dressing to undress

i woke up one day to find that i had gone from having a pretty large circle of friends and an active social life, to being something of a recluse. mostly it was my own doing, and it had been necessary for my own mental health. it felt like time for a change. i picked up some new microphones and preamps that caused the quality of my recordings to skyrocket. i decided to ditch the cut-and-paste method employed on KEEP YOUR SCARS and to ignore the wealth of leftovers (in various states of completion) still remaining from the fruitful period of the last three cds. this cd would be coming from the “now” entirely, with all songs new in every sense. in some ways, this was an important turning point in my writing; scarred by too much exposure to mainstream filth over the years, i vowed never to write a song that incorporated a chorus again, and to avoid rhyming almost entirely. some songs still followed pretty conventional structures, but there was an increased emphasis on avoiding repetition (the most notable example is probably the recluse falls in love). a line from you will never pretty neatly sums up what would soon become my “career” credo: “predictability is the first step in the direction of mediocrity”. by giving the cd more time and space to unfold, i assumed i would be able to successfully eject any and all filler, eventually producing something that would put a lot of my previous work to shame. instead, i ended up hating it and dismissing the finished product as a piece of shit, and for all of my shunning of mainstream trappings, it somehow turned into the most accessible, “nicest” album i had made in years—maybe even the least offensive and most normal-sounding thing i had ever done, which is a distinction i think it still holds today. there was definitely an overall toning down of psychotic rage and emotional nudity, with more of a cryptic bent to the lyrics, but i’d long passed the point where i could write a song about nothing. it hardly mattered, since there wasn’t much of any audience to ponder what i was singing about anyway.

this was the first time a cd of mine would ever sport an actual front-and-back sleeve-thing. it was also the last cd i would complete as a teenager. i still think it’s one of the black sheep in my collection of solo albums, and that i let it soak in its own filth for much too long, but people actually bought copies of this one (albeit about seventeen of them), so i guess that counts for something. it didn’t seem like anyone who heard it was capable of disliking it, whether they were a white supremacist metal drummer, a conservative middle-aged woman or a writer for pitchfork media, which disturbed me even further. not that it led to a review or anything, but the fact that I had drunk fans in virginia was pretty scary. someone who was once a friend of mine even used this cd as make-out music on more than one occasion with at least a few of her…uh…fellow explorers, such was her affection for it. that always cracked me up a little, though it was flattering at the same time. i suppose time will determine precisely where it sits in my bloated oeuvre. in spite of my contempt for the thing as a whole, it does contain what has to be one of my best ever spoken word excursions (and the cd’s crowning achievement) in the shape of a blanket shower, which does a good job of summing up the taste left in my mouth by the adventures i’d had with the opposite sex, complete with an auditory skit and some singing in italian. what the italian passage translates to is pretty funny, and fittingly enough that part of the song was written while i was in italy, with the aid of a handy pocket dictionary. i even taught myself how to say, “excuse me! miss! where might i find a bandana like yours?” but unfortunately never got to try it out as a pickup line. i really was quite heavily into wearing bandanas at the time, and one of my dresser drawers is still full of about twenty of them.

a few other tracks are structurally jerky enough to save themselves from death through accessibility. soulrot is pretty jazzy, in spite of the rough edges, and features two brief guitar solos that felt like a voyage into new territory at the time. incandescent is a partial examination/celebration of the death of my social life. some of the very people i refer to as “vacant, mooching maggots” heard the song and had no idea i was singing about them. the first quasi-chorus employs some uncharacteristically direct chord changes, but that bit came from a dream (harmony and all) where i was playing with a small band onstage in a bar, and i remembered it upon waking. i took that as a sign to work it into a song, because at the time i didn’t remember that many of my dreams, and a lot of ideas and even complete songs had come to me in dreams over the years only to vanish once sleep had departed. laugh-lines is another one of those songs where i wonder how the hell it seemed like a good idea at the time, because it doesn’t do much for me now. at least the acoustic speed metal licks at the beginning are kind of fun. the recluse falls in love begins as another meditation on having virtually no social life, before becoming a little venomous. it also features some of my best drumming on the cd. amphetamine rush is the closest thing to a heavy track on the album, though it’s closer to sedated robin trower than anything all that heavy. at the time i considered leaving it off of the album, but i’ve warmed up to it a bit over the years. it does feature the longest guitar solo i’d played since the GWD days, and an unexpected ending. things get a little jazzy again with mickey rourke’s new face, which features some more of my better drumming, and it’s probably the most playful thing on the album. alas, for the first time in a while there’s no hidden track…just a minute or so of me talking about what my next album won’t be like. there are some bits that really make me cringe, like my singing at the end of broken & bleeding and some pretty ugly drumming trip-ups. i wonder what it is with those things where, while i’m recording the album, i think it’s shaping up to be one of the best things i’ve ever done, and then when it’s finished i decide it’s a piece of shit and i never want to hear it again. it’s happened a few times now. still, my contempt for the album has faded slowly over time, and i like it a little more every time i pull it out for a listen, which happens maybe once or twice a year. i notice some bass playing and drumming that i like, and remember that this is probably one of the tastier drum sounds i’ve gotten, out of the dozen or so complete changes in the sound over the years because of different microphones/mic placement/preamps/drums and other such things. my voice is left dry half the time and pushed up higher in the mix, which is a pretty big change from what had come before. i think tyson still thinks this is one of the best things i’ve ever done, which is something i’ll never understand. when he first heard the cd he told me, “this is like everything i wanted to do back when we had the band. it’s like you read my mind or something.” i thought that was funny, because there’s no way he would have been interested in tackling any of these songs back in 2002, since he wasn’t interested in 98% of what was coming out of me anymore anyway by that point.

