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The New Uncertainty

by Scalpy Gonzales

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1.
One of these days the sun will set on my side of the horizon And just like me he’ll have a summoning snake inside him in an Exit sign they will call me forth and thread me along with the love of an orbit And I will act surprised at every corner I turn like a good good little goldfish Our chemtrails, oh, they will be my Magnum Opus And I’ll chase that dragon with all my proverbial focus I’ll film the chase and I'll stream it live with my face on the dragon’s and the dragon’s on mine and I’ll call it ‘dada’ and dada will ca it bullshit How do you deal with the lord or the war or a creep in a trenchcoat or an orbiting goldfish that just gets up and leaves? verse twice and repeat
2.
A print of a classic I don’t need to see an industrial heater from the most chipper of security states the perfect little caucasian face peeking out as an electric socket into the pre-delivered promise of linoleum, fluorescence and chlorine Her little bushy tale tangled up back in god knows what The hollow behind the plaster I’d rather take for granted I hear there are rats back there, and I can picture a long dead laborers’ bandaid It’s all That old dusty unconscious that closes in on the serene like a gas leak A marble of neighborhood life hums against my little window Mother tongues and manic ice cream trucks whistling “nothing to see here” Little kids that grew up around weekly unspeakable violence And a band so dreamy they’re completely silent I love the camaraderie of existence, the pride in the outer layer that we just dangle our feet in history to flirt beneath the table and that we need not even mention that it’ll all be different later I love the “where does that leave me” the “what the hell else is there to do” the “close your eyes and dance, kid, it’ll all be over soon” i love the red inside your eyelid, always the sun, sometimes the moon a band nodding so slightly in the center of the room I remember the hostilities of nature’s smallest, sharpest teeth they nibble at me when I’ m having a bad night Long ago traversing her most inspired expressions of gravity In an earnest caravan of seventeen pigs I recall sitting on the dry tongue, dissolving on the edges disgusting, sure, but it couldn’t spit us out with the doctor standing right there and it couldn’t choke us down in a drought. so it twitches tearing up in embarrassment and a perverted lust for science in a band so good they’re completely silent
3.
90s Kid 05:22
I get a quick high on a bag of discontinued chips I can’t lie those products are as me as my lips Mama cries that all her babies are nothing short of junkies but she knows we never had much of a present growing up Never held a thing that wasn’t whisked away from our grip Stamped ‘obsolete’ and shipped to the slangers of retro smut A generation gap every goddamn day before lunch but listen up Infant Jones and Scalpy Gonz got caught up in the crossfire kicking on the avenues at Drew saw a lotta bloodshed a couple hundred kids dead Their little tongues couldn’t hang nothin to stick on the pain of their fresh identical retina scars Except whatever caused it whatever tension in the cosmos that polarizes egos was no longer felt at all between our heroes You can’t flex away the knowledge in another of how you act when the shit goes down and any kind of silence gets caught on the unspeakable and the Event is all that’s awkward This Trauma, this Thing this goddamn Spider Became their conjoined Other and so they weren’t each other’s other, no, they were instantly tighter than sisters and they said lets call this the nineties and had fun for the first time in history You baby boomers did this to me
4.
I'm glued to the wall take my word for it i'm glued all around i'm inside OUT I'M INSIDE OUT ETC so indide out hystericasl lemme tell you bout Eliy Eliy's still sharp still in touch with the dark but lately she's been whistling something bizarre Have you heard the revelation? The Souls in migration? voice so soft with a cigarette noir softened to nothing but a Heavens Gate scar None of this matters I'm on another plane I think that some people are afraid of their brains Work is a racket, to hell with the naysayers alcohol is a numbing agent deflating the laborers Christ was a plant by alien invaders Arkansas girl with a step daddy pastor Hollywood High on that Rock n Roll glamor Sailing the currents that rol through her window now playing the tambo with the hare krishnas And her mom calls her hysterical so she tambos harder outside the lines and her boyfriend says she's over reacting when her doctor makes her cry when he says "lcose your eyes and picture the whole city crumbling" and the radio says "I Have become Indistinct" and the audience chews away at its fingers like sweets And the customers put little umbrellas in some of their drinks its a kind of suburban sex toy like me another spectacular sex toy like me all inside out
5.
Ladybird 08:11
I'm off blue, Ladybird
6.
7.
Los Angeles 03:03
Another raisin peels his eyes Under the cantaloupe blue sky As a brunette premiers her maternal sigh And her husbands Marlboro catches fire The virgin wafts with their sine wave swell trickle downhill to a front motel where the faint dandruff of a piano yell long gone still thinks in an ashtray conch shell A bright clicks on and the beads recoil As a naked hand casts crumpled notes and foil To the dewy beyond where neon sizzles like oil And the Nude Girls marquee buzzes desperately loyal Some kind of brilliance ensues
8.
Sty 02:47
YOU KNOW WHAT I LIKE ABOUT YOU? YOU’RE SOMETHING TO DO A PARANOID STY IN THE CORNER OF MY EYE A UNIFYING BOOK WITH A DRAIN IN THE MIDDLE SO ALL OF MY THOUGHTS CAN PASS THROUGH YOU I’M FEELING CONNECTIONS AMBIGUOUSLY MAGICLESS FLEETING AND EVERYWHERE THE GRAND UNIFIER THAT RUINS ANALOGY IN DRIBBLE THAT ISN’T WORTH CATCHING WHAT TO DO WHAT TO DO SHUT UP OR SEE IT THROUGH SETTLE DOWN OR MAKE A FRUIT TAKE A NAP OR FUCK A SHOE THE FLOATY AMBIGUOUS STREET CRAZY DRIBBLE TUNE SEEMS TO BE THE LOGICAL EVOLUTION OF ANTI-POP PICK-A-BALE-OF-COTTON FOR THE LONELY PARANOID JUST AS THE BLUES WERE FOR THE NEW INDIVIDUAL
9.
10.
Listen to me, or don’t, Incredible. There will come a time when you are all alone, just like the rest of us. And you’ll want nothing short of everything. To do what with? (This isn’t Love but it might be her name’s sake.) I imagine there will be some kind of light, perhaps you know the one. And you will see yourself as a vessel, perhaps for the first time. Or perhaps you knew all along and always wondered if you were the world’s finest and fiercest narcissist. There will come a moment in which you sever your last tie, sever the leg of your last earthly stand. I imagine you will breathe deeply, and I promise you will sigh. And you will know, like none of us before have, what it takes to be complete And what it takes to leave
11.
Butterknife 05:49
I am not my brother’s tuning fork I am not my neighbor’s knife I am not a burr clinging on with a desperation to wake up with you If i’m a lie then i’m a telling lie Another mouth’s articulation One ketchup bottle’s empty cough rings in another man’s scales fallen Yonder lies an intercom piping hot with distortion it will scream and howl and feedback if you take its mouth of the receiver but I have not my morning’s blessing and my evening has not mine everything reeks of future encyclopedia articles validates my sperm guilt, reduces madonna A stranger’s grunting prostate struggles make me grateful and yet humbled An effect whose gravity and precision suggest that he must be an Angel
12.
Atascadero 04:11
Flick a plea in the fountain penny squeaks in-- almost missed displaced splash squats patronizing on the edge “I but for the grace of luck am your misfortune” Tense little contact lens For God knows what monster if not the full bust of Abraham Maybe now that he can see he’ll wreck claymation havoc And the cardboard cuts will crumble and the spectacle will spark a little A new bronzeman will draw his pen We always let the dead see, prop em up against the city So we can snub them more thoroughly While just the humble palm trees could bury us guilt-free Those lawless hiccups of integrity Funneling eyes from the horizon The wooden spines of all of this And if i’m a god damn line cook i say Fuck this, never again What is the point of not doing drugs? My nostaliga is my legacy My epitaph will be retro and groovy written in Hollywood motel font It gets cold here in the desert The hot blue glow of darkness nodding off the buzz of vitals through the fence the tissues piling up beneath the rising skin of day life the last with lips that give a smack

