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2:50 | 
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from King Missile - King Missile (2006)
to live here now
lying down living as one of the bloodless having been down with bloodletting having let all of the blood out having been bled dry by leeches having let leeches bloodlet you lying lifeless and bloodless you lie as you live without life lying lifeless and bloodless living lifelessly bloodlessly bleeding without bloodshed all blood having been shed the shower of leeches that sucked you dry the shower of blood that cleanses and dies dyes you red dyeing red lying dead lying bled shedding bloodletting shining in red said the lecherous leech lead bleed feed the red anger drown in the shower bathe in the blender the sender-receiver of life that you lie; that you dye as you bleed as you flee like a leech unleashed released deceased insist refuse resist transfuse ooze snooze dream awaken get the lead out, let the blood out x8 |
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1:47 |
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from King Missile - King Missile (2006)
The air was breathing, but I nearly suffocated
In my sarcophagus Where the antelopes wear underwear on their antlers: On my mantle, memories recede, but cost of living Adjustments dance the Charleston at the Rosebud of resplendent nostalgia: The walls are dripping, and tonight the faces are on the Ceiling, are They are suspiciously silent: There was a fire tonight, when the world weary smile: There was a pillow plummeting like invisible carbon in a Passion play: If this is only going from A to B and back again, how Come when I clothes my eyes, I see bedsprings and Excrement in deep focus: Dirty deals that only I am privy to, elegant cobblestone Goblets, bone Orchard china, parsips and lichen: Puke on me, Delores: Are you married or lesbian, are you a celibate Buddist Acolyte, Or are you just detached and unavailable like me: More to the point where are you : where were you: I went to the high school reunion, and Delores, there was No puke: It's a sad lonely song by the barnyard, 'cause Delores Ain't sick to Her stomach no more: |
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0:58 |
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from King Missile - King Missile (2006)
I don't know why
I'm always inclined To end on a happy note Though the point may be mute Like a ten year old boy With his throat And his dreams Ripped out by wolves |
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1:40 | 
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| from King Missile - King Missile (2006) | |||||
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2:06 |
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from King Missile - King Missile (2006)
I will slur
And heel And hem And haw I will eat a monkey paw When you call me up and command me To come over to your house For sex and tea biscuits I shall clandestinely drop my cumberbund Down the dumbwaiter chute Lutes will serenade us like liquid lemonade You will glisten like newborn snow And I will listen Like a clairvoyant nipple clamp It will be sex like nobody has ever had it before In the history of postmodern lovemaking It will be sex, even if it isn't It will be sex, even if only in theory Even if it's only pantomine Even if it's just a memory Or a dream Or a symphonic approximation After a summer of autonomous sodomy And National Geographic specials About the pretty animals That use other animals as food by eating them On television But we shouldn't even watch television We should just have sex Epoch making Earth shaking Teeth chattering Dish clattering Fish frying Eye popping Never stopping Bunny hopping Toe tapping Joseph Papping sex Shakespeare in the park kinda sex D train ride to Coney Island vacation kinda sex Clandestine in the airplane lavatory kind of sex Olympic marathon sex All the different ways that we feel like having sex We should Until we grow old and bored and disillusioned Then let us rekindle our feelings Forget our despair and our celibate nonsense And do it like bunnyrats till the cows come home to roost So call me sometime And let's have sex |
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3:43 |
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from King Missile - King Missile (2006)
A narrative framework
Another break with illusion A cognitive fallacy Imaginary reality These are all lies These are all lies Nocturnal emission Fraternal incision Internal submission Eternal division All of this fakery Artifice, trickery Phoniness, fakery Artificial, artificial Taking it easy This could be all there is Taking it easy Maybe it comes too soon May never happen again Saying it's all for nothing May never get there again May never happen again Typical, typical Typographical hypodermic Demographic epilogues Illogical dialogues Biological monologue Obsolete novelty Original replicas Typical typical These are all lies |
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3:38 |
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| from King Missile - King Missile (2006) | |||||
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3:27 |
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from King Missile - King Missile (2006)
I Wish I had a story to tell
