You Were Murdered As A Kid

by Dust On Snow (Brad Hamers & Frietboer)

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Debut EP by Brad Hamers (NY, Portland) & Frietboer (Netherlands) ...created between July 2010 & Sept 2011...READ ALONG WITH THE LYRICS here on bandcamp...

credits

released September 30, 2011

all music by Frietboer
all lyrics & vocals by Brad Hamers
mixed & mastered by Frietboer
(no label - self released)
2011

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Dust On Snow (Brad Hamers & Frietboer) Netherlands

Dust On Snow is a collaborative musical project, an agitated and frothing monster created by poet, musician and collage artist, Brad Hamers and beat-maker/producer, Frietboer. On this 8 track debut EP, Brad Hamers (Phlegm, Two Ton Sloth, New Police) provides the words and Frietboer (Frietboerism 1/5, Fiks, Fris & Dood) supplies the beats. ... more

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Track Name: perfect flop
(perfect flop)

dinner was ruined over drug addiction and grudges
ancient ruins sunbathing in a century’s worth of camera flash
the dinner plate waits to be called a killer
the fork sits by sleeping in an (on duty) pig
the culture aint shit without its pen &pad, its badge and handcuffs
how does one unaffordable guitar become jimi
where does the jaw ajar crack open full of grape jelly
when does this hundredth whip and beating become a hit
(it’s either Katrina or the Dust bowl)
the way the swamp knows the clouds (and the clouds know the top of mountains)
everything about to rain was black and blue
blood in my kisses
cut knees on the bent end of my wishes
breakfast was spoiled over a turned up alarm that wouldn’t go back to snooze
i smack myself in the face and put my lips out for kissing
the round bell rang out sweat from last game
every contestant under a half-eaten donut spitting out rope and ice
god was ruined over by a bulldozer size camera light in its face
we all lived in the burnt down buildings that were left
i was in the library still caught afire with a dear friend
every mammoth in the room bleeding out imitation chocolate (in 2for1 wrappers)
every way to bring up the past had a hunter on its tusks
for every minute is ivory
every second a just passed saber tooth tiger (all yesterday’s are extinct)
dinner was ruined over keeping our mouths shut
couldn’t fit a pyramid in between these unspoken words
though we kept a desert between us
i can be your mirage at one end, your endless gas tank, your 3thousand foot drill
you can be the ripped up cactus, the wheelbarrow of upturned weed
whatever you think i think of you
my weeds meant to be flowers
out-on-parole spirit pretending to swing his chains (above his head)
never meant to throw them at the fan or at you (i hope the world doesn’t become my pronouncement of it)
i hope you haven’t caught my heavy heart
only so many can float on this crashed space shuttle (in this little of lake)
before it sinks or bursts into flames
i hope you brought your empty pockets
(plenty to give if you don’t care about money)
i hope your star brought its planets and moons
this popped balloon never ends
only goes on repeating itself in the jumbled head of the cosmos over and over again
it’s laugh or cry sing or shut the fuck up
fast or get fat make a seat or sit in one someone else made
critical thinking sits out like spoiled chicken in its unregistered vehicle flipping through channels on the sun

tongues like fences white can’t remember where it first heard it, ‘I just like the way the sheep jump over it’..the way it rolls off my numb mind, sterilized fork, nothing to say
but what hits the laziest drum in the back of my ear
i say bring riots back
i say bring back confidence
(come back (with handfuls of face) laughing yourself to tears)
i say take back stimulation
fight off the security guards
stand outside your own magazine
fuck money and fuck money
putting your hand in it is like (talking your tie out of the fax machine) (or your way into a pair of gold handcuffs) (rock ‘em like a lonely mountain top) (just make sure you know you’re only worth the coal underneath you) (just know i meant everything as serious as a circus tent, caught afire) (just know i lit it all up in flames for you)
we are what we are doing
we only are what we are doing
if i’m buying in it’s still got its censor tag (and aftershock of rent-a-cop)
if i’m selling out, i must be buried, deep as china
i don’t own my values
its running makeup precedes me

