My wall is a garden of dark marks, interwoven strokes rapturously posted up, not ruins, but still sutured to a corrupt culture awaiting chances at its deconstruction. My whole family stillborn in the cut, living, working, dying as yr laborers yet labeled “non-essential” by you fucks.
Yr walls imported, pretty sure you used the word “glorious,” but you can’t both use and ignore us, or fuck and pretend to adore us. What type of love is only true in its desire to stay hateful? What type of world did you think you birthed where you thought I would be grateful?? You really thought I would be grateful??? U thought!!
I overanalyzed the size of the affect of life as a mark and an object of disrespect. Remade in H.I.S. image, redacted, refitted for symmetry, but over the border my future’s free of that conspiracy. Wishing to keep yr threats well-kept as yr weaponized debt is yr wall my nigga. My wall’s the earth and more than the dirt you tried to sweep up under the rug my nigga. You gentrified a whole continent with a whip on some hand-over-fist shit nigga. Tell me, am I still the embodiment of the evil that yr daddy did live nigga?
Yr wall is imported, I’m pretty sure you used the word ‘glorious,’ but you can’t both use and ignore us or fuck and pretend to adore us. What love is only true in its desire to stay hateful? What type of world did you think you birthed where you thought I’d be grateful??? U really thought I’d be grateful??? U thought! U cannot fucking steal my joy!! U thought!!!!!!
This one also took me a while to get into. It strikes me as less HC than Untitled and less poppy than Ultrapop (stupid I know). Let's call this the No Wave record. Its musical (and amusical) density is matching the persistent sound in my head right now. barnaby nygren