THE WORD
1
Are you looking for something?
M-I-L-D-R-E-D
Mildred is seven mirrors,
Reflecting your image.
Carry the word with you,
Everywhere you go.
Spread it like a wildfire.
Let the whole world know,
Mildred is born.
“And you may think we die,
but we are immortalized,
Into the very death we rattle,
As it rings out feedback forever, the never ending sound.”
2
ON THE NARRATIVE OF MILDRED
I’ve realized I cannot just release our music into the world and expect everyone to immediately understand the metaphors or lyrical content. Especially because Pt. 2 is only a piece of a narrative that I dreamt up in my head and is quite vague in comparison to the material on Pt. 1. I’m better at crafting a narrative and writing lyrics now but I’m still proud of Pt. 2 and think it’s befitting of its urgency and thematically consistent with a more immediately impending apocalyptic overtone. I was hoping people might interpret it in their own ways, and they very much can, but a lot of emotional ideas on the record are reliant on the impact of lyrics relating to the overarching plot and other tracks that do not exist(yet). I also wanted to make sure people didn’t misinterpret the material. So first I will begin with the context behind Mildred’s formation.
I was inclined to write a narrative record because of my obsession with ‘Stray’ by Bambara at the time which is still one of my absolute favorite records. I was homeless, couch surfing and then squatting in an old textile factory/warehouse repurposed into a rehearsal space. I would sleep on the floor and I was starving most of the time. I got very acquainted with crackers and peanut butter and I wouldn’t shower for great lengths. I was also chronically ill and to this day am with sinusitis, which causes a fair bit of bleeding, pressure in my head, and makes it impossible to concentrate. I suppose I’ll now focus on the formation of Pt. 2.
Pt. 2 was shaped sort of unconsciously through dream, experimentation with psychedelics, and fate. Which is why a major theme on both records is fatalism. I really had no idea at the time how the pieces would fit or what I was doing, I believe that I’m just the mechanism that completes the action really. It all began with the poem that would become ‘Plunge’ about two lovers living in a place at the event horizon of a black hole, and how they dove in so they could live in an infinite embrace and dream forever. As songs continued to develop, so did the world of ‘Mildred’. The namesake was actually due solely to a tinder scam I ran to get money to feed my friends and I, the fake name I gave the girl on the profile was Mildred. I was searching for a name for this comatose love interest in the narrative, something you’d lose yourself in seeking salvation, and there it was. When I was writing Pt. 2 it was very much shaped by the urgency of the world around me as it fell apart. I feared I was going to die, partly because everyone else in my family had died, and all the men had died violently. I felt cursed, I was desperately mentally ill. I had survived a near death experience when I was 17 where I had taken too many synthetic drugs by accident, and was further given some sort of antipsychotic by an EMT which sent me into cardiac arrest. I was clinically dead for 7 or 8 seconds. I had also nearly drowned at birth, and the doctors said I’d never breathe unassisted. A friend I felt personally responsible for also suffered from Schizophrenia and heroin addiction while I was writing Pt. 2. The narrative of Pt. 2 was a sort of conclusion on my ideas of death, the nature of reality, and simultaneously a socio-political commentary on the state of the world and our leaders who abandon us. All the characters in the narrative die, always will die, and when they die they sow the seeds of their birth and give rise to their own death. So in essence, death is a form of birth. Essentially, the characters can only save the world by descending further into its destruction in an Ouroboran manner. Spiritually I believe our fate is predestined, and I do what I do because I must and I simply can’t help it. I couldn’t be or do anything else, and as such, Mildred is my duty, Mildred is my debt to life. We can’t help but be what we are. I tried putting not only myself but everyone I know into all of the characters.
A lot of the themes of the record are about acceptance of fate, of temperance. I dipped my toes into Manichean dualism which is explored more in Pt. 1. A large theme of the record is that perhaps the original sin was creation or division or sentience and I believe we are all subdivisions of God experiencing ourselves. When Eve ate the forbidden fruit she suddenly became aware that she was naked and ashamed of it. It raises the question of whether or not non-existence is peace/unity. Perhaps because of the nature of life things may not always be good. To experience joy, one must suffer. This is a hard pill for many to swallow. There’s also a theme with all of the protagonists of this sort of dutiful martyrdom which is due in part to my literary and cultural influences but also due to my spiritual beliefs. If there are to be those who are good then there must be those who are bad and I believe we are simply doing what we must, it’s all a matter of perspective and relative where we are, but I have impossible faith in my actions. Pt. 2 was formed by every formative life event surrounding it and I believe art is a summation of experience in the first place. So when you hear our music I believe you hear everything we have ever seen or done as a sound. Music is a universal language and I hope if not the lyrics and metaphors, the music resonates within you, fellow vibration. I cannot help but be who I am and do what I do, and those who are evil will always be so, and we will always be locked in this painful dance until we all turn to ashes and disappear. Pt. 2 was about how the world ends and how our very existence brings about violence, that we will all meet our death and we will all conclude this life, hence temperance.
Pt. 1 on the other hand is about how the ‘end of the world’ comes to be, and how we do it to each other. It’s formed by new and old formative life events, and studies the cyclical nature of tragedy and violence. I like to say violence is a concentric circle. An impossible paradox, that violence came into being to cause more violence. That most violence is a bouncing response to violence or descended from ancient violence. That violence is perpetrated in fear of violence. That violence is perpetuated as revenge for violence. That violence is perpetrated for violence’s sake. Pt. 1 studies the main antagonists more personally as they really reflect our collective shortcomings and grief. It was very important for me to make the antagonists sympathetic in that we all have the capacity to become them, and to understand that is the only way to absolve that in our world. The Drifter is the hubris of mankind, both representing on a spiritual level our vacuousness and hedonism but also the institutional abuse of pan-political authoritarianism. He’s meant to be this sisyphean figure that both destroys the world and creates the world and even himself all because of his own suffering he himself causes in the first place. A car crash he causes shapes his worldview of nihilism and moral relativism. Rather than the hole, it is truly this eponymous car crash that is the singularity that centers everything. Pt. 1 also explores themes of absurdism, with the death of the band as a central theme of the record and a celebration of rock music. Pt. 1 explores many themes more eloquently, and more verbosely than I previously could. I think it is the culmination of everything we’ve been striving towards and just as urgent today as Pt. 2 if not more so. A warning and an elegy for a doomed generation. I will write more in depth of Pt. 1 when it is completed! It is very exciting and will most likely be released in chunks due to financial constraints but upon completion we will compile all of the material into a single record, ‘Mildred’.
Here’s a list of incredible influences that I love dearly and cherish:
Andrei Tarkovsky
William Faulkner
Paul Curran
Blake Butler
B.R. Yeager
Dennis Cooper
Dostoevsky
McCarthy
Bulgakov
Dante Alghieri
Alfonso Cuarón
Wong Kar-Wai
Danny Boyle
David Fincher
David Lynch
Elias Merhige
Vincent Gallo
C.G. Jung
Jean Paul Sartre
Albert Camus
Junji Ito
Garage Heathen
Umami
Terraplana
Blind Girls
Jeff Buckley
Number Girl
Slowdive
HTRK
Bambara
They Are Gutting A Body Of Water
Daitro
Les Rallizes Denudes
The Goslings
And last but not least Nicolas Cage in every capacity.