choked up on the sad dinner (banging my chest on the kitchen table)
dull stake knife in the Corinthian column
dust in between the spoons
dreams been sleeping too long
ad-savvy sheep mingling with the never ending pile of loose sweaters
clones fucking too many clones
if only the virus didn’t write itself
if only the earth wasn’t made of the space around it
if only gravity were something easy to explain
painting with my elbows on the table
a lion hit the window
we all leaned over
shoulder deep in civilization
asking for a hand to swat the flies
couldn’t get to work through everyone’s wings
you call it equal opportunity, i’ll call it air and light pollution
you call it Operation Would You Please, Operation Odyssey Dawn, i’ll buzz hitting the sides of my carved heart on the edge of the snare counting us all in

well i say fuck contemporary rich
i say write a new dictionary
define the reasoning gone into the definition of value
or myth, i’ll die awake in a hat full of rabbits like loose change, tails end up in an open guitar case, each of us are these streets, are the clogged veins, ever-undergoing surgery, pray for jello upon waking, i say only get on one knee, and ask to be engaged, the elements are sluts, no nerve-ending turns us down,
(i say) jump, from the closest built-up ruin, and splash,
perfect favorite number first, into the muddy (displaced) current

(the only seeing-mask you need is built in)
Track Name: without modern shoes
(without modern shoes)

the mystic when he was a mystic was not a mystic the way we think of him
your mystic's the (littered)plastic water-bottle (the water that lied about where it was from)
..the hi-jacked plane ..and ear-candle on fire
the speed at which you can take off from yourself
thirty mileperhour pills and the holiest of (fire-extinguishing)water
over a billboard in flames (picture)a priest in a planetarium
(police with the pointing stick every god with a magic marker)
cutting along the dotted line ..club-dancing along the surgical incisions
an in-home abortion (PR with his extra hand in my camera)
a wire hanger pill down my dead horse throat thru the words i dress myself up in and onto the rung i can't wait to hang from
we ballet around the fireplace dishwashing feet in the animal grease
we break dance around the housefire (on sponges)
we running man around the rising sun
we blues around every gunshot worth jumping in front of
black behind every minute
we blues in the flame way down where it's too hot to get in touch with
we boogie(woogie) in the most get-down southern tree there was to find (still sprouting flowers)
bunny-hopping at its novelty fire (and its rolled up pages) taking place straight-up in a cakewalk
disco-ing around the hour-hand rounding the twelve (once again)
"Dance does not leave behind clearly identifiable physical artifacts such as stone tools"
imagine cliff-rocks dancing imagine the mountain getting off
i've heard her say "you know he can('t) have sex if he can('t) dance"
doublebugging out of my mind (3rd-eye as my partner)
horse and buggy for a drum the ethnographer wants me to read her palm
i slap her with a coconut and go back to ghost dancing
there's too much land to flood
everything was a platform to take off of and into
the space we make day of and (then) staple
side-effects from the medicine, teaspoons deep in the ideology
any mystique that was experienced was experienced only with me
aware of it
the speed at which i succumb to the (brightest)black hole
there's always a blue sky to drown in
the biggest cemetery on earth
the dreams were all laid out
all on top of each other
making something so nothing it was whatever you wanted it to be from wherever you were looking at it
his clouds looked like every snow plow out on one day ,expected
the mystic has no overcast to dwell
its all (eventually) shot down like pills for forgetting
we stood electric-slide position, doctor and patient looking at each other
i blinked first, the lightening went up my nose
knew it was coming
what to make of my diagnosis
what to take of my prescription
what doesn't matter if i want to take it or not
what length spoon force feeds me best
trying to measure my guts
i threw up all at once every time
side-effects from the medicine, teaspoons deep in the ideology
the free market had me sell my chunks
of tomato
i would throw at it
it was my blood
every time it hit someone on stage
it was foxtrot
the ballroom in my chest
spinning way too fast
Track Name: circuit bent zoo
(circuit bent zoo)