in one unused stab at writing liner notes i said: “the next cd will be more abrasive…there still won’t be any choruses…and there still probably won’t be much piano work. but it will almost definitely be better-mixed, and it probably won’t take as long to complete. maybe it’s time for me to start singing like my internal organs are congealing while you’re forced to watch. time to get back to something more primal.” ‘course, things didn’t exactly turn out that way. but a whole bunch of other strange stuff happened in the aftermath of this cd, from unexpectedly re-establishing a friendship with tyson, to having a terrifying jam session with some people i used to go to high school with, to having a bizarre night on my twentieth birthday that included something of a GWD reunion and spawned an eleven-page play capturing the event in all its glory, to collaborating with avril lavigne on a musical that remains unproduced. good fun for all.

on a random note, one of my favourite moments on this cd has always been the brief “existentialism waltz” bit two minutes or so into mickey rourke’s new face, when the music starts back up again after a few seconds of silence. i don’t know why…i just like it.

TRACKS:

broken & bleeding
proof positive
soulrot
lick your own dog free
aura of the insipid
everything you believe in
you will never
incandescent
a blanket shower
laugh-lines
the recluse falls in love
amphetamine rush
mickey rourke’s new face

STUFF TO LISTEN TO:

Lick Your Own Dog Free

Mickey Rourke’s New Face

LYRICS:

BROKEN & BLEEDING

licking yourself like a dog in heat
like a drug-addicted rat in heat
at least you find this amusing, but it’s not gonna last long
sleep brings nothing but idealistic garbage dreams
that only serve to torture
& to remind you
of the things you wanted
before you realized you’d never have them

a butterfly with the face of a cow
glances exchanged & nerves run rampant
not interested in your scars
i’ve something else you might find enticing

don’t try to impress her
don’t try to attract her
don’t try to be clever
don’t do anything

let me keep you
i can protect you
i wanna help you run away from yourself
let me know you
so i can leave you
broken & bleeding & more of a mess than you were

PROOF POSITIVE

if there isn’t anything i can say
to make you change your mind this time
maybe there’s no need to bash my insides to a pulp
with a lead pipe
the more you say, the less you’d like to get involved
i know how it works
comfort’s overrated, just like all your empty promises
but they’re the best kind

so you found me in a drawer
& i made you nostalgic
& you chased me for a while
but you didn’t have the patience
or the discipline to see it through

don’t expect anything from anyone
’cause you’ll be expecting too much
don’t trust anyone…
whatever you do, don’t trust yourself
learn to take a joke
this is no fucking fairytale

one day, the index finger morphed into a firearm
proof positive sometimes you really get what you want
nothing you do will ever be good enough
nothing

SOULROT

the other half of your head
is somewhere on the floor
but where?
why even bother?
don’t respond
long-winded drivel streaming forth
i’ve made you narcoleptic
now fall asleep & drool

LICK YOUR OWN DOG FREE

if i can’t make you love me
at least i can make you hate me
why don’t you say something?
i dare you
you’re just as frigid as you always were

you don’t wanna hurt me
but you don’t wanna lie
so tell a half-truth
that’ll do just fine

chunks of you throughout the apartment
chunks of you all over the floor
naked, laughing, dancing in the shower
naked, smiling, drinking shampoo
i’d give anything to have been there
when he stuck his tongue up your nose
i wasn’t aware there was anything wrong
with wanting an explanation

lost my mind
my brain is in a laundry basket
lost my mind
my brain is in a fuzzy hole