With all of this context out of the way I will finally write out the plot of Mildred.
Synopsis
In a town or city somewhere, a black hole forms in the ground on a hilltop where a warehouse once stood at sunrise. Something strange happens, everyone is unharmed in the town, though a ring of fire surrounds the town. Those who touch the ring of fire turn to ashes. Time is at a sort of standstill, and as time ostensibly progresses they realize crops cease to grow or age. The laws of reality we were typically accustomed to, fail to meet our ideas of reason. Many miraculous events join in tandem. People are in hysterics at what is certainly the end of the world. A secret cult called The Order Of Bellinzona led by The Drifter emerges, and they offer a way to live forever in the endless sunshine of the blood red mourning sky. After each experiencing their personal miracles the three protagonist characters’ fates are intertwined unbeknownst to them. The Writer, The Lover, and The Singer all play their roles in the approaching final day of judgement. It has all been written before as to carry out the end of the world is to carry out the beginning of a new one. The climax takes place at the town square when The Singer creates a distraction for the Children Of The Tunnel, so that they may assassinate The Drifter. This by chance allows The Writer and The Lover to make it to the base of the hill. The Writer is hit by a bullet in the crossfire and dies in the arms of Mildred who awakens at the base of the hill. The Lover and Mildred take The Endless Book and write the final entry before plunging into the hole to live forever in an infinite dream, and maybe, feed the roots of a bright new world.
The Lover’s wife Mildred falls into a coma at the beginning of the events of Mildred, and he eventually resolves that it is his manifest destiny to bring her to the hole and plunge in together to live in her endless dream, and names the hole Mildred after her. He carries her in a small cart he fashions. He finds during one point in the story that his family was part of a mass suicide and has left him behind. He takes refuge in the church and helps repel an attack from The Order Of Bellinzona. It’s here that he meets The Writer personally for the first time. During the beginning of Mildred he saw him at the bar as he was led astray by Lila. The Father blesses them both and advises them both to reach the hole since God beckons them to it. The Lover then embarks on the rest of his journey with The Writer. They witness the utterances of The Children Of The Tunnel and experience Judgement at the town square. Upon reaching the base of the hill, it is discovered The Writer was hit by a stray bullet. As he dies, Mildred awakens and comforts him in his time of death. The Lover decides to end it all by writing the final entry in The Endless Book and plunging into the hole with Mildred.
The Writer believes he is chosen by God to document the entire history of man, and the end of the world. During the relative peace where people still are trying to understand the apocalypse they find themselves in, he is seduced by Lila who decides he’s her next target. The Writer commits infidelity and his distressed partner is later taunted by Lila over this. His partner takes part in the same mass suicide as The Lover’s family, prompted by the previously aforementioned infidelity and lack of attent by The Writer. He is left with nothing to live for, but something to die for, The Endless Book. The Writer openly denounces The Drifter when he comes to power. As things grow increasingly violent he avoids others. He witnesses a crucifixion and decides to exorcize the violence he has witnessed by capturing it in The Book. He is caught and nearly hung to death by The Drifter, but is saved by the church. He finds temporary refuge in the church, and he is given visions by The Father who is now clairvoyant since the beginning of Mildred. He presses his hand against The Writer’s head. The only way to save humanity is to write the book all the way until it is cast down into the hole. Further, there is no black hole but they are at the core of the sun. This is why the sunrise is a permanent dull red and aching yellow of the mourning sky. He gives The Writer visions of how the cult ushered in this madness. He must cast down the book into the hole, in the hopes that it will birth a new world, the same world. Paradoxically he was always fated to do this, and always will, as it has already happened. The Writer reasons that this way at some point in time he can be with his loved ones again. The Lover takes refuge in the church, as The Order Of Bellinzona begins to mount an attack, the people in the church ring the holy bell which disorients the attackers as they fire their guns during Sun. After this, The Writer and The Lover continue together towards the hole, each to fulfill their respective destinies. They attempt to sneak through the town square and nearly find it impossible until The Last Punk Rock Band At The End Of The World creates a distraction. The Writer is hit by a stray bullet during the shootout in the town square. He only realizes once he collapses at the base of the hill. As he dies he is held by Mildred who suddenly awakens. He sees his dead partner’s face in hers as he succumbs to death, and dreams of repeating it all again. The line about looking into the mirror and knowing it’s time came from a series of tracks that were scrapped.
The Singer is the final of the main three protagonists. A disillusioned punk rock singer named Schrödinger, who knows not what he lives for anymore. Since the hole opened he has become terminally ill with some respiratory illness slowly killing him. He elects that if he is going to die he might as well give it meaning. He fights for The Children Of The Tunnel, in which he feels a kindred spirit and knows that they will live on forever impossibly in his heart. The Children Of The Tunnel are the youth of the city/town who’ve miraculously developed hyper-connected consciousness and near omnipotence. They can see all that has ever happened before but not how it ends/begins. They are hunted by The Order Of Bellinzona. The Lover and The Writer on their path to the hole encounter them, and in a disembodied mass glare see every atrocity man has ever committed. After the visions they are spared by the youth who have them surrounded in the darkness. Once they reach a certain distance, the cult carries out another attack on the tunnel. The characters turn behind to see flames roar through the tunnel and flares rising in the mourning sky. As The Children Of The Tunnel fight a never ending war against evil, mad laughter and screams can be heard. As the kingdom collapses in on itself from its own violence, and the children are killed, only a few remain. They vow to enact revenge, and to kill the drifter. To bring it all to an end. When they do, they also usher in the cycle of heartbreak to begin, by partaking in the exact same actions that lead to the birth of the world unbeknownst to them. The band and the children represent an undying good in the face of hopelessness that will never fade away. Although they may be destroyed, someone at all must try to be good, and who else if not them? They together concoct a plan to assassinate The Drifter where the band provides a distraction while most of the forces slumber. The band reasons that they will live forever in an eruption of sound. They wake them up to the thunderous sound, and as the shots ring out and they are killed, they live forever as an idea, into the very death they rattle, as it rings out feedback forever, the never ending sound. This causes enough of a distraction to allow The Lover and The Writer to pass with Mildred and The Endless Book, as they too woke some of them up by disturbing some caged sacrifices. I wanted to make it a large point that when The Final Child Of The Tunnel kills The Drifter, simultaneously in a way he murders the child, a sort of murder of innocence.
Lila lives for destruction and violence because of her own hatred for what the world has done to her. She believes the world was always hell, but now she has the opportunity to become the master of her own destiny. It is open as to the nature of the violence and the perpetrator. Previously Lila would use and manipulate men for material ends but upon seeing The Writer she decides she will destroy something beautiful, much like she once was. That is, a beautiful thing destroyed senselessly. In a way she loves The Writer. She does this by seducing him and then taunting his lover with the infidelity, which luckily for her happens to be the final act needed to prompt her suicide. Lila also joins the cult simply for the thrill and to cause others anguish. She is both a study of the relationship of the sexes but also of self-hatred, spite, and violence. She seeks hatred and death from the world instead of love. In the end, no one knows how she dies because there’s no one left to care. She also represents generational trauma, and is a warning of the future we may face should we succumb to the sins of our fathers.