(rich s(h)acks) (sachs)

with the black end of a shitty stick i hit bingo, from ten feet away, with the foot in front fooled into feigning time and the clock tricked out for more rope, i reached for the ceiling (and started tagging up the stall), popped the ball, kicked the missed field goal, dreamt out every ref (every whistle thru the middle) remain forget (got and always getting) floppy driven, fucked off huffing puffed-chest houses down and egging on rent, fucked in the fruit, no branches attached, raw fucking the fruit (out of the fruit) out of the lemon, we made apple pie, and carrots on sticks (10,000dollars in debt in front of all of us) hens on beakers, god in sneakers, most soggy donut going for the dunk, rocks around my ankles sinking in the speakers, dreams of feedback, bloat in the tweeters, concentrated to pulp, kissing for a pulse, snap-shotting every ghost, (with the hacked end of a tapped phone i hit 'caller number 6billion8millionand9') with the black end of a shitty stick i was hit with a lotto stone, click the double bolt, wouldn't touch the cow(cheese) with a mouse or the bait on a (spring)loaded thunderbolt, cult out the summersaults, fist first (finger up) into the blindfold, fishing six feet in from the muddy end of a temporary stick, hit the bag of money like a bagged up body, rob me in the heart where it counts, hobby off the knack, savvy through the software (10 foot spoon)supper in your soupbowl, sagging your sheepclothes, hit me in the tree-house, climb out of me on purpose, the automaton will only stutter (with you) to keep up, won guts first, knows out in the grave, made of more and too much (a slave's weapons is his chains) pave the moon in me, oil drum the number one dance till the rain runs out, the machine gun mounting his lance, the gavel mounting its gavel (street art eating chips in its living room) (off its shoulder) gravel through the yellow paint, panting in the tapered way, pucker at the lip-service, soaking in the gamma rays, best cancer on the market (hit the penthouse for me would ya) 2 bluffs only on the cliff please, pass the umbilical to the right, height in the masturbate, foam around the farmer's gate (cows all lost it) slave around the mop bucket, rolling out the fly tape, soapbox searching for its faucet, first amendment seeking out its sponsor (donkey riding elephant) - red carpet on the mc's lip (spit lines) politic like sticks in the sand, time looking for its place in the glass, prisoners looking for their stripe, zoos searching for their zebras, with the black end of the television i hit lock wide open, hiding from the cameras, stand still long enough to scab, our paper cuts were golden tickets in cheap chocolate on food stamps, trying to lick a letter closed, the sentence came out all shovel and hard hat, no fish in its hand, chanting a hook, hitchhiking on a rollercoaster, all winners in a flat bell, all bottoms in a wishing well, missions on a pissing break, wrist-slitting contests in a public leak bucket, tapping on a wallet, slap me where i want it, even if i'm dead, my pulse is worth pawning, hawk me up in the morning, this is the color blood you wanted, worn it around my neck as gold, always dangling down to the edge of my awning, hang a sign on my sign, put another arrow where the point goes, dead on, eating the already lived in apple off my head, in a tv tray, going for the jello, jerking off a cactus, pennies out, wishing in a mirage
the blackest whale wins the most tar, keep your stones and your breath to yourself, some houses are made of glass, some fog was meant to be written in, some windows don't recognize their view how many mountains have you made, and forgotten

this poem is the shack stuffed up in the cliff like a shirt, asking for another button

this afterthought is the avalanche that never lands
count your feet

a tear with a thousand faces


dear mom (and not really)
Track Name: utopian wound
(utopian wound)

corpse in a wishing well
fished out eyes
(skin on a skull full of memory)
her hands smelt like 2005
memory began in philosophy
an extinct hippocampus (memory) shorter than a giraffe

pain in the smarts
heart in the gun
art to the head
dead at the wheel
this is only a test
(which illusion to not live up to)
(which expectation to watch bleed out)
smarts in the gun
heart to the head
dead at the wheel
art to the head
(memories were farmers writing death-songs across myelinated land)
(looted heart)
(smarts to the head)
(cop in your art)
(same fugitive)
do foreign coins work in every wishing well
does every corpse speak the same language once it's corpse