I Wish I knew the story of the cardboard man, Or the Talking filmcanister, Or the Spoon that Moved I Wish I knew the one about the wise guru Or the honest Lizard I wish I knew about the dog that dressed like a cat, Or the mule that walked like rock Or the tornado who swam like a statue of Carmen Miranda I Wish I knew all these stories or had the inclination to make them up I Wish I could sit on soft pillows and drink molten lava I Wish I could make love to the sky I Wish I could eat the corn of Joy and Sorrow I Wish the sky was green and my body was bright blue I Wish I could talk sideways and backwards I Wish I could drive the tractor of Innocence and return the the life I never knew I Wish I could drink chocolate champaigne I Wish I had that Fax Number I Wish I nothing could mean something and that everbody could have everything Some wishes come true Some of this wishes will come true Others, are destined to become dreams deferred, Shriveling up like grapes with sun tans, But all is not lost, No, all is not lost, not yet I Wish I had 3 eyes, but of course, I have 3 eyes I have clavoyant paranoia I have precogant disetence I have many other ways of seeing at my disposal I have a garbage disposal, dinner plans and dog bisquets I have many many options and a strong sense that freedom comes with in But I shall never find it Freedom is lost, Failure is just around the corner and the only thing that Consoles me is the sound of my voice, and the fact that I don't cut myself Shaving as I used too |
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3:57 |
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from King Missile - King Missile (2006)
I don't know what it is
That is or isn't inside me That gives me that empty feeling inside of me A voice said to put it all down Pretend that it's all just a lie When the lamb and lion lay down Side by side Pigs will fly Little one Pigs will fly I don't know what it is That gives me that empty feeling A feeling that can't be filled With sex, food or coffee But one thing I know There is blood in the sky When the lamb and the lion lay down Side by side, pigs will fly I see not, I say not I cannot say why I say not, I see not I cannot say why There is blood in the sky There is mud in my eye |
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4:49 |
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from King Missile - King Missile (2006)
My body's been altared
Drawn and quartered A shower-the shower saved me Saved me cut me bled me Dead me, I would've been Like as if it could've been Oh, it never should've been But why, I don't know On the darkness, of the depth And the blood and the body Oh so badly shaken up Like nothing I ever And never you know I cannot, I can't Just give me some water to drown myself clean Like I never have been But I am I cared and I stared And I melted and cracked And I never felt stronger than this I swear If I could I would blaspheme my way to you Just give me the courage and the glossary Let me turn my own words against me And perish in the process Let my obsolescence blossom and propagate Until every inkling of me passes away Passes along, passes on |
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2:22 |
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from King Missile - King Missile (2006)
Somehow we drifted off too far
Communicate like distant stars Splintered voices down the phone The sunlit dust, the smell of roses drifts, oh no Someone waits behind the door Hiroshima Mon Amour Riding inter-city trains Dressed in European gray Riding out to echo beach A million memories in the trees and sands, oh no How can I ever let them go? Hiroshima Mon Amour Meet beneath the autumn lake Where only echoes penetrate Walk through Polaroids of the past Future's fused like shattered glass, the sun's so low Turns our silhouettes to gold Hiroshima Mon Amour |
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2:19 |
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from King Missile - King Missile (2006)
Lately, I've seen red
I've tasted blood I've killed with words I've wished and hoped and Swam through a river of snot Twice as wide as the mighty Mississippi But I wanna know About the commercial I saw on TV An Irish guy Walking through a field of green Whistling one of those Irish jigs And a woman walks up and says, "Manly yes, but I like it too." Then the guy pulls out a huge knife And cuts off his first two fingers And somehow catches them In what's left of his left hand And hands them to the woman Did I mention they're both dressed in green? Then they both sing this song together "Are ya icky? Are ya sticky? Are ya hot as anything? Hey cut off two of your fingers And stab yourself in the eye!" Then he stabs himself in the eye And hands her the knife And she stabs herself in the eye Okay? okay? so what about that? Then they join arms And do this Irish folk dance While taking turns dismembering each other This was a commercial for deodorant, I think Or soap or something So now all the body parts Are lying in a heap But the heads are still singing "Are ya icky? Are ya sticky? Are ya hot as anything? Hey! get away from summer And cut off all your limbs!" Then all of the body parts Start hopping and bopping around Like little bunny rats Then they jump into the mouths of the singing heads But then they just slip right back out Through the severed necks and keep bopping about It's very beautiful music that's playing There's an Irish flute And a mandolin, I think And the background singers sound Just like the Clancy brothers It's really a wonderful commercial Spectacular It must've cost a fortune to make The kind of commercial you'd see During the Super Bowl, maybe Where the advertising time costs A million dollars a half a minute Wow, imagine that A million dollars for a half a minute! Anyway, by the end of it It looks like the two of them Have been through a juicer Or a food processor Or a blender or something It's just a pink puree of blood, bone and flesh in a big bucket But it's still singing somehow "Are ya icky? Are ya sticky? Are ya hot as anything? Hey! Blend yourself, process yourself Become a glass of animal juice!" "Haven't you had enough Of fruit juices and vegetable juices? Next time company comes over Offer them a cool refreshing glass of yourself! Give of yourself Stop being such a selfish piece of snot Okay? Okay? Okay!" "And now, back to our program." |
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4:45 |
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from King Missile - King Missile (2006)
