combination to unlock, an individual.
Riddle is a privilege; Luxury is mystical.
First world, motherfucker, we’re a symbol.
Assembling our brains, then presenting something simple.
..Negotiating mazes with navigation systems.
Isn’t it amazing we’ll never miss a minute?
A moment that passes is a picture not taken.
I’m sick of memorizing definitions and phrases.
Repetition works for the hopelessly fragrant –
I’m attracted to your nose, not the scent of a stranger.
Small is my salvation; a slave to moderation.
I’m fleshing out the stars to be called a constellation.
If I could just be parallel points upon your stage the lights would compliment the colors shining through the page –
A page I never read because I began at the back of the book.
..Worked backwards, discovering love as misunderstood.
..Suffered several days of chemical good –
Convinced I wasn’t special, felt fit to call you up when I could.

Not to try your patience, all I wanted to say was:
We create the magic, not the rules of restraint –
Restrain only from the constant urge you feel to complain.
It isn’t so bad, at least we are allowed to work the wisdom out, to see our lovers smile about –
Nothing more than baring witness to each others’ lives.
Star architects – ’87 – We survive.
Track Name: One Hundred Flowers
Override escape – this music, here, is great.
Become the comfy comet you are.
Minimum wage – afraid a falling star will lack direction, you’re ashamed?
Strange has got some issues, but monotony’s insane.

Admiring someone is an idiotic thing when aspiring to something is a hollow, empty hole.
Whenever I’m in doubt, I tilt my head back and sing:
Requiring a compass is a common courtesy, and admiring the mirror ain’t no portal through your soul.
Whenever I get lost, I turn south and I sing:

Classified, discreet: Three stories interweave.
The sound of running water was as soothing as the sea.
The earthquake interrupted, fell the apple from the tree.
We each believe we are the sole, surviving freak until we meet.
..Coincidentally, similarly creepy
There was nothing special about you, but believe me –
We can elevate each other now.
God is just a place I am until you leave me.

Overcompensate - this music, here, is great.
Become the conversation, become community.
The day the album’s concept comes to you in dreams,
It’s time to reconsider why at night you aren’t awake.

Inspiring a soldier is a selfless sort of thing when encouraging his service is a self-destructive joke.
When morally conflicted, I sit back and I sing:
Requiring some insight is to sail against the wind when admiring the blind is masturbation as a chore.
Whenever in doubt, I throw my hands up and sing:

Paralyzed, concrete: Four stories interweave.
The wind will want the fire, the fire wants the breeze.
The breeze will blow straight through the forest to the sea.
We would die to be the sole, surviving freak until we meet.
..Mystified and marginally crazy.
There’s nothing special about you, but believe me:
God is not a feeling or design –
God is just a place that you wait for the rest of your life.
Track Name: Boogie Nights
Theory for your grassy knoll:
Barely sassafras troll patrolling meadows of a corn maze bulge.
Menopause, appalling to the stepfather force fed stepchildren, cradling the crawl with consummate, but constant estrogen.
..Second to the son dude never wanted much to do with;
The ruthlessness of loneliness reared its ugly head.
Embedded in the psyche of faintly lit tikes, a kind spider weaves its ugly web.
Ineffectual, asexual carnage kept at the mausoleum.
Muscle is a much sought after contraption for the evidently unfit.
..Kid clamors in his manner immeasurably quick;
..Father fantasizes that fashion is frightfully knit.
..Mother doesn’t love her family immediate, but as she gets older she wishes she did.

Teary for your typecast cruise:
Paid vacating candidate battered, showing middle aged bruises.
Smarting because the insect index crushed the yellow page persuasion of the crux of her custom, passive-aggressive conundrum.
..A sullen cry for her comeuppance.
Puckering the chapped-lip catholic, cracking his comfort.
Cover up kerosene captions; dashing, not attractive.
So sad that you dried up so soon; Doomed to swoon jealously.
Attach and croon zealously; parameters set.
You never gave birth to anything of your own, so you can’t pretend to plant seeds you pretended to sow, so you can’t participate in manipulating order.
“We appreciate your boredom, but seriously, if you have nothing to give us, please, just kill yourself.”

