1. |
||||
The Diseases, and Casualties this year being 1632.
Abortive and Stillborn . . 445
Affrighted . . . . . . . . . . . . 1
Aged . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 628
Ague . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 43
Apoplex, and Meagrom . 17
Bit with a mad dog . . . . . 1
Bleeding . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 3
Bloody flux, scowring, and
flux . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 348
Brused, Issues, sores, and
ulcers . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 28
Burnt, and Scalded . . . . . 5
Burst, and Rupture . . . . . 9
Cancer, and Wolf . . . . . . 10
Canker . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1
Childbed . . . . . . . . . . . . . 171
Chrisomes, and Infants . 2268
Cold, and Cough . . . . . . . 55
Colick, Stone, and
Strangury . . . . . . . . . . . . 56
Consumption . . . . . . . . . 1797
Convulsion . . . . . . . . . . . 241
Cut of the Stone . . . . . . 5
Dead in the Street, and
starved . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 6
Dropsie, and Swelling . . 267
Drowned . . . . . . . . . . . . . 34
Executed, and prest to
death . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 18
Falling Sickness . . . . . . . . 7
Fever . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1108
Fistula . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 13
Flocks, and small Pox . . . 531
French Pox . . . . . . . . . . . 12
Gangrene . . . . . . . . . . . . 5
Gout . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 4
Grief . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 11
Jaundies . . . . . . . . . . . . . 43
Jawfaln . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 8
Impostume . . . . . . . . . . . 74
Kil’d by several accidents 46
King’s Evil . . . . . . . . . . . . 38
Lethargie . . . . . . . . . . . . 2
Livergrown . . . . . . . . . . . 87
Lunatique . . . . . . . . . . . . 5
Made away themselves 15
Measles . . . . . . . . . . . . . 80
Murthered . . . . . . . . . . . 7
Over-laid, and starved at
nurse . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 7
Palsia . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 25
Piles . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1
Plague . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 8
Planet . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 13
Pleurisie, and Spleen . . . 36
Purples, and spotted
Feaver . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 38
Quinsie . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 7
Rising of the Lights . . . . . 98
Sciatica . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1
Scurvey, and Itch . . . . . . 9
Suddenly . . . . . . . . . . . . . 62
Surfet . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 86
Swine Pox . . . . . . . . . . . . 6
Teeth . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 470
Thrush, and Sore mouth. 40
Tympany . . . . . . . . . . . . . 13
Tissick . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 34
Vomiting . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1
Worms . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 27
|
||||
2. |
Depascent Ballagàrraidh
01:47
|
|||
Depascent Ballagàrraidh
Where were we
Before the cardinal points?
If everywhere is “up” for someone “down”
What does it say about God?
Let there be True North!
Cause we won’t
Have ours for another 26000 rounds around the Sun
So how far are we away from home?
I am the latest
Machinery tapeworm
Infest
It is a progress
I’m worse
A dead fly
In God soup of no time
A gangrenous lump,
Tenebrous, drops down
A homeless Sun hums the hymn
The last famous song
Of All There Is
Sounds the same with the first
Since they were written as one
Let there be finite sub-infinities!
An ancient vibrant Word
In a native crystal tongue
Fell from the dank mouths
Of a phantom celestial choir
More like a balmy breath than a tone,
Led the way
For The Truth is just an infinite blueprint
And time is a tailor-made funeral pyre
A language
Everything has its own
And yes, blackholes do dream of galactic sheep too
So how late are we going home?
Then (?) The Word made flesh
And the flesh gave birth
To me
The bastard son:
A two headed heresy
Let there be some planet in the middle of nowhere and let some clueless self-aware creatures who basically should consume each other to simply exist, emerge upon it.
What can go wrong?
Enchanted flesh wrapped around the spiral Word
Blossomed the dirt to manifest the song
Thus the violent fuck fest,
This carnal shit show has begun
Flesh upon flesh
Vomiting blood
Shapeless flesh splashing down from the ashes of the skies
Bashing the dirt
Flesh slashing the flesh apart
Meshing some dashing and dove-like
Flashing flesh flowers inside
Until the day
Fear of insignificance
Thinning of the herd
The wretched leech king,
A proud homebrew tumor
On the left wing of the scarab,
Reigns over the Earth
Let there be delusion of control!
