1. |
Rain/Applause
03:23
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Rain, applause,
another something else gets lost
in the translation.
When we lock eyes
I can feel the X-Acto® knife moving slow like chalk
around the outline of my body in the picture.
She said, "I don't need no one."
A ceiling needs four walls
and the garbage needs a hall
to pollute, Dave.
Your cloud shadows bruise
my pleasant, scenic view of the void.
I don't need no one.
I don't need you.
I don't need no one.
I don't need you.
I make my own fun.
I'm fine.
I'm alright.
I'm going under.
I'm fine.
I'm going under.
I'm alright.
I'm going under.
I'm a tough guy.
I'm going under.
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2. |
Obliged
03:30
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How long was I out?
Am I supposed to not feel my legs?
How much did you give me?
Or how much did you take away?
Days into weeks, weeks into months,
decades later I don't even know where you live
and if I did I would not visit.
Oh, but it ebbs and flows...
I still find some of your old clothes
and laugh out loud when I remember the jokes
we used to tell back when the center could hold
and we weren't cold.
Will we ever lock eyes across stage again?
A 3-part harmony I never meant to attend.
318 Howard St., south end,
if you feel so obliged.
If you feel so obliged,
come on by.
Where did you go?
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3. |
Showing Up
03:21
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Though "the trellis, dripping rain,
looks like an abacus counting pain"
isn't even worth writing down,
I'm gonna climb it anyway
to the window where you stay
counting dog shit in the yard.
I'm showing up for you.
Man, you've had such a rough go of late.
If I could, I would take some off your plate,
but you gotta let some people in
if you want help getting out.
I won't let the stones you've sewn into the hem of your dress
drag you down
and keep you from
showing up.
Around here, it always feels like the last day of your life—
all the lights go red in unison
and walk single-file out of sight.
But when all the dust kicked up turns into sky
and every puddle into a sea,
keep an ear out for a late phone call
'cause if it's late it's probably me
trying to show up.
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4. |
HighFillPowerDown
04:05
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Even the ice cubes are nice...
High fill power down vests...
A buck-knife with the family crest on the handle...
and I'm a loser.
He goes to the gym every night
and every morning as well.
My inner mind's a twisted hell,
yeah, I know.
And I'm a loser.
I like to pretend that I'm above
material things, but god I love
this poured concrete countertop!
I don't know if I can stop
touching it.
Just act natural,
no one knows you're in here falling apart.
Don't touch your face so much.
Let's move away from the cocktail cart.
Why must you be inebriated in order to take part
in a conversation about Frasier
and other shows you don't watch?
How's it even possible that you could feel jealous
of an area rug and turquoise necklace?
Or are we using shiny objects
to explain a self-poisoned self-concept?
Oh, by all means, have another
if you really think it'll bring you comfort.
As long as you insist on disrepair,
I'm not going anywhere.
And I like to pretend that I'm above
material things, but god I love this
stone double slipper tub.
I think I'm gonna throw up...
Something's not sitting right.
But it really is nice!
What made you go with white?
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5. |
Performance Review
02:15
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I've been having that feeling
where you walk into a life but can't remember why.
A steeple dissolves into heat
where my window sill meets the sky.
When I'm stiff on my side with comfort,
sunset colors in my bloodshot eyes,
which line is "live" and which line is "die"
and which one am I?
You can almost smell it happening to you
when your performance review is due
and you're flipping couch cushions for proof
that you reallyreallyreally do
have something important to do
around here.
Locked in the sky, trying to float away
like a cloud in a video game
the child's forgotten he'd paused
because he turned the T.V. off
and found something better to do
than sit around listening to you
singing about your performance review.
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6. |
Nightfalls
03:38
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Night falls especially hard on some.
Government buildings blue into dusk.
Fake birds in real cages,
desire lines you can't trust.
What he can't see
through the cracked-glass tree in his eye
I myself as well walk by.
Palm a scoop from the fountain,
try to wake yourself up from this one.
I reach out
only to pull my coat together.
"It's been some weather..."
It's been some weather,
wouldn't you say?
Night falls especially hard on some.
Government buildings blue into dusk.
Fake birds in real cages,
desire lines you shouldn't trust.
A red lightbulb and a non-diegetic buzz
at the end of this tunnel, cuz.
Somebody cue the blue strings.
Let's let the shadows define the walls.
All lit up and empty
like a high school lobby at midnight,
all the purple, plastic chairs stacked inside.
"Call this number for a good time"
That's not what I meant to say.
Intention is falling away.
I put myself out to pasture.
Is anyone out here?
Can somebody answer?
Insidious clatter.
Then, like a hammer,
the dark.
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7. |
Misspelled, Italicized
04:25
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The sky's falling apart on the ridge
telling her she has to die before she can live,
so she shares this last smoke
with the wind.
