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3
I’m the world weekly news bat child, b-lining ash pile to ash pile to ash pile, for every ghost climbing

ever, these trap doors forecast quagmire weather, but it’s worth it, from cobras out to kiss him on
the cheek to snatching victory from out the jaws of imminent defeat, the phone ping from a pillow
fort in a corn maze, I don’t have a horse in your war games, I don’t even really like horses, I like wild
orchids and neighbors with wide orbits, electric fence, and pets that tend to pretty much ignore us,
we head-butt in the mornings, then report to separate corners, criminy, you’re killing me, Smalls,

Walls up, I keep my coat on I got some walls up, chips down walls up, I cut the lights off

Everyday I wake up in a gallon of sweat, puke blood, hit the shower, turn to Malibu Ken, while you
were asking all your lackeys “Are we jackals or men?”, I been the sorcery authority should catch
if they can, mostly a master of none, come try the coffee it’s burned, he type a chapter, it sucks,
top of the moth-eaten world, pick a one horse town, 4 horsemen got his number, I feed each one

some people think it’s freakish but they can’t deny the harvest, It’s funny when they’re later made to
celebrate the shit they said was garbage, It only show the city who the mark is, are we Donatello’s
David or delicate Frozen Charlottes? Even Davids know in art there often will be no catharsis, the
voices in my head still talk tough, I go to bed stoned, I got some walls up

In a
gussied up and done feeling unsung and savage, punk, we have come for your cabbage, I’m bad
news travel like a rat through your cabinets, spaz, 20 paw pads full of scabs, off in a false ad, fall
plaid all dander, blast off, black jackdaws on his antlers, zero-faithers, warily fear his neighbors,

gaudier than “reprobates”, who sit around depressed and guess the order of the Tetris rain, with biblical
misreckoning, son of surly Satan torn asunder, private number, public urination, we socialize with
pundits who encompass all the wrong stuff, I count the bread quick, I got some walls up.

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There’s something you should probably know before we go too far, my neighbor found a mushroom
growing inside of my car, she called me up on tour sounding emotionally scarred although it may

manger, the pizza face is pepperoni, carbuncle, and caper, I’m bunions and contusions, bumps,
lumps and bruises, discoloring and other things I can’t reach with the loofa, not a butcher, not a
baker, pick a booger with a basic evolutionary failure, I do not open mail, I do not answer phones,
the fridge is pretty much a home for mayonnaise alone, watch a pocket-knife surgeon cut a cyst out
in the kitchen, it’s the cousin to acutely removing his own stitches in a pinch, Kool-Aid ooze out his
toothache, mushroom growing in the car, it’s just another Tuesday

And if you waiting for a spell where it falls into an order you can help then well, yea… no

On one hand it’s pretty gross, on the other, it’s sorta like a pretty desert rose, how against all odds,

fox in the henhouse, gray-stained teeth, say cheese through a trench-mouth, “Cheeeeese”, chase
dreams with the hell-bound, posture suitable for a job in the bell tower, 1 plate, 1 fork, itty bitty lamp,
I would offer you a drink but I literally can’t, it feels like you’re camping when your sitting on the can,
where the crib has always simulated living in a van, a little light cleaning, keep the spiders off his
Eden, maybe one day he’ll go deeper, really exorcise the demon at the root, I’m in the sofa cushions
over loose change, black mold bath tub, homie it’s a Tuesday

I can’t Even keep a cactus alive when I’m present, when I’m gone it’s a groundbreaking botanical
epic, from desolate to Little Shop of Horrors in a second, it’s weird knowing life thrives more when
-
partame mustache, moi, head lice, dress like a douchebag, unsaid prayers, undead raccoon hat,

cherry coke, very much another wackjob with a megaphone, very much another fat slob playing
chess alone, lesser known fetish porn, leftover Lexapro, etcetera, everything’s coming up goose
eggs, Sunday, Monday happy days, Tuesday is Tuesday

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 all
goose bumps, juke around a critical hit, loose trucks into civil unrest, the whole city out to quibble
over kibbles and bits, keeping the pillory full, keeping the piss in the wind, I’m in the basement,
mixing up the medicine with the Wizard of Id, if It deliver us from the grip of the grid, spelling “Save

Chung with the spiritually bankrupt, drank blood from they same cup he dump change from, Doc
Strangelove, lazy in the Lincoln Logs, looking for some inkling of Wynken, Blynken, Nod, instead
it’s Blinky, Inky, Pinky and Clyde, I know the goal is split the chrysalis wide, I’m only in it to hide,
come on

This news, clips of the shifty, crippled, and misused, pigs in the pews,

This news, metal in the water and men with split hooves, homesick blues,

One strawberry jelly, one glazed, one saucer of milk for the strays, none of his bills paid, all of his

