I only want exit I only want exit I only want closure I only want to close the door on you I only want exit I only want exit I only want your trust I only want to close the door on you I only want exit I only want exit I only want free love I only want to close the door on you I only want exit I only want exit I only want existence I only want to close the door on you I only want exit We’re all one hundred percent Alone We’re all one hundred percent Empty We’re all one hundred percent On fire We’re all one hundred percent Flying in the sky We’re all one hundred percent Next to death We’re all one hundred percent Nestled within a winking tragedy We’re all one hundred percent Only you and me We’re all one hundred percent Starving our little egos with Epacac We’re all one hundred percent Brazenly unemployed We’re all one hundred percent Scared out of our little wits We’re all one hundred percent Running on the fumes of our history We’re all one hundred percent Pricking out our eyes We’re all one hundred percent So ready to die We’re all one hundred percent Next to a beautiful end We’re all one hundred percent Totally incomplete We’re all one hundred percent Clamoring for the door While we’re all one hundred percent Trapped in the burning backseat We’re all one hundred percent Asleep at the wheel And we’re all one hundred percent Eager to keel over I only want exit I only want exit I only want closure I only want to close the door on you I only want exit I only want exit I only want your trust I only want to close the door on you I only want exit I only want exit I only want free love I only want to close the door on you I only want exit I only want exit I only want existence I only want to close the door on you I only want exit Brittle silence shatters And all my silence is smattered Upon a dull hill of faded desire I burn it all in the fire As we rest on the broken stones And spoken bones And the slivery smoke of a thousand burning houses Expires like a night light And we awake in our own darkness Dead dream like a fading furnace Like an eerie insight in past tense Like an anxious memory Like a shattered, Silent light

And now it’s time to let it go It’s time to let it breathe This is the moment you leave alone This is the home that you leave Take a breath Now lay upon your glowing dim, low-flowing tidal wave within Your slow-motion undertow and your own implosive whim That buzzing hum and that roaring hymn, black And boiling to the brim, free from your own syntactical spin Bursts your fiery light And fades of a sudden into your own sullen and gray night sun With the last of your lights on Flicker blast of a charging chant An electrical lamp Bellows from deep within your throat A hollow kind of hope And throughout all the space that the universe knows And through whose undertow you swim, unrelenting And within the expanse of an empty verse You let go of your own charming curse Bestowed upon you from the moment of birth And as potential gives light, when you’ve missed your mark But the glow recedes from the grooves of your heart The only thing right is that you’ll grow into the dark Cuz cynicism grows into what you cannot forgive, So forget it And move beyond your own un-begotten sunset Notice how slow in the length of the night Is the gradual crash into light The boiling ringing of the sky’s return Never lives up to the let down of a numbing burn Cuz it may be your last long night without a throbbing storm Within which to find your half-eaten soul unworn But I’ll take a chance on that So chant that last breath of regret Just don’t choke on that everlasting breath Let’s not let it end like that Because from that near-sighted past, I only want exit And I only want strength in that special kind of emptiness

Destination: destitution Play a tune some Rest in peace, son Reservation for reclamation Collective nations To fade away, then We’re all One hundred percent on fire Just burning our way And I was blinded, so now I see The only presence I give off is as an absentee Your only problems arose exactly when you chose To walk an artificial path of positivity And I don’t wanna see ya wanna win some over With your bitter onomatopoeia freedom closer Cuz who can do that voodoo that you say only you can do so well Motherfucker, you’re just a rather soulful but still empty shell Because you only mimic an otherwise all-too-actual hell And you don’t even do that much nearly as well as You do the voodoo that you still hope will help you find a truer self But it’s still just a chemical spell Never feels as good as when it’s somebody else Tugging away at all your stubborn little pieces of hell And what else is there? Another method to slowly impair your own ingrown judgments Of everyone else You’re letting go of all your whistles and bells now So listen to know-how There’s nothing to find out As you’re Slowly burning down your shackling firehouse And you’re Slowly blowing out the smoke right through your still empty mouth And in your beautiful daze, you turn your fiery gaze Upon the intending hands of every enforcing man Of those so devout to cure you And still yet to suffer the doubt from within you And hey teachers leave us motherfucking children to learn We don’t need your water let that motherfucker to yearn We don’t need your badges, ring of fire, burn baby burn And all your false fear and fake fright lives on in your empty urn Lives on in your empty urn We’re all one hundred percent on fire The boiling ringing of the sky’s return Lives on in your empty urn As flames shred your share in what the mantra calls right Only you can stamp out your own potential for light And I can’t Seem to kick the urge to prescribe To the irremediable And I can’t Let go of my need to take back What is always irredeemable And I can’t Draw any closure on my need to describe What resists all forms of portrayal I am guiltlessly unable To evolve beyond my faded fable To satisfy my theoretical failure I will never please the vengeful ghosts of a burnt out savior Because in my head When all my ghosts are dead And every women and men When all our ghosts are dead Then We shall stand upon them

