The Volatile Utopian Real Estate Market

by Pat The Bunny

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about

These songs were released over the course of three years on three different releases (Die The Nightmare, The Mark Inside, The Volatile Utopian Real Estate Market). I collected all of those songs onto one release, for your convenience and mine.

Free downloads of the constituent parts here:

archive.org/details/PattheBunny-TheVolatileUtopianRealEstateMarket
archive.org/details/patthebunnythemarkinside
archive.org/details/patthebunnydiethenightmare

credits

released October 21, 2014

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Pat The Bunny Tucson, Arizona

Retired acoustic punk. 100% of Bandcamp profit is donated to not-for-profit groups. MAY '17 BENEFITS: Free Software Foundation (fsf.org). PAST BENFITS: Chogyam Trungpa Chronicles, J20 Legal Defense, OpenSSL, Debian Project,
Tor Project, Letsencrypt, No More Deaths, Serenity House Drug/Alcohol Treatment.
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Track Name: Times worth living (the tension)
"Anyone who thinks about what freedom actually is, even for a moment, will never again be able to content themselves by simply doing something to slightly extend the freedom of the situations they are living in. From that moment on, they will feel guilty and will try to do something to alleviate their sense of suffering. They will fear they have done wrong by not having done anything till now, and from that moment on their lives will change completely." (Alfredo Bonanno: The Anarchist Tension)

It's too late for me, my friends. Once I gave refuge to the notion, even for a moment, there was no turning back to comfort again. Only a lifetime of defeats, more or less spectacular, so I'll march on to your court dates. I'll gather court dates of my own. I'll miss the ones in prisons and the ones who never made it there.

The ones who said: "Onward, comrades!" to our death, with ruin on their breath, the weight of centuries on their tongues, loading failed manifestos in their guns. As if defeat, repeated often, could someday mean we had won.

Our history's a vacant lot littered with empty bank accounts, sobbing parents, broken bones, glorious songs, lengthy prison terms, a handful of moments that were truly our own, in between desperate gasping for air worth breathing and times worth living.

In between desperate gasping for air worth breathing and times worth living in.
Track Name: Let's take a ride like we used to (the loathing)
"A definition of nihilism could be the realization that conditions in the social organization are so bad as to make destruction desirable for its own sake, independent of any constructive program or possibility. This exposes one of the greatest idealistic flaws of modern activism: The articulation of the specific world-to-be as a result of your actions does not guarantee that world’s creation." (Aragorn: Nihilism, Anarchy and the 21st Century)

Came to this world a loaded handgun, firing at random. Hit the people who were closest, not the ones who deserved it and some of them still don't talk to me. Can't say I blame them for a second. I'll try to aim more carefully, but it's too late for that, I reckon, but not too late for regret.

I'll walk barefoot and smoke inside any chance I get, but in the mean time: come on, let's go for a ride like we used to. Pistols drawn, screaming "liberty or death," although I think we wanted both somehow--but we'll take the cash instead.

Stack it high, my friend, until it reaches to the sky, and us and god can call it even, and look each other in the eyes like you did to the county prosecutor. Told him that you were the shooter, but they'd never take you alive. Grabbed his pen, and stabbed him in the eye, ran off never to be seen again.

When they strike, hit back harder. If you can't just hit back meaner. Everybody's got a name, and an address, and fragile bones to protect what's beating in their chest. Lash out, and vanish into mist. Gumshoes can take one in the head, same to anyone who's ever seen a cop and didn't bludgeon them to death, same to anyone who's ever had a job and didn't hang their fucking boss off the roof at the post office.

So come on, let's take a ride like we used to. Daggers drawn, screaming "liberty or death," although I think we wanted both somehow. Came in this world a loaded handgun. I'll leave it empty, or not at all.
Track Name: Someday I will (the longing)
"The secret is to really begin. The present social organisation is not just delaying, it is also preventing and corrupting any practice of freedom. The only way to learn what freedom is, is to experiment with it, and to do so you must have the necessary time and space." (Anonymous: At Daggers Drawn with the Existent, its Defenders and its False Critics)

Someday when I'm a better man than this, I'll listen to this stack of folk punk demos. I'll be eating apples and vegetables and shit by then. I'll breathe in more oxygen than smoke. I won't reference books that I haven't read, or that I read so doped up that I couldn't talk. I'll learn to like animals, even your fucking dog. Dah dah dah. Dah dah dah dah dah dah dah.