I’m in the clouds smelling blood from the cowards beneath, I trade a crown for teeth blaming an
unrequited love, might release hounds dressed up like doves, out here pigs play metal like kettle
drums, turn a quick deli trip to a temple run, and belly laugh, rebel tongues cover up a checkered
past, all they really want is fertilizer for the lemongrass anyway, homie don’t give ‘em a reason, or
we over coffee reading of you intimate evening, with another Ripened psychopath shopping for
attention, you are not even a peasant you’re a notch in a weapon, ah

busy trying to split the timber up before the winter, get the money, skip his dinner, headless chickens
hither thither, playing hooky, looking though the politician to the lizard, are you seriously feeling like
a citizen or prisoner, ain’t no peaceful protest, the promenade mostly police with goat heads, and
no love, look - loose dogs through Scooby-Doo fog, looking for any semblance of yule log, let alone
good jobs, good folk settle for the pits, rent like a levitating witch, got crows on the lawn, got steak

aversion to Earth science Iike this game comes with the worst prizes

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What kind of bastion of trust hit the stage with a straight-face and jacket full of doves, where
daisy-chained hankies vanish into plastic thumbs, It was classic misdirection sold as magic to
the young, via masters of deception, the full force, court a volunteer, pull a quarter out his ear
in a recession, pull a rabbit from a Stetson, as a rapper, though it’s basically the same exact
profession, watch, con-artist, give a fuck who the mark is, whether gorgeous or New Yorkers
through the eye of Diane Arbus, no outstanding warrants, nothing up his sleeve, I need you feeling

I wake up in sword-box, I brush my teeth with bullets, underneath some cosmic retrograde where
step up to the thimble rig

And for my next trick, I’ll make a dollar bill climb up out your wallet, disappear and reappear inside
my pocket, I never really do these things twice, but if y’all ask nice I just might

deck, pick a card, tricky turn a vic into a bobble-head, absconders into clingers-on, Klingons into
Romulans, saw myself in pieces for purveyors of the strange, put the pieces back together though
I’m never quite the same, we undermine the infantry with trickery that range from weighted dice to
blow-up-dolls up in the carpool lane, I’m charcoal with the art school lames, I’m skateboarding with
heshers, seen scepters shaped like feather pens and ‘57 fenders, carving knives and camera parts
and canvas over stretchers, and whatever make that project in the cellar go excelsior, at the whim
of older bones that magically predict the weather, he like his eye of newt with pinch of pepper, the
nerd rage scurry out a collapsible bird cage, ace in his palm at the workplace, jerk-face

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Under the boardwalk, half eighth and a half-ate corn dog, face halfway to P-40 Warhawk, graze in
the gore with the whores and the warthogs, aged in a bassment, Aes count cake in dog years, I’m

snow, most of the extolled folk in his past, grew up into poser and sociopath, old portfolios openly
dissed, OG morals Tokyo drift, I’s low key miffed, you was trying to get your own pants un-pissed,
yelling “fuck the rich”, now he down low count dough in a bubble, spit-shine shoes, throw coats on
puddles, In the face of fame I never cuddle with the cancer, I’m patient, age-old bugs in the amber,
bed-head Lazarus, climb out a time warp, no one to impress, what would I comply for, hmmm… I
never ate dinners with pop stars, you wouldn’t paint litter on a bob ross, New York slobs hop scotch
on rock salt, less tupac, more pock marks

Primordial metazoan friends, break bread with a plan to coalesce, turns out couldn’t even coexist,
it was each go Ronin or open a wrist all gross, unsung sons and daughters, mallrats, brawlers,
punks and paupers, in a scramble to see who hugs the corners, who cuts the chord, who drugs
the gorgeous, who runs on fours through dungeon crawlers, on a speed date with a red cup full of
quarters, A never buzz with the hornets, stay home, tongue on a 9-volt, punk’s not a corpse yet, get
served, thank the pig, no gold, no myrrh, no frankincense, a little man-on-wire, no safety net, it’s
a way of life, it’s a face of death, I cold came in the door sure as Rae is chef, open, robots owning
emotion, new to a cruelty, humor and love, each day a little less stupid as fuck, hmm… burnouts at
the prom, turn down for your mom, truck-stop cutlery, crown to cancel, broadcast from the bouncy
castle let’s go