He looked late 30's, maybe mid 30's
Tall, maybe six feet I saw him in the Guatemalan clothing place He was thin and hungry They sold jewelry there too I noticed some bracelets with Sanskrit writing on them I think the woman behind the counder was Indian Not American Indian, Indian Indian She had a weird smile on her face as I walked in I was looking at the bracelets He said he was looking for work He said, "I applied for work as a dishwasher As a dishwasher As a...dishwasher As a dishwasher over at the hotel I'll find out tomorow, but if they don't There is six other places looking for dishwashers She is smiling at him And I'm realizing now hours later She didnt know him He says "See ya" and leaves And I'm still looking at stuff She looks real nervous She's not Indian, too light skinned maybe I don't know But she didn't speak English very well But he says "See ya" and I'm looking at stuff I'm realizing now hours later she didn't She didn't know him She was just going along with him And he was obviously not a customer either Because he said he was looking for work He applied for work as a dishwasher As a dishwasher As a dishwasher They don't make a lot of money Something was going on, he was desperate maybe He went in there to try to sell something No, I think he was trying to distract her So he could maybe take something He was thin and hungry and desperate I mean he obviosly wasn't a customer But I didn't figure it out 'til later after the movie I'm walking back and I'm playing the movie back in my head I'm playing the scene back in my head in the store He looked late 30's, maybe mid 30's Maybe six feet in the Guatemalan clothing place They sold bracelets with Sanskrit writng on them The woman looked light skinned She didn't speak English very well I should have done someting I should have realized I should have paid attention I should have been awake He told her he was looking for work as a dishwasher As a dishwasher As a...dishwasher I didn't really get a good look at him He looked like a dishwasher I believed him But, now I think he was lying I think he took something She seemed real nervous I should have done something I didn't know I wish I had done something I didn't know Is she all right? Do you think he...? Did she identify him? If she's dead now, how did you get my name? I don't know any dishwashers No, I never was in Vietnam She definitely wasn't Vietnamese Is she dead? Do you think he...? He looked late 30's I think he stole something Do you think he killed her? He looked late 30's, maybe mid 30's Tall, maybe 6 feet I saw him in the Guatemalan clothing place He was thin and hungry They sold jewelry there too I noticed some bracelets with Sanskrit writing on them I think the woman behind the counter Looked like she was Indian Not American Indian, Indian Indian She had a weird smile on her face as I walked in I was looking at the bracelets He said he was looking for work Said "I applied for work as a dishwasher As a dishwasher As a dishwasher As a dishwasher" |
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4:28 |
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from King Missile - King Missile (2006)
The people here
Are so hospitable They have given me their best blanket And such soft pillows They are so kind I am crying And i think it is violently rude of them To make me feel so guilty I barely know them And yet here they are Extending every courtesy, And being so caring And so considerate That I just want to burn their house down Right now While they are sleeping |
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3:28 |
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from King Missile - King Missile (2006)
There was somebody else's tongue in my mouth (3x)
And I don't know where it came from There was somebody else's hand on my tongue (3x) And now my mouth is missing Somebody should shut me up Somebody better shut me up that's for sure Somebody should shut my white ass up, Sure a chicken fried steak There was somebody else's fist on my throat (3x) And I sure better learn how to rhumba |
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2:25 |
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from King Missile - King Missile (2006)
One day
What if one day What if I said I wish I was a tree And then, suddenly, I was a tree Then could I wish myself back? No, trees can't wish. What if I wished I was a wishing tree, A tree that could wish? What if i wished I was a toilet bowl, And then I was one, and the wind changed and I stayed that way? Or what if I wished I was a toilet bowl And suddenly I was a tree! Would I be able to say, "Hey! I wanted to be a toilet bowl, not a tree?" No, I wouldn't be able to say that, Because trees can't talk They don't have mouths. I would have to have the foresight to say, "I wish I was a toilet, But if by some chance I'm turned into a tree instead, I wish to be a tree with a mouth that can wish to be changed back into a human being!" Because I'd only ever want to be a toilet or a tree for a very brief period of time. I guess this is the exact reason why they always say you should be very careful what you wish for. |
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2:24 |
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from King Missile - King Missile (2006)
If most of us were wind up-toys
Could we trust the few of us that weren't To wind us up when necessary? I think not We would be a separate oppressed minority Even if we were in the majority It would still be that way The ones that weren't wind-up toys Would have the upper hand And we would have to look out for each other Because they wouldn't They would only wind up those that they saw fit Those that conformed to their ways If most of us were wind-up toys It would be in our interest To learn to wind ourselves up Or wind each other up That's reality That's the way it is |
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2:31 |
