Routines LP

NICE GIRL COFFEE SHOP/Rolled down the footbridge, waited for the light like giving up on all my dreams or finding out a friend had died. It seems like anywhere I go from here won’t really get me anywhere. Our fingertips are numbing from the cold and how we make it go away. The deafening silence alone in our heads won’t leave us alone so we hope that our friends can relate to that feeling, that weight on your chest walking back home across the turnpike again. Saw her standing there behind the counter across the street. I crumpled up a flier in disgust and in defeat. I’m just sick of knowing what it is I want out of this life and fucking up while all these assholes mill around and can’t decide. Same old story, drunk and bored we trudge on through the slush and stormy weather wishing superstitious fears would go follow someone else.

UP IN THE ATTIC/I don’t wanna see another day. I don’t wanna live another way. I don’t wanna find a place to stay and I don’t wanna work just to get paid. I don’t wanna have to give a shit. I don’t wanna but I can’t help it. I don’t wanna have to put up with the things you say when you get shitfaced. I’m as drunk as a skunk and I’m down in the dumps. You’re the stitch in my pants that keeps coming undone. I’ve got nothing to say, nothing to say to you. It was up in the attic, you were reading a comic on top of those two blue mattresses. I was off in the corner with an unopened forty and nothing to say to you.

DETROIT RATS/Go straight to the head of the line to tell the world what you’re missing. On your way you step over the kids without a pot to piss in. When the government takes our money to dish out to millionaires you know it’s really hard to stomach these rich fucks who just don’t care. And when you blame your fuck-ups on the unions, on those who built the cars that made you billions– I think it’s time to drown the rats. It’s time to drown them! Get to the end of the welfare line. I’ll say you abuse the system. On your way you’ll get sidestepped and spit on by the disgusted and indifferent. I think it’s time to drown the rats…it’s time to drown them.

I DON’T WANNA THINK ABOUT THAT GIRL/4th of July I wanna cry, ran into Caroline for the first time in five years. Watched the fireworks from Mission Hill, cheap beers to drink, silence to fill, or just a toilet bowl the morning after. I wish you weren’t so uptight, I wish you’d vanish from my sight when I close my eyes, but you’re the girl on my mind. Don’t wanna think about that girl. You walked by my work today, I thought that you might come say “hey” but you looked the other way and I choked. On your porch and drunk again, ring your bell at 2 A.M. I know that you’re asleep with him, but I hoped. I wish we hadn’t had that fight. I wish I’d curled up and died when you said goodbye, yet, here I am alive.

SLOWLY GOING THE WAY OF THE JUGGALO/I hope you fucking bleed to death nailed to that holy X, spewing internet death threats, making up pretend regrets and hiding all your real ones. Dying to conceal them. You’re a goon and a fucking creep, a dickbag in designer jeans. I’d rather know myself than pretend to know someone else. Blatant insecurities laced with unbridled conformity. You trashed the dressing room but you’re still winking at the camera. Got any parting shots? ‘Cause I’ve got two deaf ears and the uncanny ability to hold a grudge for years. Dumb bands with social clout. Spotlight to cry and pout. I hope you dwell in retail hell until your life runs out. I saw you today and gave you the finger. I saw you today but I didn’t linger. I wouldn’t call it pride, just a hatred that burns inside. You’re a goon and a fucking creep, a shithead in designer jeans. Go make your parents proud. Kissing ass and dropping names until your six feet underground. When I think of you all I feel is hate, but I guess I’m glad that I could never relate. ‘Cause it finally proves that I’m not like you, so now I can sleep.

NIGHT SWEATS/Kenny was a nice guy from a small town in Illinois. He had a penchant for his night job and spending time alone. Never found the right one, never settled down. Another small-town prom king insecure under his crown. Always had a feeling that something wasn’t right, standing in the mirror trying on his mother’s tights– and it’s not funny. In 1980 he moved away. Heard of a place called San Francisco where he could go be gay. The night clubs were a fantasy, the poppers and the fisting, but he hadn’t really planned on the coppers fucking with him in the park. Beaten to the ground, as they bloodied him he didn’t make a sound. Dear Ken, wheelchair bound: nighttime sweats and diarrhea, a new disease that no one feared yet– how could they? After a lifetime of abuse. It’s not denial when you’ve been living in a closet forty years. It’s called survival. When society sweeps you underneath the carpet. When you’ve been rendered a barely moving target.