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The magic is black, backyard happy and fertile, for Kasso, the acid king of the black circle, same
year Bowie dropped 2 horns hatched and matured, to gore Northport’s 84, Here is 84: Mary Lou
Retton, Excitebike, AIDS, Jeopardy!, wake up the Orwell in me, crack rock, anyway, 17 summers
in developing, would it be the middle school or ketamine, guess, left home in the dark, to curl up
in the bear hug of Suffolk County’s arms, with a bevy of heavy metal records and leather bibles,
more Anton LaVey than St. Michael, more sherm in the
pentagram pilot, Sabbath and Judas and all tunes prudent, seems tame now but then it was
devil music, Rick 6, the nick name clicks, makeshift alter in a clearing in the sticks, forfeit a
kitten by the forks from the kitchen, with horsemen who drew the same symbols, pitchforks waving
out a grand theft 4 x 4 support system, alas, Angus on the ax in the back, foreground offering a
pitch-dark animal corpse in backyard black mass, and a brash curiosity opt for grave robbery, to puff
and pluck skulls out of cemetery property, cops cuff him and stuff him in Amityville Asylum, that’s
fantasy island for Noah’s Lions, at the time South Oaks, but focus on the environment, and how it
couldn’t loosen
LSD to make it mean more than it meant, Pay attention, here’s where the whole thing sours, and
goes from Intriguing to wowzers, at a party, a passed-out drunk Kasso gets got for 10 bags of dust,

Lauwers, 17 years young, you have no idea what you’ve done, track him down, beat him pissy, got
5 bags back, stills owes him 50, oh Ricky Ricky, do he hound him for loot, or show him how the hell
bound do, hm… Kasso waves all debt, says “Let’s just go and get baked instead”, 2 Shake hands
and the beef play dead, though its more like a skeeter shaking a web, and along came a spider with
2 of his friends, It was into the woods, a delusional mess, 4 kids dipped In a black hole bath, June
16, Kasso snaps, off-guard Gary tackled and pinned, sees Rick pull a knife from his jacket and grin,
raise that knife like a sword to the moon, plunge that knife through a portrait of youth, going “Say
you love Satan! Say you love Satan!”, Lauwers ain’t say it, just cave to the facelift, 32 stab wounds,
gouged out eyes, burns on his skin, not a cloud in the sky, Kasso would later explain he was told,
by Satan himself in the form of a crow, to murder the kid cold, a part of a pristine whole, no no no
no no, and just had to brag, until somebody sad just had to rat, sat in cell as a merchant of hate
who would hang from his sheet before the 3rd day, some say Kasso was part of a cult but I’m sure
there was more than we’re told, more than adults or authority could rightly decode, or maybe I’m
kasso

It’s starting to feel like a nice night, hold close to the highs and the white light,
hold close to the good you are drawn to, these woods were grown to disarm you

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A is like a different type of animal, no brick road, no zip code Xanadu, family, his and-
what-army party in the panic room, before he meet the man he feed his hands into the scramble
suit, glam channels wake up in a fantasy dismantled, we’re championing vandals over Andy with the
Campbell’s, he the cold-hearted, old guard, Holy Ghost crow bar, the postcards only know Crayola
no Rose Art, ill communication aside, I’ll kick a train off a bridge, I’ll smack a plane out the sky, I

and power for bettys and headhunters, techies and chess-clubbers, all I do is eat bread and check
suckers,

Nobody safe chump, black plague, rail guns, cache of rat snakes coiled up in the bass drum,
dug graves with over-the-hill skate punks,
Bugs Bunny tunnel-out is perfect, don’t be there when we bubble to the surface, usurpers, I pay
the rent in pennies and ride off into the ether, on a donkey painted like a zebra, take me to your
leader, detox retox, see how he see-saws, mistletoe or misanthrope, stick-and-poke sea dogs, you
can’t imagine all the misery we leap frog, I make rap I ain’t a motherfucking peacock, death raft

same, he isn’t

and love, hailing from the home of the Anthora cup, and 40 nights of failures out to plagiarize the
formula, been seen petty spoils void steady acumen, I’d rather be avoided, a voice of the Voyn-
ich Manuscript, boy-o, type to give a name to a sword, the skulls of his landlords hang from his
horse, medium kahuna, strange force around him, houndsman, scrounge for a sirloin to pound
thin, I play my chess with undomesticated groundlings, we spend our afternoons forgetting how
to downshift, “Aes ain’t here man!”, “Aes, I can tell its you.”, “Tell its me from over there, this ain’t
a fucking petting zoo.”, brain cells peacing out, dentures in a Dixie cup, devil trying to keep me
down, somebody pick me up

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Scum of the earthly, I plug into the one plus one equals thirteen, summer of love, sleep under a
murder of crows, they sorta circle his lawn, poking at serpents and skulls, working a curious beak,
he seeking mercy on his virtuous bones, we see this ain’t the type of jury that votes, I know you

some order, there has to be some more to hoarding rabbits’ feet and wishbones, horseshoes over

crashed out, crown made of black clouds, troll face, roll

snake eyes from glass house, passionately wading in a sea of cursed funk, I’m a vacationing Brady
with a tiki, surfs up

