1. |
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well I've got two pieces of guitar
and when I carve up their insides
they will cry a stream of tears
of lysergic acid diethylemide
taking pictures of the bride
for the wedding in july
cutting holes out of the eyes
it's on the desk while I reply:
“yes we've only got 108 likes and no IG
but this part where the guitars all run sideways is so OP”
I can't remember when I didn't need the internet to see
my memories are 1s and 0s brought to life by LEDs
it's 2012 again, 538 is 92% sure that Barack is gonna win
while I'm enrolled in 16 credit hours a week
a double major in faking it and wordpress social commentary
by 9PM the screen of my 13” macbook pro will become my enemy
the webpage sidebar’s sponsored headlines are killing me
oh every night they’re killing me
by 10PM the screen of my 13” macbook pro will become my enemy
the webpage sidebar’s sponsored headlines are killing me
oh every night they’re killing me
by 11PM the screen of my 13” macbook pro will become my enemy
the webpage sidebar’s sponsored headlines are killing me
oh every night they’re killing me
by 12AM the screen of my 13” macbook pro will become my enemy
the webpage sidebar’s sponsored headlines
are surreal and horrifying and fucking killing me
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2. |
The King of Palo Alto
02:37
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take a 40 with you on the Pittsburg line
forty times I told you we'll be just fine
all this constant barking, I abandon my ears
dad's a slave to mom, mom's a slave to wine
when I stumble home there will be no cheers
if you get in trouble meet me back right here
we're the kings and queens of Palo Alto
don't you ask again where I'll be next year
I've got no complaints I'm a privileged bastard
buy me into Stanford, I just gotta ask her
major in C.S., join an Asian frat house
I don't give a shit, I just wanna pass out
aren't these tree-lined streets what you moved here for?
look like prison bars from the second floor
did you plan your escape out to MIT?
tell me how is life on the other shore?
if I strain my eyes I can hear the sea
birds are cracking jokes and laughing at me
I would crack their necks if it was cool to be violent
you steel your nerves and I'll steal the keys
will you look me up when you've made it out there?
if I'm still alive I'll come find you I swear
I might die as the king of Palo Alto
I wanna never find out
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3. |
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father of one, awake but not alive
tell me where is your daughter tonight
is she lost in the underground murder film capital
Ciudad Juarez, Sonora Desert, 1994
he hears her keys in the door at 5 AM
joins him for coffee still wearing her black dress
takes out her diary and pens another entry
for September the 6th:
“I’m getting sick of this shit
another killing and shit
this guy beheaded this chick
they found her corpse in a ditch
the cops do nothing about it
they’re all complicit and shit
i wanted better than this
desert is trapping me in
gotta get back to Madrid
or i’m gonna die in this mess
i’m gonna die in this mess
i’m gonna die in this mess
i’m gonna die in this mess”
she comes home early from classes to find
her dad is staring out the window at a math textbook
he’s hung up on a clothesline
she knows he’s losing his mind
she hears him talking out loud
to nobody in the middle of the night
this house is surrounded
by ghosts of the girls killed on the road to the factory
and this whole town is haunted
another 10 dead in august
she sees her own face in every picture that they publish
the voices tell him to get her across the border
somewhere in Arizona where she can maybe start over
and forget about this horror
and forget about her father
who will remain behind
serving as shepherd for the martyred
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4. |
Mexico City '73
04:31
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I found them lying on the floor, always whispering
and cutting verses out of poetry to make anthologies
we were 17 in mexico city in ’73
killing the old gods and drowning in the mezcal scene
and i thought that i was an academic
til the two of them came in and cut my lecturer to ribbons
we barely existed as we drifted to the houses of those literary kids
drinking to post-war french fiction
and we will not grow old here
if you don’t go
back to spain
and spend the next two decades wandering, wandering, wandering
don’t let this city forget your name
well we started a movement, we’re gonna fucking make it
the kids that we spilled out the ink in our veins with
have gotten engaged and make minimum wages
well I dearly miss the endless conversations
in the night clubs where we’d tell ourselves we’d never see daylight