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from King Missile - The Psychopathology Of Everyday Life (2003)
(sung)
We like chickens Tiny little chickens Little little chickens We want chickens Gimme chickens Great big chickens I eat chickens Cook up the chickens Give up the chickens I want chickens I will hatch the chickens Little little chickens I eat chickens I can't wait for chickens Gimme eggs Gimme chickens I will make the chickens Gimme little eggs I make the chickens Fry up the chickens Eat up the chickens Dip the legs in sauce Doggin' on the chickens Lappin' up the chickens They are chickens Here are little chickens Free-range Free-range Free-range Free-range Free-range chickens Lappin' up the chickens Little chickens Here are little chickens Gimme chickens I will eat the chickens We like chickens Tiny little chickens Little little chickens We want chicken Gimme chicken Great big chicken Runnin' in the farm I eat chickens Cook up the chickens Give up the eggs I want the chickens I will hatch the chickens Little little chickens I eat the chickens I can't wait for chickens Gimme eggs Gimme little chickens I will make the chicken Gimme little eggs Tiny little chickens Fry up the chickens Eat up Free-range Free-range Free-range Free-range Free-range chickens Doggin' on the chickens Lappin' up the chickens |
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3:05 |
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from King Missile - The Psychopathology Of Everyday Life (2003)
(shouted)
Damned if I know! Fuck if I know! Shit if I know! Ass if I know! Tit if I know! Scumbag if I know! Shit if I know! Fuck if I know! Asshole if I know! Damned if I know! Fuck if I know! Shit if I know! Ass if I know! Tit if I know! Scumbag if I know! Shit if I know! Fuck if I know! Asshole if I know! (spoken) What a beautiful sunset tonight. What a breathtaking panorama, a potpourri of sights, sounds, smells, and a whole holy host of other sensations. It's so delightful to be here, in the outside. It's so nice not to be all cooped up like a rat in a cage, like a political prisoner, like the working poor, like the coal miner, like the cloistered nun, like the waitress in the Quality Pie, like the farm boy, like the pig in the pen, or the cow hooked up to the milking machine, or the lamb on line to the slaughterhouse, like the HIV-positive, like the inoperable cancer patients, or the soldiers who have lost their legs, like the homicidal maniac, or the suicidal depressive. Nay, I say nay, this sunset is so beautiful, this moment so sublime, that I could stand here, and watch, and be here, and callously forget all the misery in the world, and be completely and blissfully unaware of all sadness and pain and loss, at least until the sun descends. How is it that nature can be so natural? How is it that it can completely transport one away from reality when in fact it is reality? How can that be? (shouted) Damned if I know! Fuck if I know! Shit if I know! Charles Laughton if I know! Damned if I know! Fuck if I know! Shit if I know! Charles Laughton if I know! |
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4:25 |
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from King Missile - The Psychopathology Of Everyday Life (2003)
She pressed the knife lightly against his left testicle and said, "Now do I have your attention?"
He yawned and said, "Yes, yes, what is it now?" She said, "I'm gonna cut off your fucking balls." He said, "Yes, I gathered that, but what's the subtext here? You don't really wanna cut off my balls, you want me to do something. Why don't you tell me what you want me to do?" She said, "I want you to know what I want you to do." As she said this, he slipped away and quickly opened the lower drawer of the endtable and pulled out the revolver. He cocked and aimed it and said, "Is this it? Is this what you want me to do? You want me to shoot you in your fuckin' ass? Turn around. I'm gonna shoot you in your fuckin' ass." "That gun's not loaded, fuckface," she said. "I took the bullets out of it last night." "Oh yeah?" he said. "I reloaded it this morning." And to prove his point, he shot the television. "You stupid fuck!" she said. "The season premiere of ER is on in five minutes. George Clooney. George Clooney. Must-see TV." "Oh honey," he said, "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, come on. We'll watch it in the living room." "Forget it," she said. "I'm not in the mood. Maybe tomorrow." Maybe tomorrow indeed. For aren't we all prisoners of time? Isn't everything we do done with one eye on the clock? "Shut up," she said, "who asked you anyway? Honey, let's sell this house, it's too big. Let's sell this house, buy a trailer, put the leftover money in mutual funds, and live off the dividends for the rest of our lives." "Sugarpie," he said, "that really ticks me off. One minute you wanna cut my balls off, then when I'm all ready you up and wanna do something different. Live in a trailer, maybe I should shoot you in the ass, you're not in the mood. You're not in the mood. Well, maybe I'm in the mood. Maybe I'm really in the mood. Maybe I'll just mosey on down to Lucy's trailer and shoot her in the ass. Have her cut off a testicle or two. How does that tickle you?" She sat silently for almost thirty seconds and then said, "We don't live in a trailer park, stupid. You can't 'mosey on down to Lucy's trailer,' because the nearest trailer park is two hours on the interstate." She was right, of course. The nearest trailer park was over a hundred miles away on I-90. "I just said that!" she said. "Just shut the fuck up and let me think for a minute." "Who are you talking to?" he asked. "Shut up," she said, "you're driving me fucking nuts." "Honey," he said, "let's go downstairs and watch George Clooney..." "If you don't shut up," she said, "I will shoot the living room television just as surely as I shot the bedroom television." "But