The Drifter is a vagrant and heroin addict who is approached by a man with mismatched rabbit ears implied to be Satan. He obliges and becomes the Anti-Christ and begins The Order Of Bellinzona. Before any of this The Drifter is no one important, and his background is left open to the imagination but whatever life he had come from was painful. This harsh world shaped him into a heroin addict, and while under the influence he causes a car accident that kills his beloved. Instead of blaming himself, he blames God for facilitating a world in which he’d suffer enough in the first place to find refuge in heroin. So when The Rabbit offers him the choice to become a king and live in endless joy and sunshine, but to become a king he must rule a kingdom of misery, he obliges. The Drifter lives in Sartre’s bad faith, he lies to himself because it’s easier. His desire to live in decadence comes at the expense of others, and he doesn’t care if to be a king he must rule a kingdom of misery. He doesn’t care what happens later or to everyone else. He felt that the world did not suit him, that he was abandoned by it, so he justifies his evil. He represents many forms of extremism but ultimately he is the darker aspects of human nature. He begins his cult in secrecy and recruits the vulnerable, mentally ill, and violent to aid him. They commit sacrifices at night, and form effigies. Thus, beginning the events of Mildred and slowly performing the rituals required to bring them to the core of the sun. The Order of Bellinzona has condemned humanity to chaos and death, the only way for them to live forever is to kill and consume the youth, who’ve banded together as The Children Of The Tunnel. At least, that’s what The Drifter tells everyone but really they need to continue killing others and cannibalizing them regardless, only he will live forever. The Drifter doesn’t care about that, in fact he languishes in others’ suffering because he hates people. Once people realize they’ve been given what could be considered the gift of eternal life they are overjoyed, until they also realize that it comes at a price. During the chaotic period of adjustment people kill each other out of desperation and it becomes quite easy for the cult to assume power. Once food begins to run out after some undefined period of time, more and more people give in and join the Order of Bellinzona as they are told that killing and consuming the youth will provide eternal nourishment, then they can partake in orgies and such delights with no end in sight. Some people are hung up and crucified just for fun, just for him to feel something. The other thing about The Drifter is that if he just let go and forgave the world he would never exist in the first place. The Drifter is ultimately a tragic character, he is molded by a violence from a world that was already flawed to begin with. He unfortunately chooses violence and to continue this eternal cycle of death and heartbreak in this Luciferian worship of the self. He is within us all and we all have the capacity to become him. He is shot by The Last Child Of The Tunnel, who by doing so further continues the cycle of violence and events that perpetuate their mutual existence. Forever does The Drifter thrust them into the core of the sun and forever do they hurt each other. Only as he dies does he realize he chose this, and that he could have changed it all. At the same time, this sacrifice gives rise to the world yet again, and The Drifter must face this same life forever. He’s both a christ like and anti-christ figure. The Drifter represents both a spiritual critique of nihilism and the pitfalls of moral relativism but also a study of the nature of despots and how power corrupts. He represents what happens to some lost people who live in search of material pleasure and gratification, always to fill a void, just as much as he represents someone who was once vulnerable and hurt. The Order Of Bellinzona on the other hand is a sort of Devil’s advocate critique of not only humanity from The Drifter’s view but also a criticism of late stage global capitalism and its unsustainability and destruction of the environment/future. Another critique too, of US imperialism and the US Military Industrial Complex and hegemony. They sacrifice the lives of others for their temporary comfort with no regard for the future.
For all of the characters I tried to place myself within their shoes and understand them. I also put a piece of myself in all the characters. So too, did I do the same with everyone I know and the world itself all pooling together to form this. I wanted to do them, both the people in the world I inhabit and the characters in the world I’ve created, justice. I wanted Mildred to be a sort of epitaph where I can leave the world with a sort of neo-abrahamic warning at the horrors of our cultural hedonism and indulgence and its ecological and societal consequences. This is all just a synopsis and is probably not representative of the final product or totality of the complex narrative. I’ll eventually fashion it into a full length novel in the future and as we release more tracks I’ll release essays that display the literary, spiritual, and cultural influences behind the music and lyrics. I just hope this helps because without any of this some of it can be quite vague or confusing. It’s really all just my vehicle for musical, philosophical, and spiritual expression. I hope that if you enjoyed it, it provided to you what it provided to me and you felt something. I also hopelessly hope our vibrations stir something in the air, some reaction, and change something in the world, since we’re all just vibrating strings anyway. I love you and wish you the absolute best in life. Not all of it needs to make sense. Art, or at least our art, is more about something felt than understood, since the world defies understanding; we meet it with an equally impossible response of faith in ourselves and each other.
Track By Track
Writer’s Exorcism
The Writer witnesses The Order Of Bellinzona crucifying heretics and marks it down in The Endless Book. Track features Manichean dualism imagery with the idea that perhaps they must cast everything into darkness to achieve non-existence and peace. Perhaps light only serves to illuminate a path for evil. This takes place simultaneously as ‘Crucifixion’ where The Drifter and his gang release the ropes of their sacrifices so they could run in futility.
Mildred
The Lover watches Mildred slumber comatose. He recalls recent events in the town and reasons he must bring her to the hole which he has named after her because he has completely lost himself in her. He finds meaning in her, and makes the comment that maybe he’s just a figment of her imagination, and a self-made vehicle of her own salvation. The only thing he lives for is her, and so if he should ever hope to be with her again he reasons it’s his manifest destiny to bring her to the hole. The closest thing to a love song I ever have and ever will write.
Drifter’s Dream
The Drifter dreams of nothing but pain.
Schrodinger’s Song
A misanthropic self loathing session of The Singer, as he feels his music is now unimportant in this world, that he is unimportant and his actions are meaningless. He reflects on the cruelty of reality and the unspeakable things he has begun to witness in the town. Features my favorite lyrics about the nature of reality and a reference to T.S. Eliot. The Singer realizes that since he is probably god in some solipsistic manner, then the trials he must face are self-imposed. He just can’t reason with the cruelty.
Ceiling Fan
A dull ache, the sinking feeling in your chest when you look at the horizon. You know peace now, but you also know it will not last. What’s happened in this room? Who’s been here? Where have they gone? What have they suffered? The now dull hum of the obtuse ceiling fan spinning round and round, in circles, recounting the things it has seen. Memories transient, but carried by the dust in the air.
Crucifixion
A study of The Drifter’s moral relativism and disconnection from the reality of his cruelty as he engages in the torture and crucifixion of others. The gang are like mad children at play, as they release the victims just so they can catch them again. Features very cool Freudian imagery as The Drifter hallucinates that he rides his horse through his mother’s cavern into the carnage. He finds the entire thing preposterous and meaningless hence the sort of ironic delivery of the falsetto lines during the second movement. The entire thing, all of it, the whole world, is a sick joke to him.
Sun
After the events of Writer’s Exorcism, The Writer takes refuge in the church and is given the visions by The Father. He sees all the things The Order Of Bellinzona has done by night to lead them to the present day. He is enlightened to the fact that there is no black hole, whatever is on the hilltop is beyond comprehension, since they are trapped within the core of the sun. He realizes he will die casting The Endless Book into the hole. He grieves for a moment but he must do it, as to even foster this existence in the first place it’s already been done, and it is his penance.