AURA OF THE INSIPID

how could you laugh & set your father on fire?
he rolled around & screamed, trying to put himself out
stop, drop & roll—is that what they teach you?
go grab a towel

he shed his hair & made a gurgling sound
you said his hands went places they shouldn’t go
now his hands have no skin, just like his face
when are we moving in? you’ve got a beautiful place here

it’s only death that rips you farther apart
from all your preconceived notions of art vs. artifice
a corpse can be art, especially when charred
but then there’s nothing parental about foul-smelling ashes

the edge of a picnic table is more dangerous than you might think
sacrilegious serpentine exhaust fumes
feast upon my entrails like the savages you are
don’t know how to pronounce it, but you know what it means

you know we can’t go back now…

EVERYTHING YOU BELIEVE IN

your laugh is always in the air
infecting anything & everything that isn’t laughing
tears of stupid joy cried for nights you can’t remember
let’s just swallow our tongues & enjoy the choking

if you’re smart, you’ll run as fast as your feet will take you
sprint away from here
your nihilism’s wasted in a place like this

the hymen broken—loss of innocence
this isn’t pain that you enjoy (unlike the other kind)
why not laugh?
it’s what you always do
when confronted with an unfamiliar feeling

i sat & crushed your rose-coloured glasses without looking
now change your clothes so i won’t recognize you
shed this optimistic front
there is no hidden meaning here
none of us are inherently good
people are shit, & we are not excluded

but you just keep on deluding yourself

YOU WILL NEVER

it seems like you love everyone
in varying amounts
at different times
when convenience allows
i’ll write volumes of abysmal poetry
to draw one smile from your swarming lips
then rub them raw with my clumsy hands
of sandpaper and forced rhymes

you leave
all you ever do is leave
maybe there’s nothing worth hanging around for
maybe there’s nothing worth growing attached to

anyone can dance;
it’s the rhythm that evades you
i love the smell of waiting
i’m not supposed to look at you
that would be predictable
& predictability is the first step in the direction of mediocrity
& you have nothing to be ashamed of
just take back everything you said

i take it back
i don’t really hate you
maybe just a little…

you’re slowly, slowly slipping away

INCANDESCENT

all our friends have gone
we’ve weeded them out
vacant mooching maggots
we’d rather stare at our bedroom wall

the process of dissociation is surprisingly painless
it’s like gutting a fish & sucking its innards
it pays to be selfless

a true friend will stab you in the face
a true friend will call it an accident
a true friend will take advantage of you when you’re weak
not just anyone gets to be exploited

slit your wrists with a butter knife
disinfect the filthy afterbirth
of an evening wasted with too many words
it’s been said before, much more eloquently
you could never hope to move past this point
we’ve gone as far as our charm will take us
something fundamental’s missing
it always has been
we’ll spend the rest of our lives trying to figure out what it is
to no avail

we will fail

LAUGH-LINES

a few things got in the way
of our impeccable plan
communication is key
our body language is so confusing
it doesn’t matter what the question is
the answer is always the same
nothing about you will ever change
your altruistic bullshit or your porcelain face

the forehead crease was conveniently placed
to placate the masses
a pair of shoes too small
for a pair of feet too slow
to dodge another herd of laugh-line scum

a listless sack of bloated lard
floating in the kitchen sink
appalled by the sudden downturn in finances
vomit cleans the dirty dishes
indigestion influenza
surgically remove the mole, or you die

THE RECLUSE FALLS IN LOVE

no contact with the outside world
hair grows—nails follow suit
we run from what we don’t understand
’cause we’re scared of it
like good little pseudo-intellectuals

i’ll fall asleep on your bathroom floor
my head against your toilet
i’ll think of something profound
& forget every word of it tomorrow

so we talk
but what is there to talk about?
your breath smells like urine
your eyebrows threaten to eat me

we talk
but all this talking leads nowhere
we meet in the middle
& fail to make eye contact

we talk, but never really say anything

you speak in slang
i hate your slang
i hope you choke on your fucking slang

AMPHETAMINE RUSH

the amphetamine rush
is a hollow-eyed stare
content in this artificial womb
everything is transparent
there’s blood on your chin
& a strange man in your clothes

when the eyes glaze over
& nothing is so sharply defined
i stood outside the door
heard the words that you said
then an orgasm or two

crush yourself into a powder
grind the powder into paste
can’t find a hammer? (use a brick)
can’t find a brick?
pay someone to step on you
anyone will do
fall in with the right crowd, & the issue is moot

could you be a little more condescending, please?
spit on your hand & rub it in my face
you wear melodrama like a sequined gown
all raised eyebrows & empathetic moans
if the shoe fits, you must have cut off your toes
i’ve crept beneath this tile before
waded through the sludge to hide you from the cops…

MICKEY ROURKE’S NEW FACE

snorting vaseline in the old church parking lot
uncle wilty trying to sodomize a used firecracker
all the dandelions are victims of botched plastic surgery
things can only improve from here

plaster my face on a bus
people keel over on their way to work
traffic jam
dented fenders
it’s all about the power of suggestion & visual stimuli