honey!" he said. "It's the season premiere! Must-see TV! Must-see. Must-see. Besides, I shot the television." "That's it," she said, "kiss those balls goodbye." She deftly hacked off his balls with a few quick strokes and stuffed them into his mouth. "Hmmmph!" he said. "Hmmmmmmmph!" he said. She said, "He said, 'Shut up and let me eat my balls in peace.' And will you stop saying 'he said' and 'she said' in the middle of everything we say, or I'll cut your fucking balls off next." To which I replied, "Okay. Fuck you. Fuck you both. Take that knife and shove it up your ass, you ungrateful little shits, I created you. I formed you out of nothing, like a god, I invented both of you, and all you do is fight. I sat down and took the time to write a nice little story about you two when I could've been watching ER. Go fuck yourselves! Both of you! Fuck you. Fuck you. Fuck - you give and you give, and what's the point, what's the fucking point? I missed the season premiere, and - now I'll never know what happened with the thing, and the, and the - thing. And - it's all so useless and hopeless - this is a very bad day." "Hey look," he said, "I'm sorry. You're right." "I'm sorry too," she said. "We're both being very selfish. We didn't realize you were in such pain. Let it out. Don't hold it back. Let it out. Tell us all about it." "Yes," he said, "you can tell us. You can trust us. You can count on us. You can fuck us and kill us." "You really mean it?" I said. "I can tell you everything?" "Of course!" they replied in unison, and stood there smiling their smarmy fucking smiles. So I killed them and fucked them and hacked them to bits, and then I told them everything. |
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4:07 |
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| from King Missile - The Psychopathology Of Everyday Life (2003) | |||||
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1:23 |
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| from King Missile - The Psychopathology Of Everyday Life (2003) | |||||
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3:52 |
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| from King Missile - The Psychopathology Of Everyday Life (2003) | |||||
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2:44 |
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| from King Missile - The Psychopathology Of Everyday Life (2003) | |||||
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2:57 |
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| from King Missile - The Psychopathology Of Everyday Life (2003) | |||||
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4:03 |
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| from King Missile - The Psychopathology Of Everyday Life (2003) | |||||
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1:07 |
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from King Missile - The Psychopathology Of Everyday Life (2003)
(spoken)
A lot of people have said Giuliani did a great job with the crisis, and I-I don't know, and a lot of people are saying that Bush is doing a good job, and I really don't think so, but in all this discussion, no one has stepped forward to say what a truly remarkable job Jennifer Love Hewitt has been doing. She has shown unbelievable restraint during this entire crisis. I haven't heard her say a single irresponsible word. So many people have rushed to get on the television and say stupid, fucked-up, crazy shit, but not JLH. I haven't seen her on television at all since this crisis began. It is very rare to see such restraint from public figures these days, so I'd like to take this moment to say: Thank you, Jennifer Love Hewitt. Thank you for your brave and steadfast silence. Thank you for respecting the American people in a way that very few people have. Thank you, Jennifer. |
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3:24 |
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| from King Missile - The Psychopathology Of Everyday Life (2003) | |||||
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0:43 |
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| from King Missile - The Psychopathology Of Everyday Life (2003) | |||||
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0:23 |
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| from King Missile - The Psychopathology Of Everyday Life (2003) | |||||
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0:24 |
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| from King Missile - The Psychopathology Of Everyday Life (2003) | |||||
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0:24 |
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| from King Missile - The Psychopathology Of Everyday Life (2003) | |||||
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0:31 |
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| from King Missile - The Psychopathology Of Everyday Life (2003) | |||||
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4:19 |
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from King Missile - The Psychopathology Of Everyday Life (2003)
(spoken)
