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Danny, We Love You

by Brick Pollitt

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1.
found your pulse in a tic in my eye on our way home from the beach drove straight 200 miles with your face pressed against the window fast asleep i'd swing by when i got off of work swearing sky-high this would be our last hurrah your hand was woven into my hair that night and as i laid awake and stared your watch against my ear scratched through my every last defense i'd been preparing half a year so i probably won't smile if you ask me where the time went got there just in time to miss the sun come up and see it spread across the surface as if god had spilled his cup before we drove off singing so loud that the car alarms erupted and the bums all stuck their fingers in their ears later light got tangled in the gold knots of your hair when you told me i should smile so that it wasn't just a stare and i tried to make you make yourself aware that i cared and i don't need you to tell me how that sounds that swimming sun, that goddamn sand, that stretch of abalone seashore glittering by myrtle water shredding feet and unsuspecting hands my five foot gal, my long lost prayer, my two bit hopes were dangled at an arm's length by a seagull with a kitestring in its bill. when i dove you saw me swallow sand and choke and when i tried to stand you laughed and ran away. somewhere out there someone else can see the sunrise without thinking of the next one chasing them across the highway as they try their all god-damndest not to scream: trying not to wake you up, knowing it's no use. if i find a next time we're not gonna leave until i've said it
2.
The ceiling fan is beckoning you in the barren wasteland of your little room Beneath it, in between your soft white sheets, you're complete The orange-haloed streetlamp hovering above the tangled silver avenues in this city where everyone else is asleep except you.
3.
congratulations you have complicated every little thing like waking up and talking to your brother on the telephone in my imagination you are always sitting at your vanity with all your jewelry your postcards and your photographs taped to your mirror
4.
lick the poison off the pill and spit it out dying to move my hand dying to trace yr leg away n make yr hair stand who's home? you'll take my coat, i know my place, i won't shake up the snowglobe home for the weekend, thousands of hours a mile our folks couch-cushioned the climb scrolling through soundtracks and scrolling through people's names scrolling through traffic and scrolling through time no one's home, i won't need my coat, let's build us a castle and fill up a moat
5.
Tuna Salad 02:21
my fingers, woven sun-colored strands watched smoke rings- all dissolved again heading towards the west to meet your California is a whore Forgot about how I had been washed up but the world is so much cleaner now the pedal board makes pretty sounds that I know I could never make myself
6.
Anal Floss 04:34
snow begins to land on a city gone so grey: doesn't look ashamed, doesn't look bored cos things don't work that way while on a bench i wait, wasting time, for you to get off work. since i haven't showered yet your glitter still shows on my neck as i light the last cigarette, but if i caught the call, if i heard the howl i'd stand and i wouldn't miss that train go by, smoke trailing like balloons in running hands: set free, they'd all float heavenly. let's not go back to raleigh. one day we'll hit the age we spin each other under-arm and laugh at anything to break the fucking norm. we can listen to the blues and pay the book club's dues and do what's due tomorrow, being what we can't refuse, or we could kill this now and you and i could leave the south--a plea for you to come with me. and if you've got nothing to sell, and missing me seems cheaper than wishing me well, i'll scalp tickets to my hell to get you on that train

about

Sometimes you're just living life day to day then a rock and roll band comes and makes an album around you. I met Arthur Boudman just smoking a cigarette after class one day and what followed was a magical and sensual journey into the soul of the America in search of a reason to exist for. This album pretty much highlights it all. Tristan, the dark and sinister manifestation of the devil in a sharply handsome young man with vocal chords made from the spines of rattle snakes and Spencer with his ever so delicate baselines that just barley hint at the tortured and mad genius that hides under his dark and witty complexion. To some of you I might be boring old Dan or just the boy next door. But to some, I'm the muse of driving electrical pulsating rock and roll.

credits

released December 29, 2012

Recorded July 2012 by Liam O'Hanlon in Tristan's mom's basement via gasoline power. Mastered by Garrett Reed. Artwork by Joe Maccarone (www.joemaccarone.com).

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Some rights reserved. Please refer to individual track pages for license info.

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Brick Pollitt North Carolina

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