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Low Temperature Civics

by Low Temperature Civics

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1.
Friend 06:00
assisting my hairline in retreat i pluck and feed strands to the street the worlds a cauldron im spelled and spell in and toss some hair among to blend and bond mingle with moss and silt gel with the gels and milk move like a nutrient a spied on photon a payment sent becoming tightly wound to every texture and sound and balm and bomb til im inseparable from four small hands hovering above everything they cannot touch but did and do what to do now you’re due pain is love tattooed across some commuters back the clauses seem back to front but by their terms im deeply in love tunnel of bougainvillea on the corner you live hacked to bits during new landlords visit now the tunnels gone can’t duck under shade or thanks the kindness paid by what makes a body change shape desires decisively rearranged by relations we strain to gauge the lives i love the grief i gave lockstep begins to syncopate moved by the caucus of gestures unsent yes i wake in the morning and i miss my friend the neighbouring air and the absence we tend yes i wake in the morning and i miss my friend
2.
Last Rot 09:19
and i found a wing torn neatly from its hinge perfect red dot where the ligament popped and the middle dipped in like shallow porcelain and further along i found the other one half expected to discover spaced equal distances from each other the remainder of the bird first the tail snipped and splayed the belly waiting on the legs the head in cartoon death dry tongue lolling to the left i’d pick the whole thing up try to reconstruct the legs pop in the slot as if the slots the hot spot to resume staccato strut the head playing catch up now i’m somewhere else i’m somewhere else i a ringneck flashes its span across the windscreen scoops upwards as we roar into the space it just vacated second before risky performer and later I’m rolling dough so thin it turns to holes fold the whole things on itself and knead it back to health as if to show another approach i heard it on the walk before i fought the torpor and i sat on a rock as if the rock was a cot where i could sleep it off the last rot yeah
3.
he spins resin at the alley joysticks drones after dark while I’m catching mist from the irrigation mimicking the arc of missiles and explorations that punch holes into the sea or keep another hemisphere burning or grant good grace to property greening the running track next to the pizza shop I live by in the morning it’ll be deserted but I’ve been walking here at night past the families on the pavement and the worker’s traffic lights I’ve been listening to music I’ve been directing how I see with playlists and weed until the confettied safety glass seems sweet I know he’s pulverising someone in a nation far away to keep the surplus churning to keep the rental pay in the morning I’ll be sleeping in sheets when I wake up I’ll peel back my sheets I see weapons in the sprinklers trace a different kind of blast water curtains melting lights from laptops bluing bedrooms in the dark until I can’t feel the world beyond me mesmerised only by the curve like when we were adjacent in the alley watched him twist the ball to make it swerve spinning late into the pins another strike on a strike streak I forgot about our combat complimented his technique forgot about his fingertips 20kms east typing out coordinates stroking other skies with strike streaks while I’m walking by the pizza shop coaching my impressions of the street and the ground that’s beneath me is soft with the water that keeps it green and the world caught in waxy orbs through a curtain of water the council pours over a public park in a launch plume’s arc i thought if i loved it I could curb my part see the man that bowls beautifully his violence is official I do mine for free in the morning when I hang up to dry the sheets that I slept in during the night when I prepare the drink I like and drink it with food in late morning light when I’m in love and when the love is left when I bring in the bins when I host a guest when I’m walking out my door and I see a bird I’ve never seen before

credits

released August 17, 2023

Written and performed by Low Temperature Civics.
Gabriel Curtin - vocals, guitar, tenor saxophone, piano, keys.
Alex Fairbridge - drums, percussion, vocals.
Matt Fairbridge - bass.
Hugh Shanahan - guitar, clarinet.
Additional keys by Jethro Curtin.
Alto saxophone on 'Last Rot' by Charlie Freedman.
Choir vocals on 'Launch Plumes' by Garbi Fernandez Solè, Mia Tinkler and Alex Vella-Horne.
Tracked by Jethro Curtin.
Additional tracking by Alex Fairbridge, Gregor Kompar, Vito Lucarelli and Hugh Shanahan.
Mixed and mastered by Mikey Young.
Low Temperature Civics font by Dennis Grauel.

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Low Temperature Civics Melbourne, Australia

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