Someday when I'm a better man than this, I'll tell this cop to his face that he's a fucking pig. I'll be pulling jail breaks and shit, sending nail files in your birthday cakes, metal spoons to dig a tunnel bit by bit. I won't be able to give you a ride to work because I sold the car to print consent zines for every high school kid in the country. Dah dah dah. Dah dah dah dah dah dah dah.
Track Name: We'll get arrested, or shot (the defeat)
"If anybody really knew how to end global oppression we probably would have done it by now. So let's just admit that we don't really know what we're talking about, and we're just going to try stuff out and see what happens. Try an idea, let us know if it works." (Andrea Smith: The antiviolence movement and the non-profit industrial complex, transcript)

We'll dig up concrete to plant vegetables across the street. Neighbors and tweakers passing by will stop for something to eat. We'll set up milk crates as a free box, then we'll get arrested by the cops. And if we fight back then we'll get beaten and arrested on felony charges by the fucking cops.

We'll lock down to gates and buses, we'll block off the streets, because nothing else has worked to stop those fuckers in BP (Border Patrol). We'll clog up the system, we'll grind Streamline* to a stop, then we'll get arrested by the cops. And if we fight back then we'll get beaten and arrested on felony charges by the fucking cops.

Seize entire cities, yeah, whole regions of a country. Abolish all police, religion, private property. We've done it before; united, we cannot be stopped! Then we'll all get lined up and shot by fascists, or just Communists and liberals who've been waiting all along to become the fascist cops.**

*Operation Streamline is a system for mass court convictions of undocumented people in Arizona (where I live). There is ongoing resistance to this process, and recently protesters actually shut it down for a day. You can read some about all of that at http://www.huffingtonpost.com/2013/10/14/operation-streamline-detainees-deported_n_4096894.html, although I'm sure that there are much better write-ups about those actions from sources that I am not finding easily while posting this at 1:36 AM.

**This verse is about anarchists in 1930s Spain, who put many elements of anarchism into practice in large regions of the country during the Civil War. They also got slaughtered by most every other faction involved in the war. Fascists, Communists, and partisans for the elected government that had been overthrown in the military coup--i.e. liberals--could actually agree on one thing, which was shared animosity towards anarchists. Spain 1936 is widely agreed to be the high water mark of anarchism in the 19th and early 20th centuries, and it certainly seems like it was to me, but the fact that our "greatest victory" was just a particularly spectacular defeat is telling. Aside from all that, it's a fascinating story. Here's a sweet documentary where they talk to elderly anarchists who were personally involved: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=I0XhRnJz8fU
Track Name: For the sake of the ashes (the darkness)
"It seemed to me that the last human beings were dying in prisons and camps and would leave no heirs, while a horrible mutation of the species was taking place outside. I thought of committing suicide, or of finding a way to return to my prison cell so as to live out my days among comrades and die among human beings." (Fredy Perlman: Letters of insurgents)

This morning I can't tell if I'm nihilist, or religious, or if there's even a difference. If god made the West Texas highway, guess there probably isn't. There's a darkness in my bones. It reaches all the way down to the mud. There's a spark that's in your eyes. It catches flame, and it burns all through my blood.

And every friend locked up or raided, it's reason enough to go all in, to raise the stakes, to call the bluff. To burn all the world down for the sake of the ash. For the things that we've got coming through the storm of gasoline and broken glass.

