(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


from You Were Murdered As A Kid, released September 30, 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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