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lyrics

...so you go into the other room to turn off the television. nude women ride horses across the screen, their parts covered by stray leaves. in their alien pose there is the intimation of a question about our own dementia.

you know this is your first time seeing this but you know the woman's name and wish you could say it aloud
instead your at the bus stop one more time. women condemn their clocks (ptsst!) and say "nothin" . when the bus comes she throws up her hands to the driver and wears a leopard print dress. I can see myself in her sunglasses and these days that dream of ambulatory distress has infected my waking body.
I tell myself some bullshit line about non-doing and put another fake starting point into my life like a blank street sign
i recall that lack is a language itself but know that when i've learned it
i'll still have to choose left or right which i could have done a long time ago

one way always led to nauseous memory
and the other to the short time of year when the lightening bugs come out.
you would gather them in a jelly jar the way any other kid would you could kill them when they glowed to paint your face with their golden blood. inside you grandparents are shooting the shit with friends whose names you've forgotten. they remember yours because you looked at them until you didn't want to anymore and then stopped, as any kid would and they felt ashamed as i always do for having grown up.

you go outside and back to the dreaming about hiding spots
and the breach over and over of the little purple corner that you've found and stowed yourself away in.

(I don't remember my childhood because i never left it, i don't remember how i got here because i've always been warm like now)

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The Cradle Brooklyn, New York

music of paco cathcart. brooklyn, NY.

for booking/whatever: pkcathcart@yahoo.com or
646 220 3328

i also engineer for other people/bands. hit me up for that analog natural jank.

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