Like the pipe-gush behind a classroom poster of
a "determined" river,
she can feel it splash her liver.
Then she's gone
with all the misspelled, italicized thoughts,
climbing light like a stubborn moth,
like the ceiling is the afterlife.
So she talks
to the ceiling until the silence seems
like someone might be listening
or at least taking some of this stuff down.
He likes to pretend he's a kind of puddle
just long enough that the concave goes convex
and he becomes a kind of crest.
But it's a horseshoe hung above the door
he has a hard time reaching anymore,
and no luck when he can—just an empty hand
and a pair of round dice.
Then he's off
with all the misspelled, italicized thoughts
climbing light like a stubborn moth.
The ceiling is the afterlife.
And he talks
to the ceiling until the silence seems
like someone might be listening.
Well, here's a promise
I know the silence keeps:
When nothing means anything,
that's when you get to tell nothing what it means.
I mean
as the planet shakes us off like fleas,
and every corner of the map's red with disease,
and hiding on the back of every mystery
is a little, plastic cover for some batteries,
and the tail lights line up like a rosary,
and we place the future's neck in the guillotine,
come meet me for a smoke on the mezzanine
so I can bum one and keep you close to me.
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8. |
Howard St.
02:26
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(Instrumental)
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9. |
Anywhere
03:24
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I'm feeling as light as the lid on a dumpster
in an alley the sun hasn't found.
Back in the day, we used to call that "shade"
and talk shit until our smokes went out.
Ever look up at the sky and wonder
if somewhere else you're already dead?
Why a cloud shaped like an anvil has hung
over every town you've ever lived?
I'm thinking of stepping out of my mind
like a fruit fly hatching out of the rind.
And, Chloe, I'm not big on promises
but despite the noise
I'll still hear your voice.
The way dead pets live on in our Wi-Fi passwords,
catching frisbees in the digital mist,
we can't keep nightmare loops of ever midnight stoop
upon which we've ever been kissed.
But there's something new going on here,
and I hesitate to give it a name
because I tend to end up with an empty cup
whenever I play that game.
But I'm working on stepping out of my mind
like a fruit fly hatching out of the rind.
And, Chloe, I'm not big on promises
but despite the noise
I'll still hear your voice
anywhere.
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10. |
Era Adieu
04:27
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I don't have the greatest "turn radius."
I hope you don't mind
my ten-point about face at the end of this sentiment.
I swear I mean what I mean to say,
but all my language is set
to the tempo of the Doomsday Clock,
and, similarly, there will be no body there
to finally push both long and short hands to the top,
because no one ever has the time
for goodbyes on the telephone in this movie.
Still, you can always find me
stoned by the romanescos
in some suburban snow globe
burning through a notebook
trying to nail down how it feels
to be uncertain how to deal
with the way that you've been feeling as of late.
Is all this self-guided therapy
really doing anything for me?
I think I'm too numb to tell.
Father, son, and the holy ghost
won't all fit on one piece of toast
no matter how well you burn it.
I fall down
every night
and hit every stair in this well
I've so carefully designed
to hold me down
until the bubbles stop.
Because I know how to drink until your thinking quiets down.
How to drink until you're the only one around.
But I miss you more than I could ever say
in another voicemail fifteen states away.
Cuz, I spend so much time locked in the past
I fear it's all I'll ever have to look forward to
—unless we bid this era adieu.
Where I fall down
every night
and hit every stair in this world
I've so carefully designed
to hold me down until the bubbles......
Stop saying shit like that.
You know it only makes your momma sad.
So just shut up.
Just look at the water.
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monopines Moscow, Idaho
Some music from Moscow, Idaho
monopines recommends:
Mother Yeti - Live Sessions
by Mother Yeti
My favorite Palouse-area band ever since moving here and seeing them live almost 4 years ago. Bill is a talent grenade. One of the most entertaining live shows for miles and miles.
go to album
Desolation Horse
by Desolation Horse
Unbelievable songwriter, this guy. Desolation Horse's debut album was my climbing-out-of-the-pandemic soundtrack and will forever remain a guaranteed pick-me-up.
go to album
Danny's music is some of the warmest and most human art I've experienced, and he's one of the bravest musicians I know.
go to albumIf you like monopines, you may also like:
Other Better Places
by Fraidycat
Charming and catchy lo-fi jams from Brooklyn's Fraidy Cat.
go to album
Not Getting What You Want, One Step at a Time
by Imp of Perverse
Getting some serious Dean Wareham vibes from this Texas bedroom project that’s anything but lo-fi.
go to album
Legends of These Lands Left to Live
by Ali Beletic
With her guitar front and center, Ali Beletic's raw ballads find beauty and romance in dusty wastelands.
go to album