born burnt, still burning, brightened in the shop, photo heart,
born, still birthing, mars never earthing, lifened in the shop, cropped out eye of corn, colonel in the call, three steps ahead of you, a head of you sits browning like lettuce in a bowl, a ball of my own throat, rattling its chains to make sound freaks out at the bottom of a well off drunk down dream, wishing on its last tossed out thought, many pennies in the well off styrofoam cup, many many lives for a piece of plastic, lucky enough to be born in oil, digging with a bread basket, born elastic, still adapting, washing in the stop-bath, gasket between us, kissing in a gas mask, training mechanical seals, on a manatee learning curve, singing with the school bell, swimming in an eighty-proof dress, parrot parents, church on each shoulder, shooing off the polish, dead flies in my folder, crashed planes and lab mice left clicking on a piece of pirated cheese, we chose to go blind in one eye because its the style, miles of receipt paper, thousands of parrot-feathers, the blue sky on my shoulders, when will they make a robot to cry for me, born in a snorkel, the first bird that knew it would climb out of the sea, conceived as an aftershock, never stopped firing (was the world trade center just a tremor) shoestring slingshot dropping 20(20) for the turkey in the cross-hairs, dead cheese drawing circles in the sugar for the press full of cheek void of any words, words watching their weight
this is a feather attempting to bird
smarts in the gun
heart to the head
cop in your art
(heart in the gun)
(art to the head)
(pain in the smarts)
(dead at the wheel)
(this is only a test)
(dear guilty head caught in another raid (or bear-trap)

we ride our dreams to sleep, the hardest horse to break, no shop for the amount i forgot, farm on my back, sipping from a broken glass, eyes mopping in the icing, clear blue sky on the meat-cutter, same mayonnaise clouds,
the first extinct ocean, the last archaeopteryx, atlantis was a swirling pile of plastic, the garden of easy to name brand names, born capital Be and or will till i'm not, practical knot in my stomach, every other emotion: cattle in a rope, doing an inventory of moons, the crater we worked our friendship into, trying to take off with the star stuff we were made of,
i made it to the first cloud (that looked like a basket of fruit) and slipped
the next few days i was rain
the same penny falling every time
a bank in a flood

i give you my eyes
on stand by
and wait
Track Name: old fat
(stretch marks: old fat)

stretch marks: every minute with a toll-booth
every toll-booth with a stopped watch
holding the whale in smile
dipping the cheese in batter
missing sleeves in the magic

self-tanner: who needs the sun
keep your ugly pale pet watch off my lawn
(keep your jumping sheep off my blindfold)

stretch marks: the farthest the sheep made it over its own wool

blindfolds: the stretch marks over our eyes
too many highways in the rearview
too many blinding lights at the end of the - future, like scar tissue
wipe your eyes on the fire in front of you

reverse abstract

backward shirt
the church slowly undressing (trying to make you see it) but without spoiling the plot

trailer for my intentions, double wide, trying to fit the whole nipple in its mouth
how to say all the creases in between
how to weigh all the holes in the cheese

backward necktie tied tight around the milk nipple, drip me chocolate for my night-off , kick me stars around my head for come morning

where did the dirt road become visible wrapped around her wrists like chains
which link did we surf to haldol on, which number-shark ate us half way there,
where did the freeways become drinking habits tucked under bridges with bums,
when did the bridges start counting cars (counting as citizens)
where did our dollar first slip out its tit and throw off its armor and clothes

my golden handkerchief and dead indian’s head on a key-chain weighs a ton
tomorrow was a good day
she didn’t oddly enough even have to use her ID,
no one carded us writing off the time on a one-size-fits-all-tissue, walking into the box, i held a snickers like a stick-up pistol, only pulled out the nougat to see everyone in the room serious for one minute

head full of (exploited)elements
fake-grabbed the cash (off the shaky table)

surgery lines: the longest 12 items or less stampede on this side of her face

(make up waited for everything to run late)

the plastic bag grabbed its leftovers and headed for a dumpster in the sun

was the gum, 7 years to swallow, the repressed emotion, like plastic, dug up out of oil, then stuck back into the heart, of itself, like a drill, not the straw on the cola’s back?, not the choking camel en-route to the coal-mine back into our teeth? (like gum), did my teeth stick together on that last sentence, does my TNT not fit properly in my mouth

this is a staged dream
This Is an Emergency Drill (loony and out of its shopping cart)

all the leaf-blowers into one bag

all the leaves headed clear in one direction

every hole worth digging twice

i might find my heavy golden arm

the hook already hanging from my cheek
Track Name: molotov breadbasket (pleen)
molotov breadbasket (pleen)