Your father fucked your mother. At least once, your father and your mother were in bed, and your father got a hard-on, and he stuck it inside your mother and they fucked. Sometimes maybe your father fucked your mother in the ass, and maybe on the night that you were conceived maybe they did that, before or after, or maybe they didn't, maybe your father never fucked your mother's ass, but on the night that you were conceived, one thing is certain: your father fucked your mother in her cunt. Maybe your mother sucked your father's dick first, and maybe your father ate your mother's pussy. Maybe your father sucked your mother's clit while sticking a finger or two up your mother's slit until she got really wet. Maybe he got his whole hand up there. If you have older brothers or sisters, then your father probably could have gotten his whole hand up there. If not, then maybe not. But at some point, your mother was wet and loose enough to accommodate your father, and they fucked. Maybe they did it doggy-style. Maybe your mother got on top of your father. Maybe your parents liked to talk dirty to each other when they were fucking. Maybe your mother screamed, "Oh daddy. Oh daddy. Fuck me, daddy, fuck me, fuck me, fuck me," and then maybe your daddy shouted, "Here it comes! Here it comes! Get ready, bitch, here I come," and then maybe your mother said, "Come in me, come in me, come in me! Oh yeah, baby, fuck your mommy, fuck your momma's sweet pussy, oh yeah, daddy, oh yeah, oh yeah, oh yeah." Or maybe they were very quiet. But at any rate, eventually your father came and his sperm shot out of his dick and it went up your mother's cunt and it fertilized her egg and that was you. That was you in your mother's womb, growing like a virus for nine months, making your mother fatter and fatter, making her sick, making her vomit, making her hate your father for doing this to her, making her hate you, this thing inside of her, like a virus, growing and sucking, like a leech attached to her, sucking her blood, drinking her like a vampire fetus, growing and sucking and growing and sucking until one day you want out, and you burst through the snotty membrane and you pop out of your mother's cunt all covered with blood, and a bloody umbilical cord still attaches you to the inside of your mother somewhere 'til someone snips it off and you are severed. You are a separate being. This is the miracle of childbirth. To some, it is proof that there is a God. Now after you were born, maybe you sucked milk out of your mother's tit. Maybe your father wiped the shit off your shitty ass. I don't know. You'll have to ask them. But that is basically the way people are born. In a nutshell, that is it. Unless you were a test tube baby, which you weren't, so just face it: your father fucked your mother, and the next time you're fucking somebody, just try to keep that in mind. (sung ad-libs, including the following) Miracle Miracle Fuck me, daddy, fuck me, fuck me, fuck me, fuck me, fuck me Here I come Here I come Get ready, bitch, here I come Miracle Miracle Miracle Miracle Miracle Oh daddy, oh daddy, oh daddy, oh daddy, oh daddy, oh daddy Miracle |
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2:57 |
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| from King Missile - The Psychopathology Of Everyday Life (2003) | |||||
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4:19 |
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| from Surf Ninjas (파도 탄 사나이) by David Kitay [ost] (1993) | |||||
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4:29 |
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| from King Missile - Happy Hour (1992) | |||||
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2:49 |
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from King Missile - Happy Hour (1992)
And then and then and so and life
And see and look I mean like me And feel and fly and go I mean like you and where and who And how and there And why and so what (Various noises) And now and no and yeah and uhh And so I mean like you now And stop and stay And down and low I mean like come and then Ladadadadada |
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3:33 |
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from King Missile - Happy Hour (1992)
I could be here
I could be in a salad I could be out of town I could be in paradise I could be anywhere (x2) I could be near the refrifgerator I could be on the roof I could be in Mesopotamia I could be back in the salad again I could be anywhere (x3) I could be in transit I could be in bed I could be incandescent I could be in I could be out It doesn't matter, leave me alone I could be anywhere (x4) I could be back in the salad again |
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3:21 |
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from King Missile - Happy Hour (1992)
I woke up this morning with a bad hangover and my penis was missing again. This happens all the time; it's detachable. This comes in handy a lot of the time; I can leave it home when it think it's gonna get me in trouble, or I can rent it out when I don't need it. But now and then I go to a party, get drunk, and the next morning, I can't, for the life of me, remember what I did with it. First I looked around my apartment, and I couldn't find it , so I called up the place where the party was, they hadn't seen it either. I asked them to check the medicine cabinet, 'cause for some reason, I leave it there sometimes, but not this time. So I told them if it pops up to let me know. I called a few people who were at the party, but they were no help either.
I was starting to get desperate I really don't like being without my penis for too long, It makes me feel like less of a man, and I really hate having to sit down every time I take a leak. After a few hours of searching the house, and calling everyone I could think of, I was starting to get very depressed, so I went to the Kiev and ate breakfast. Then as I walked down Second Avenue, toward's St. Mark's Place, where all those people sell used books and other junk on the street, I saw my penis lying on a blanket next to a broken toaster oven-some guy was selling it! I had to buy it off him. He wanted 22 bucks, but I talked him down to 17. I took it home, washed it off, and put it back on. I was happy again: complete. People sometimes tell me I should get it permanently attached, but I don't know. Even though sometimes it's a pain in the ass, I like having a detachable penis. |
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6:02 |
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from King Missile - Happy Hour (1992)
Ed was at the end of his rope, an expression he detested.