so we’ll drive up to the north part of sonora near the border
to find a lost poet that we aren’t sure ever existed anymore
staring blankly through the windshield at the desert
as if looking through a door
well I see the mixed race miztec children of conquistadors
reaching out to grasp the bloody manuscript of latin american literature
an etching made in darkness to the gunshots of another dictator
well I might die by the pen but I will not die by the sword
and I will not forget that first time
these two savage dropouts convinced me
that the city was ours
and that it was not a crime to write poems all day
and live fictions all night
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5. |
Paris is Greyed In
03:50
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and when the four walls of this apartment begin to break and splinter
domestic life withers
your left bank hipster bullshit is torn into tatters
a child has died here
you’re done getting drunk here
the ghost of your girlfriend still cries in the hall there
Paris is faded, the colors are greyed in
death makes you jaded
death makes you jaded
and there’s jazz to listen to
with people that talk like you
sprawl on the floor with your Bitches Brew and Kind of Blue
midnight walks to banks of the Seine
flanked by the empty wine bottles of strangers
where she jumped in the river
this is the longest winter
that finds you writing a treatise:
“how to lose one to illness and the other to depression”
this Parisian obsession is reckless
and the city has borders
but survivor guilt’s endless
there’s days you feel alright about it
can do the day to day bits
and say there’s nothing to be done about death by an illness
all the what ifs are meaningless
apartment’s emptiness is maddening
so you get all your friends together and you sit in a circle
and talk about who won the soccer games
then they’re gone and you’re alone again
the record ends
and you’ve got nothing left to tear your mind away from
what her final thoughts might have been
freezing cold, terrified, darkness enveloping
memories unrememberable and consciousness fleeting
that dying in a dream feeling
a human words are inadequate type of fear
like the worst pain you’ve felt is the width of a hair
and her boiling blood while she’s alone down there
is the length of the ocean from Buenos Aries to here
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6. |
God is a Wind Turbine
02:49
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mark me down as did not play: death in family
don’t come find me
i’ll not be brandishing banners
i’m not interested in answers
take the scarves off, put the flags down
90 minutes, 0-0
everyone outside is disappeared or frozen
that is fine, that’s how i like them
it’s fine, it’s how i like them
and when the town unfreezes
and the plaza fills with people
I will sit outside a bar and drink a cana or a beer or two
it’s all I really wanna do
a game is on, real madrid is playing 4-4-2
and i love to watch while i become the world cup champion
of learning not to grieve cause I can handle it
and i will give the eulogy and i will nail it
and they’ll say boy that kid’s intelligent
he’s great at making As and watching soccer
and not talking to his family
an endless stream rainbow colored blood runs from my irises to ground
along the stones and streets to churches that were built back when
Cortes brought gold and riches home
and the Americas are excellent
this continent can never hurt hurt you
and driving through Wyoming isn’t lonely if you’re broken too
geography is apathetic
and god is a wind turbine blowing Spanish through the mountains
if you listen you can hear the ghosts of border crossings running from the feds
who you can follow to a village in the desert
that will render itself empty if you let it
well it can all be empty
tripping through the colors I can’t name
and can’t remember if I saw
and will never see again
til a blood sacrifice on pyramid
where my heart is ripped out and held up to the sun
and corpse goes tumbling down the stairs
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7. |
Speak Eastern, Western
04:11
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she was born to die
in a future confederation where
Emmanuel Macron is fighting
Angela Merkel in heaven
and through a sepia tone lens she witnesses
the similarities between the businesses
the bakery pastries, for instance
the trains in europe sound different
and all the mornings take longer to feel it
surrealist grey landscape of December
clutching a warm cup of coffee against her
and every day her english gets a little better
but she can not talk to them, and they will not comprehend her
buried in useless nostalgia for nagano
and she thinks about snow, and she misses her home
will you come back some day?
