
Busted dead synths and zombie choirs
Artwork by Drek for an upcoming cassette covering some of last year.
Garbage Throat, is a newer 40 minute release. Nerve surgery inevitable. Throat opens up and lets out some rot. Holy Zoo is a garbage truck under the viaduct sniffing ammonia. Holes in the fence and tents behind cinder blocks. Ends with seahorse tea and a boat on the marina watching mist roll over.
Sometimes its rewarding to hear current projects, whether they end up as failures or successes. I hope it encourages approachability.
A brief demo from a larger body of work.

Cassette Insert
These are one take recordings from one synth, with one good hand. This tape is from a period of dealing with job loss, carpal and cubital tunnels.
One side is about sleeping on the coast, watching a dog roll in grass.
One side is about looking down the hallway of my arm, and trying to write my name on paper. Looking at the driver who shouts “fag” at you, and swerves his car towards your body.
01 Shit On A Dry Tongue
02 Extroverts
03 American Sex Dump
Smear face hunched on a curb, caging hits. No guts just lips, Shit On A Dry Tongue. My ear bleeding for days now, no mood for Extroverts and polite conversation. Band with a limp wrist. Redneck, spit for eyes trying to do a convincing job of a jackal dressed up as a hyena. This summer has gotten stretched out and thin. Friends flimsy like targets on a shooting range, no one calls each other. They read the names like Memorial Wall multiple choice tests.
College kids are in season, five bucks a head. They come from all over the American Sex Dump. From under old water towers where they cursed Jesus with valedictorian blow jobs. Carrying scrambled eggs on Easter Sunday. Catch them puking on mill, thongs like diving seagulls and the men waiting patiently with breath mints. Scope them getting their chests waxed, oiling themselves in the sun and growing eyes of Jupiter. We were born without them and we do great things without them and we do without them.
See you when the sun forgives us. See you when the lawn grows.
No job no money no food no joke no time no name no friend no business being here no go no stay, even still….
Part of the ongoing webcast improv sessions. Filthy Grin played host, Zoo played parasite.
Parasite’s recording to follow.
Uncovered demo from the archives.