Theory because the cast grew cold:
I've adjusted; not well, but still brilliantly built below expectation.
Track Name: Aimless Charade
Safe sex? Unhinge the mock lynching –
Ninjas for a naptime, fucking for a paycheck.
..Penalty box redistricted like a tape deck.
Outdate, rewind, expiration matrix.
Happy to oblige the guise of a seismic reminder of the haystack:
Needle meet rain check.
Shake the thumbs – devolve dumber into dumb.
..Amazed at pattern because it faced facts fantastically.
We’re the bastard beings of drastically human illusion.
Soothing the sayer of pollution.
A misdemeanor seizure, set appropriately twenty-five years ago:
Fractionally feasible.
A sucker-punch doctrine catering to shock.
Indoctrinate inferno to casually ecstatic student pirahnas.
..Ventilate obnoxious toxins.
“You’re job is not in jeopardy, just not important.”
You’re sorted, manufacturing orbit.
Of course it’s a gorgeous gorging when gore is a sexy substitute for boring.
Dull is the nitwit nitpicking the natural normally –
Masking the malaise with wit – Listen to this:

Thirteen indifferent days –
Day one - We embrace our energy angrily, alcoholic chemistry.
Day two is a dissonant disregard for distance, pulling close those miserable fucks as if they did this.
Day three is no different, just dark as you start some realization period; a myriad of unexplainable, yet readily attainable appearances.
Day four is pathetic, day five is more pathetic, you’re indebted to that which you wish was forgettable –
All symptoms of day six, we dabble in forgiveness; a sick mix of insignificance and dissimilar interests.
This is now day seven – levitate a bit above indecision and take day eight, grain of salt, give it no thought, blameless, the cost, cross-reference your balls with day nine.
..A binding contract refined with confidential credentials.
Merit for embarrassed potential, essential is the down of day ten.
Dissension devastates tension, day eleven – independent.
A suspension carelessly fearless, peerless and peering forward into day twelve.
Keyhole guilt, two weeks almost filled.
We build day by day resignation slaves resonating nowhere to no one of worthiness.
Worthless wage lemmings; emotionless homebodies.
Safe bets – robotically needy.
Giving thirteen days but never two weeks.

Taste test? Invested like stock binoculars – zoom back!
Yank the clef from the staff.
Gaffe tacking posters of Nova Scotia onto dry cast, plaster, disaster walls.
Embrace the shackles, stack time cards one onto the other; brother we’ve been done too long.
Rodeo tantrum – Romeo romantic in delivery,
Chivalry dead, reverse psychology symphony grinding on smallest violin, rewriting its history.
Speaking through snapped string, reinventing cadence to the graceless metronome swing.
Waving through zebra smoke –
You never had a stroke, you fucking idiot, and neither have I –
So lets do without the slack-faced, anecdotal host encroachment;
Disingenuine oceans of no coast.
How dare you be so arrogant –
Bleed not through barb-wired tolerance.
Wave the humanity, consoling the crest.
The L.A.L.P.A thinks you’re awful, so that’s it.
Track Name: Funeral Song
Fifteenth extension dread – Compilation: Lauren misspelled.
Repel roaches with porridge – the ‘just right’ approach.
Storing incorrigible fatty acid, winter courted by acorn market catharsis.
..Compartmentalized tithing colliding with intelligent design:
A pity pubescent from the chest, then frozen from the lips: Goodbye!
It’s been a good year – clearly, less endearing than the last:
A tremendous presence for the past.
Attract blessings to count them, and tally thousands of directory drags.
Fingers filing replaceable numbers attached to the agents of nameless application destructors:
..Unlearning procedure because it’s comfortable.
Come with me – I’m organizing cushion to throne.
Why accommodate commendable shells when we could hack it alone?
Out counter-produce, and boost man to master status:
A clenched fist for the tattered, but toned.
Torn pages dated, not numbered.
Chronologically susceptible, testing our commitment to hope.

I hope every single person I was ever naïve and young enough to place trust in just to be fucked by the romantically ‘Manhattan’, crusted over coupling, maladjusted buckling knees to please fallacy, callously crowding the cemetery browsing for zombies that resemble themselves, dies there a quite conscious death – acutely aware of the plot in which they rest.
Track Name: A Song Across the Sidewalk
"Isabella is a beautiful girl;
Told her I’d like to leave, told me to hit the streets, they’re hers."