asks one of her relatives deep in her memory
childhood ghosts are drowned on the coastline
high school friendships fading in the red wine
what difference does it make?
speak eastern, western, math on a black board
passively drifting toward blue-eyed dutch guys
just when did the sun start setting in the eastern sky?
she said: “I’m not here but I won’t be leaving”
internet phone calls losing their meaning
what are they saying and why’s this appealing
missed another wedding, well maybe next season
she tripped acid and she saw what they’ll never see
veins bleeding ecstasy
can’t discuss it anyway
it’s just a watercolor melting in a rainstorm
blurring til meaningless
carried to the north sea shore
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8. |
Spanish Portraits
04:14
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take classes
take shots alone in your room
disappoint yourself
cause there’s no one around to be disappointing to
psychedelia’s played out
replace it with 90s nostalgia
well I wasn’t there, and my 2010s
are golden age of bullshit
flower haired girls on festival grounds
who sold out and cut out their hearts and
buried them under the hardwood floors
of their beautiful midtown apartments
she’s still in med school
and it means nothing
her walls are empty of the
Spanish portraits that once watched over her
another industry is collapsing
she’s finding out that 3.8s on resumes are worthless
well I’ve read the books, I’ve read non-fiction
history, biography, there’s nothing there that could prepare me
for when Palestine’s on fire
Saudis killed their own reporter
fuck the borders
fire up the cloud computers and stream the horror
addiction is a disease
so don’t get mad at me
I’m not the enemy
she moved out to Dallas
got into local craft breweries
“never again” read the posts
and still twice monthly
there was a killing spree
she turned off the notifications
and read biochemistry
her dad drove to the e.r.
and barely survived the alcohol toxicity
“withdraw should have killed him,”
the doctors informed her so patiently
I’m done drinking alone
and I’m done taking these calls on the balcony
the past is in flames and
my sisters are fractured eternally
it’s Cortez’s fault
or it’s nobody’s fault
oh build a fence, build a wall, build a wall
her dad’s in Houston somewhere I guess or,
he’s back in Mexico poisoning himself again or,
he’s floating face down, drowned in the rio grande
and she’s taking a stand
she is not like him
she is not like him
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9. |
Chinese American
03:32
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Girl in the Yale sweater
Why did you come out to contra costa?
Was it the warmer than average weather
Or cause New Haven's as dry as Sonoma
I don't doubt you
I'd just like to know about you
Was your father a wealthy wall street investor?
Takes the train in at quarter to seven
Sister's a senior in kappa kappa
You weren't about that, preferred marijuana
Backpack with frayed straps
Headphones on Telegraph
What's in your ears?
"Trans-era death cab"
Sixteen was rough but now you're in sixteen
Hours of french literature and art history
Protests made headlines and smoke
But you didn't go
Rather speak on the phone to your folks back at home
In Chinese American
The west coast is rich with violins
But you had to quit cause you were too violent
You were a riot
Your great grandfather was payed by the mile
Lined Vanderbilt's pockets and lined up to die in the desert
So who had it better?
Girl in the Yale sweater
I never saw you in the spring semester
I hope that Pascal and pastells weren't too stressful
I choose to believe you're abroad a la rive gauche
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10. |
Golden State
05:17
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what do you do here?
and who do you work with?