Judgement
The climax of the story, as the characters’ journeys all intersect and culminate in their destinies being fulfilled. The Last Punk Rock Band At The End Of The World is shot to death distracting the Drifter’s guards, and The Children Of The Tunnel die one by one leaving The Last Child to kill The Drifter. All of this is witnessed by The Lover, and The Writer as they too try to make their way through the chaos with Mildred in the cart and The Endless Book on hand.
Writer’s Death
The Writer dies at the base of the hill as Mildred awakens and comforts him as he fades away. She was the dreamer who saw it all as it happened and will happen. He hallucinates his lover’s face in hers as he looks into her eyes and remembers everything including the smell of the poet’s daffodil which is implied to be the scent of her, and rejoices at the idea of doing it all again, to even experience a moment of joy. He realizes that this world is all there is and heaven is a state of being, that he found it in her. A celebration of death.
Plunge
The track that begins and ends it all. The Lover recalls the entire journey and reflects upon it. The Lover and Mildred plunge into the hole after casting the book in. They are locked in an infinite embrace in the void for eternity. Perhaps everything is but an endless dream.
The Hole
The End but also The Beginning. Maybe it all begins with an endless dream, maybe it begins with casting a book into a hole to supernova and feed the roots of a bright new world. Maybe we are God and maybe God is us, or maybe it’s not mutually exclusive. That is up to your discretion. Within the narrative it’s all open-ended, what is certain is that it happens again and again, for eternity. There’s something beautiful about the contradiction of the permanence of impermanence.
M-I-L-D-R-E-D: THE ANARCHICK IDEOLOGY OF ABSURD FREEDOM
We are a product of our environment, of the world we inhabit and our experiences.
Mildred exists as a reaction to an absurd world.
An absurdity of an absurd world.
We begin with who we are because it is vital in understanding why we are.
Mildred is a working class band with working class ideals.
We didn’t have to go to CalArts to be artists.
In fact now that I think about it the entire band is made up of either immigrants or children of immigrants.
We will not be fashion victims with empty aesthetic videos deriving no purpose.
We are not how we look, we are more how we sound.
Although how we look when you do see us is also important, we admit it.
And if you do see us, it is with a purpose.
I doubt you’ll ever see us, faces reticent, pouting, in some alleyway.
If you want to support what we do, ideally in a perfect world we could live off of our art, but rather than donate to our health insurance and grocery funds, please aid in the creation of our musical pursuits. That would be appreciated!
Refer to our email mildredtheband777@gmail.com and we can work out donations of musical equipment which the(currently 5) of us cannot afford.
We will also create a list of gear we specifically seek:
-Drum Machines of all sorts
-Akai MPC
-Beautiful Noise When The Sun Explodes
-Intensive Care Audio Recovery Phase
-Polarbear Effects Drowner
-Death By Audio Space Bender
-Any Microphones
-Any outboard gear
-Any recording gear at all
-Any guitars
-Any instruments
-Any pedals
-Rickenbacker 4003
-Ampeg SVT-40
-Rickenbacker 660
-Sire H7
-Gibson 335
-Fender Strat
-Whatever
-A gong
-Drum shit
Below are organizations we think are currently vital to donate to(Continually updated):
https://donate.doctorswithoutborders.org/
https://pcrf1.app.neoncrm.com/forms/general
https://opencollective.com/lastreetcare
If you absolutely insist on donating to us you can do so here:
@mildredbegetsmildred on venmo
If there are alternatives to venmo or paypal you can notify us of that would be wonderful so we could avoid supporting financial institutions implicit in the ongoing genocide like paypal.
In a perfect world we wouldn’t need capital but we’ll try to live humbly and simply, if we sell merch it is for a dualistic purpose, to make this continually possible but to also spread our ideals of consciousness liberation through memetic imagery.
We the working class face extinction against the rising tide of A.I. and a ruling class that is anything but merciful and selfless. We must together as the majority race against the rising systems of authority, the oligarchs who ride helicopters and private jets to conferences about OUR carbon emissions??? Who owns the yachts here? (SIDENOTE: A single cruise line creates the emissions of 1 million cars, as of 2021 there were 323 operating worldwide) We must act quickly before we are destroyed by these opulent cunts who do not deserve this beautiful earth. We must race against the soft handed fools who do not till the soil and only live because we’ve permitted it through resignation. Through our passiveness and desire for peace. We will not find peace until these arbiters of violence, be it abstract systemic or literal forms of it, are held accountable and removed from power. Our society is structured to commit acts of violence against the destitute and poor. What is an overdraft fee or parking ticket to one with a trust? What is it to someone paycheck to paycheck? Then, if you possess a certain level of capital, law which is not necessarily congruent with morality, is something you can live above, in absence of even. Our generation is at the brink of a dark future.
So we now pronounce…
THEE DECREES OF M I L D R E D (AS OF 2024):
-LIBERATE YOUR CONSCIOUSNESS
We live in a world that promotes apathy, resignation, dullness, and routine.
We live in a world that is structured to strip you of your agency.
We must emancipate ourselves, whether it’s consciousness of our class or of our spirits.
-LIVE TO RESIST SYSTEMS OF POWER
Mildred acts devoid of bipartisan ideology.
Although we find ourselves to be more socialist any authoritative body runs the risk of authoritarianism.
Mildred serves to resist all control.
The desire for CONTROL is a desire for SUBMISSION.
–HOW CAN A REPRESENTATIVE WHO DOES NOT UNDERSTAND THE EXPERIENCE OF THE AVERAGE PERSON BE EXPECTED TO LEGISLATE A SOCIETY THAT WILL BENEFIT THE AVERAGE CITIZEN??
One of our more idealistic desires, but idealism never means impossibility.
It’s not a question of impossibility but difficulty.
We propose for the United States Of America a constitutional amendment resolution that would require all representatives to possess no more TOTAL CAPITAL than that of the average citizen.
Then they would be forced to in the near term act in the interests of the average citizen rather than conglomerates of corporations that rape and pillage the environment and economy. A start at shaping a governing body that would act in the interest of the world at large.
-BAN ALL DRONE WARFARE
It is widely apparent in the digital age and post 9/11 society that we were born into that ‘the bastards that be’ possess technology and systemic power that will only continue to increase its forms of oppression against the working class. We live with what we tolerate. After seeing the use of it finally with our eyes on digital screens projecting both the Ukraine and Palestinian conflicts, in conjunction with rising facial recognition technology and digital identification, no one must possess access to deadly drones. It is not only inhumane but as things continue to spiral downward will lead to our end. We will continue to resist and aid in voting against automated or remote operated forms of “law”(what a fucking joke) “enforcement” like SPOT. The “police” exist to enforce financial institutions and insurance companies. DOGS of the state. Make no mistake, do not expect mercy from people who can shield themselves from what they pay others to do. We will be next, we will be shot by drones with rifles just like Palestinian civilians if we are not careful. No state should possess these tools of horror.