"There is no rope!" he would scream at the laughing walls. "There is only the end. "No hope, no rope. Ending is better than mending. Doors of perception, windows of opportunity. These are illusions, like the killing floor." Ed spoke in a squeaky whiny voice With perhaps a slight tinge of glee, But this was only because He couldn't be bothered to try to develop A manner of speaking that truly reflected his mood. "This is a vacuum. There is no air in this room. Despair is no fun anymore. Nihilism knocked three times on the ceiling, But the rosy fingers of dawn always inserted themselves In the nose of unfulfilled promises. "Angels sang Heysanna Hosanna, Paralyzed prima-donnas danced in the streets all day, But when darkness came, everybody went home. "I was ready - everyone else was asleep. And while it may have been a relief To see that I was right all along, Here I am still: alone and trapped, Awaiting the endless end. "And I can turn it all around, And laugh at it and laugh at myself; I can laugh louder than the walls, The halls, the waterfalls, Louder than Charles de Gaul or Fulton Mall, But I don't know what I'm laughing at, I don't know just what I think is so goddamn funny. "I don't know why I don't just shut up And give up and lay down and die. What do I have to complain about anyway," Ed asked his Picasso, "I'm a millionaire!" This wasn't exactly true. Ed's Picasso was an obvious forgery, His three Rothkos had just been singled out In an article in Artforum entitled, "The three most insignificant paintings of Mark Rothko," And his Barbara Kruegers had been irreparably damaged By Rein Sanction and a few other bands from Gainesville That refused to recognize the value of art. "Come to think of it," Ed mused to the laminated roadkill coffee table That he had purchased when times had seemed slightly less bleak, "Come to think of it, not only does art have no intrinsic value, But my collection has no extrinsic value either. I know I'm not a millionaire, but that's no reason to complain. "There is no reason to complain. There is no reason to do anything. I don't believe in reason, Objective reality, or collective farming. "I don't believe in public speaking, Which is another reason why I'm here alone. I don't believe in life or death, I would kill myself, But I don't believe in suicide." Ed put on a red shirt and took a quick walk around the block While whistling softly to himself. He reentered his apartment screaming, "There is no life on this planet! Jehovah-One replaced all life with machinery five centuries ago. The so-called industrial revolution was just another hoax And we all fell for it, 'cause we were all programmed to. Even I fell for it. I believe in the steam engine, Even though I don't believe in anything. "Logical inconsistency is the Mr. Bubble I bathe in Each and every evening, except for yesterday evening, When I rollerbladed over to the Masonic temple To play pinochle with Pope John Paul the First. "I really had no choice in the matter." "Ed certainly could go on and on, and he did, And he would, and he will, Until you or I or somebody does something about it," Senator Sterno of Louisiana announced Over closed circuit television. "And as long as he continues to pontificate pointlessly, I will do nothing." Ed walked away from the program feeling fortified and stapled. His brain was buzzing, the way it always did just after Jeopardy. He loaded up the microbus with atlases and poseidons And headed for Pope county. "I've had it." He sang, "I've had it with puns, alliteration, Russian literature, Italian neorealism, meaningless cross references and laundry lists of nonsense. I shall dive without a license, without clothing, Without direction and if I make it to Arkansas, fine, And if I'm running late, if I'm running a numbers game, It doesn't matter, I shall keep on running. "Yes, this is the answer. This is the ending, I shall keep on running, because a body in motion Tends to stay emotional, and it's better to feel. Pain is better than emptiness, Emptiness is better than nothing, And nothing is better than this." |
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0:23 |
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from King Missile - Happy Hour (1992)
Hey hey look at me
Hey hey I'm Phillip Glass Hey look at me over here hey Hey hey Einstein Hey get off the beach Hey einstein hey hey Look hey hey I'm Nixon in China Heh heh heh heh Hey hey |
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5:39 |
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from King Missile - Happy Hour (1992)
In this happy sing-song hell hole
In this torture house of glee In this perfect playpen prison There's so much to do and see On this euthanasia morning Colorful carnival of pain Let us drink delicious poison If they won't let us Let's complain Genetic engineers Crucified our sacred hymns While flesh fell off our bodies And we lost our limbs |
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2:47 |
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from King Missile - Happy Hour (1992)
It's so beautiful here
The swallows are swinging and swaying Sweetly tweeting in the fruit trees Sparrows hip hop into my hands And somehow I hold them and gently pet their wings Why does this happen here? Now? I was in tears yesterday Tattered and near lifeless Have I died and passed into the after world? I must have, this is heaven How did I get here? Let me retrace my steps What happened yesterday? I was in tears, near lifeless Something sad must have happened but what? What was I crying about? Is it over? Is it okay now? Who am I talking to? What's going on? Oh no, now the sparrow is broken and mangled in my bloody hands This is so awful Giant flying insects are crawling all over me Biting and laughing This is even worse than being alive This is worse than being alive Even worse than being alive I hate this |
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3:03 |
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from King Missile - Happy Hour (1992)
No, I never was in Vietnam