I'm trying to get them to kick me out
but it isn't quite working
we got Kashmiri glass and some Nepalese shirts
when we moved out to Berkeley from Houston
while I lectured the class
you were lost in the stacks
of the East Asian collection
did your internship offer?
and did you finish your masters?
how's the rent up in Richmond?
you're your parents disaster
can your tiger hat protect you from the ocean?
walk across the bay bridge tied to who you think you'll die with
they say Outer Sunset's cute
kids on macbooks in their bedrooms
well that's what I want I guess
eat in cafes, San Francisco
take a trip up to Astoria
afraid there's nothing left here for ya
is this new life worth it to ya?
have a beer, here kid you've earned it
well you've earned it
come on then
let’s go off to New Zealand
Christchurch would be perfect
is that what you’re thinking
I’d bartend
and you’d work in a florist
I wish I could tell you
that it’s what I wanted
Texas burns in flames behind me
come and find me
we’ll take shots until its dark
then wander barefoot through the grass of UC Berkeley
when will this all end dear
I think that i’ll die here
news feeds would be tragic
isn’t that romantic?
flash back to 2015
in medias res and mis en scene
every night I was smoking weed
on our couch in front of our house on Ward Street
kimiko flew in from Japan
and I took her down to Stanford
to meet with some professors
while I sat up on the roof of my highlander
and surveyed the kids on campus
wondering if this was the answer
the eastern ideal of excellence
and 4.5% acceptance rates
it’s hard to illustrate the golden state’s effect on me
without psychedelic imagery
of veins cut open, bleeding colors endlessly
and I guess there’s not a better city to walk in drunk at night
come up on Corona Heights
to see the bay bridge strike the water back to Berkeley’s lights
and part of me still sits there
upon a rooftop, lost in drunk thoughts
awesome sacred views from hillocks
repeating mantra, saying hold on
to this darkened landscape for a moment longer
and hear the ghosts of science grad school
whisper to you not to do drugs
but to look up
at the vast and empty stars above 2010s California
pacific dreams can’t be lost
and you are not lost
cause I have found you here in this song
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11. |
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床に寝転がっている彼らを見つけた、
(I found them lying on the floor)
詩の一部から新しい歌を作っていた
(Cutting verses out of poetry to make anthologies)
僕らは１７さいだった、
(We were 17)
７３年のメキシコシティーだ
(In Mexico City in '73)
彼らが教室に飛び込んで来るまで
自分は本物だと思っていた
(I thought that I was an academic)
When the two of them burst in and cut my lecture to ribbons)
文学仲間の家を点々として
あぶくのような日々を過ごした
(We barely existed as we drifted between the houses of those literary kids)
スペインへ帰らなければ
僕らは年を取らずに済む
(And we will not grow old here if you don't go back to Spain)
次の二十年も探し続ける
この街に名前を残そう
(Spend the next two decades wandering, wandering,
don't let this city forget your name)
全てを打ち明けあった彼らは
今じゃつまらない人生を送っているんだ
(The kids that we spilled out the ink in our veins with have gotten engaged and make minimum wages)
いつまでも語り合った数えきれない夜
恋しく思うんだ
(Well I dearly miss the endless conversations
in the nights when we'd tell ourselves we wouldn't see daylight)
さあ行こう北の国境を目指して
(So we'll drive up to the north part of the country near the border)
伝説の詩人を探して
(To find a lost poet that we aren't sure ever existed anymore)
なにもない砂漠の真ん中で
窓の外をぼんやり眺める
(While staring blankly through the windshield at the desert)
過去の世界の入り口で
(As if looking through a door)
血にまみれたメキシコの文学が
征服者の血をひくこどもの手に渡る
(I see the mixed race children of conquistadors reaching out to grasp the bloody manuscript of Mexican literature)
戦争の中で生まれた芸術と
ペンと剣術を持って死ぬことはある
(Well I might die by the pen and the sword and the art forged in the war)
僕は忘れない
(And I will not forget)
野生の探偵がこの街は
僕らのものだと言ったことを
(The first time these two savage detectives showed me the city was ours)
詩の世界に生き続けろう
(And that we could live in the world of our poems)
credits
about
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UT Kirin Austin, Texas
Bedroom indie rock project of one HR Huber-Rodriguez.
storiesbybitterblossom.wordpress.com
reviewsbybitterblossom.wordpress.com
berkeleybside.com/author/h-r/
... more
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