1. |
Invocation
02:18
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2. |
Hecate
05:45
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Well, since the age of ten
I've thought
and then I've thought again.
Those quirks follow me around
like sensitivity to sound.
One syllable, one name,
a lightning bolt of shame
hits me just the same:
Anxiety remains.
It's silly for a kid
but all I ever did
was try to find a place
by running every race.
The mandrake root
grew upright too.
The screaming leaves
put me to sleep.
I'd ask aloud
what I left out.
The clouds would stare
and they'd twist about.
Your house is on the way.
Signs from 30 miles away.
I wish you all the best.
The main sign of your success
is brought in on a ring--
bright and sparkling--
like an open mouth
that chews and spits me out.
Moving out again,
a neverending spin.
Walls become the floor:
Centripetal force.
A three-headed god
lives in the ground.
A broken stone:
the eye alone,
no mouth to speak.
Under our feet:
a whole history
of Hecate.
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3. |
Afternoon Dissection
05:33
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After lunch had come to pass, i heard him tell the bleary class,
"...many ways to skin a cat..." He laid it flat upon its back
and took the sacrificial knives--the sharps we're trading every time--
to disconnect the fragile heart and paste it to a pastel chart.
And I kept all the drawings that you did
when you were a kid.
But i guess there's beauty in that too,
if it's what you wanna do.
Labelling the lifeless parts, he treats it like an ancient art
where history, anatomy, will intersect so naturally.
Like Muybridge's photographs, the movements held you in their grasp,
tracing lines and muscle groups, the split begins to be confused.
But I liked the drawings that you did
when you were a kid.
But I guess there's beauty in that too,
if it's satisfying you.
Finer studies, lesser art; the stem, the flower, drawn apart
like puzzle pieces, alchemy, together linked till recently
like cutting teeth while pulling hair. In the margins of Voltaire the
diagrams of heads and hands that blast away the ampersands.
And I wish you still painted like you did
back when you were a kid.
But I guess there's beauty in that too
if it's what you wanna do.
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4. |
The Sun and the Earth
05:27
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Asked an oracle
surrounded by the ancient grecian sand
if we'll survive.
She closed her eyes and quickly prophesied:
"your wooden palisades won't save a soul
when the laurel wreath is burned by Apollo.
The archer and his ship be consumed.
It's no forever, but I hope that it will do".
I wanna be with you till the sun destroys the earth.
Till the planets all start spinning in reverse.
The only comfort in a shattered universe
is to be with you when the sun destroys the earth.
Drift from solar wind;
Hurl through space and time.
We'll just pretend
it's a soothing sleepy summer breeze.
Or maybe we can find a place on mars
with a net to keep our dog held in the yard.
We'll never think again about our jobs.
I guess we'll never think again at all.
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5. |
Interpreting Birds
08:12
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Look into my heart andy...
is there a fish living inside me?
Cuz a fishbowlhead you see
would never let the sucker free.
Sleeping in their submarines,
heads in bubbles never learn to breathe.
Three rings from a bell above
would get them torn into a giant flood.
Idleness--
to the crow--
does not exist...
I don't think so.
A certain song,
a certain flight.
Birds on the left,
sea on the right.
Put my name down on the list
and they put me on a rocketship.
Put my name down again
into translations by an Oxford man.
Disembarking from a sandy beach,
the beasts, the air, the birds their song do cease
and the smoke will rise in perfect lines:
another omen for our book of signs.
Idleness--
to the crow--
does not exist...
I don't think so.
A certain song,
a certain flight.
Birds on the left,
sea on the right.
The morning sun
burned the hands
that rowed the oars
away from shore
and those that stayed--
the petrified--
became the dirt
or fossilized.
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6. |
Wander
03:34
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Sail for
near a decade
learning a trade
Slowly.
Steps shake
stardust from trees
broken brambles
bleeding.
I thought the air would clear
but its stuffier up here,
I've found.
And they will eat away your time,
while you age they change your mind,
you'll find.
Worn down
by a slow wind:
a relentless
sandblast.
You're on board
or you're offboard.
Like brutes from the abyss
rising through the mist unknown,
all your problems will arise,
chasing as you climb or swim.
Just don't float in vacuo
or the senses start to go hollow,
and it isn't all that rare;
the lungs refill with air again.
So put some purpose in your drift.
Wander like an ancient myth.
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7. |
Pod Bay Doors
07:54
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"How are you?"
