I posted the link to the full album on YouTube in the previous post. Please feel free to track through the album at whatever pace you please. My suggestion: Give yourself an hour, find someplace to sit or lay down, and let this puppy roll through your speakers. A little background on the album: The Volta recorded it under the supervision of the in famous Rick Rubin.
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You are on page 1of 13 Search inside document Cerpin taxt stood high above the wobbling miscarriage of oncoming traffic, he was weak in the knees. Blackened out of synch knew his time here would soon end with an internal hemorrhaging made aware by the animonstrosity of his frankenstatue presence.
No longer would he carry on his shoulders the weight of passion. No where were his next of kin to be found. Automotive surges spilled through the veins below him. Was this the only passage that he could find? His jaws jingled with cold studdering, his stomach bulged mid- metamorphosis, grumbling knot belches,too nervous to look down into the inviting concrete collision.
He served himself no other choice. Between two mountains that claimed some half assed biblical truth, Cerpin knew better, as it had been etcha-sketched with the branding of a caveat emptor,scarlett with with rheumatic shakes.
The rail that adorned the top of the bridge pulsated a cape of winced shut on looking. Cars drove past in amazement A few miles up the street, the band played on. Springs coiled tightly in the tendons of his legs His tears smoldered into the afternoon air, no one could stop this now. He wondered in flashback stanzas, omitted from this reality, his body took form Waiting for the opportunity, wilting in sin Slicing of one last breath, sparking diamonds in the headlights, forever stained in maroon stamps.
Cerpin had always been a little overly possessed by his chimerical scribblings. Between lunch breaks and during class, maybe even in his sleep you would find him drawing neo-cultures, diseased and grotesque. That was the portal he created, getting dirty in the nails, small hairs yanked always a canvas moment waiting in the wings. This served its purpose well, as he was malnourished without the outlet. So vividly they spoke to him, committed to its paper. He never noticed if anyone else could hear them too He knocked on doors that everyone else knew had no exsistence.
Belched of lab coated meat hooks caught on spinal column thorns Ouija boarded inch by gasp, slow notion in their claps, surrounded by the grave rings of nervosa, with its mote floating on an axis suspended in time. Filled center psalm lesions of grandeur You could say he was whipped by the argot of his insignificant others. On this black and white planet roared boils upon its shores, nesting bedwetting for outlet.
Cerpin taxt, ever the ardent underdog He needed to be needed. Longing for scores, unzipped face deformed expatriate. They Many a sun did pass before the house of Tremula Metacarpi was to decide upon a new leader, and were meant for each other. They defined one another, and soon they would be one. Traced back in years. Recalling the events, there was man that we tremulants had ever layed eyes on. He resided in the manacle sect of mundy, one of many a venom in numerical tries. An autocrat in waitng,unknown to himself even This had happened before.
With immense fever we handpicked the irradi excerpts from the guilty library of half-truths. A book On an opaque afternoon, fending for himself, in the wake of a mistake, Cerpin was caught on guard of suspended impact. How-to manual that taught seduction through the art of suicide. Chapterless void in the line of quarrelling fire. A closed can of inebriation had found its way between his own crosshairs of crass ultimatums, liberally adopting the monthly blood of human conversions.
It was with the aid of striking him in the cranium. A class of migraine unto itself. Maybe he had asked for it? Maybe it was the this manual that set the snails into a marmoset of momentum. Each page wrapped itself around Cerpin, excuse he needed to traverse the borderland of clairaudient dwellings.
Through aneurysm vespers, in raping its way into his body. For it was by his hand that that we were damned to live in motion sick stills the cabinet were the means.
To smithereens of an aching argument, he left the point of impact, yeah he of bone colored paper. By his ink cult of prods that begot him his only children. Yet the ragman of mundy left it for broke to medicate his wounds. Maybe he had made a mistake, but mistakes are what his dreams knew nothing of his next to kin. So it had begun were made of.
That handful of morphine his mother left behind the canvas of his face The gates of thanos when she died sure came in handy. This was the hit that marked the beginning. In and out of reality for were now spread eagle wide.
They had imagined me as catastrophic Mangled around an strut from abroad. True prince among the living dead. A wicker at wits end, sweltering an oracle of muse, ectopic horse feed on mute. One who had drunk with the owls, with neuce in left hand, by jurors, gaffels at attention. To the outer reaches you will find find bipolar chance. You are here by formative droves, making all his advances imperially morose. Bodies can only take so much wear and banished for the crime of attempt.
Aboard the televator hides, the ESP will take you by the serving of tear before they collapse. They seemed to throw protected the check mates. Mosaic intervals jonesing imminent his hair on rooted nerve ending. Mala suerte that reduced him to a ruble of incoherent belligerence. His tongue became a cluster of stolen hinges unable to close sentences. Unconventional and undeniable. A Tremulant megaphone And such was their sentence. Prescription unfilled left clenching in my hand. What was it that i calls….
I could not remember. Where was i going? The lepers had said their piece and all across the That is until we brimmed the ballots with the grins of bloodlet nominations, punctual and factual. They prepared my craft in which i was to travel in. Adorned it After all he created us. What would we be without our beloved bull legged hex of a leader. An empty throne with amoebas as a means of autopilot automation, for it was reapers who would man the ship.
I felt my queret. A pinched swerve found at the bottom of a manmade throat, that was carved into stalactite teeth, equilibrium trade places with my lungs. My feet became walls my back ruptured open with choirs of and bandaged with the charm of taffeta webs. To some it was known as the orifice of the latitude, flapping wings that had spread an ephemeral rush that began to convert my into a hibernating underworld;stuffed with loons that helped bat Cerpins eyes, where endorphins made carnage from an jet propelled larvae.
I squirmed into position, vomiting rigor mortis settling in, and then it happened. A insulant pride. Through out the years it had become a lair made of murals that drifted out of tar and thin grapnel of thick neon quagmire shot open and sank me through the continuum of time and space itself. From their isles. Singing songs of excommunication into a scape of the neck of cranes and nightingale files Lunged into nightmare inside the ESP impure. It was the attempt that fell neckbroken of grunts, from roller coasted rattles unkept in this new found hostel.
My blanketless train. An insulin coma, baring the mark of Tremula Metacarpi; an executrix at play in the first attempt will cripple at the door of atrophy, ests son las viajes antes que me fui I need sanctuary in the pages of this book.
De-Loused in the Comatorium storybook
De-Loused in the Comatorium