-INDIVIDUALS AND/OR CORPORATIONS SHOULD NOT POSSESS CAPITAL EXCEEDING .001% OF THE NATION’S GDP
There must be a plateau. Infinite growth is impossible, unsustainable, rejects innovation, and smothers others. It promotes economic cannibalism. People must begin to LOSE so others can GAIN from them. The US GDP as of this writing is 23.32 trillion. Everyone can get behind nothing needing to possess more than 233 million. Yes! 233 million is .001 percent of our GDP. No individual needs a million dollars let alone 233 million. Many might call this mad, but do the top 1% even really pay their dues and redistribute their wealth for the betterment of our collective state? No! Remember the Panama papers and the brave journalist Daphne Anne Caruana Galizia who was killed by a car bomb for her work? You probably don’t remember that, do you? We are led by treasonous bastards who will sooner sell your future off to the highest bidder than sacrifice their oceans worth of the share of wealth. It may be radical, but radical solutions are needed to remove this cancer and we can’t think of another alternative.
Ivan Absentia, February 7th, 2024
MILDRED THE OCCULT PRACTICE
We are deeply inspired by Genesis Breyer P-Orridge’s work with Thee Temple ov Psychick Youth.
As we are young novices we recommend you read The Psychick Bible!
Magick should be for all and it is our duty as the working class to emancipate ourselves, and educate ourselves in every facet.
Through a complex archetypal narrative about a town at the event horizon of a black hole during the apocalypse we perform each song as a magickal ritual.
An exorcism of evil, an urgent warning, a musical mandala, a musical mirror.
I will write essays eventually about the tracks, their meanings, and how we achieve this through lyrical metaphors, narrative events, and musical composition, as well as the cut-up method.
We have developed our own sigil, a psychick cross with a heptagram over it.
This is to represent our desired ascent to heaven,
To the godliness of 7, the 7 letters of Mildred, the 7 members we will eventually possess.
(We seek a violinist and electric organ/synth player)
It represents our collective journey and attempt to liberate ourselves as the working class and the will we exercise in partaking in ritual WE DECIDE.
On the 21st of each month, at the 21st hour pierce your left ring finger to spill some of your heart’s content unto the sigil you have drawn.
**With a sterile blade and clean environment for god’s sake.**
Bury it under a tree that bears fruit.
*Ov optional, blood suffices.
Liberate your consciousness, exercise your will.
Become aware of the shadow, once it is turned to light it can be understood and no longer control your life.
Whether it be with intent or not, perform the ritual.
Make what is in the mind’s eye something physical.
The world just might return the favor.
Psychologically speaking we find this sigilization process to possess some Jungian qualities that are stimulating and nourishing for the spirit(the self) and overall psyche.
To test one’s limits, one’s willpower.
One can move the goal-posts and soon realize that m(any) things are possible–if you simply put your will into it.
Ivan Absentia, February 7th, 2024
Some Practices Of Mildred: Parables of 2022 while I was pissballs high on LSD
Mildred is your dry cleaner
Mildred is your valet
Mildred is your chef
Milldred is your bartender
Mildred is our absurd rage.
You thought that we wouldn’t fucking hate you.
You thought we wouldn’t rise against you.
You thought we’d be docile,
when we cannot buy groceries or gas,
But you piss it all away,
Sending bombs across the sea.
Can find money for that,
But not student debt relief.
Your share is an ocean to our puddle.
You should be very afraid because it only takes one person to speak or form an idea,
and that has happened long ago so it is too late,
hide your kids and get in your fucking bunkers.
There are no idols in Mildred,
That culture weakens and paralyzes.
There is no freedom in the worship of others.
No, there should be ten million trillion bands and movies and books called Mildred.
There should be a miniseries called Mildred.
There should be a pop-funko Mildred black hole vortex doll.
There should be a Mildred synthetic oil for your car.
There should be a Mildred 1000 piece black hole jigsaw puzzle.
I, the individual, who penned this,
I was there.
I poured the carafe with your wine,
I made eye-contact with you.
I could feel your breath.
I was right there,
I smiled,
and disappeared.
I was right there, you could’ve had me,
Could have seen the look in my eyes,
but you were so preoccupied with your self-obsession.
I was your driver.
I was your waiter.
I was your maid.
I was your advertising consultant.
I was your lab technician.
I was your delivery man.
I was your agent.
I was your warehouse worker.
I was your mechanic.
I was your customer service representative.
I was your
Mildred worships the sound of Mildred, and hopelessly hopes that vibrating strings played by vibrating strings resonate in your soul and change your life and free us all…hopelessly.
Mildred does not entail violence unless we are met with violence.
Defend yourself.
If violence arises Mildred proposes to counter violence, to defend one’s self from harm.
However, we should always hope to achieve our aims non violently.
We roll up our sleeves.
You are what you do.
Mildred IS random civil disobedience.
Mildred IS anonymous and uncontrollable.
Mildred IS to strike fear in the hearts of cowards.
We ask that you exist to rebel against any and all systems of power and engage in the practice of Mildred.
It acts as a reaction to a hyper-politicized world of noise and chaos meant to paralyze the working class into inaction.
You are not alone, we are equally being fucked by the same small population of our society that help each other hoard wealth and avoid meaningful contributions to our world.
You did not buy into ivy league hedge fund general electric soma, thus you are now here.
When they party, they party at someone else’s expense.
Mildred(the anarchick practice) is the only sound that is true because it is devoid of any self-imposed meaning.
It was what you need it to be.
Mildred is a tool, thus it cannot be corrupted since it comes from within, amongst a million points of light.
There are those of you who will show your true colors in the face of Mildred,
The youth will be able to see that for themselves,
and we are the fucking youth,
but people will try to speak for us.
Mildred exists to keep all corruptible and fallible ideologies in check.
To show there is something they cannot change and they cannot imitate,
Mildred is absurd freedom.
No more snake oil salesman,
No more liars,
No more false prophets.
Hence our relative anonymity, lest we become the hypocrites we despise.
We will never be fashion victim vehicles of your post-Y2K masturbation.
We only offer the word, and the truth, the liberty of recognizing oneself as capable of individual power.
Do not be mistaken, do not be a libertine.
Just know that it takes an individual at the base measurement of a movement.
We are no collective, we are a loosely formed idea.
We are a dream.
Mildred can hear some of you guffaw through your uptight vegan socialite drawl and you turn your limp pale wrists side to side howling like some sort of holier-than-thou human-tyrannosaurus rex hybrid, we’re not here for you.
You probably haven’t been homeless, starved, or lived as an orphan.
You haven’t worked and you haven’t bled.
You shed no worthy tears, you broke no bones, you lost nothing.
No years of your life lost to facilitate the pompous celebrations of the vapid few dancing on the corpse of our future.
Your commentary is not needed, witty, or interesting. You contribute nothing. You’ve done nothing.
We could write more about how you condescendingly “think” you’re helping while using your wonderful privileged educated safe life to continue contributing what the fuck you think, I. CAPITAL FUCKING I, should fucking do about my problems that you don’t have and don’t have to live with.
We will list some general ideas of what we think we should entail.
Some methods of Mildred.
We think you can surmise the rest.
We speak through action rather than empty words.
One distinction to make though:
Make sure that innocents are never harmed by these actions of civil disobedience if you were to hypothetically act them out via your narrative fiction pieces and blah blah blah you get the rest.
Mildred does not proclaim the need to establish any entire replacement for any established systems of power, nor do we proclaim to be any permanent solution for these problems afflicting society as a greater whole, but act as a simple seemingly futile method of making the world a better place, because these problems will never cease, they just change hands. We simply exist because something and someone must always challenge systems of power.