Isabella Street – deadbolt the door, commit to boredom unless the most important recording is compliant with noise complaint warrants.
..Arrest model citizens, handcuffed to a torrent.
Social services, fancy for the hill’s ants.
Desperate does when dismal is a true champ.
Champions of Top Ten, nothing going to stop them -
Hurricanes, or drug raids, or lack of civil progress.
Ah, that kid’s adopted? Just kidding, of course.
He’s an accident, accidentally coming in contact with a father he failed, how obnoxious.
..Never understanding or developing a conscience.
Isabella, you’re beautiful and bruised.
Amused, a paranoia participant confused like:
“What the fuck, that guy stole my bike!”
Battling the shoot-out uphill with a knife.

Order out; the last of cash.
Chinese dining for the saturated, dumbed down, dealing to dash.
I pass pissed off patrons; a barrage of Satan hails:
Trickle-up economy for windmills.
..Green mansion advancement for food stamp phantoms.
Electronic checking for the swindle: A gram short!
Stems and seeds appease crackhead dons of a mobless roundtable of landlords.
Scrounging for loose change; gluing over tops of piggy banks.
Impossible robbery? It’s a new age.
Dawn of the doorstep; thrifty kids boost fame.
Spreading disease like the keys to Jimmy’s new place.
’84, implored to drink ourselves to distraction.
Basking in the mirror image of a minion, miserable.
Forgetting the system worked one eighty against him.
Fencing in festering, leftover decadence.
“This stuff may be shitty, but it’s mine, regardless.”
One bedroom apartment; tarred and feathered, arduous arguments harmless in the shadow of negligence.

Shorting out; a power loss threatening corporate agenda.
Clean water is essential!
Starving the starved, not the beast.
Man, at least you could have enabled the swing of our community’s potential.
Pencil in the chapter on existential destruction.
..For supporting the prize on the basis of luxury,
So the rich can exist to piss propaganda, puzzling.
“If you’re in advertising, kill yourself.”
Maher for the anti-taste legislation bill,
Recognizing the artless inauguration of a thrilled figurehead who couldn’t give a fuck about you, or your quarters, or the ugliness of doubt.
Splinter out toothless boards; foundation laid.
Haphazard tragedy; caving in casually.
Dazzling the awning at the local gas station;
Regulars attending to the sweet, not the razzling.
Herzog meeting Shannon, it’s panic, it’s Groundhog Day.
The same shit started over, but I got paid.
Paid my dues, fuck the rent, I’m pacing the pavement two weeks late.
..Making the rain work for me.
Track Name: Excited
This plane is definitely crashing -
..Gnashing mechanical teeth to the beat of a decent catastrophe,
Trashing our madly infatuated window seat needs –
What’s happening?
Lazy eight, slack device – double down.
We were better of peddlers –
Passionate, petty thief assassin developers.
..Ushering in the age of acquaintance like element isolation travellers.
Climbing up the walls? Baby, I’m a spacehog.
..Interviewing first verse infantry for suicide jobs.
Battle out the cattle prod mirage –
Dodge left for effect, dodge right that electric sob novel story.
..Fishing for that infinite sympathy glory.
Mourning over mystery missions gone wrong,
Objectively suspect and sorry.
Insubordinates ignored, decidedly departing to find:

This plane is definitely crashing -
Flights of advice, my Christ for sale – reasonably priced.
Camera, zoom back; action imagined.
The pageant of the passive wise –
What’s happened?
Deviant debaser grazing on mystic pixie musicians.
..Bugging out pistol-whipped, Ms. Monopoly minions.
Morse code because you’re desperate –
Short beep, long beep admissions.
Commissioning the sick to love their ailments,
A mismanaged imagination condensed into pockets of combustible puss, so we pop them.

Four steps for the kids:
First, outgrow your ambition, then outgrow your apartment.
Then, outgrow your distaste for the patience you’ve harbored.
Hit the plane down, grow into the art of sixteen bars being the basis of what’s actually.
Fuck what’s happening.
Track Name: Trapp Pond
Electric, pathetic, momentum’s a farce.
One minute I’m beginning, and the next I’m in charge of dark alleyways, slinging shit straight from the barn.
Karma glitches are malicious like second-hand cards.
Starkly, you remind me of the reason I left death row to serve the remainder of my sentence inept.
Dissected like a frog, fingers linger, then stretch.
..Brought to Lake Tahoe and still couldn’t collect.
Beckon to the call of a softened vasectomy.
Neuter every dick in the way of perfecting the sections of deadbeats belonging to next week.
My home hardly knows this, but to beg is a blessing.