This morning I can't tell if I'm anarchist, or religious, or if there's even a difference. If I'm waiting for the right time to act, well, guess there probably isn't. There's a darkness in my bones. It reaches all the way down to the mud. There's a spark that's in your eyes. It catches flame, and it burns all through my blood.
Track Name: Song for a stray cat on the fence
Originally released on "The Mark Inside," CD-R (April 2013)

I skipped class and rode the number five bus all the way east, just to see where it ends. I smoked a cigarette at udall station, got back on the bus again. We've been this way since you met me: hearts not heavy, but empty. And once a song could raise me up, but now there's nothing, so I stumbled home a broken man with blood on my hands, dead on my feet, shot down where I stand. With blood on my hands, dead on my feet, shot where I stand. Freedom is beautiful and terrible, it's nothing soft and sweet. It's used bullets on the side walk, fires across the street. It's you moving in with your new boyfriend in Oakland. It's a pack of wild dogs on a road without a street lamp. It's roaches in the bathroom, mice in the kitchen, and no one left to blame for the way I've been living. It's mice in the kitchen, roaches in the bathroom, and no one left to blame. I woke up late and missed class again, so I brewed a pot of coffee and went back to bed. Snatch some bread selling junk from the back of the shed. Hop the fence, because the front's being watched by the feds. We've been this way since we've been alive: reckless and shy, so I set fire to the house and took off running. I hope that you won't mind. I burned down the house to get myself out of this hell alive. I burned down the house to get myself out. I hope you don't mind. Freedom is nothing soft and sweet, it's beautiful and terrible. It's admitting everything that I don't want anyone to know. It's telling people that I love I stole from them when they weren't looking. It's fucking up so many times that they won't pick up when I call them. It's watching people die because they got back in it, and knowing that I don't have any say in it. It's watching people die, and knowing I don't get any say.
Track Name: Song for a Netflix account
Originally released on "The Mark Inside," CD-R (April 2013)

I lay down an awful wreck, pissing out my window and smoking in bed. The good don't die young, they just haven't had time to fuck up the same as the rest of us yet. I want nothing, nothing at all. I'd be driving drunk if I still got drunk. Rev the ignition, straight on to oblivion. Into a void as pure as they come. But if we aren't dead yet, then let's not live as ghosts. If we aren't in jail, then we can leave the house. I'll show you that there's reason to hope in the spray paint that's all over downtown. Let's fill up our shopping carts with the things we need and just roll out the front door, past the cashiers and security guards. But the magnets trip the wheel locks before we even clear the parking lot, and take off running through the neighbor's yard. I lay down an awful wreck, mumbling to myself about the government again. Maybe postmodernism's just an extended tantrum about how we don't have our flying cars yet. I want nothing, nothing from them. I'd smash every machine if I didn't have one. Rev the ignition, straight onto oblivion, into a void as pure as they come. But if we aren't dead yet, then let's not live as ghosts. If we aren't in jail, then we can leave the house. I'll show you that there's reason to hope in the spray paint that's all over downtown. Meet me at the diner at six o' clock on every Wednesday night, and we'll get some coffee and pie. I'll smile, tip the waiter, get a ride home: "Thanks for the favor." And hope that that's enough to build a life.
Track Name: Song for a chicken named Jenny
Originally released on "The Mark Inside," CD-R (April 2013)

I eat cigarettes for breakfast, and coffee for lunch. For dinner I lay in the dirt and wait for the end times to come. I wish I could tell you the truth, but when I do it comes out sounding stupid. But meet me at four in the morning, and see for yourself. Sunrise, sunset, that's all I really gotta know. The rest is a prison that I build for myself. On my worst nights, I'd still burn down the city just for a peaceful night's rest. But here in your arms, my darling, I think that can wait, or I hope it can. We murdered a chicken for breakfast, and ate it for lunch. She was beautiful, she was scrappy, she was mean as they come. And I told her on the way to the chopping block: "Chaos reigns over us all. One day I'll be worm food, but Jenny, first it's your turn." There's sunrise, and sunset, and then there's the day that I die. All the rest is a prison, or else it's a lie. At my worst times, I'd still murder a traffic cop to get out of a ticket. But here in your arms, my darling, police don't exist, or I hope they don't.
Track Name: Song for Florence, AZ
Originally released on "The Mark Inside," CD-R (April 2013)

