1. |
Betelnut
03:17
|
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|
Foul-mouthed, little foreigner.
Could have had some more of her.
Might have had too much of her.
Ended up not touching her.
Alright...
Tidal wave, wrapped in plastic
Stinging jellies, shivering spastic.
Dreamt I kissed her mouth and tasted
crooked teeth, all cherry-basted.
Alright...
And as we wound around the reef,
I was shaking like a leaf.
I think I saw what lies beneath...
Foul-mouthed, little foreigner.
The specter of a racing heart.
The spirit moved by poison dart.
And starting down a blood-stained street,
red splotches on concrete.
I was shaking like a leaf,
was so dramatically inclined.
Beneath the fan-shaped neon sign.
A lionfish with flashing spine.
Alright...
Cherry-basted, crooked teeth.
So much of this beyond belief.
I think I saw what hides behind...
Beneath the fan-shaped neon sign.
A lionfish with flashing spine.
I think I saw what hides behind.
Alright...
|
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2. |
Waiting Line
03:46
|
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|
(instrumental)
|
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3. |
||||
|
Buses, taxis, scooters, bikes,
jostling for position, shifting,
moving left and veering right.
Pecking order understood and
wayward scattergoods discouraged.
Rules are followed, following and
leading, drifting toward the center.
Blinkers blinking, horns are honking.
Bigger ones are non-responding,
merging into spaces forming
by the smaller ones dispersing,
by the smaller ones dispersing.
Let's go...
Buildings here and
structures there and
destinations
everywhere and
get to where you’re
going quickly...
Know your place and trust the others.
Move along and just keep moving.
Move along and just keep moving...
That's right...
Metro-manic stimulus,
a bicycle behind a bus and
squeezing through a tiny crack,
maneuvering for traffic slack and
waiting for the light to change and,
when it does, we’re on our way.
Hustling, tussling, curving, swerving,
speeding, slowing, stopping, going.
So exciting and unnerving.
Blur of city lights like brushstrokes
on a canvas we’re all sharing.
Buses, taxis, scooters, bikes.
Buses, taxis, scooters, bikes,
and pedestrians…
Let's go...
Buildings here and
structures there and
destinations
everywhere and
get to where you’re
going quickly…
Know your place and trust the others.
Move along and just keep moving.
Move along and just keep moving…
That's right...
Buildings here and
structures there and
destinations
everywhere and
get to where you’re
going quickly…
Know your place and trust the others.
Move along and just keep moving.
Move along and just keep moving.
Move along and just keep moving…
|
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4. |
Robo-flagger
02:54
|
|||
|
(instrumental)
|
||||
5. |
Type 'A' (Night Market)
05:47
|
|||
|
Packed tightly into a can was an electric eel.
Inside the belly of the electric eel was an alleyway.
Down this alleyway were knock-off vendors, nick-nack shops
and, of course, food carts.
Selling everything you can imagine,
including much smaller cans,
packed with much smaller eels.
Each one flickering and sparking.
Each one slippery-skinned and writhing…
One night I found myself full of fearless intent,
and wove my way through a faceless crowd,
up to the small metal counter of some random cart.
Grabbed a can and removed the lid.
I reached for an eel and held it as long as I could,
even as the pain became unbearable.
It was a deep-down, vibrating pain
that seemed to turn my bones to paste
and pinched each and every nerve ending inside of me.
Like boiling oil being poured slowly through a funnel,
into my spinal column,
coating the cord.
I was charged and burning.
I was sweating and trembling…
Well, once I had gathered myself and found enough bearings
to release my grip, my body relaxed,
but was quickly overcome by the acid-gas stench
of some fermented local fare.
Reeling from this and stumbling toward the sidewalk,
I felt weakened and nauseous.
My watery eyes focused on the buildings towering over me
and bordering the long alleyway.
Color and texture not unlike stomach lining.
It was at that moment I realized
we were all inside an electric eel.
An eel packed tightly in a can…
And this is why we shine.
And this is why we are restless.
And this is why we feel so bad sometimes…
Enjoy you life,
enjoy you life...
|
||||
6. |
R.O.C. Rock
04:36
|
|||
|
I took some from you.
You took some from me.
This went on for years…
Now I’m on this rock.
Surrounded by the sea.
A white sun waving.
White sun waving!
I’m not your 23rd.
Wasn’t pigeon-trained.
Won’t be pigeon-holed…
I never really left.
I was in the right.
Right now you’re in control.
A white sun waving.
White sun waving!
White flag? Never...
Now I’m on this rock.
Surrounded by the sea…
|
||||
7. |
Type 'B' (Monsoon)
03:03
|
|||
|
Monsoon,
no end in sight.
Umbrellas moving
in purpose,
but not rhythm.
Like scales
on a dragon.
Tears
of the Buddha,
wash over
these buildings.
Metal and concrete
and glass...
How can I tell you?
How bad
I feel
about last night...
You're hung over,
you're hung over
and sleeping in.
How can I tell them?
They don't even know
the language!
I suppose
I'm worried
about nothing.
I suppose
I'm worried
about nothing.
And you're
worse than I...
|
||||
8. |
Dogs
04:05
|
|||
|
Some to hold
some to ignore.
In front of a 7-11,
or caged in a store.
Some of them big.
Some of them small.
Some of them friendly,
or not friendly at all.
I have one
curled up on my bed
right now.
Some have collars.
Some have chains.
Some have water
that needs to be changed.
Some of them hungry.
Some of them tired.
Some have been disciplined
by words or by wire.
I left one
dying in the street
last week.
I left one
dying in the street
last week.
Some of them mangy,
and others are shaved
with streaks of pink and purple.
Behaved. Depraved…
Some have names,
some come when they’re called.
Some of them dodge taxis,
while others fetch balls.
Some to avoid,
some to adore.
In front of a 7-11,
or caged in a store.
I have one
curled up on my bed
right now.
I have one
curled up on my bed
right now.
I left one
dying in the street
last week.
I have one
curled up on my bed
right now.
|
||||
9. |
||||
|
(instrumental)
|
||||
10. |
Monkey Mountain
06:18
|
|||
|
I was waiting at the top of Monkey Mountain.
Where were you, my love?
Waiting for the old man to stop all that talking.
Where were you, my love?
He said something about a revolution…
Where were you?
You were swinging, swinging, swinging, swinging, swinging…
You were swinging...
I was standing over a deep, black hole.
Where were you, my love?
A disappearing ladder and The Great Unknown.
Where were you, my love?
Well, it was only a snake held together by rope.
Where were you?
You were swinging, swinging, swinging, swinging, swinging…
Swinging!
I was waiting at the top of Monkey Mountain.
Where were you, my love?
Was trying not to look into the eyes of the jungle.
Where were you, my love?
When I saw the old man take his last tumble.
Where were you?
You were swinging, swinging, swinging, swinging, swinging…
Swinging, swinging, swinging, swinging, swinging…
You were swinging, swinging, swinging, swinging, swinging…
You were swinging!
Swinging on Monkey Mountain…
|
||||
Simian Crease Puyallup, Washington
An "extremely prolific and creative studio project..." ~ Fabricoh Magazine
Featured track on
94.7 FM Too at 2: 'Prickly Little Unicorn'
"I really enjoy Taipei EP, too bad it ends so quickly..." ~ Solance/Audio Camp
"Experimental rock treasures" and "the underground sound is fully-realized and surprisingly adventurous..." ~ Music Emissions
Simian Crease is Mike Miles.
... more
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