Mildred tries to act as a form of permanence, permanence of freedom.
Because of these values we also ask that you do any such fictional acts anonymously, and without seeking the validation of others, because we would hope that you would actually believe in this, were you to practice it.
Furthermore, this anonymity is weaponized via Mildred.
The capacity, for anyone, and fuck do I have to fucking say this any clearly again your fucking anyone, fucking juice shop smoothie girldude named fucking something pretentious like Kai or fucking Cody, or some fucking annoying white person name to do any of this IS the fucking point.
Also fuck me I’m probably gonna’ get stuck with fucking Cody or Kai or whatever OR COLE!
Here are some friendly fictionalized suggestions we’ve come up with for your next short story, especially if you have nothing to lose, we will regularly update with more, and if you feel like contributing to the methods of Mildred, we will publish it so please email us: mildredtheband777@gmail.com
All of
-The handicap turnstiles at most subways in LA that can very easily be tampered with at the right time of night.
this
-Unplug Teslas from their charging stations when you see they’re not locked in.
-You can cut off most Teslas and they will auto brake.
However it is not entirely uncommon to turn this feature off. Regard this one at your own risk.
– Do not let the following vehicles merge into your lane:
Mercedes
BMW
Teslas
Fucking hummers still exist apparently.
Fuck ‘em. Time is money and they have a lot of money. So waste their time!
-Devin works at The Whale, an upscale seafood restaurant and bar in the upper east side of Manhattan or whatever. He is alone in a cold materialistic world that values what can be sucked out of you more than anything. He is about to have a nervous breakdown and decides to quit his job and live his life according to what makes him happy and leave New York. Before he does, he wants to impart some form of sweet justice. He wants to do his part in making the world a better place, he also wants to get back at the owners for all the worker’s rights they violate, for all the fucking black mold they get away with having all over the backbar. For all the bullshit they made him deal with. To screw over the degenerate sexual predator manager that tries to sleep with all of the hostesses including the fucking underage one, and makes everyone uncomfortable and somehow gets away with it because on the surface he espouses THE CORRECT, DRINKABLE NAPA VALLEY NEO-LIBERAL WINE POLTICALLY CORRECT views he doesn’t even believe in to blend in. He even stole Devin’s haircut out of some desperate attempt to rekindle his youthful punk rock spirit(WOW!) as he ages poorly into his 30s. Devin wants to impart balance into this environment. Devin wants to fuck the corporation that purposefully runs their restaurants so badly they have an insane turnover rate while demanding 10 jobs in one at a minimum wage and somehow we have 900 covers coming in on weekends and a fucking garden but the tips are all shit, and everywhere isn’t hiring anyone without fucking 20 years of experience for what the fuck no one really needs to go to school for, seeking the next desperate youth trying to eat and pay their fucking bills in the fucking endless cancer machine making it impossible to have any sustainable fucking life, living fucking paycheck to paycheck, and they fucking KNOW THIS, so they make your job fucking HARDER, to REACH SAID TURNOVER RATE QUOTA THING so they don’t have to pay for your benefits or 401k because you quit for a different job, and they can cut corners. He decides he’s going to, where the cameras cannot see because he’s studied them, while there are other bartenders on staff behind the cameras, when he cannot be incriminated except by circumstantial evidence that would not stick, he crushes laxatives into the nice bottles of Clase Azul. This is because every man-bun toting cunt that slowly destroys the world with some nft or crypto joerogan horsepill scam or ecommerce company drinks this overpriced dogshit. Every douchebag who acts like a complete ass that has never truly suffered who’s writing the next netflix tv show screenplay about fucking NOTHING. The patchouli groomed mustache kind of guy that watches YouTube videos on Minimalism and brings his laptop everywhere. So when one of them orders their nice glass of neat clase azul or clase azul on the rocks that eve, he rises from his chair in a frenzy. He waddles in some frantic penguin like fashion, clenching his ass together, as he runs to the bathroom but shits his pants a little bit before he gets there. His reputation is destroyed, he thinks, he causes a scene with shit in his pants. He demands the police be called, he demands to sue the management company, still with shit in his pants. Devin is long gone by then on the NJ Transit bus on his march towards the western sun.
-Make catfish tinder accounts and try to match with wealthy bankers or fucking whoever, full chaos world. Believe me, they are depraved and sex crazed and it will not look good for them if you can get them to have phone sex, they will definitely pay for even the shot to see you and act out their jailbait fantasies. If only I recorded that call with a Goldman Sachs banker(at least he really convincingly appeared to be, regardless fuck him he had too much god damn money). The money from this method of Mildred fed us for a while and was a great way to siphon money back to a few working class folks so run this bad boy if you can. Believe me, we’re gonna’ start doing this one again eventually. Hilariously the namesake of the band was this account I used to get money for food when I was unhoused.
-If you can handle it, drink on the job. Especially in the service industry, for big corporations or fine dining. Obviously if the owner of the business is a kind friend, it’s a small business, gives you good employment and enriches your life; this is not something you want to do. Within certain toxic environments it’s only fair. Drink constantly. Steal food and alcohol. Steal steal steal. Siphon from the pockets of the owners. Find small ways of subterfuge and sabotage. Fuck it. That capital will not return to the working class unless taken by force.
**Please note that many of these statements are completely satirical and part of an experimental writing art-project. We in absolutely no truthful way demand anyone to act out in these manners, this is all PURELY for cerebral thought. Please do not throw your life away.
Mildred desires not fame nor infamy.
That is not our purpose or intention.
Only to spread the word.
We do not need or want YOUR approval.
WE live this shit, WE DO IT
Safe ideas are rarely revolutionary.
We hope that our actions challenge authority in a world where we seem to have become quite complacent with its open abuse.
We hope that you continue to share your ideas with others and are inspired by us.
We also hope that these practices will begin to show our very real tangible dissatisfaction.
You know what’s mightier than the pen?
The pen AND the sword.
You can waste your own time if you really want to.
Ivan Absentia, age 20 circa summer of 2022
- 1 LYRICS February 12th, 2024
I hope to finish all of this material but in the event that somehow all of it never comes to fruition I find it to be of deep importance morally for it to reach the world and hopefully have an effect, an urgent effect to anyone at all. Pt. 1 is not only a warning of a future world but a tragic parable of one we already live in. I want it to at least exist in this current capacity that I can live with being public. Most of the material is 95% there if not 100%. I hope it stirs something in you, makes you realize how fragile this world is. How fragile we are. I hope it saves you from destroying yourself. I hope against all reason.
Hung
It’s just what you said,
Really hung with me.
Yeah I try to remember everything,
But it’s so easy to forget,
While I watch flailing legs struggle to breathe,
Dangling from a tree like an ass,
Oh, all these petty things don’t make me feel anything,
“It’s just what you said,
Really hung with me,” I laugh.
You see all that life is, is exchange.
A change, if you will.
To consume is to uphold,
Anyway, everything fades away.
Just like the stripes on your tattered shirt.
The currency of all good war is blood.
Just our little game with god.
As they drink themselves to death,
And oh, laughing now one of my drunkards spits it out over the sand.
Maybe I’m vitriolic but I’ve never felt more alive,
Than watching him elbow deep,
in your throat,
Retrieving your still beating…
Heart!
It gives me the vitality of a king,
And I’ll be fucking damned if I’m not one by now.