about

The goal of this album was a kind of Spectacular Industrial Folk or Blues music.

In the 21st century, when blues and rock and every other cultural phenomenon that provided some kind of liberation have been completely absorbed by the structures they stood against, chewed up and sold back to the increasingly fractured and neurotic individual, the most organic 21st century music seems to be something like a voice memo frantically recorded into an iphone under a billboard and an overpass. This is our Blues. Our Folk (our collective music in which there is no line between audience and artist) lies, for now, almost entirely dormant.

Industrial music once took the grinding of machines and saws and hammers of industry and made songs out of them, but those aren’t the defining sounds and emotions of our industries anymore. Our industrial music today would be composed of fake smiles and over-whelming spectacles and commercial jingles and memorized personalities that we’ve learned to sell. In other words, it would sound exactly like the mainstream music in an Apple commercial. Fragmented, spectacular, and manipulative. The only liberation for any of us in all of this is through momentary hysterical breaks.

This album, except for a couple small segments in which my friends were with me, is not a work of hysteric liberation. In fact, it’s made me more neurotic and frustrated than anything before. It’s an attempt at crafting some kind of cohesive stream of spectacular images, collective memories, and identity, into something new and interesting, maybe something like what Loony Tunes once did.

The problem is that all of this is nostalgia, and nostalgia is Their greatest offer after sex and fame, so the album had to refuse every step of the way to be nostalgic.

The whole process was a race against a ticking clock promising that the project was more irrelevant every day. That you can’t make albums like this anymore when the world is going to shit and everyone feels more alienated and terrified and detached and crazy every day and we need a new kind of folk and new kinds of situations and a completely un-nostalgic, un-retro music. I had to race against the clock and finish my thought before it was a lie.


“Imagine the full complexity of a moment that is not resolved into a work”

credits

released August 9, 2016

with Scalpy Gonzales, Angel Cunt, Bonejevis, Daniel, Jake, Maze Dull, Spondee, Keila, Santosh

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