ROUTINES/It’s my day off, got my Cometbus, Down In The Dumps patch and some dental floss. It’s my day home, call you from a payphone, corner of Franklin, tell you not to bother wastin’…. I’m feeling weakened this weekend. The culmination of my life at a dead end. Turn to a two-week bender, sink to the lowest level. Disheveled bastard with nothing better to do on my day off. I’m gonna stay home listening to Leave Home. Instant coffee, staring at the neighbors’ lawn. Is this what mom and dad envisioned when they had me? Pathetic life of confusion and maybes. Boys and girls don’t want to turn it down. String them along, sing them the same old sound. Lie to ourselves to survive this town. Routines give us comfort. Routines keep us down.

KOREAN PORN DUMPSTER/How’s the weather? How’s your job? Do you like me any better or do you still feel robbed? Because this isn’t turning out the way we’d pretended to hope it would. And once again I should’ve known better, but I’m just trying to remember a time when I cared less about myself than I do about someone else. Men and women will we ever get along? Victims of this backward culture we feed from. ‘Cause heteronormative porn is something to watch when you’re bored. It makes me sad that I get off on something I think’s so fucked up. Men and women might not ever get along. Fighting ourselves. Convincing “them” that we belong.

REPEAT OFFENDER/Four years later not one goddamn thing has changed: you’re still a fucking flake and I still remember everything that you said that I never should believe. But I’m still waiting for your call, I’m on autopilot. Sunday morning, smoking butts outside the coffee shop. Hold my heavy eyelids open, guess I’m still a little drunk which probably would explain why I can never seem to find the right words. I only know what I’m doing half the time. I tell myself that your full of shit, but I still can’t quite connect the concrete facts with my gut reaction, so I wander with no solid destination in my mind but I end up back here, over and over again….

HATING YOUR GUTS/When you come at me with those stories of all the shit we used to get in everything just seems so boring, it’s not a fair comparison. Backing down and giving up. Walking home alone and drunk. Running through all the stupid sentences I should’ve spit into your face, but you moved on and it’s too late, and I’m still here hating your guts. I can’t begin with endings but I can’t end anything. Will I ever love a girl again or just hope that one loves me? I guess the fucking question is, is it really better to love someone than enjoy their company?

MIKE GRAFFITO-TAGGED SOMERVILLE/Making allusions to a vast conspiracy. Questioning what has been proven scientifically. There is no anarchy in the United States just disillusion dished out in spades. So cockblock the black block, they sit in cirlces inventing -isms all day. Disregard the hippie fucks ’cause all they do is talk talk talk, all they do is talk. Fighting cops is just a drinking game in a world where rebellion exists to maintain the illusion of balance when you’re just an accomplice to the state-sanctioned violence that’s put us in chains. So don’t pretend you can amend this, the constitution of our character with a cliched fist. Nothing can change this. Shining shoes and getting shit on by the other class, all we do is talk. Steeped in contradiction, self-abuse is our affliction. Self-medicate with more addiction. A mis-aligned configuration of genetic make-up. Will we ever wake up from this dream that someone else made up; will we survive the inbred lies or let disease ravage us alive from the inside?

SUCKING DUST/This isn’t where you’re going, this is where you’re ending up. In this grown-up wasteland where we’re all just sucking dust, it ain’t enough, the days off killed paying off bills, walking in circles unfulfilled. Smashing glass, afraid to ask “what’s supposed to happen next?” I carried that turntable all the way home like a precious stone. Forgot my gloves tonight, for the love of Mike! Five more minutes and I would’ve had frostbite. I warmed my hands on the laundromat exhaust-pipe. We’ve all got bad reputations. Our mouths run laps around this town. We got no destination. We go round and round and round and round, round and round and round and round, round and round and round and round….

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