Get all 4 Combat Wounded Veteran releases available on Bandcamp and save 20%.
Includes unlimited streaming via the free Bandcamp app, plus high-quality downloads of Duck Down For The Torso, I Know A Girl Who Develops Crime Scene Photos, This Is Not An Erect, All-Red Neon Body, and Electric Youth Crew.
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You're my candidate when I say you mow an amazing lawn and keep your bed tidy!
You're my candidate cause I've never heard you swear or seen you throw temper tantrums or spit on the little guy when you stick your boat shoe in his mouth, cracking his imperfect teeth
You're my candidate, cause when it comes down to it, you can see right through all my bullshit with your warm and sunny disposition!
How does it feel to be a beacon of light amongst a large group of bottom feeders and heathens?
How does it feel to be the greatest person alive in a world divided between the pre-ops and the post-ops?
I hope your foothold in the bladder of life will help you churn out more miracle workers like yourself!
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I never, ever want to be hooked up to a conveyor belt, gliding across a dance floor with a wife!
While splendid and warmly comical dialogue sprays all over each other's newly developed digi-pak head units!
Let's play autopsy!
Let's play biopsy!
Let's play death march!
Let's be large and newly beveled silver parts rubbing against and sliding into other pieces of rubble creating a cutting edge microwave so that we can cook cold dead bodies.
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And all of the interesting white people are trying on their chic clenched fist gloves over their smooth hairless stumps!
And all of the interesting white people are devouring four course meals of steak, mashed potatoes, circuits, and undesirable characters.
And all of the interesting white people are having buttons pushed by unnecessary musical numbers while jettisoning arm fragments and bleeding orifices become the new vices for a long dead life style and an interesting new look in cross gender fashion.
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Celebration of plasticity.
Where's the wisdom in the pursuit of emptiness?
While we continue going through the motions, finding meaning in the repeated, mindless exercises working towards goals embarrassingly unimportant.
The only celebration is in the power to destroy these cycles in ourselves.
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5. |
48. I Talk, You Listen
00:55
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I can stand here pissing down my leg and it won't change a thing.
Because I joined this program already in progress and it's obvious that whether or not I pass or fail will be wholly determined by my ability to create life from a slow death.
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Mutual respect dictates that there is no ownership among human beings.
Our lives are our freedom and our freedom is universal with no exceptions.
Our need to control is groundless self concern and any attempt to inhibit free choice is injustice.
Possession taints compassion and concern.
That innocence doesn't wash.
When exposed to this preconditioned environment, it will be picked apart and bled dry looking for the requisite weakness.
Weakness calls itself pride.
A weakness that still tries to masquerade as power and confidence.
Not surprisingly, the products of this hostile programming learn to embrace the worst elements of human instinct and act upon the base impulses that destroy us.
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7. |
50. Fuck the Ghouls
00:17
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Lyrics reanimated two hours after death, but too many brain cells were lost for it to speak coherently.
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The suburban sprawl continues as I return to see it devour my hometown.
Every vacant spot snapped up developed and improved.
Every vacant building demolished and replaced with another and empty strip shopping centers wait.
All boarded up for their turn.
To the west, the beach shrank years ago to a sliver of sand lining the coast.
Blanketed by the shadows cast by endless miles of beachfront constructs.
And now to the east, development pushes towards the bay and consumes the last remaining untouched acres.
To make room for more unneeded office buildings and high class homes.
Manifest destiny lives on in the hands of planning boards and contractors and executive egos.
This god complex reconstructs nature in geometrics and the surface clutters with organic resources manipulated into planes and edges.
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9. |
52. One Arm Left
00:38
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"What's the status report, Riley?"
"Sir, I am almost out of fluid, sir!"
When all of a sudden the computer in the corner of the room begins to buzz lowly as it gurgles out a crimson menagerie of the human anatomy.
Your fluid is the least of my worries!
Organize all these parts and put them together correctly!
I'll be back in two hours time!
Social amputees forever!
Social amputees forever!
Social amputees forever!
Social amputees forever!
Social amputees forever!
Social amputees forever!
Social amputees forever!
Social amputees forever!
Social amputees forever!
Social amputees forever!
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10. |
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The events unfolded in a manner such as this:
The birth of my first child brought complications in the delivery room. The doctors panicking and arguing loudly, I was shuffled out into the waiting room while the chaos and confusion continued behind closed doors. I heard my wife's screams finally stop, I assume from the administration of some type of anesthetic. I soon found that it was something far worse.