(On the count of one Four and Two and One) I’m screaming cats and dogs And it’s raining bloody murder in here I’m a jack of all tirades Just a bloody little sidewalk smear You got me twisted up and tightened in a blurry little bomb of a knot Take caution with your question cuz the answer will be sold and thought Cuz everything and, is also everything not And all your tragic fire fell asleep and forgot That everything stands, and therefore everything walks And all our fragile dreams will stagger lonely off the clock And everything is always forgot (That’s just what things are) Cuz everything and is always everything not (Just gaze on any one burning star) And all our wormy thoughts are bottle-necked, Cuz our slimy minds are caught in a clot So toddle over to your barstool It’s not a teeter-totter it is a level playing field Just feels like a see-saw, cuz that’s all you ever see-saw around you And that’s your own damn fault if drinking’s all you do But that’s all you can do To pitch a cure to you Is force your mind to a stand still With all your chemical spillovers Into a pill popper You’re a pill lover So move over There’s always room where everybody knows you Everybody knows your name When everybody self-medicates the same Damn downtrodden self In this living, breathing bloody hell You’re a canary in your own mind You’re working overtime but it’s not paying back on your own damn dime Reverse your mortgage, buy back your own two cents Was never a sensible choice to reinvest your own monthly rent In the same stale answer that expires after six months Just re-digest all the thoughts you already over-spent In developing your restless and over-developed six guns How to make violence into a pun? My explosive mind and heart are horrifically homespun And I’m having a blast, turn my anger into something fun Funnel my frustration into a single pin-prick Delayed reaction to it, I love it On the count of one Everyone take account of the months We’ve spent dying in the sun While they dine with the finest ones For something that is and is not Fraught with the violence we have woven We have spun all our emptiness Into a goldmine for them And everything we call “mine” remains in its otherness To our brotherliness And all our little sisterliness All sold and bought To the highest bidder And yes, your highness, I am quite bitter about it Of all that I have never fought, and all that you always have ill-got You better believe I’ve got Something blistering to say About you and your petty, little ways Cuz it’s about damn time, In a big way, This festering little dog’s had his goddamn dog day So bite the hand that rocks the cradle to sleep Rewrite their wrongs, rearrange and re-avenge all our disabled, Squeaky wheels that fall on deaf ears Blind all of our mind’s eyes, big man gives the oil to our fears Patently unfounded, but the patent’s been extended Another four years Or so we audaciously hope, With all of our dashed hopes For all our well kept tears And our unkempt beards Betray our need for the man who betrayed our needs So have another beer With FEAR Three cheers to our everlasting salud I salute you, and your suicidal intellect that never moves A muscle Isn’t it funny How we all get all jumpy When we think we got a treat Jump up jump up and get down Get up offa that thing And onto that mangled spine That bruised retreat to your good time gal And your good time guy There is no reason why The man Who sings that beautiful “everything and” thing, and his big-band swing Is only ever an empty grandstanding Only ever and greatly exaggeratedly cleverly better, he Only wants the better man To get the better of a national plan Of an historically rational So-called civilization of so-called man Of humanity’s bitterly buttery hands, From whose grasp it always slips and lands Into that old better man’s hands And don’t you worry, with your worrier’s cry I know you tried But there’s always better luck on the other side The grass is greener next time, man It’s all in your outlook, man Cuz it ain’t about the course of events It’s about how well you planned And how you see the emperor’s unclothed hand For what it is, And for what it’s worth Yes, I’ve heard you say it’s all a scam, But everything not, is also everything and It’s an all-inclusive exclusivity, man None of us gets the better hand Physically feeble and outrun, I’m outnumbered by more than one hundred and one Defamations, Falling to my own deafened ears Voiced in unison with my own naked fears No such thing as a reclamation When we’d never have been stolen from If not for the definition of a nation Where’s my gun? I think I’ll have a nap I’m having a blast.