The fences, the wire, the dress code on the wall. The transfers, the searches, the bullshit they paint in the hall. And the walls that hold you in are just a million ashes waiting for release. We'll shake the gates of hell until you're free. The phone calls, the hearings: I hear the public defender's alright. The bailiffs, the judges: shareholders getting paid tonight. Just so many ashes waiting for release make up the walls of a prison cell. We're storming heaven, or we're raising hell.
Track Name: Song for a supermarket parking lot
Originally released on "The Mark Inside," CD-R (April 2013)

On Mondays, I do the laundry at a twenty four hour place next to the Dollar Tree. I know that I could walk, but god I love to drive. I thought about calling and asking forgiveness, but hell, I'm afraid of the dogs that I live with. I guess you take it one thing at a time. I thought about Jesse on Tuesday morning; last I heard, he was still doped up in Portland. I could call and ask, but hell, I know he'd lie. Like my neighbor, he's got business. If you don't know about it, better keep your distance. Ain't no one on this street ever called a cop in their life. On Wednesday, ran into Connor, drinking like he was already a goner. He said he'd like to change if he could grow a spine. I said: "When you talk like that, you make me real nervous. No, don't be inviting me to your funeral service. Throw down your fucking chips, let's play for keeps this time." Like on Thursday when you called and woke me up. I heard you started smoking crack again and caught up: catching cases robbing houses, just to stay alive. So I hung up, and called Vanessa, and I told them that I left the rent on the dresser. It wasn't even half of three weeks late this time. On Fridays, I do the laundry at the twenty four hour place next to the Dollar Tree, past the neighbors reaching heaven with their trucks so high. I thought about calling and asking forgiveness, but lately I don't even know what that word is. I've got police on my six, because they think it's a crime.
Track Name: First song (part 1)
Originally released on the "Die The Nightmare" CD-R/zine (October 2011)

no one needs to tell me how to get (get get) down. but won’t somebody show me how to get back up? i thought about killing my landlord, but he was pretty nice. instead, i paid my rent on time as often as i could. i’ve been making strange friends in the desert; (yeah) they love jesus and america too. it ain’t as bad as it sounds, someday i’ll explain it to you. it’s not that i mind sleeping all alone in the grass, it’s just that i’ve been dreaming since…well, maybe i ain’t woke up yet. but nothing’s been quite the same since you shot yourself. i don’t know if you believe in ghosts. i hope you’d haunt me if you were one. i’ve been trying not to steal from everybody i know but so far that’s impossible. but here in the desert, somehow i hope that someday it won’t be that way for me. no it won’t…be that way for me, anymore.
Track Name: More about alcoholism
Originally released on the "Die The Nightmare" CD-R/zine (October 2011)

this car is a war machine that runs on nicotine and gasoline. d-d-d-don’t you fucking know this is the wrong side of the road? who needs brakes when it’s all down hill from here? and if we ain’t died yet then maybe we never will. but i don’t wanna burn out, so won’t you please set me on fire again? i woke up afraid of losing everything; thank god that i already have. so if you love me then listen: mind your own fucking business! if you love me enough to stay, then please love me enough to stay…enough to stay away. i swear on my last cigarette that i’d love you my d-d-darling. i’d love you if i could. but since the day i was born, it’s been too late for me to be anything but what i am tonight. and what i am is drunk, and what i am is mean, in your passenger seat. seat belts are for people who have time to die; hell, i don’t even have time to sleep. because i don’t wanna miss a moment of loathing everything that i see. i stay up nights afraid of everything, till all that’s left is the shadows and me. ask me from sunrise to sunset: no, i ain’t left the house yet. i finally love you enough to stay…enough to stay away. aw, shit, i wish i had a job to quit. i wish i had a boss that i could tell to fuck off. give me the satisfaction of a dramatic exit, and not just a long car ride and a short goodbye in a parking lot. (ohohoh.)
Track Name: We are all compost in training
Originally released on the "Die The Nightmare" CD-R/zine (October 2011)

