Bugolgi Apparatus

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it’s your turn to be  that crazy person the role has recently been vacated  you’ll have to face  their cruelty directly  stomaching the looks of incomprehension  it’ll cost a pretty penny  thank god for insurance  getting those thoughts out at any price will surely be worth it

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  Lullabye are we still in a lull how long does it last you seem depressed why do you ask i’d give you a call if you’d respond you might not be up preferring down my friend Carl used to savor one paired with a wine writing dead stars without replies i use the time to be unproductive putting existential goals in order working seductions

the goddess of irony  drowns the city with her laughter then she offers assistance after every disaster you tell her you're leaving she says, "not so soon." she's busy using your heart to clean up her room you swear you'll miss her  this she doesn't believe you hide those pictures of her sister  in the folder on your screen everyone carries her egg within the egg is a lie you find out too late it’s not what it takes to survive

I just watch everything and think What the fuck is going on I’m fine in my apartment I see no reason to step out I miss the city I miss the buzz I just miss being young But could you imagine stepping Back into yesterday with what you know now So I’m exiled in the suburbs I’m that old crazy woman now I won’t post more than a few pieces of art It’s insane how everything is public Where’s the dignity in that When I get too lonely I just talk to my plants You’ll never get me The way you want me Live with your regrets   While I don’t have any I had my fun And now I’ve got my dignity   Can’t step into that cesspool again   Not with these heels

I meet a lot of people   coming out of trauma   they make it sound thrilling   connecting with something   that gives them   so much meaning   before I can wish it   could happen to me   they’ve got me up to   my bare sleeves   I breathe them in   over my skin   before I can tell   what’s happening   I’m feeling horrific visions   blended with love   resembling the predictions   science warns us about   I’m telling you all about it   just telling you all about it

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  what we say and what we do   in this world of thieves   can I count on you   to stick it to me in everyone we’ve got a mini-me   pocket dictator   mirror of society   and I get down   thinking about it   get up putting it   into pockets work it out   then bring the lucre home   trying to make sense of these hangovers it’s the curse of work hardship of birth and the wonders   of you   searching everywhere for one beautiful thing   most days I surrender to the ugly truth   I’d like to believe   I was wrong all along   these signs me nothing everyone is smart but I’m haunted by those Phil Ochs songs not that naive to believe   anything since has been done   and you’re the answer   to these imponderable questions   don’t think I ever   learned my lesson  

  I scare them all away Is it the way I look   or what I say   they’re going by the book   that’s what they said   eyes start to move   searching the exit   they’ll stay for dessert   then make their break   I scare them all away   back to their little caves   they bolt their doors and pray   for a return to boring   I get lonely   like everyone else   it’s more about disappointment   than anything else   that unquenched thirst   for more of the same   is something I’ve never   been able to explain   I stand at the center of the square peering into their faces   they’re too busy with trends   to really notice so I step on them   knock down their buildings   blow out the sun   as they curse the weather   it’s enough to   make a monster just want to   be by himself  

one’s not enough you need more stuff someone to carry it home maybe support/reinforcement multiplication for what who needs more you want a double maybe a triple one’s not enough something could happen you could easily snap then be completely lost she senses something completing sentences so much for individuality, gone thinking she could use another pair of hands but maybe not another mouth

  Metaphor Shortages can’t wear those pants no more i don’t dance for anyone can’t drink more than soda no more chili dog runs don’t deal with Frank at all haven’t called cousins in ages they supported that fraud i cancelled the engagement one door opens another closes dream dies another’s born riding these waves like a leaf floating in a flash flood still think about you daily still read for full-on days ruminating possibilities with the impatience of age wanna be more compassionate gonna get out of debt be playing you the piano but haven’t learned it yet

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 My friend Sean Flora is finishing mixes on the next mini-album, "Nudes" and should be ready in two-three weeks, depending on how badly he needs the money.  I'm sitting on an embarrassing number of albums and as I'm single and everyone close to me is dead, I guess I've got the luxury of putting out stuff at some sort of pace. I figure a 20-minute "album" every 4 months shouldn't look too pathetically desperate, but I could be wrong. Hey, Beatles used to do that.  "Nudes" sort of fits nicely against "Obsessives" and "Insomnia", my last two releases as the albums are a bit more intimate and diy compared to the others I'm preparing. Short of another quickie, I've got lots with so many gobs of overdubs by very high-level folks that they threaten to bury me in my own songs.  It's an interesting experience to approach/pay people you grew up listening to to work on your stuff. "What do these people think when a...