I'm doing fine
we should talk some other time
conversation worries me
I never answer honestly
is this a test? it always is
the pressure builds
I flip my lid while
standing in the airlock
pulling hairs attached to
punctuation marks
it hurts and dissapears
but in a week it reappears
and word will spread from
down the hall excuse me
I should take this call...
When smoke is pouring from my eyes
please don't be surprised
and if I forget the time
it's because the minutes aren't quite mine.
Scratches on the hardwood floor;
no one sits there any more.
No kitchen table, there's no chairs;
if I don't see it, I don't care.
Have I always been this way or
did I once have things to say?
I remember being somewhat different.
Hear the scissors snapping up
around the flower buds that
just wont open good enough.
Snip snip, they're chopped,
and decompose. It rains and then the
waste erodes.
It would feel a bit contrived
to call you a friend of mine.
I'll still be waving as you pass
by the outside of the glass.
Sending flowers and a vase
though it may be in poor taste
and every time you hit the road
I'll be smiling here at home.
I'll be smiling here at home.
I'll be smiling here at home.
I'll be smiling here at home.
I'll be smiling here at...
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8. |
Metamorphoses
06:06
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Beneath an icy crust
an ocean percolates;
bubbles rising up
from hydrothermal vents.
The gentle glow below
from a molten core
organizes life
around the lava flow.
Spend a winter
in the moon.
Walk in circles
Crafting views.
Could you make it
permanent?
Will your voice stay
coherent?
The lives of other worlds
are based in different facts.
Never yearned for the abstract;
a camera never flashed.
They know nothing of "the fall",
no need to be redeemed.
The discordant melts away
in a rush of steam.
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9. |
Gentle Shove
05:39
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In 30 days
a widened eye can acclimate
to the lack of sun:
watch the pupils dilate.
In every world,
the natural root of history
will sprout the hands
that shove you into normalcy.
Misrepresenting the shape of reality.
Dragged from the cave but the sun doesn't shine on me.
When it rains, I sink
into a curving, craggy chair;
it cuts designs
into my hands, feet and thighs.
I shift, and prepare
but the pattern's always there.
I hunch and scrawl
until I hear the warning bell.
The roof will leak
until they patch it up again.
In future days
A committee will evaluate.
The floor will shake
and blur the lines that I have made.
You draw what you know
and I'm not sure I know anything.
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10. |
Sophocles
09:16
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When he wrote antigone--way back in antiquity--
would he rake the rutted streets scratching for a phrase or two?
Could he find the time to think even if he wanted to?
Every year, a trilogy lays out his ability.
Judges all looked on and approvingly they frowned
while Prometheus was bound in a jar of hope and drowned.
Was I made for different days or just a different stage?
Was Medea saved when she was carved into the page?
In lists of names and families, what gets lost most frequently
is he who crafts the mask for the character to wear;
who was painting all the scenes, were they falling from the air?
Frescoed saints that authorized love the works they patronized.
Names are swallowed by the moon and it will not let them die
if they ever meet an end, it's the end of all our lives.
Was I made for different days or just a different stage?
Was Medea saved when she was carved into the page?
Mirroring Euripides, i'll draft my own tragedies.
The heat will leave my hands and control will follow suit,
and I'll be healed upon the rock if I'm forgotten by the flock.
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11. |
Carving into the Moon
08:55
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A solitary walker
through tulieries
thought aloud, the sound traveled off
for centuries.
At the time, the world was comprised
of a system that could only criticise.
The body leaves, the spirit stays,
and judgment lasts but for a day.
Breeding insecurity:
It’s not romantic to be organic.
The threads of my ability
are laid out like a tapestry.
The strings that get away from me
are colors that I’ll never see.
But measuring success
in comparisons and tests
is a devilish painful trade
for the thoughtful things you’ve made.
Are opinions equal
across the board?
Who decides who stays alive?
Who swings the sword?
If I’m told that I’ve failed to provide
a description for what cannot be described
I'll deliver something anyway,
the best attempts of yesterday;
drafting up a world and
sketching portraits to preserve it.
If I walk where I am drawn,
if I work until I’m gone,
know I will be fulfilled.
But for now it falls to you
and I have done all I can do;
you’re on board or you’re off.
If you decide I don’t belong
and all the birds reject my song
then I’ll find a different moon.
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Chameleon Treat Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania
Chameleon Treat is an artist interested in neo-psychedelia and offbeat pop.
The band is
currently the solo project of Andrew Kruske.
Direct booking inquiries/questions to: chameleontreat@gmail.com
Instagram:
www.instagram.com/chameleontreat/
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