(Ceschi) it's a nouveau leisure class made of one million grown children breaking their necks attempting to learn the secret to sucking their own dicks. (Olson) Your hip upper lip And the chic depressive-manics Who pretend to understand it The way you fit in, but in a way you don’t quite fit And all your emo constituents All agree your rise to artistic dominance Was no coincidence They say that you’re of us, but not among us And hip mystics intone this, That you’re the 13th disciple of an exclusive populace The lone leader of a newfound hipness You give happiness a sickness That makes it appealing to people still guilty of privilege Well I find your appeal oppressive And exploitative The way you co-opted ironic pop shock tactics Is fantastically useful to the massively brutal Mass-manipulation machine That entraps this Ironic regime of hipness Like a sequined glove on an iron fist Nobody wants to break character Just to be a witness But it really is unfortunate The power-play of awesomeness The politics of popularity It makes me sick, can you dig this, without a financial interest? Cuz your hip upper lip Is just a stiff upper hand, man You got a rigid grip on the backs of the necks Of a generation just growing into it We just got acquainted with the notion That we gotta settle down like a good little nation Collection of countries puts away its exclamations Sharpened gashing teeth I get the smart end of a tough titty But somebody’s gotta suck you off And I guess it’s me And I guess that means that you respect me Enough to poison me with your witty embrace And give me your poison face to face Spoon-feed me a personalized diet of disappointment You cater to my own already existent hate And tell me it occurs naturally It’s chemical occurrence Is a truth of human fate My hate was already meant to be (Ceschi) it's a nouveau leisure class made of one million grown children breaking their necks attempting to learn the secret to sucking their own dicks. Call the Williamsburg police All the vegans who accidentally ate fish sauce in their Thai food are force purging at the same time from every 3 digit area code and the coded passwords that hold every intimate secret in their phones have been cracked I know each word is a teenager's cry-for-help-cut from '94 but my 30 something hands aren't letting me hang myself yet they're no stronger than I am. they're no stronger than I am. even though they walk at 4 am with peacock confidence deep down they realize that their ironic everything is simply avoiding any authenticity. these streets are endless pageants because honesty is no longer cool. the ephemeral beauty of cocaine parties where men wake up to rings of lipstick circling their cocks the next morning is their romance. caring is pathetic unless its something they're supposed to care about. now the brooklyn streets smell of spilled semen or lice ridden community pools and the workers will sweep them... and the luxury lives that parents provided will keep workers sweeping. every day is so damn new when memories disappear and nostalgia is only recalling yesterday before pills made it unclear. hazy,selfish and clueless till the drugs wear off and they realize that theyre hopeless like the rest. they're no better because of how they're dressed. revolution was just joking, so they finally settle for work as hedge fund managers in hoboken. it's a nouveau leisure class made of one million grown children breaking their necks attempting to learn the secret to sucking their own dicks. (Olson) And while I was unwittingly Nursing on the tough titty of a fat cat, disguised as a hepcat Sucking down the sour similes of an Anarcrat Wearing one of his many party hats The Great Greek Goddess Nonsensicles Appeared to me while I was on my knees And whispered to me, “I hear your pleas To hear just how To hear, here and now, how From the horse’s mouth A generation who’s abandoned All your stubborn patience Can move beyond it so quickly” Yes, please, I wanna hear it Through the same teeth that bit me And she said, quietly, So close to me And with the earnestness and honesty Only found in a majesty Worthy of the moniker Nonsensicles She said so slowly to me, Let go and let it be, you little pussy What kind of wisdom would you expect from me? I’m not your idol, anymore that I’m free Even though you adore me You’re not free yet, and I’m not your pet And if you think for a blistered little minute That you can bleed me heroic and wax off poetic Then you can suck my dick Cuz I’m not your little trick You don’t pull me out of the hat you talk out of But that still doesn’t mean I’m an Ideocrat that You can safely pull out of I’m just a stealthy cat who’s on my own way And tends to share your own hate Not so much for the out of touch middle men But for the little men Who are somehow minimally in touch in such a way To literally falsely convey A hipfound alternative to the squares of yesteryear When it’s all so near to same old garbage we hear Since yesterday And it’s retro-year, the twenty-year rule It’s a new day to say it A new way to pay homage to it You’ve got a garage full of it Now it’s cool cuz it’s nostalgic, and not oppressive But what’s the damn difference When it’s the same rotten message?