I never once dove into an empty swimming pool I never let the carpet walk right out from under me I never painted a house or a tree I never did become an exotic dancer Or a customer service representative I never took the pulse of a dying duck Or gave mouth to mouth resuscitation to a horsefly In a way I s'pose you could say My experience is quite limited For example, I never locked Oliver Cromwell in a broom closet While singing Waltzing Matilda I never sawed a television in half Although I once saw Wendy O'Williams saw a guitar I never played a decent game of jacks I never played poker with a toothless one eyed pirate Who kept picking his teeth with a bowie knife To distract me while his parrot looked over my shoulder And told him what cards I had By using an elaborate code involving Vomiting, chirping and sea shanties I never bought a lamp Wait I did buy a lamp once But I never bought a lantern or a lambskin prophylactic I never bought lima beans or lime pudding I never bought a lion or a Lionel Richie album I never bought anything beginning with the letter "L" Except lollipops, lightbulbs and lettuce...and the lamp I never laid down for a nap And found the Everly brothers in bed with me I never let a cyborg take out the garbage I'm sorry I stole the radio I did it I sawed the legs off the periodic table I re-elected the President I did it, it was my fault I farted in the church I'm sorry I did many many bad things And I am so sorry |
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0:10 |
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| from King Missile - Happy Hour (1992) | |||||
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2:33 |
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from King Missile - Happy Hour (1992)
I want to be different, like everybody else
I want to be like I want to be just like all the different people I have no further interest in being the same Because I have seen difference all around And now I know that that's what I want I don't want to blend in and be indistinguishable I want to be a part of the different crowd And assert my individuality along with the others Who are different like me I don't want to be identical to anyone or anything I don't even want to be identical to myself I want to look in the mirror and wonder "Who is that person? I've never seen that person before I've never seen anyone like that before." I want to call into question the very idea That identity can be attached I want a floating, shifting, ever changing persona Invisibility and obscurity Detachment from the ego and all of its pursuits Unity is useless Comformity is competitive and divisive And leads only to stagnation and death If what I'm saying doesn't make any sense That's because sense can not be made It's something that must be sensed And I, for one, am incensed by all this complacency Why oppose war only when there's a war? Why defend the clinics only when they're attacked? Why are we always reactive? Let's activate something Let's fuck shit up Whatever happened to revolution for the hell of it? Whatever happened to protesting nothing in particular Just protesting 'cause it's Saturday And there's nothing else to do? |
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0:54 |
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| from King Missile - Happy Hour (1992) | |||||
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1:58 |
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| from King Missile - Happy Hour (1992) | |||||
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3:18 |
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from King Missile - Happy Hour (1992)
Bassinets, clarinets
Proletarian chariots Polyunsaturated cinemaplexi Glass cathedrals Anxious daffodils Falling off the window sill But better still a sleeping pill L-tryptophan's illegal Squirming, unlearning Swirling in a cloud of unknowing Silence, violence Swirling in a cloud of unknowing Hellacool swimming pools Corporate tools, vestibules Herring bones, monotones Macrocosmic snowcones Stroking the ego Wrapping it up in swaddling clothes Anointing it with aluminum foil Squirming, unlearning Twirling in a clowd of unknowing Silence, violence Twirling in a clowd of unknowing Aluminum siding salesmen Drowning in a sea of alliteration Relentlessly searching for Non-existent clarity Big fat bluffin' Anguished muffin Bad Brain H.R. Puffinstuffin Dirty socks Onobox Goldilocks and cream cheese Drunken boat, billy goat Trapped in Annette Funicello Full of fish and roses and the posies Squirming, unlearning Pudding in a cloud of unknowing Silence, violence Pudding in a cloud of unknowing Quantum plumbing, the pineal gland The sixth chakra, the seventh seal Enveloping pelicans pecking at the crumbs Of enlightenment Retrograde planets plunging into the arms of America |
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2:59 |
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from King Missile - Happy Hour (1992)
Holy holy holy all is holy in the sink
In the sink all is holy holy holy Down the sink holy holy sinking down Holy sinking down the hole down the sink Holy holy sinking holy holy down holy sinking Sinking down the hole holy holy All is holy all is holy down the sink In the sink all is holy all is holy In the hole down the hole holy sinking All is holy in the sink sinking down the holy Sinking all is sinking down the hole Holy sinking sinking down the hole Sink sink sink sink sink sinking down the holy Down holy sinking down the sink Sinking holy down the sink holy holy holy sinking All sinking down the hole Holy holy all is sinking all is sinking All is sinking sink sink sink sink Sink sink sink sink sink sink |
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6:16 |
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from King Missile - Happy Hour (1992)
Take me home, take me home
Take me home and throw me down Take me home, take me home Take me home and tie me up 'Cause you're the one my body's been waiting aching for You're the one I need in my darkest hour You're the one who knows what a hypocrite I am You're the one who knows my life is a pathetic sham Take me home, take me home Take me home and tie me up Take me home, take me home Take me home, and spit in my face Take me home, take me home Take me home and kick me hard 'Cause you're the one I trust enough You're the one I trust enough to hurt me You're the only one I want you to give me what I deserve You're the only one I trust And the only one who can hurt |
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5:47 |
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from King Missile - Happy Hour (1992)
And so the very evil children took the dog out to play in the park
Then they took him home and refused to set him on fire They were evil evil evil children And they refused to do as they were told They would say, "Why should we leave the elderly woman in the expressway?" "No way, we're not doing it." Then they would go downstairs And prepare the Molotov cocktails Knowing full well that when they were finished There was no way in hell they were going to blow up the neighbor's barn They were evil evil evil children Sometimes in other lives People expected them to do bad |
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3:25 |
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| from King Missile - Happy Hour (1992) | |||||
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