i want freedom, not a boss that comes in a forty ounce bottle of anything or taped scotch paper. i eat meat and drive trucks and shoot guns and don’t trust in the federal government to solve our problems. you might think i’m joking, but i’m not a republican. call me when your president pulls out of afghanistan, because that’s the day i’ll get a cell phone number, and you can call and leave a message on voice mail that day. (sine writing this song i have gotten a cell phone, because no one wants to go in on a landline telephone together anymore) i fell asleep smoking so i’d wake up on fire, because that might get me out of bed for a while and back into battle with the things that i breathe, and the holes in my arms, and the way that i think. and if freedom is doing what i want, well that means i gotta know what is, not just what it isn’t. so i’ll dig up the dirt and i’ll throw down some seeds, because the world needs more spinach, not more motherfuckers like me. motherfuckers like me! (ohohohoh, etc.)
Track Name: From here to utopia
Originally released on the "Die The Nightmare" CD-R/zine (October 2011)

well, i’m afraid that the circles i’ve been drinking myself aren’t big enough for the vowels that i try to fit inside of them. (CIRCLE A! CIRCLE E!) when i was young, i drank too much, and i’d be lying if i said i didn’t feel so goddamn young tonight; maybe too young to ask what’s on my mind. like: if freedom means doing what you want (well), don’t you gotta want something? and won’t you tell me that we want something more than just more beer? and my friends, if that ain’t true, won’t you lie to me tonight? well, i’ve been listening to minor threat records all day, and shit if i do not know every word. i sing along as i tie off. and ian screams he’s “out of step” as i throw the cotton into the spoon, draw up into the syringe. i’ll know just what he means until i hit a vein. but after that i won’t have to bother with knowing who i am, for a while at least. in a moment the whole world is gonna melt around me, and i’ll swear i don’t miss it as a i lie to you tonight. because i’m afraid to look the world in the eye. if nothing’s gonna change, well, then i’d rather die. and i’m too unemployed to organize a union; i’m too intoxicated to tear down a building. i’m too hopeless to look for a solution; i’m afraid that if i found one, i’d be out of excuses for the way i waste away in the gutters that i chose like fashion accessories to go with my dirty clothes. i haven’t bathed in months, but you know it’s not because i’ve been fighting bourgeois morals: i’m just lazy and i’m young. i’ve seen the best minds of my generation dying drunk or high from the rooftops to the parking lots, stomped to death in west philadelphian squats. they’ve got me waiting on a day when we can say “fuck the police!” with a little bit of integrity, when it will mean: “i’ve got your back if you’ve got mine!” give me a scene where i believe in more than bad hair cuts, guilt, and misery. i don’t know where i fit between the vegans and the nihilists. that might be the first thing i’ve said that wasn’t a lie tonight. because there’s gotta be something more than lying in the front yard, naked, screaming at the constellations. i want something more than an apology to say when i look the world in the eye. i’ll tell you, man, my friend william came to me with a message of hope. it went: “fuck you and everything that you think you know. if you don’t step outside the things that you believe they’re gonna kill you.” he said: “no one’s gonna stop you from dying young, and miserable, and right, but if you want something better, you gotta put that shit aside.” i thought about how for thousands of years there have been people who told us that things can’t go on like this: from jesus chris to the diggers, from malthus to zerzan, from karl marx to huey newton, but the shit goes on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on. now, i’m not saying that we can’t change the world, because everybody does at least a little bit of that. but i won’t shit myself: the way i’m living is a temper tantrum and i need something else, need something else, need something else to stay alive. (ohohoh.) and on the night that i play my last show, i’ll be singing so loud that my heart explodes. and i’ll be singing, and i’ll be singing: we are free! oh, but won’t you promise me that we won’t ever forget what the means? i know it’s hard to give a shit sometimes, but promise me we’ll always try. because i don’t wanna hate you, and i don’t wanna hate me, and i don’t wanna have to hate everything anymore.
Track Name: Never coming home
Originally released on the "Die The Nightmare" CD-R/zine (October 2011)