Oh son,
I’ll be your mirror.
I’ll be your father.
I’ll be every false prophet you seek.
No, I won’t condemn anything you do,
So long as you bend your knee,
And kiss my feet,
While you burn.
They just choose your abandon.
So do yourself a favor, kind friend.
Try to hold onto every moment and make it last.
When you prop up my steps,
Try to savor every last breath,
When I leave you behind.
it’s just what you said, savor every breath.
(It’s just what you said, gets to me.
It’s just what you said, savor every breath.)
Lila
Black mold on the stucco inhales a part of me.
I twirl my hair smiling at the barman.
He loses himself in its absence of light,
And slides a shot across the aching wood.
I reach out with my pale left hand, an answer.
Once I learned violence was just a parallel reaction,
When I befell to carnal desire.
Somewhere a door comes unlocked,
and the wind carries darkness,
And we’re all just victims of blind collisions,
And we only love what we can gain,
Experiences that dull the pain.
In the corner of my eye, the glint of glasses turn towards me.
In tepid light I saw you whittle away at your book.
I watched you strain your hands.
You think you got a gospel of man?
Well I got a white horse on my shoulder.
Wonder what you’re writing today,
I could come over and leave you speechless.
Could run my fingers through your hair,
Still it’s better if I take a subtle approach.
Set my dress, to draw you in.
I’m tired of capturing the attention of men,
I want to evolve, adapt.
Eternity is so dull, until you realize it’s hell.
I got my purpose now!
and it feels so good!
I’ll be the shard of glass in your eye!
I’ll be the hand that takes hold!
I’ll be the cancer inside!
You’ll beg, wasting away!
Drifter’s Rebirth
The cellar door opens to reveal the fetid hovel, then he descends into the darkness.
The man on the mattress pulls back greasy black hair to reveal weary needle point eyes.
He is expressionless, apart from a brief wince at the sunlight.
He’s adrift somewhere lost at sea probably.
The black oxfords tap tap tap on the concrete, wrappers, filthy napkins.
He smiles looking down at me.
He says some bullshit about the sun and suffocating sleep, extending his hand.
In a way I’m god he said but not really because anyone can be God.
No one can handle the responsibility apparently.
“We can live in the endless embrace of an eternal sky”
Why would I want that?
“Because you don’t want anything”
And I impossibly will nothing,
As I laugh at his rabbit ears.
Imagine pulling off your fingernails
and rearranging them,
or binding them together
as a little yellow basket.
See every sigil arranged like little dominos and all I had to do was topple them.
Suddenly the room was empty but I had purpose now, something defined.
We could live in the endless sunshine.
Life and death an illusion,
All meaning neutral and limitless.
I race between beginning and find,
How we can live in an endless daydream.
I snuff out conclusion,
I am flying high above these streets.
I can see now as the earth crumbles,
Life is but a fever dream.
The words burn upon my tongue,
And they are shards of glass, stained glass, writhing in my brain,
And I can smell my own temptation in you,
Who I will find to be my sister in conquest,
And I can see the ocean for how it swallowed the trees,
Reflecting what we will be,
Oh I can see how the ocean swallowed the sea
laughing as grains of stolen sand return from my hands,
And I can see the ocean now for how it swallowed the trees.
And I can smell my own temptation in you,
And I can see the ocean for how it swallowed the trees.
The Crash
Tears are like the downpour over me
I can’t move,
I could blame someone else.
All bastards are living.
All cowards are breathing.
Show me a different world.
Life is just a hand of cards,
One day you’re dealt a killing blow.
It’s best to just let go,
but I just had to know,
why we kill everyone we love.
All born, to die.
Drifter’s Tragedy Pt. 1 REDRAFT
I live in the perfect joke,
My comedy is divine,
The drivers are drunk
They’re all crashing their cars
Nothing makes sense,
My head is like an elephant,
Weighed down by the wreckage
No matter how close we feel,
There is a distance between us.
There is a distance between us.
There is a distance between us.
There is a distance between us.
There is a difference between us.
There is a distance between us.
The end of the world is just a guard rail away.
I’m sorry for what I said, (You can let go)
I didn’t mean it, (Be my angel)
Every time I close my eyes. (I forgive you)
I tear down everything,
‘Cause God likes to take back my greatest gifts.
I’ll embrace losing everything I know,
I’ve no truths, I lost them long ago
So come on, a masochist born to abuse my dark heart.
Don’t you want to join us?
Indulge and have fun.
Everyone you love fades away,
So come join us at sunrise.
Oh, all the children we conjure are stillborn.
I have a sinking feeling,
This ends badly.
I have the strangest feeling,
It’s not the first time.
Everybody’s gotta’ lose sometime,
And there’s nothing you can do. (All just actors then…)
I remember moving shadows cast over her face, (tricking ourselves…)
And in the passenger’s seat, (believing in fiction with no control)
The whole world is just a moving scene, (playing our roles)
Until I destroy everything.
Drifter’s Tragedy Pt. 2
Through tears, perhaps rage in his eyes,
The kid raised a shabby revolver.
Tried to land his sights, right between mine.
They tried to tear him down to my empty heart,
But the performance already blew me away.
When I drown in my skull I am nowhere.
Forget me like a distant memory.
In time I am superimposed as a moment,
Upon collision I fell further away from a film projection,
It shows how I’m part of a chain reaction,
That goes where,
Everyone wants to win
no one cares who loses,
We’re all looking for love
with arms up surrendered,
To think we could escape ourselves, hold on for dear life.
I’m clinging on against the winds of a mad place.
The whole world was a mistake, and I never wanted anything.
Who knew we’d be fucked from the start?
if every child is befallen to tragedy,
Are we conditioned to create broken hearts?
All alone in the eye of a storm I weave.
Because I have a curse that’ll kill you, yeah I’ll kill everyone to get to the very beginning!
…and on the precipice of a dying sun,
I am blissfully obliterated.
The whole circus is an after joke,
And I’m all out on it’s whirlwind.
And to think we heard anyone at all,
No summer of yesterday,
That’s long gone out of my control,
Pissed it all away…
With delirium and pressure,
I have no choice but to let go.
We are the blood in our heads,
Pooling out I meet the world again,
I never remember going in circles repeating the same mistakes,
like a metastatic tumor, not even conscious of the damage we leave in our wake,
and we have no clue how we got here in the first place.
Waking up mid stab wound is a disorienting thing,
but you know all 23 times someone you love guides the blade–
then we do it all over again…
(morning light, like sickle cell disease)
Band’s Death
They don’t care to be named
and who cares anyway?
You wouldn’t get it anyhow.
All the words to be said are vapid.
The speaker shatters, but it’s a matter of perspective.
In the terminal ecstasy of a deafening melody,
I let go for death is a triviality
when everything is a catastrophe.
Struck in the head by my own guitar,
He slides into a unison looks up and sees,
The cannibal bastards charging,
Their serrated steel shines in this endless fucking daybreak.
They’re pissed we woke them up,
They fire their guns, and I don’t care.
I’ve got something they’re gonna’ hear.
Bullets can’t pierce a soul,
Saved by Rock n Roll.
And you may think we die,
but we are immortalized,
Into the very death we rattle,
As it rings out feedback forever, the never-ending sound.
