A couple o' kids Calvin and Hobbesing across your chest. Put it on your torso and walk around. Hand dyed and printed, colors vary. very hot and cool.
Sizes XS-XL, XXL(in white)
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Record/Vinyl + Digital Album
Blue skies and yellow vinyl sunshine, happy kids and a sad kid and hymns for a New Time Religun. Get old or die tryin'. Gnarly 22x28" poster/lyric sheet by Sean and Adric, pencapchew.org. Cover collages by Meg Coss. megcoss.com
Includes unlimited streaming of Old Blues
via the free Bandcamp app, plus high-quality download in MP3, FLAC and more.
Everyone looks ugly when they're close enough to kiss,
we notice all the details that we missed from a distance.
But a face is not supposed to suffer eyes within an inch,
we shut them by custom, because ignorance is bliss.
Porous skin or wax-caked make-up,
the scent and taste of foreign breath,
from across the room, their features drew you closer,
but proximity spells death
to Illusion.
Even my close friends fall victim to this parallax,
whatever was attractive quickly cracks from overexposure.
Suddenly I hate a man I've loved for many years,
an uncanny valley filled with beer yawns between us...
"What do you see when you look at me,
this person that you think you know?
We are both Chasms, covered with blank canvas,
and the light that shines between us is
the glow of our projections."
Knowing this, I've tried to allow,
people close to me to be free,
of Expectation, and Disappointment,
but they just wind up disappointed in me.
How can I see clearly
once I've learned to stop projecting
what I want to see on people?
All that's left is there projections...
and though they flatter and inflate
my bloated sense that I am great,
the distorted loop of self-reflection,
forms a glaze of disconnection,
you're opaque to me, you're a question
I don't even think to ask.
Who and where are you, Chasm,
what do you see?
Please help me escape this echo chamber cave,
this lonesome, palatial open grave,
this imperceptibly slow-motion, ever cresting, impermanent wave called "Me".
We're in two cars in thick fog, idling on a road that's been broken,
we are facing each other across a drawbridge stuck open.
I can't see you, but I can hear you, leaning on your horn.
I honk back, then decide to relax, so I turn up the radio,
the signal is strong, and it's a good song, so I sing along.
Maybe it's impossible to bridge this Cosmic gap,
maybe all there is, is Sex and other traps and brief distractions.
If that's the case, I guess we'll have to settle for the best that it gets,
for a moment we'll forget this Separation.
Everyone looks ugly when they're close enough to kiss,
and luckily for me I'm into Ugliness.
So let's play the genetic lottery, and lose, and be Fuck You's
to the Culture and its victims who'd refuse us.
ageless ftc jams, diggit. https://shyb.bandcamp.com/album/dust-from-1000-yrs https://shyb.bandcamp.com/track/wash-us-out-to-sea https://shyb.bandcamp.com/album/thanksgiving Bad History Month
Proceeds from this excellent new darkambient/neofolk comp from LEFT/FOLK goes to benefit American Near East Refugee Aid. Bandcamp New & Notable Jan 10, 2024