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by SOUL GLO

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about

Turn it up.

SRA Records

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released December 12, 2014

Recorded Live & Mixed by Dan and James at The Sex Dungeon on Nov 28, 29th and Dec 3rd.
www.sdrecordingstudio.com
Mastered by Zach Weeks
www.zachweeks.net
Tape Mastered version by Daniel Anderson

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about

SOUL GLO Philadelphia, Pennsylvania

7/23 @ Broke Down Palace w/ VRIL, Harvey Pekar, Downtrodder

9/29 (Pittsburgh, PA) w/ Majority Rule, Mere Phantoms

10/27 - 10/29 (Gainesville, FL) The Fest

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Track Name: Guilty of Being... Wait
I've skinned myself alive skinning myself a life. All that can be seen may as well be all of me. Hanging like strange fruit from a tree is the option to praise, or degrade. The auction block is the every day, as dissimilar to my reality as my double consciousness, constant vigilance, repeated reminders of my appearance. Triple consciousness, constant vigilance, self-hate and paranoia, my ~*black experience*~
Track Name: New Humanism
I've deigned to discuss myself in hopes of disrupting the degusting of the ease of our lives. I offer for yr digestion, at the struggle's steady suggestion, a new humanism which includes all the of the world's intersections. I detest all my discussions of "I:" who I am, what I am, what I need, what the fuck. My cousin Bryan, my late aunt Brenda's son, is my example of how Blackness exacerbates bad decisions. He had a homeboy who was selling drugs, nothing more said there, lest I contribute to myths around "thugs." Mans asked my cousin to hold a brick, and he must've offered him something, cus he agreed like an idiot. Probably all poised for a hundo when he got the kick, the truth that he had misplaced or somehow lost that shit. Unaware of the reason why her home was shot at, my aunt sold her safety when Bryan was born Black. A woman is always a potential victim of violence, and how fucked is it that this can now come from yr teenager's typical silence?
Track Name: Inextricable
As I sit or stand or whatever, I wring my hands with aspirations of truly clear speech and exhale my bile. But what of my potential to do a disservice with my words, my work? What of the erroneous pre-conceived notions of the worlds might I inadvertantly affirm? It's not about attention, it's about action. I've heard talk of the "ghetto," but never really seen it in a place. I know some spots where they want the most cops, but that's still gang shit, just with a different face.
Track Name: Created In H.I.S. Image
In the reoccurring nightmare of yr leaden stride, you'd skinned yrself in line in yr real life. You passed off to my cousin what you hoped to resign, the doubt, dread, and mistrust you'd been assigned. It's just a waste of pain, to only live inside the limitations of a name. We all seek the privilege of privileged nonexistence, to fit into a mitten made of television, but I cannot speak to you. I fear yr fear, I fear yr fucking gun. I'm yr manslaughter, forced in a satchel. I'm yr enemy, also yr army. I was given meat, and I could feed for a week. But give a nigga a brick and the whole neighborhood can eat. And if you always check to see if yr the man of these streets, you miss the opportunities to see yrself in me. I lose the time to understand a hell I don't know, the failure to escape one of this white world's forms of mind control. And I silently sadly think of the impossible seeming unity of allies who look like me.
Track Name: Two Hits
Two hits of the fucking loudpac and closer to the God I'll be. Dawn's quiet sound; and in the background you can just make out 44 million voices screaming, begging with arms outstretched, fucking with me. Yr right with the God or pretending to be, awaiting some nigga to smoke out yr head. These shells know no names. Their targets are already born dead.
Track Name: Put Yr Head Down
Lives occur in between moments told to shut the fuck up. Killers are so easily made in moments of crestfallen shade. Life is to shut the fuck up and let the noise get made by the gun.
Track Name: Son Of A Gun
You are a dollar made to spend on war, an unwritten police report reappearing sporadically, only seldomly not seen as bullet holes in a car side door. Calling all customers of consumer culture. 3-D printers can make orange AK-47 parts. Show the world to their seats next to the Dear God, Our Father Whom Art In Heaven. Yrs is the face of the hate with which I'm obsessed, blood of my blood, flesh of my flesh; the dismantled connection to a sense of self which I suppress. So sell that shit hood rich. You only sell or get sold to. You only sell or get told to.
Track Name: But Fucking Why?
Weakness is blood thirst, yr blood in my eyes blinds. Blindness is a moment of weakness in which I lash out at controls placed over my life, which I see in those whom I despise. But fucking why? Macho manifestation. Macho man infestation. I create the environments I seek to destroy, but fucking why? My anger separates me from the freedom I seek to enjoy, but fucking why?
Track Name: Trigger Warning
Shook ass coward gangbang nigga still believes in the amerikkkan dream, the fucking wretch. Idiot mongrel spends all night grindin, grindin, grindin, living crying dreams of the United States drinking his cum. Money makes him as much as he makes it and he'll smoke out anybody and their motherfucking auntie to show that he's not telling off shit. Fucking crooks crossing out and cutting down each other, see "Bitchez ain't shit" in another man's mother. Fucking crook grew from a murdered childhood and is languid in his mourning. What's a body to his gun? His life never got a warning.
Track Name: Violence Against Black Women Goes Largely Unreported
Sister, with the weight of my subjugation upon her, stands barefoot upon the ruins of a metropolis built on male conflict, my conflict, and still yet screams in my face, "WE CANNOT LIVE WITHOUT OUR LIVES." I have spoken words I would condemn, having upheld different oppressions. An offense I cannot disown, I may as well have fired the shots flying through my aunt's home. My incensed rage is directed at myself for failing to recognize that this work deals with a crime against a woman and her property and that my dead Black male body represents a greater loss to this economy than that of a Black woman, the opposite picture of human life, ever could.
Track Name: The Movement Has No Head
Realize that with all its meanings and implications, yr padded white cell is the most beautiful and concrete thing God's ass ever produced. "I don't think you did it, but someone has to go down."
Track Name: Closer 2 Tha God
Shake down the world for that fucking wealth. I can't even get a chance to kill myself. Maybe I won't even have a face as I wait in line to dig my own grave. You extend/I anticipate an early death and drugs make this world easier to accept. We cannot shriek enough through these months which pass like minutes. If my life, Black life, is prohibited then I'm just gonna get it. And if there is truly no difference between us 2, and the values our potentials are equivalent, understand my fury at yr fucking violence and how to you it simply just means business. If you hear something enough you'll think it's true//while millions of little dins whitewash themselves against our solitude//while you think it's the God that yr getting closer to.