the trains roll by my porch, down here where nothing can live, and i’ve been smoking too much because i am no exception. you knew that already, i think. if you want salvation, then you ought to go see a priest, because forgiveness from those that we hurt in this world never was guaranteed. i’m coming home, it’s late again, i’m high as i’ve ever been. you’re sitting up, you’re in our bed crying for a ghost again. no room could be as dark or as empty as ours is, because i’m at home but i’m not here, and i never am. i wonder how many friends roll past my house in the night? in boxcars they sleep with hearts stashed in their backpacks. they’ll make california all right. a promise from me is just a lie i ain’t told yet, so i’m ready to die but i’m not willing to watch you watch me die here in our bed. i’m lying down, i’ve been nodding out since i don’t know when. the lights are on, you’re standing up screaming at a ghost again. darling, i’m home; hell i ain’t left this house of ours in days. but i’m not here. i never am. so i just can’t stay. my darling, i’m never coming back from where i’m going. my darling, i’m never coming home. my darling, i’m never coming back from where i’m going. my darling, i’m never coming home. never coming home again.
Track Name: Vampires are poseurs
Originally released on the "Die The Nightmare" CD-R/zine (October 2011)

i don’t believe in heaven. i do believe in hell. it’s down the street from here, and we both lived there for years. we burned the calendars for warmth, and the alarm clocks just for fun. we closed the blinds to make goddamn sure that we could never see the sun. you could set a watch by the bottle returns and the ashtrays overflowing on the floor. (what? 520!) nothing’s free but time when you’re so damn poor. but the past was death row, and the future’s a battlefield. i hope we choose the right war. because i’ve been fist fighting gravity since the day i learned how to breathe, and i still wake up on the same cold floor i fell asleep on. so i won’t, but we shall overcome someday. i can’t do it alone, but i shall be free someday. i don’t know how to live, but i’m sick of learning how to die. vampirism is for poseurs in junior high. we made our own postal system to cross the continent. as long as freight trains run and loners pick up dreamers with thumbs, who needs governments to get a letter to you, or a mixtape to me, or a postcard to johnstown? what’s a thousand miles between friends? what’s a friend that’s not worth crossing a country? but i owe money and broken hearts from philly to sydney and back to vermont. (what? yeah!) i regret a million things and that’s only what i haven’t forgot. but the past was a mine field, and right now is a prison break. i hope we make it alive. when who we are doesn’t stop where the law begins, then we’ll storm their court houses to survive. so i won’t, but we shall overcome someday. i can’t do it alone, but we shall be free someday. i don’t know how to live, but i’m sick of learning how to die. vampirism is for poseurs in junior high.
Track Name: Of ballots and barricades
Originally released on the "Die The Nightmare" CD-R/zine (October 2011)

i got arizona residency one day too late to vote on this election day. every year before i’ve been too drunk to register. then i’d say: “i don’t believe in it anyway.” i still shake my head at ballots cast for elephants, and shake my head at ballots cast for donkeys, because i swear to god our leaders will be death of us. there’s no ballot we can cast to set us free. but there’s no brick we can throw that will end poverty, and we can’t blow up SB1070. things will never be as simple as when i was twelve years old reading karl marx in my bedroom alone. (SB1070 IS AN ARIZONA STATE LAW THAT ALLOWS LOCAL LAW ENFORCEMENT TO DETAIN ANYONE SUSPECTED OF NOT BEING A DOCUMENTED IMMIGRANT, AND ARREST ANYONE UNABLE TO PROVE THEIR CITIZENSHIP.) since there have been laws, there have been criminals. there have been thieves since there’s been property. and the way will come again when none of those things are around; i just hope it’s before people go extinct. so vote november 2nd if it seems right to you, or don’t vote if you think it just holds us down. just tell me what we’re gonna do on november 3rd to make sure there’s no government left to elect two years from now.
Track Name: Bitter old man
Originally released on the "Die The Nightmare" CD-R/zine (October 2011)