If anybody out there show me a sign, Leaders of the free world blowing on dice, we load our bows,
we close our eyes

My bed got 2 wrong sides and a yawning dream-catcher full of me falling, it’s haunting, no causality
back the bad juju, It’s active irrationality, brash and a tad cuckoo, alas, a little superstition stupefy
the horde, treating reasonable norms like warriors to unhorse, there is no amount of Tourmalated

times tails, the four leaves fail live from the slime trail, where luck is a white whale, love is a work of

ever were, it sends a curious insurgent to an early sepulcher and that sucks, foxhole crashed, my
2 lucky socks don’t match, my Hanzo scratched

When you wish upon a barn star, deliver us from “nyuck nyuck” and “hardy-har-har”, deliver shady
lady luck from the dark arts, she turn a basic straight-shooter to a card shark quick, I’m writing from
the plight of the godless, where pagans swap piety for shinier objects, and pretend to be a perfect
pile of science and logic, though it hasn’t got us any less divided and conquered, look, the rock
shock still knock on wood, no shame, still aim for the top of the food, chain, my lucky 7’s only ever
make it up to 6, every 3 tries Satan kinda wins, untied shoes, alive in the wild goose, the winter is

into 7 more, it’s yours

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Oh happy day that unmistakeable brown plumage as accented by a snow white head and tail
I’ve seen the Holy Spirit, When I was young their population had collapsed to where it felt we’d
only know the majesty through photo, prose and lyric, through drastic conservation efforts and the

would discover 2 such creatures nesting in the heart of downtown Pittsburgh Pennsylvania, 200
years of absence broken by a brazen pair is not to shake a stick at when you actually A/B the
numbers, and so it was the PA Game Commission would install a webcam with a live feed that

a spreadsheet, thinking “Jesus Christ My life is dismal”, 2 seconds later you could stare into a portal
that reminds you there is more than what your awful 9-5 permits you

Like a giant fucking eagle, or I dunno,

Maybe Mona Lisa cheesing from the easel, or I dunno,
Maybe Sun beams leaking through a keyhole,or I dunno,
I dunno

Oh lordy lou those unmistakable 8 talons that could surgically remove a spawning salmon from the
raging rapids, people think nature is a rainbow or a newborn or an ocean or a puppy which denies
the gory steak and mashers, you load the site up and expect to see the glory of a wingspan over
eaglet beaks emerging from an egg a hero, we overlook the fact that while sometimes a cat will eat
a bird sometimes a bird will eat a cat like it’s a fucking churro, on April 26th in front a grip of viewers
tuning in to catch a glimpse of what would usually live in the shadows, there was no way to have
predicted honing in on the internet’s favorite creature as reduced to nutritional value, I wonder if
some dude was sad because his cat had run away and thought maybe I’ll load these eagles up to

ease him through his deep depression

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I talk like it hurts to talk, mascot of Murphy’s Law, from the claw game at the Walt Whitman mall,
to the worst curb-cuts of the urban sprawl, to what stirs in the purple moss, which world make a

insecurity, no mercy, every year his skin get thinner, you could almost see the Abilify in his innards,
if it’s into the blood or back up through the gizzard with a little bit of last night’s dinner, liver, standby
for the van by the river, built ramps in the summer, tanned hides in the winter, anti-winner, stare at
the stars from an Empire Builder to anywhere far

Live from an empire builder,

Hi-ho Silver, empire builder

curse and pretend it’s the same, curse at a person who ain’t do a thang, when everyone around
you a singular jerk in a circle of saints, never mistook for a bird or a plane,
mistook for a hearse in the rain, germ in the wound, bit a few heads off a hydra, deadbeat friends in

you ever take to a colony, take note of your escape velocity, and watch odd folk not care who you
are from an Empire Builder to anywhere far

Sultan of sublimation, have you ever seen such evasion, work ’til he well-done bacon, or

the serum, his old man haunt him, his own fam fear him, his cold dead hands are attached to
a breathing meat, that learned to roll weed with it’s feet, do not make me turn this car around,
no sleep ’til the bars of Bartertown, Bar-Kays bump through a claw-marked Arkham, bars on the
window, barbs in the jargon, black armband, off-sides, on-guard, dark art marksmen, march through
the heartland, dream of a chair in a yard from an Empire Builder to anywhere far

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All songs produced by TOBACCO, 70s Gymnastics (ASCAP)
All vocals by Aesop Rock, 21 Bazooka Salute (SESAC)
Mixed by Tobacco and Joey Raia
Mastered by Joe LaPorta at Sterling Sound
Artwork and layout by GUNSHO
Coordinated by K. Beacham, J. Cook & J. Daley
Executive produced by I. Bavitz, S. Daley, & B. Sayers
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