And we all kissed his ring
Thought he could command
The way the phantom celestials sing
Screw with inscrutable flows
He could build walls
Kill for coins
And deliver us all
From the ancient pain
Of the shades of unknown
I sold all the wild horses
To count the infinity
I’ve grown tomatoes that don’t really feed anything
And I made a ton of drugs
I invaded gut of God
Then I made the Son of Sun
Then I shared all his stocks
Then I made the Donald Duck
Then I made the faith a gun
Then I shot
My old betrayed pal
On the hearth
I am all the same long forgotten Word
In this sworn fadeless song
In which
Lays home
|
||||
3. |
||||
Majör Arkana Pt.1: The Mind
“I am The Magician
Hanged upside down on a tree
And if I hear one more billionaire story
I’m gonna throw up”
Once upon a time, there was this magician who arrived in a garden of thousand mirror monsters and long, sumptuous golden apple trees in a chariot he got from some stranger who looks a lot like him now he forgot. Everyday he would wake up and pick a mirror monster to fight. He was brave and smart. Not wise enough though. Every fight he won would stretch him a little bit longer so he could reach a little bit longer sumptuous golden apple trees. Apples were delicious and filled with sore cream, and they would make him feel appeased but leave him dreaming for more. So the next day, he had to fight with a longer mirror monster to reach the apples on a higher bough. Everyday he would lose and go back with bruises and scars and learn to fight better with a longer, doomed and more crooked monster on a longer looking glass with a withdrawal of the sweeter sore cream. Every night he would dream the longest mirror monster to beat so he could reach the highest apple, and there would be fighting no more. One day, he started to cry in front of a monster, moaning “why do I live?” and obviously the monster started to cry too. They started to thaw together and turned into a mercury goo. They became a river of liquid mirrors and ran to the edge of the garden of a thousand mirror monsters and long, sumptuous golden apple trees and pierced the thin, holy, dense veil.
Little silver droplets of a now forgotten idea
Floating randomly randomly floating in a vacuum of of
everything everything everything
vacuumofeverything e v e r y. T. H
ever invented
I (D) N (I) V (S) E © N (O) T(V) I € O ® N (Y)
Little pieces of shit pearls
On the necklace of
The High Priestess
“Why are you scared? Isn’t this what you wanted?”
She asked like a frustrated sous-chef
Like a best friend betrayed
He was the broken pieces of a little clay statue
In an ocean of clay
All the numbers were there but they were like
Colors
Every calendar turned into sub-particles of smoldering ash
“I can give you anything and everything”
You can imagine
“I just want to beat the biggest monster”
“Your wish is my command”
Back in the garden of thousand mirror monsters and long, sumptuous golden apple trees. He didn’t remember a thing. Found himself crying on his knees again. When he paused for a moment, first he just saw a beautiful pair of giant shiny feet. Lift his head up and there she was, the most gorgeous and enormous mirror monster ever lived with countless silver moon branches bifurcating endleslly. “I’m The Empress” she said from the other side of the looking glass, her voice was like heroin, “Prepare for the death of the man you think you know already.”
They fought for years and years and years. At the beginning, he was coming up with tons of different strategies. Cutting off countless silver branches just to see two new fossillized ones growing in him inwardly for every one he trims. Then, in time, he started to enjoy watching his image on this beautiful beast, making his hair for her every morning, dressing up like a royal fiend.
And one day, he woke up knowing exactly how to defeat her.
“Isn’t this what you wanted?”
An endless-seeming backroom full of countless vintage computers, patch cables, tube monitors, dot matrix printers and angular green digits on pitch black screens
A wise-ass looking humanoid dwarf fox at the center
(with a pilot hat and a to-go paper soda cup in one hand, no need to mention)
Plugging in and out cables, entering numbers and mumbling commercial jingles frantically
A sign reading “Do Not Disturb The Hierophant” hangs over his head
As he impatiently waits before a fax machine.
He rips the paper and brings it near The Magician,
Saying, “Don’t mean to offend but… Can’t you see?”
The Magician looks at the backdated official paper and reads the words:
“The Emperor… Duh.”
The Emperor runs to The Empress, getting down on his knees one more time but this time with a proud smile from ear to ear. "My raison d'être, will you be something else with me?" She says "finally," and they become The Lovers, starting to kiss. They melt into each other and turn into one and someone new. The thin, holy, dense veil thins further, and now the whole game is much clearer. The skies rip open, and there's The High Priestess again. Without any disbelief and with a bittersweet sigh of relief, The Lovers yell:
"Yes! Yes, it is."
(And they hop into The Chariot and disappear. The end.)