Bitter, I’m a cynic and a quitter.
Don’t ask me to fasting; Dinner isn’t quite spoiled, just nasty.
Harassing hapless fools the impotent classy meet to predict, lick food from their plates, and then lastly..
Concentrate on the paint; My palette black from a lack of moral fiber from a cyber attack I orchestrated from the confines of a home I imagined.
Naturally enacted; the influence of..?
Invasion of the what? Invasion of the who?
Swooning over pretty women, born to confuse losers into thinking straight; thinking shit straight through.
We’re all a little Dennis Hopper, ‘Out of the Blue’.
..Dignifying idiots with answers, a cancer.
We dance around reason with the daughters we can't stand.
Then, we're cramming for exams just to cheat with our friends.
..I think this college dream is getting a little out of hand.
Hungover, and it hurts. Bukowski ain’t a jerk;
At least he understood the mirage and its worth.
We work ourselves in and our of constant concern, then learn it’s probably best to just drink and give birth to words.
..Curt, concise, precise like the aim of a stranger in danger.
Panic, pause, then respond in a gameshow.
Track Name: Can't Think
It begins and it ends with the same common sense commencement:
We admire the miles we’ve collected.
Digesting the distance, indifferent to hectic conditions –
Contrition is always effective.
Expected to lose, so I lost.
Nailed one hand to the cross, but left the other one free to explore in accordance with laws I receive from a boss I’ve never seen but through hallucination dazes, of course, I feel his presence every step of the way.
Footprints are evidence, I must wash them away.
Trace back the path; Presently, I’m passing the pain onto people who are comfortable uncovering shame.
I’m relapsing, recovering, reacting to attacks – assaults on careful character.
..Poised to provoke the most idle of animals.
The knife in the back is that I’ll never last long enough for the laugh.
Keep me confidential, but hold me in your confidence.
I entrust you with nothing but your looming ominous.
I implore you to restore your predominance:
Rally the freaks and ignore the anonymous.
Stopping this kick at the tip of the peninsula.
Simple is, simple does: Do it all out of love.
Happier here, we will keep Portland weird.
Start over quietly counting the years as they pass into last and merge with the infinite.
Isn’t wisdom converging with innocence?
Diffident defined as shy; Show some arrogance.
Mature is the child surmising forgiveness.
Kid A, I absolve you of all of your sins.
Confession is a mechanism keep on the fringe of understanding contemplation cases never get acquitted, and shouldn’t.
Observation is a tool of the timid.
Let them think all they want –
Pondering over skeptical ethics and whether or not the conundrum of sex is consistent with love.
..Resign from all contact in exchange for enough.
“I hear the voices, also.”
I’m endorsing a toss-up between committing you or setting me free.
Pace a padded, white room and presume it’s a dream.
Several sides of the coin I pocket, pause, and repeat.
Yeah, we’re all institutionalized.
Obsessing over status, project your best image or try to be unique until unique is bland, but modified for special interests different only because they bled you dry.
I reside on the edge of a town,
Dredge down into the flooded streets, that’s where the mayor meets.
Calm and elite, call him weak, but I ask you how could we float on the shoulders of anybody else?
A cannibal, compatible, encompassing the radical cause.
Republican is akin, simply taking shit too far.
A party padded and active but you all could put the problem to rest by doing little to solve the thought lingering, bought and sold tinkering toys destroy joy.
..Impossible entering possible territory.
The story, an editorial addressing the mess:
Lets erect that memorial.
Same as it ever was; stop making sense.
..Intense polyrhythms rattling around above my head.
Instead of seeking guidance, I’d kind of rather fret.
..Do little with this insight, remaining talentless.
Simplifying structure? I’m privy to the notion.
Fucking up the flow with that teen dream devotion.
Motion is a miracle; success is to focus.
..Assembly lines brewing number nine potions.
Kissing the feet of a priest, we keep lending a hand to his tendencies.
Answer me, Jesus, did you ever forsee this?
Armageddon is sexy; the rapture, misleading.
Bottle and drink me:
Who was the blood of Christ on ice, taking shots from ‘Wuthering Heights’?
..Gig in the sky, like I’d never heard ‘Dark Side’.
They say the classics never go out of style, but they do.