I just can’t help it,
setting it into motion,
maybe we do it to ourselves,
So what if it ends in failure?
What else could we do?
and in time you’ll find that we were never really here.
Lila’s Death
When the parties over,
Stacey’s dream and a king of ballet.
Then dreams that haunt are cruel tricks,
All liberated by no hope.
Yeah you party at someone’s expense,
Yeah you never remember anyway.
She’s like a rolling pin in my head.
I’m a junkie dope-sick for the love you give me,
I can’t get it anywhere else.
They pull out of the wreckage to be depleted and they’re never quite finished.
Never came close enough to death,
and in songs they lie that they’ll save you,
in a crop top and a sawtooth grin,
And you never re-write those wrongs but you can try,
yeah they disarm you with batting blue eyeshadow eyes,
and in dreams I find that I always die.
Tugging at sleeves like a little kid but they never seem to listen.
He’s like a whack a mole in my head.
The mutual handshake grin of destiny and intended desire,
under the hollow gaze of the moon’s anemic eye
Everyone’s afraid to embrace what’s wailing in the twilight.
Searching for ways to walk backwards in time.
I would go back to impossibly kill my father,
So we could never defile the ground I’m sacrificed thereupon.
Never to be laid bare at the altar of your failures,
Past the very beginning, the noise, and the impossible light.
“The sky looks so beautiful tonight”, he said as he was blown away under the mourning sun.
A testament to the might of my experience that may prevail and no one knows,
How I go there’s no one left to wait and see.
The entire tragedy is a tidal wave behind me doesn’t matter anyway,
So we leave you with a melody and hopefully in between words is something universally said.
Well, what a dream.
You’re diagnosed with it,
Delivered dead on arrival.
What a bad dream.
What a fucking nightmare.
Just get me the hell out of here.
Although we are punished by gravity,
I’ll stab the sky.
The Last Murder
Maybe it was noon,
maybe it wasn’t and
it probably wasn’t but
it sure felt like noon.
Dull bloody fire in the sky,
calling for the gleam of our guns,
the shimmer of the street signs,
on the corner of misery and rage
where, We learned a
cancer of men, what
led them to cackle their teeth
out of skulls and on(to) the sand
alongside blood as they
bide time and pull knives
from their wounds,
sun-drunk violence was always within.
now we’re just left to rot in the aching light
I was all pins and needles, adorned with blades.
I tried to cry but I could not for the life of me spilled out.
how does that leave me to die?
I take aim
never been so
sure of anything
and I feel your death
like my own.
this thing of ours, a first dance,
their hands are on me but it’s too late.
We were destined for nothing but this,
A spin of the cylinder,
A revolver of dice
Like a shot to the head
A marriage of imagination
and will to pull the trigger,
When I inherit my father’s sword,
we’re descended upon by harpies
when I cast this heart out.
The whole hemlock was in your eyes.
See, youth is lost on me.
I was a killer in the womb, I was a killer in the nursery.
I was a martyr from the day I was born.
I was your pariah before I came to be.
We live to experience the race toward destruction.
one shot, one shot is all it takes.
What it feels like to discover a mass suicide
I’ve completely lost the plot by now.
I guess I was a victim of circumstance,
right place and wrong time.
“How could you write this shit?”
Well I remember what she said,
“Yeah, yeah, whatever.”
She took it too.
Now she’s lying dead in the street,
just like you,
but no one bothers to clean.
What’s the point when it’s all gone tomorrow?
If tomorrow even exists…
She said, “Sleeps a little bit like death without the consequence.”
“Would it be so bad to never wake up from a dream like that girl?”
Where all you beautiful people are going to hell?
Like showing up late to a mass suicide,
Doesn’t even feel real, oh feels like a heat stroke daydream.
Could’ve stayed in bed.
What if I’ll never wake up from this nightmare,
Where I’m left behind, alone?
Cast aside on the road left to bleed out like a dog,
like someone else’s dead dog,
but they’re all already gone.
Just another nose bleed,
and I was writing a song written for nobody.
No one to hear it.
No one to be around.
A song that didn’t need to be written.
How stupid it all was,
Trying to say anything for no one there.
How did I deserve you, porcelain skin and delicate eyes?
That once looked up to me like I meant something.
Lovers like us dance somewhere under the night sky on our fourth of july,
A new years waltz that never lasts until the morning light.
I can’t even remember the point or care.
Time to leave, everyones already gone.
So sing me to sleep.
Won’t somebody sing me to sleep?
La la la la
Children Of The Tunnel
I fell into standing water,
and in a disembodied mass glare,
Buildings collapsed as rockets fell from the sky.
In the eyes Gaza was showered in white heat.
Fragments, how they got under the skin.
Headlights, and when we fell into a waking dream,
He said, “I’m rarely surprised,
It’s never the cruelty, but always the kindness that gets to me.”
Maybe God can forgive us for what we do to each other.
(I saw fields of carnations, all one great big heart break.)
He said, “The future has no place in mind for us,
We trot a globe that does not care.
Since the hole opened up, something wastes away.
I cough it up again clutching my chest,
Christ, everything is so defeated even the soil is on standby.
When salvation is a choice,
Hanging on a sinking breath,
We exercise self destruction to bear the pressure of living.
For every saint you martyr,
Twice return sinners.”
“and nothing will save this sinking ship
all words and phrases are for me now
I’ve nothing left to prove to you now
I’ll build a ladder to the sky,
and when I burn up my wings,
I’ll bring the sun down with me!”
“All the people are cruel.
in a moment of clear white heat,
brief pain then I’ll be free.
I’ll say goodbye to the emptiness of our destruction,
and celebrate the ending of everything,
built by the disease we categorized in each other,
worshiping miserable gods who won’t die alone,
Who need the comfort of commiseration.
(only harmless in the beginning,
A good day is a turn behind the wheel,
Before we hand it off to whoever else. .
We awoke stumbling thereafter,
Behind us flares rose like pillars,
As flames ripped through the tunnel
They laughed as intruders screamed.)
Misery Come Misery
Cowering in corners like mad cats.
We saw the slaves at the meat market,
We motioned under the bridge,
The Writer with his book
I was carrying Mildred in her cart.
As the crops disappeared,
Some even volunteered.
They looked so frail and tattered.
Dead leaves descend from fall trees.
Countless hands reach out.
To weak to form the sound,
They’d only pull you in,
Pressed together in cages,
bone to bone, cheek to cheek,
I guess this was their martyrdom.
Crosses marked upon their heads
mark the occasion.
A real cause for celebration.
Maybe they expected mercy.
Trapped in a world that happens to them.
He watched the orgy from above,
tangled in a great chain
He watched what he caused
he felt nothing.
No thrills
No hatred
No joy.
Some king, and some kingdom,
Just summer lovers across the hall,
heads on funeral pyres
a savage display to be laughed at
choked at,
To get used once and snuffed out of memory,
Misery cum misery.
Misery come misery.
We were startled by the sound,
That band, that singer cried out…
MILDRED ENTRY 2:37 AM 4/23/24
“All songs are sung,
By hacks like you,
Like anyone.
every dance must come to an end.
every song must be sung.
not for anyone else, you laugh, your joy.
even for a moment something stirs
a song to bring everything toppling down on top of us I pray to god,
A song for everyone. “