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A SONG IS INSTRUCTIONS FOR ITSELF

017
Oct 30, 2025
Transmission
000

Pre-Program

(This is some stripper rap shit) YOU WOULDN'T TAKE ME AT MY WORD / BUT YOU TOOK ME BY THE TAIL / DREW YOUR OWN CONCLUSIONS / THEN YOU THREW MY ASS IN JAIL / I'M JUST GLAD YOU DIDN'T DRAW A GUN / IMPULSES OVERRUN / WHO KNOWS HOW IT'D-D-D'VE GONE →
001

A Song

(hey) TAX CATTLE TARGET PRACTICE DESPERATION DISASTROUS PRAXIS.   A SONG (A SONG (A SONG)) IS INSTRUCTIONS FOR ITSELF IF YOU HAVE TO ASK THIS (hey)   CELLULAR DEATH PRE-PROGRAMMED COLLAPSES (ah) SOUND THE TONE AS THE RATTLE ELAPSES   JAMES CARES A L O T JUST AS L O N G AS THE MASK FITS (SOMEBODY STOP ME) (((HA-HA)))   A TISKET A TASKET SERGE FABRICS AND BASKETS (ah) BIRKIN LURKING OUT AT M A X F I E L D'Sss (SHUT THE FUCK UP)   INTRUSIVE THOUGHTS AND EXCLUSIVE APPEAL YOU'RE A WINDOW SHOPPER WITH A TALKING HABIT (ah)   BUGS BUNNY BITCH (yeah) I'M TALKING CARROTS   DANGLE THE STICK CATCH A FIRE AND FLARE UP BOVINe BEHEMOTH SPOT A COW LIKE NEW GLARUS (what the fuck?)   BRASS BALLS IN THE BRAZEN BULL
002

At All

to be honest I don't think of you   Hollywood? I wouldn't. You set sail to shores that you shouldn't.
003

A Song Sung Again

▶︎

A song

again

I say

A SONG IS INSTRUCTIONS FOR ITSELF

I make "songs" for "recording" but in truth they are spells intended to be passed along.

Stealth instruction.

Wealth introduction.

If I succeed they are gifts rather than curses.

Patterns.

In the sense of outfits.

And crimes.

And criminal outfits.

Disorganized.

It's difficult to tell sometimes.

The format is meaningless.

But meaninglessness rhymes.

You may receive it as a .wav, an .mp3, a radio hit, a stranger's humming.

Ultimately it lives misremembered and carried along.

Mutated in your head lossily.

Buckshot birdsong.

Blessed gloss.

Read it into nothing.

Leaderless and lost.

Take the tongue traveling.

004

Childwould

The isolation never really ended for me. It never began. Streets and TV. More advertisements than advisement. More reprisals than prizes.
005

Here Are the Footprints of the Ancestors

Life is an exit scam. Clammed up in pearliglam. The rug pulls slowly. You begin to walk apace. You walk only in place.
006

And You Rode In on the Breath of Hell

Blow on me. A sent ember. Caught in the breeze.
007

The Circle Snaps

Factions fracture. Clans collapse. A name in vain. A ghost. A gasp.
008

Laurel Cannon

Simpler cassandras will never know the agony of the oracle. The predicative pen. Each stroke divinatory. A wand, really.
009

Detention's in Session

The crackle lure. Static. Sure. Pricked pixels. Pick up your pencils.
010

Cash, Money, Etc.

Yeah boy you been there a while. Cayman crocodile. Turning over miles.
011

Lookout

Red-light discreet. It's right to retreat. Return to the draft. Turn left it's my street.
012

Unraveling Jazz

Ear-ended. They spoke in putrid euphemisms. Puked venom. Poured torrents. Spigots and spurts. Water works. And waste too.
013

Instruments, Implements

A brief candle in spandex stretch. Copy, vary, select. Meticulous. Ridiculous. Spells spun up in glyphs. Ginned up indigo. Coagulated Dracula. Pre-mammalian and without a tit to suck he lived brutishly. In single-celled violence. Outbursts. Information like blood burst. Oozing bloodloss. Sluts lusting. Fat gems in a windowbox. Your tongue's tied and your asshole's puckered. Your card's punched and your days are numbered. This is a labor of lumber. Love left. Valentine massacred. Loveless. You're right on time. I'm based in trouble. Let me introduce you to someone lovely. Blunt objects and heady subjects.
014

A Done-Well Job

if you want them to hear it you're gonna need to put a gun in your mouth if you get it right they'll drink from the flowing spout but if you fuck it up if you fuck it up if you fuck it up if you
015

Boom-Ba-Ba Boom-Ba Da-Doom Da-Da Doom-Da

Drum fills. 55 gallons. A hollow body. Hanging in the balance. Took six days. To melt you down. And on the seventh day. We ship you out of town.
016

Chordate Idea (Wake Up Wet)

Diagnosis died alone. Along the banks. Of tripping Rome. Backward-masked. A skipping stone. Head to the back. The neck cracks and groans.
017

Antichrist Climax

Jesus. Thesis. Antithesis. Syphilis. Upended apparatus. Counterfeited status. Every hour. Some new evil. Roiled and foisted.
018

Sighs of It

Pitched to the sheets with authorial intent. Pitched in the streets like an author late on rent. When (and where) words have run out. And rain bleeds. Stem-cloned. Rapeseed.
019

The Wash

Last looks before lost looks. The whole appeal of a covered book. A dusty jacket and the notes you took. It's all marginal.
020

Three True Things and a Gimmick

I've been summoning demons with machinery. Average people were mean to me. What's mundane's wounddown. You see. You'll see.
E X I T   S T I N G S
E X I S T I N G
021

The Appeal of a Level Playing Field

Clown costumes for the idiot rodeo. I'm her with her hair slicked back. She's me with my dick tucked up and away. Load-bearing loads born. Pantry hunger. Caprice scorn. Lowered bore. Forevermore.
022

Vengeance Bender

Are you doing it just to prove it? Whose approval do you seek? The message is death. And it's taken alive. A farmer's frown and a prisoner's pride.   Soon:   Irregular armies, fighting uniformless. Among themselves, even. All fallen. Some in Adidas. Others nude. Or painted with mud. Caked with clay and chalked red for war. Spears. Slings and arrows. All the ammo's run out. All the drones are downed. The privileges of kings and clowns. Revoked. Renounced. The denouement of doubt. A mountain's mouth.   The face of god appears in the cratering moon and screams disapproval. Bellowing nightsky thunder. Secret weapons' wonder. An unannounced arrival. A shocking development.   Beaten, all beat. They set aside their arms and fucked. Without thought or shame in the filth of corpseleavings. The earth greedily eating itself. Full feast. The passing time of the walking beast.   "What's next slithers," A familiar grin. The extinguisher. The silencing.