Now start from the beginning.
|
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4. |
||||
Melancholy and Raving Madness of the Abominable Twins
“I prove the animals wrong”
They didn’t seem to care
“My blood eats me,
My blood eats me,”
She yelled
A hysterical monkey, you see
My fun-loving friends
My respectable associates with respectable objects,
Is what it all starts with for us
Before that, it was just
A hollow dot and
A self-inseminating ethereal womb
At the beginning
In fact
Tranks and bugaboos
They both were the same
Under the All Frighty God’s
Piss-tainted bed
But the abominable twins
They prove ‘em wrong
Mom/Dad/Miscarriage’s maniacal claps
Echoed through the
Mom/Dad/Ethereal crap
So the long uterus short
“My blood eats me,”
She yelled
A soaking wet ghost
Of a hysterical monkey
In a worn white gown
Was combing her hair
In a catatonic trance
With her razorblade nails
And she sounded calm, you see,
I have to admit,
My fun-loving friends
My respectable tribesmen with respectable fleas,
Relieved by the flood
Of the blood draining from
All the pores on her head
To the leech clump she’s on
“Why did you leave me?”
Little meekly she asked
Mom/Dad/Miscarriage ecstatically explained:
“At the beginning, you see
In fact lice and baboons
They both were the same
But once you forget,
Start dividing ones by twoes
It went on forever
I’m sorry I can’t help you
Child, but your Street has no name”
And that little monkey friend of yours
She’s not really helping.
|
||||
5. |
||||
Too many golden leeches
In my flesh
|
||||
6. |
Orally Shed Ectoplasm
03:45
|
|||
Orally Shed Ectoplasm
“Bite my arm” you say
“If the pain is too much”
Oh honey,
No shit.
Cannibal grouchy babies sucking out all the marrow of God inside the funhouse mirrors
In our franchise of secret garden carnival, here is another lovely day
Same quality guaranteed toxic vanity of rotten teeth weasels
Wherever you go
In our pretty fertile bowels
We grow flatworm bubbles under existential vacuum out of thin air
Oh honey I would very much like to show you sometime
I’ve been growing them for all my life
For all my life that’s what I know
That’s what I do in dim light
Every night, pretty much
Wage war
Shed blood
Body count
Repeat
Oh sweet defeat
No one knows which gon’ taste
Which one wakes up in the morning
Takes the wheel
Takes a sip of coffee, eats cereal
Act normal
Lie low
I lie
Oh honey
They know
They’re my best friends
They’ll call me on a landline buried somewhere in the past
Any time they sense
That I pretend
Like the dread might ever comes to an end
You and me in the room
We wash our faces with all the lotions you bought for us
I make four cheese vegan omlette for breakfast
While we eat we watch The Office for the eighth time around
[The phone rings]
We plan our two days anniversary getaway in this spa hotel out of town
Out in the country
[The phone rings]
You talk about the little tattoo parlor you’d dream to open in Milan
[The phone rings]
You say we need a new cutting board cause the old one is drowning in shit
[The phone rings]
“You hear something?”
We play Super Mario
[The phone though]
We play with our two cats
The boy is huge and badass
And the girl [PHONE] is so sweet
We talk [PHONE] soft
We [PHONE] make [PHONE] out
[PHONE] [PHONE] [PHONE] [PHONE] [PHONE] [PHONE]
[PHONE] [PHONE] [PHONE] [PHONE] [PHONE] [PHONE] [PHONE]
[PHONE] [PHONE] [PHONE] [PHONE]
[PHONE] [PHONE]
[PHONE]
[PHONE] [PHONE] [PHONE] [PHONE] [PHONE]
I c-section the phone from my mom
I answer, giving in
The operation room gets pitch black
Bleak paste of broken fridge starts to drool from the walls
Sinister hissings sing
Dismal nursery songs
Seeing all my secret sins and
Sinks the ceiling down
While a grinning frown emerging upon my squamous skin
“Don’t break her heart”
That’s all my lips can afford
Somewhere along the way they self-taught
That they can dissolve the dread into pain
By hurting someone near
For the pain is their warm dear home
Suddenly room’s dead cold
Growling whispers on the other end go:
“Look out the window
You failed us all”
Then I see the
Colossal putrid oozing carnivorous toxic blob
Bluntly chops the black and blue
Mash flesh
Fresh from the bucket shops of
Bleak cursed wastelands
That is our hive
Getting close
So we can’t hide
Then I hear your voice
Like million miles away
“Bite my arm” you say
“If the pain is too much”
They will come out to play
From my mouth
And they’re not gonna bite your arm then
They will bite everyone’s fuckin’ faces off
Then I will wear their skins to my head
Then I’ll shed my shame to death
But I’d take pain for dread any given Sunday
Oh honey
Please stay
|
||||
7. |
||||
Tips for A Successful Therapeutic Exhumation
My left eye fell off the other day
The wrong technique
Thirty four pig carrions
And my old man necrotic hunched back
You’d always complain
About the stench
But flesh flies I thought were
Much worse
I dropped my wallet on
Grave dirt
While chasing a crack-head
Grudge fey
I was high on my leash
It was tight on my
Crooked neck
Don’t care
About cash
But my ID was in there
“You could’ve been more thougtful”
It just broke loose, okay?