You think I think I’m pretty clever, well sometimes I do.
It’s true, I exercise my right to produce and exclude.
March happily backwards; I’m after the fruit I couldn’t find to taste –
Someone ate all the clues.
Was it you? How rude.
Stunting summer like Buster, lackluster, huffing air duster outside of the funeral.
As usual, keep guessing.
I guess I’d give a fuck, but I was barred from the reception.
I’m going to keep the devil level, don’t settle for evil when it could be worse:
It could be several people.
..Took the hearse, disheveled, to the steeple.
Rode shotgun, we toppled the temple.
We’re tempted to condemn too quickly.
Sickly servant curbing our inertia, rousing our thorns, too prickly to touch.
Blood flow is a strictly sentimental form of torture.
Lord, I’m submitting.
But, I’m omitting the apathy, your majesty.
Lethargic for the type-two, carbon monoxide catastrophe.
Actually willfully inhaling the braille.
Esteemed, and seeing nothing but miniscule detail.
We need now what?
..A self-reliant kindness, minus the touch.
We need to feel science applied to the base of the crutch.
Your highness denies that which her royalty does.
Speaking through the brief buzz: I fucking hate that cunt.
Ultraviolence, mindless, our suppliers buy this like it’s worth it.
Merchants of murder; mercy is observing masculine inaction, laughing and not hurting every poor bastard that’s plastered and painfully worthless.
It’s urgent we tend to the mending of memory surgeons who operate Benway to entertain nurses.
You care for the patient, I’ll care for the table.
Enable the error; Word is, you’re a two-bit hustler who must be disabled.
..Move yourself in and out of town through fables I penned so you would pretend to comprehend.
The subtleties must be just ambiguous enough to muster your confidence and trust, revealing what I always saw:
You’re nothing but the outline of the faces you draw.
You’re nothing but the outline of the person you aren’t.

I’ll tell you, envy is a gift.
I’m licking up splattered brain matter, shit, absorbing every bit of information relevant to wit.
The crypt induces altered states; Paint your acid trip.
I wish I could control it from the surface; a rift in space and time.
Unravel for the comatose; dosing to design a wide range of melba toast.
..Cut close the dimensions of a boredom bender.
Offend her sensibilities, a superstitious ghost.
A most amusing character, rarely in rare form.
Apparently an eyesore, kicking up a sandstorm.
Answering to glamor, then coughing up the question like it's hers.

Ask little of the lady that may be carrying your baby:
That’s empathy parading as degrading.
Work her like a case in case the preparations you’ve made were based falsely on presumption or a taste left in your mouth pre-regret, post-doubt.
You’re decades from descending, but it’s too late to figure that out.
..Can’t congratulate an accident twice, it’s nice –
Nature speaks volumes.
..Too proud to dignify that voice with the respect that it deserves.
Making his choice, the boy bets on his nerves.
That’s a burden, he aborts and miscarries his words from one corner to another.
Pray for the dirt; Hold your breath for the birth.
Foster tolerance in moderate bursts of desertion.
..A father immersed in a version of himself he once taught himself to obey.
I hope, sincerely, that this all goes away.
Too soon? Bad taste?
..Complacent as the grass grazing my back -
I’m attached madly to the trash I talk, but cannot laugh at.
Tragic is the drama of progress:
A conquest; A comment on comedy.
But nevertheless, we attest to the frozen anomaly.
Reminiscing fondly, but solemnly, over sweat we spill and let drip into pores we implore to be wet.
A certain set of principles apply to the prince of neglect.
A debt you don’t collect; A threadbare, suture solution when the blessed invent their revolution.
..A fabricated resolution, dated thirty back.
Attack the simultaneous, pan to two sides:
One is white, one is black.
Immaculate division in a hurry to subtract the opposition.
Envision a future where precision is a lack of practice.
Let the country come pre-defected.

My priors are inconsequential, I’m a new man marketing my raw potential as a slaughtered lamb.
I command the sloppiest of trends.
..Decide what’s not in season, the fad of injured animals can’t outlast fashionable, national rationale.
The country bands together to agree they are a crowd.
The owls are exactly what they seem:
Sorry excuses for skeptics, fucking idiots in doubt.
Salt to make you cringe; a wound I wouldn’t lick.
..A slit I sliced into your throat to corrode your equipment.
A symptom, the sickness.
I picked up the tweak, thinking that would lift me up, but it didn’t.
You’ll be dead in an eternal instant.
Flash back; Nostalgia, the act of admiring distance.
You were beautiful once, but now you’re swollen and wicked.
I asked for your last words just to forget them.

It begins like it did before.