matters of the mind

Life, Mr. Potato

You come, in your skin,
starchy, life.
Rooted in dirt,
delivered by hand
pulled from a deep beneath
abstraction
And then
you mash
and smash
our soft, tepid bodies
You fry our brains
with oil of reason
And grate us,
our prim senses
with onslaught and overload
Poor potato
like edible porcelain
in a swank jacket
Can't they be gentle?
You're fragile,
but life batters
and boils
you whole.

AGENDER 'Fixations'

Stream the entire AGENDER record here.
I'm very proud of this body of work. BODY. That's pretty much what this album is about.
One woman's mind on another woman's body.
Bad formula.
But it makes for good art.
That's all I care about. So, it was worth it. The insanity. I got 10 great songs out of it. At least.
Thank you to that girl. She knows who she is.
I was a top who reached my spiritual bottom.

Do not cross the construction of constraint

I have no brakes
I hastily hurtle
towards my target

Exponential acceleration,
the wheels of my heart turning
towards torture.

For you're as available
as the last ray of sunlight
perforating a dying plant

And I will try
and milk the darkness
As the stars drip twinkles
hot as coals
and disguised as wishes,
into my unclad lap.

Why, yes
They look pretty,
these oxidizing orbs
but they have no other function
than to burn,
and look comely
as they aesthetically execute
my judgement,
but entertain my optic
myopic vision
of love
stripped bare
to nothing
but cog logic
and the mechanics of pure desire
with no causal reason
but to love
sans flesh, or outer shell
Pure love.
Pure, like brakes
with no vessel to carry them
Just brakes, abandoned.