From the loosened bundle of tendons and veins
Fell from its swolen socket now flooded in ooze
Unless he needs another fix
Sid -The Fey- wouldn’t say much things
He saw my eye ball sunken sad
Convulsing in pain next to my feet
With a crimson muscly tail
Poor thing soaked in cheap beer snot
Slowly flexing its moist vile wings
And there goes Sid:
“Dude just please,
You need to deal
With this shit
Right here”
We arrive at the graveyard
A rehearsed dry cloudburst from hell just brakes loose
A broken little brass bell of a safety coffin
Starts to ring on the far end of this acre of Satan
Poorly reserved childhood-flesh-grave-dirt
All the moss grown tomb stones starts to tremble
No one knows who fears whom the most
But all the little brass bells
With a dead hand on the other end
Starts to tintinnabulate*
*: (One might think Poe would have described)
Great mausoleum of
Public restroom masturbations
With little gothic marble seraph engravings
With their little marble penises in their cute heretic holy hands
All the swollen angels with tar drooling wounds
I tricked
Circles me
Playing drop the handkerchief
Dark horses and mad cows
With eyeless severed heads
I stitched
Pulling a young me
From all quarters
Tearing him
Phantom limb from phantom limb
Reanimated restless corpses
All the villagers
I gentrify then genocide
In my tantrum episode daydreams
Little gleaming black flowers
Broken pieces of the looking glass
Self-loathing blood stains floating around
An Eastern ghost smirking right behind
The gallery of my validated second hand musty dead skins
The rent money
I stole from mom’s purse hanging from a naked lonesome dead-blue vein tree in the distance
Upon a desolate ancient benevolent farctured tumor
With the pocket money
Mom stole from me
On the next branch
A dry, suffocating wind
Makes a sweatpants with a ripped knee
Float in the heavy air
Like a glitch boogie fruit bat
All the beds I’ve ever peed on in my sleep
Making a parade
Wearing their toxic yellow, radioactive green, rotten egg black colors
In a maternal vanity
Smouldering dark clouds
Sister’s rightful teen angst
From all the broken childhood dreams
It’s raining baby me
A colossal ethereal monument
My dad with a knive in his hand
In the middle of the night
With a fallen stuffed pepper saucepan on the ground
One tomb for my drunk mom
Another for the sober one
With a cacophonous symphony
No, a harmonious free jazz
Of a dry cloudburst and macabre brass bells
Rises the sarcophagus
Completely covered with a miasmal mycelium
In its own little terrarium of the fetid necrophagous
Glow-in-the-dark fungi forest
Of fluorescent undead
An effigy for my nightmares
Of ghastly undelivered bills
That still haunt my dreams
By bursting into my face
Made out of a species of limestone
Used among the Greeks
For making coffins
Which consumes in a few weeks
The flesh of the bodies deposited in it
So hereby lies the tomb of
The house by the shit creek
Thirty four thousand lengthy black tongues
Creeping on to each other’s soggy swirled lumps
Drown us -My left eye ball, Sid The Fey and I
In this sludgy Abyss called
The Unsafe
Now, Unsafe is a dark, dark word
Darker than it sounds
It’s the ubiquiotus feeling of no one’ll ever be around
When you need the most
When you are a former host of
The house by the shit creek
Well I don’t want to spend a second here
More than I have to
Depascent Unsafe makes my nose bleed
I find my old room
“This should be the cursed heart”
I say to my friends
Here is the
height marks
Here is the
loud nights
Here is the
hide spots
Here is the
first smoke
Here is the
punk tapes
Here is the
spoiled toys
Here comes
The white noise
“And this is the very room you born guys”
But I’m done spending my life trying to make this house make sense
Sid, pass me the matches
I’ll reduce this fucker to ashes
And I say “Oh, what the hell”
Since we are the ones who keep coming back
We could burn might as well
Here goes another dead skin
Hey,
Is that my wallet?
|
||||
8. |
Vanilya Kanibal
03:58
|
|||
Vanilya Kanibal
Oh mother natüre
Cum inside a fresh carcass
Babies! Feast within
|
||||
9. |
||||
What's Wrong With The Lobotomy Kid?