i was born a bitter old man who got his heart broken in catalonia, 1936. i haven’t felt right since, so i gave up on life before i arrived. i knew this place wasn’t safe for anyone but fascists and republicans and their apologists. (IN THIS CONTEXT, “REPUBLICAN” IS A REFERENCE TO THE SPANISH CIVIL WAR, NOT THE CONTEMPORARY POLITICAL PARTY IN THE UNITED STATES.) but i swear to god, i’m gonna die full of naive optimism; a teenager’s heartbreaking conviction that things can be different. oh yeah, things are gonna be real different when we’re finished around here. i always wanted to die young. i always wanted to die young. i always wanted to die young; now i feel younger every day, and i just hope i die younger than i am. i can hear you from a dozen states away shivering through a dope sick morning of no money left and nothing else to steal. lord only knows that i’ve had my share, because there were years when i was ready to die, but it’s only been recently that i’ve been willing to live. and i swear to god, i didn’t plan for things to end up this way. i had a teenager’s conviction that i would be different. oh yeah, i was gonna be real different than the person i became. i always wanted to die young. i always wanted to die young. i always wanted to die young; now i feel younger every day, and i just hope i die younger than i am. but now living’s a struggle, except when it isn’t. (yeah), i woke up this morning and i wasn’t in prison, but i can’t promise that i’m far from it. i’d still kill a man for cigarette, but with friends like you, who needs homicide? so this song goes out to all our homies locked down. come on back now, we need you around. that judge, he doesn’t know what he’s done. no, judges never know the things they do. how could they?
Track Name: You heart is a muscle the size of your fist
Originally released on the "Die The Nightmare" CD-R/zine (October 2011)

dalia never showed me nothing but kindness. she would say: “i know how sad you get. and some days, i still get that way, but it gets better. it gets better. it gets better. sweetie, it gets better, i promise you.” and she tells me: your heart is a muscle the size of your fist. keep on loving. keep on fighting. and hold on, and hold on, hold on for your life. ian built a cabin in the woods to live in. for years, terrifying noises kept him up at night with a twelve gauge under his pillow. he’s living in boston now, going to art school. i forgive him. i forgive him. hell, i’ll admit it: i’m proud of him. serena’s an architect and a carpenter. she’s such a feminist she says she isn’t one, because goddamn, my gender shouldn’t matter. and her motorcycle glides through the streets of providence, down to the warehouse district. the paint job is as stunning as her knowledge of medieval building techniques. your heart is a muscle the size of your fist. keep on loving. keep on fighting. and hold on, and hold on, hold on for your life. this one goes out to georgios. he knows how to dance. abby banks, your book is beautiful, and fuck anyone who says otherwise. scott, i love you and you make me glad to be alive. i promise that i’m gonna pay you back. you always know how funny everything is, even when i’m so serious that it’s gonna be the death of me. like the time that our friend chuck came over to our house. he said he needed somebody to take care of his pets, because he was going out of town. i asked him: “where?” and he said: “new mexico.” i asked if i could get a ride. he said: “no, you don’t want to follow me where it is that i’m going.” he pulled out of the drive way. that was the last time we saw him, because he drove straight to his parent’s cabin and put a bullet in his head. your heart is a muscle the size of your fist. keep on loving. keep on fighting. and hold on, and hold on, hold on for your life.
Track Name: First song (part 2)
Originally released on the "Die The Nightmare" CD-R/zine (October 2011)

i took the needle out of my arm about a year ago today, and every day since then i’ve been taking the needle out of my brain. so when i’m staring down at my hands i can’t explain just what it is that i’m thinking of, except thank god that all my veins have to pump is my blood. and i’ve done you so much wrong i can’t believe you would still talk to me. and i say so much bullshit i can’t believe that anyone around me can breathe. i know that it’s a little dramatic, but the word for not changing is “death.” so i’m getting better, my friends, but please don’t hold your breath. and i met a man in rehab the first time, an organizer in prison. he lived in chicago when the cops shot fred hampton, but he was just a kid back then. justice doesn’t flow from police guns. i’m reminded of that all the time. as long as there is a law, peace will be a crime. what the news calls economics, i still call it violence. if your god is a judge or a jailer, i’m still an atheist. but i try to have faith in the things that will happen; i get saved from myself when i do. so maybe “god” isn’t the right word, but i believe in you.