this song starts unable to find its wifebeater, this song drips slowly out of an Accuracy International L115A3 (media acclaimed) looking for its paraffin (keeping the time of day by the rate at which his open wounds would scab over) this tenth lullaby in a row serves coffee cold in a cough syrup cup, this all-danced-out square, this old arm to swing, hands up against the wall street, dixiefolded over in its own corner, skin color bandaids and alabama heart burn, woke up on the border, half in merryland, half over the PA line (am the principal/can't touch the principal) half free, half with a kind slave owner, rubbing the back of the boss's computer monitor while it pukes up my lunch money in a urinal, this chant begins (by) pissing in the wind, this gutter starts by running over, jesus and buddah had the same belly, the bible needed a bigger belt, to keep all the flattened fish from being (un)discovered (falling from their oversized cuffs) (but which wall should we call the front) but still science needed its telescope to send itself up the down escalator, to sea the whale at its feet, i tried to shout out 3 blocks ahead of me, or really only two feet stuck on the bottom of the die we roll ourselves over in bed about, the mute clown walked the wall-paper-painted elephant into the room, every bored mouse double clicked at its cheese, the body bag had a rockingchair in it, some of us had to put the beach chair on the top of the most famous mountain, of course the love seat had to go on the moon, this song starts out mid-dream (lucid) thinking it's flying, this flying parachutes through ice-clouds, sloppy like whiskey, in the closet trying to get neat, tuxed out and tucked in my bottlecap, flipped the fish over to find tire tracks, we walked ourselves home, following the footprints we put in ourselves, following the freight we had to weigh ourselves in about at at every pull off of mirror worth the rest, as if the cat-nap was nine dreams, as if the shrink will ever reveal its too big to fall hand, as if the doctor will ever tell you how not to die(w/o his $ turing greener) as if the shrink rap doesn't already imply death (as if the yesterday's chicken worth saving were highschool) as if the age you found your attic-light made a difference to the sum of time spent nickel and diming out the difference, as if every penny for thought worth calling out could be called heads up, on a paying phone, as if the web we each eat each other out of (and into) didn't matter, as if the tweet wasn't measured as mass in a bubbling beaker, as if the sitting duck didn't already have a volume knob, they flopped us over and found highways, broken bones with toll booths(at each fracture),(cultural-traffic) and congested yoga, bending drunk into the dotted lines, all the well put together addictions, with their worst cancers in money-clips, all the finished pictures on a check-out line, wholest milk with the tallest boots mayflowering the (coldest)pole, duck in the voting booth, i always hit south in the extremities, bucking on the last bill but up against me in the thinking line, took the 1 line uptown, thinking about the bottom of my bag on the floor, with a half-stare in a just washed sales smock selling winter, the geese asked at each stop if this crosstown bus went south, the payload frowned and winked, the clown makeup read downtown, express line, crying in the heat, these broken bones read wrong map, outdated gold, the bankers collaging with my ripped off flesh, read back every one of my receipts, looking for owed money, the water bucket ducked in the well, we stood around waiting for glue, as if the planet didn't need the sun, to hold itself together, she claimed those lowered brows weren't california coming off, weren’t continents shifting,
emotionally, she wanted to be Pangaea, but every harbour needed its own slave, to carry off its acre of land, every beaker needed a lobbyist, full of worms, money is frankenstein, we all had arranged marriages, the busted bumper on the get-a-way bus read "stuck together" while it shouted "uncle" like blood hitting the paper that cut it, i wore a hearse around my neck like a 'just hitched' tee-pee on a flatbed truck, being towed off with the week's recycling, i paid for 5 bags of trash with 2, wore the sweat around my neck like an unlocked collar, every indian burn on an elephant's trunk screaming 'thanksgiving' and 'mercy' like' bloody murder', like empty soda cans and dog-tags hitting the highway pavement behind them (in a stretch-hummer) 1 minute an hour rationally, she only wanted to be one continent, as one continent, she longed for gypsy-boats, for un-motored ships, carrying freight with weight to spare, a wave hitch-hiking another coastline, holding a cardboard sign and a 'had-money' frown, saying: 'broke' - 'looking for my fix'
this song died in its wifebeater holding a cheese knife and a wad of toilet paper, this song broke its neck reaching for the saw blade, slipped in the ballet dancer's sweat, trying to sample god, this science teacher explains the frog in his throat on a surgery table with a pair of running scissors, this song died choking on its own wishing bone, this whole thing was said with mouth full of tv dinner and double parked dump trucks, this song was never not a landfill, throw your garbage
Track Name: one day in the universe
(one day in the universe)