“The Man is carried in naked by two bearers who drop him on the platform with bestial, stirring brutality. The Man wriggles… His flesh turns to viscid, transparent jelly that drifts away in green mist, revealing a monster black centipede.”
William S. Burroughs
We walk down the streets
Walking on the asphalt giblets
On some nameless caged ghouls'
Lungs and genitalia
Compressed
To the adress
No one ever told ya
And it's okay since
We paved the way with the sedated, tamed and dazed pet gorillas’ saliva
Luckily, we have shoes
They know how to walk
Walk down the sleek streets coated with proud amnesia
Saying hello to clueless folk
With a hole on our foreheads,
A little too close to the nasal bones,
Dripping hot, boiling, sticky, tar-like mold,
Stinking like old,
One-and-a-half-meter-long
Sea centipede's smearing sore
- who shits like gold, by the way
Sable semen of
Euphoria
And what's wrong with the kid,
Trying to arrive five minutes early to every meeting
Getting late to every one of them?
What's wrong with the kid,
All the dishes piling up in the kitchen sink swimming in the chemical spring
Angel dreams mucosa
What's wrong with the kid,
Not paying taxes?
What's wrong with the kid,
Never having a healthy relationship?
What's wrong with the kid
Yawning all day,
With high blood pressure and type II diabetes?
With all theese itches,
Eczema, swollen throat, sleep apnea, insomnia, asthma, migraines, gastrointestinal problems, and accelerated aging,
Filling pus-coated veins
With the saddest processed cattles
And two-headed, morbidly obese chicken nails
GMO corn and DDT kale
Three little baby tails?
"Doctors said
He can't sleep
‘Cause he ate
All the sheep"
What's wrong with him,
Spreading fat, ugly, greedy,
Stove-burnt polymer
Panhandle-eating
Scrap-metal-scratched
Pot-bottom-licking
Sun-soaked-plastic
Water-bottle-gnawing
Pore-clogging anti-
Perspirant-sniffing
Aluminium apple-
Juice-box-chewing
Billion-dollar-company
Funded-univercity
Research-approved fat thick
Frozen-meal-nibbling
Chemo-tanning
Exhaust-fanning
Petrol-craving
CO-breathing
Cock-sucking
Mother-fucking
Cancer cells
All over my terrarium?
Seriously,
What's wrong with him?
What's wrong with the kid,
Selling his eyes to a baby-eating anorexic swamp hog to make his daddy proud?
What's wrong with the kid,
Trying to shove,
Hidrocloric snail juice
Liver-frying fairy piss,
Boner-giver-carcass ladders
-So Mr. Avid please,
How many friends have you killed?
-Today?
Soul-replacing shiny things
- Oh, my eternal happiness,
I'm just a million bucks away
And rehab
Restroom Ods,
- He was just fine this morning
Makes him look a little
Well...
Dead
Into this
Ever-widening gap
Ever-darkening void
Ever-deepening cleft
Ever-frightening limbo
Between
This abomination
With transparent jelly flesh,
With cheap zinc-carbon battery juice flowing in its arteries,
With a hole on its forehead
A little too close to the nasal bones
Dripping hot, boiling, sticky, tar-like mold
Stinking like old,
One-and-a-half-meter-long
Sea centipede's smearing sore
Sable semen of
Euphoria
And
The kid with the most beautiful smile
Made of star-stuff
What's wrong with the kid,
Terrified of every little thing?
Can't he breathe deeply?
Can't he focus on the moment?
Can't he reframe the situation?
Can't he keep his problems in perspective?
What's wrong with the kid, really?
I can see him smile
I think he's just fine.
|
EXNUN İstanbul, Turkey
EXNUN:
Can Temiz: Bass, Vocals
Ersin Çağlayan: Guitars, Vocals
Ozan Çam: Guitars, Vocals
Aberrant Engin: Drums
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