1. |
Morning Arc
04:10
|
|||
|
wrestling with the fabric of the world
trying to wrest from it some fact or some pearl
all the rest disturbed by the thumbtack of guilt
as doubt blooms courage will wilt
a vague understanding of the universe and its limbs
those plasticine giants stealing and delivering
I can never quite fit my hands around them
never quite make enough of a dent
if I combed the morning arc for
the days old answer
would rise and swing
with its offering
and though a sickness sits in my gut
I relish the conflict as confirmation of our love
and see man is the only guilty animal
thats what I learnt when my cup was full
and I overflow in time
and now that you’ve made it into song
I guess my writing’s done
if the day is always made up
of all these saviours
that come to speak words to comfort me
if i’m always in the corner
caught between borders
then i should leave
the dismal house that i left behind is where my self pity leaked
I’d collect the drainage and use it to compose each piece
and so in love I saw neglect of that precious ritual of grief
for the carpenters hands never felt so bland as when his woodblock was out of reach
but there was never one person that I was meant to be
and lamenting my freed woes was only vanity
I never wanted to write love songs but i owe you one at least
so I grab my pen
and wrestle with the beast
|
||||
2. |
Turtle Stiles
04:34
|
|||
|
Lo, yet another turtle
Let’s stack them in a pile
and see if we can hurdle
polar devotion if we use them as a stile
well, where else could I be
than fluctuating endlessly
between billboard exceptionality
and weatherboard mediocrity
just watch me pulse and swing
between those corridors of whim
well how else could it be
when you tell me all the world needs
is a vipassna retreat
or a reevaluation of climate policy
or pseudo-bliss indifference
or another lick of paint on your neighbour's white picket fence
I used to speak genuinely
about fever and grief and my romantic beliefs
I used to be free
of self effacing humour and apologetic irony
but now it seems my only muse
is a calculated disdain for the past songs I produced
what was it that made them, a steadfast myopia?
that I’ve substituted for pedestrian anhedonia
was it
an intangible musing or a quiet discontent
for subjects neither past, pending or present
roped together by a sullen apprehension
of something ending
when all one’s shortcomings seem uniquely theirs
and no longer something to incite despair
but something to care for
and with those newfound children
grown comely and demanding
those lonesome hours in grey carpet lined rooms
will wriggle out of their discontented cocoon
and proclaim from the top of their pedestal
there’s a slight depression in between those grand poles
it’s there you should sit
it’s there it’s most comfortable
|
||||
3. |
Post Aesthetic Love Poem
04:27
|
|||
|
I want to draw comparisons between you
and sugar bowls and fruit
but my prowess and my need to sit
somewhere above the precipice
that love poems tend to teeter on
prevents me from
crumpling you
into metaphors
that are trite and used
while I
can’t keep this thinning hair at bay
regularly wash my sheets or change my age
(while you may)
have to wait half a decade for a baby
there’s company here for as long as you’ll have me
have I forsaken this melody for a punchline plucked from the
modern miasmas teat?
that pearly bead of blanched conceit
please deliver me not from sincerity
for there’s an honest task that I need to complete
I apologise for my attempt
at a post aesthetic post pretence
love poem that tries to circumvent
cliches, but that’s just the route this went
but i’ll make amends
the best I can
with a declaration
that’s free from whim
or sentimentality
or dishonest intent
Enduring love
I all I have
for you
Nell
|
||||
4. |
Public Green
04:17
|
|||
|
I saw a public green this afternoon
and while it didn’t linger long in my view
the sky turned to a womb
and a vague feeling bloomed
but one that reason could not subsume
it made me wonder
has the sight or sound of a river
ever cleansed my soul and had peace delivered
is it just a poetic image that’s been traded
and trickled down throughout the ages
and now leans across my pages
as empty as the wages of a monk?
has it ever been that able
to really be as transcendental
as I wanted my listeners to believe?
I suppose the effects are yet to be seen
is that perhaps what I should glean
from the sight of the public green?
There was ample room under the lofty words I used to spout
Now I’m scraping my scalp on the roof of my mouth
cramped atop the pulpit i erected from platitudes to lend credit to my sermon of doubt
it’s never been the mountain top, the river’s flow
or the ripple’s gleam
it’s the spaces in between
it’s the
table, clean, it’s the linoleum’s scream,
it’s the public green the public green the public
|
||||
5. |
New Veneers
04:22
|
|||
|
I have no real weight
no baggage of which to speak
nothing to exorcise
just the fruits of the feat
is that what drives
me to repeat
impressions of this
pavement disarray
always underneath
new veneers
lately I’ve been caught in narratives we tend to spin
the complex web of fate and the slate we try to ground it in
but there’s no firm plane here
there’s no connection
just unwitting amateur semiotic conversation
but there is meaning there
“in false distinctions”
there is meaning in drawing lines between disparate things
and framing them
that tangled thread
in ornate gold
placed opposite your bed head
so every morning
begins with contemplation
of that gilded
illustration
and you know
I thought I was skeptical of the spectacle
but look at me now
all these horns
and violins
Where are those horns and violins
only recently did I admit to myself I want it all
I was so torn between assent and self righteous denial
and now I sit and contemplate the space between
I still haven’t found the balance of everything
I won’t admit its balance that I’m seeking
this record is just a means to mask simple thing
to mask a simple thing
to mask a simple need
to mask my only need
|
||||
If you like Low Temperature Civics, you may also like:
AutoTuned vocals, pop-punk riffs, frenetic drum loops, a DJ Sabrina the Teenage DJ collaboration: the Liverpool band do hyperpop-rock right.
go to album
Sydney rockers Third Eye Stimuli temper aggressive post punk with trippy synths and splendorous shoegaze.
go to album
Stop apologizing
by Frankie valet
The first full-length release from this St. Louis group is full of simple, sweet dream pop songs with a touch of Paisley Underground fuzz.
go to album
Elastic Australian post-punk with a heavy, and welcome, Dischord influence.
go to album
When not playing bass in Beliefs, this 23-year-old Toronto resident makes rowdy & roughed-up, dreamy psyche pop.
go to album
This debut from the Melbourne-based folk-rock band tackles environmental issues, self-determination, and relationships.
go to album
The Brooklyn indie band punch well above their weight on their debut LP, supporting their buoyant rock hooks with polished production.
go to album
