poetix made an album

suspended

Well-known member
Wouldn't blink in terms of vocal performance I mean

What year is it anyway amateur singing normalized decades ago
 

luka

Well-known member
my point was that listening to peoples recorded voice freaks me out not that amateur singing is a problem. its like eye contact, it can feel a bit much
 

luka

Well-known member
when i used to have a smartphone and someone had left me a voice message i would stare at it in horror for a few days, then delete it without listening
 

luka

Well-known member
woops not currently drinking
barty doing sex tourism in belarus
dr fox in worcester wherever that is
 

luka

Well-known member
me and Barty were listening to this tonight. favourite ones were answering machine and some other dreamy sunbeams through the thistledown one
 

poetix

we murder to dissect
A song about the tinkling chimes and breathy panpipes that announce a quickening of the pace in a US movie extolling the delights and virtues of neoliberal entrepreneurial agency.

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These are the chimes of expectation
This is the siren of the future
This is your call to misadventure
This is the dawn of new America

Don’t tell mum about the dungeons
the uncounted dead
The centre of operation
The means of execution

These are the chimes of expectation
The eagle of the imperium

There’s no time for hesitation
The FOMO is real
You’ve been rightsized to perfection
Get out there and deal

Let’s maim some home invaders
Let’s make love like Sharon Stone
This is your brain on petrodollars
This is the way they take over

These are the chimes of expectation
The panpipes of delirium

 

poetix

we murder to dissect
TV talent contests have become incrementally more cruel, gladiatorial, and fetishistic about the arbitrary power of those who gatekeep their fantasies of wealth and status. Perhaps not worth caring about in itself, but symptomatic of something.

Studio lights, leather armrests
A mother comes to plead
The basilisks hear her entreaty
impassively

Close-up on tongue flicking over dry lips
A finger taps a knee
Drum roll and now here’s the verdict
It’s a die in a ditch, from me

Judges’ houses, always so tasteless
look out across a sparkling sea
My desires are terrible and shapeless
Sing for me, oh, sing your heart out for me

Some kindnesses are more
than we can afford
Go back whence you came
before we get bored

 
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