When the doctors came out they were visibly exhausted and shaken, and stained red with spattered blood. The birth had killed my wife but the child had survived. I went into a room and saw the baby. I wasn’t allowed to hold it but I stood and looked at it through a haze of confusion and contempt.
I took the child home and cared for it. Over time it began to crawl and then walk; over time it grew teeth and bit me. I sat and watched him break every toy that I gave him to play with. I picked up the cat dead after he threw it down the stairs and broke its neck. I watched him and felt the resentment grow, seeing what was left in place of my wife. He was a thing as far removed from humanity as the most vile beast.
The day came when I no longer was willing to accept him as the result of my seed. I approached him sleeping in his bed and put a pillow over his face. There was no sadness in this. As he started to struggle for air I saw a flash of something and felt a warm stinging pain in my chest. I let go of the pillow and saw the knife in my stomach. The blood spilled across the floor and I dropped to my knees. Then he came to finish me with the knife in his hand and murder in his eyes.
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11. |
54. You Win, I'm Stupid
01:03
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I'll defend my choices and beat my head against the wall until the equality of women is no longer an issue.
I'll give the middle finger to the boy's club and a fuck you to the conversations that appear whenever the men are alone.
How many times can I say:
"No, I wouldn't fuck her if given the chance"
"No, I wouldn't reduce her to a body and a function and set aside the thoughts and ideas of a living human being"
You stupid fuck!
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Attention!
A new robot has been built from various car parts and soiled undergarments!
Attention!
When the robot's skin flakes off onto the floor, the Spanish janitor sweeps it up and injects it in to his blood stream!
Attention!
When the robot acts badly, the companies' hired thugs continuously beat it until it acts like it wants to dance and meet new and interesting people!
Attention!
When the robot's oil is low the companies' bio chemists make highly potent, deadly mixed drinks to make it regain consciousness and perform correctly!
Attention! When the robot's technology has lost all cohesion and its winning personality has faltered the companies' pretty blonde secretary makes the necessary phone calls to make everyone's favorite robot disappear.
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Fuck you right hand culture!
Right now I'm smashing your digitally remastered pratfalls and punchline antics with my most-likely-to-be-a-permanent-guest-star award!
After that, I'm going to melt it down and shoot you in the cerebral cortex with it, you fuck!
You arch rival to all things exciting and inspiring.
You asinine excuse for me to talk in expletives for lengthy periods of time lessoning my chances to go to heaven! Jerk!
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In your ceaseless attempts on the bodies and lives, you've left yourselves open to the counterattack of particular sectors of the population because your motivation is fear and no will to understand the true meaning of human rights.
Your faith condemns love.
Your faith condones murder.
Your faith ignores choice as it divides and stereotypes.
You clap and pray as it makes children enemies before they've had a thought of their own.
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I realize that all of you watch TV and read newspapers and are shiny new, well adjusted civilians, but all i really see is a parade of grey citizens supporting a two-point bloodthirsty plan set to the sounds of brains splattering on walls and fingers tooling around in freshly severed sockets and the faint humming of someone gurgling skull fragments in another part of the house!
This practice runs on electricity, gas, deadly fluids, and urine!
And apparently burns clean enough to clear your fucking conscience.
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It's all about supply and demand and receiving nourishment from an oozing stump where a forearm hand combo, at one time, would swivel around and clobber all nemesis!
The catalyst for the mess is at the bottom of the stairwell.
Our hero is at the top and his peg leg is in full working order and it's currently addressing the head of the catalysts plan by making huge gaping puncture wounds through out its cold, steel hull!!!
Hooray for the daily men and women!
Hooray for the times they perform correctly!
Hooray for when their creativity gets the best of them and the produce clones of themselves!
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One third of a perfect man the truth in the ratio of tragedy to perfection and it's cruel reliability is the sour core buried deep inside and reflected in all human theory the repeated failure to give something back the strings of memories replaying every unfulfilled hope this is the reality that any progress must be wrenched and torn.
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18. |
61. The 7-10 Split
00:37
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Impossibility defines your options where a bum leg can throw you out of the running.
Last resorts become viable choices out of desperation and or necessity chasing dreams into brick walls - or more often indifference - are these gestures of futility in a no win situation?
Because the highest point of achievement is to lose as much of yourself as you possibly can while you watch the mass of dead ideas swallow up whatever inspiration still exists.
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Lyrics kidnapped and rendered unconscious so its organs could be removed and sold on the black market for a hefty sum.
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Combat Wounded Veteran Tampa, Florida
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