scared of the facts
bed sores are for suckers
swears she’d never let a mostly deflated balloon live
(just) to spite the string
our gut is our stinger if we’re to (k)not or be
(local) bully bearing honey, second arm tired of the slight of hand
(butterfly) jar to the head
hard work with the crowbar (white gloves)
happy comes, happy goes (fast as)
bullets are the new birds (evolved clouds) day-dreaming off an old cliff
drama cows eating grass out of grazed ears
poetic wrangler with the knocker mopping down weeds
old tit flipping(the) tube ruined on commercial food and complimentary colors becoming (one), one with the rug to buck it under-neath, one with the hustle, shovel always under dirt, done with the bucket, but still kicking a can, can till i’m not, knot till i’m rope, rope till plateau, stop till she feels it, go till you drop, mountain till you fog, jog moments ago till you’re gone, hopped on the same train, got off to get on a-gain, clocking in at the last thought
cop in the sudden, drop in the room’s blotchy sub-stratosp-Here, with the bull’s horns, cropping out sad notes, plopping down cookies and (hand)tilling up anecdotes, flower in the piss pot, it’s the sloppy table not the cloth, dog in the other room, thoughts in a cage, can sleep sound if everything’s in place
mace in the bigot drawer
haste with the see it saw it, raw egg washed its hands of he(it)haw
hundred men’s pens it takes to overweight an ancient straw ,hundred thoughts away from a wounded knee, busted jaw or john brown &/or manifest destiny
hundred thirty pounds malnourished over England floating in a cheap soda, popping out of low clouds, spitting like a camel
know i’m mammal, something more, and not
floor to ceiling ready for you,
no tears on the end of our pen
mud and quicksand can’t keep me down
loud in a public prayer
shout through the rebuttal
haste with the raw egg
safe keep closed, steep money fumble on the high-jump
chump thunder and groupie clouds
(they thought the) lightening was paparazzi
the blue sky was a limousine
stretch the zebra-stripes as far as you’d like
sturgeon stay up late to watch you undress
yes, the dinosaur shaped to our liking

as if stealing from the tie wasn’t the same as waiting to be hung from it
as if making anything for your self didn’t mean giving it away

how we’ve made one field many
and back to one again
where does the internet end
who says the earth isn’t only casing its own tail
they bet heads on flipping a failed state
as long as someone picks up the coin
i won decapitated and popping corn
the goats speaking tin can, i was (a) paper cup and started listening
the candy began rapping, the cola was different but the mug remained the same, every star on a shoestring by the serif on the end of its capitalized name
iphone started coughing, the moment couldn’t text it back fast enough
the jacked candy in the box kept rapping
opening (up) on shock (1st number, butterscotch)
gobstop the sloppy death threat, inkblot the copy 10-4 on the bed wet
pulling twenty up and over the ditch, glitch hic-cup yesterday’s dinner on the landfil
call it a niche, spit hot garbage over a bloodied-up beat, greeted like a roadside bomb (the(western) moon coming up and over its last song)

the highest flame on rome hits number one
we got faxed democracy
(trying to) talk into it like a phone
(the) twizzler kept spelling its own name
screwfaced and bleeding in a public-well
newest candy kept rapping
out the box hi-tops talking bout their talent
worn heels bleeding back, itching at their aloe
shoelaces shout respect
boot up in the shallow

(the nail only goes slowly into death)
we each take our turn
winding up the ballot

being the spring in the back of winter


(trying to find its original place)


(she was sorry her fire hydrant was red)
(never meant to fall asleep between stars)

(we climbed into sky before the sun came up) (with pieces of the nest that bred us)
(between snores the white bread meant to turn green)
(clean jump into the clip-on)

(a social worker floats by on a medical balloon)