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Home of the Paranoid

by Psychic Sex

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1.
2.
Put the teenagers on patrol Every man an officer his own Broken streets that keep us thin Don’t have no passport Lost my wallet before they took us in And I just want it all to end Sunshine, anytime Take the heat away Tear apart the camp again Kick the dead ones out and take whatever you can I might collapse if I see the sun again Don’t have no passport I can’t let them find me like this Sunshine, burn away the evil Burn away the selfish Burn away the ego Sunshine Sunshine Just a little sunshine What I wouldn’t give for some Sunshine Just a light Just a little light Put the teenagers on patrol Don’t have no passport Let’s see how long this goes
3.
Don't even sit Don't even think Don't even hit hit hit hit hit Your perversion makes me sick Interstellar dilemma Tune your energy Blast into reality Connect Battle the interior Confront all obstructions Resolve all conflicts Connect I'll correct you in seconds If you step out of place I'll devise a new weapon Apply constant pressure Unfold and dismember Dispose at my leisure The untoward gestures And wayward questions De-louse this psyche Refuse intentions (Deep into the woods and repeat myself)
4.
We sailed The way we sailed We looked like the sea gave birth We ate The way we ate We were the richest men on earth They told me I could take it They told me I could take it They told me I could take it It was mine It was mine It was mine It was mine It was mine They fled Oh the way they fled They knew it was our right They bled Oh the way they bled Like they didn’t even put up a fight They told me I could take it They told me I could take it They told me I could take it It was mine It was mine It was mine It was mine It was mine
5.
When you stepped inside the cave, did you ever think you'd be destroying something beautiful?
6.
I hid behind myself I left my heart behind You think I'm someone else I warned you I was blind
7.
Besides this world there are several others you do not yet know. Splitting open the plaster of infinity you see a human being Alone, he has banished the following impurities from his body: Anxiety derived from mechanical pleasure Paranoid visions during somnolent periods A chemical tendency to fear An impulsive twitch when being asked questions Pleasure derived from willful ignorance Mild egotistical delusions Depressive periods of cathemeral behavior Panic in unfamiliar places A woeful state of feigning indifference Psychosomatic dysfunction provoked by shame Reckless confusion when confronted by truth A general dislike of hearing his own name Breathe We can agree Breathe And be free Looking further out, you find a human being lost in a crowd But it’s not he that is lost; the crowd has lost him. You see traces and markings, people talking to ghosts, Signs and signals; where did he go? Looking further, a human being is riding a train. He catches a glimpse of something amongst the alien landscape. Breathless for a moment, but now he knows his direction And you will never see him again. Breathe We can agree Breathe And be free Blind of complication Mind in combination (How will I know when the time has passed?) When the time has passed
8.
9.
Nod your head, say yes, say yes This is not a test, a test With us or against, against We'll be great again, again What is there to see? What is it to me? False prosperity You are not like me You are not like me You are not like me
10.
The pack is playing fearless They’re pulling up their pants Catastrophe is genius Perfect cover to advance On the plus side you’re a winner On the plus side you’re a winner On the plus side you’re a winner If you don’t know that you’ve lost The player plays at feeling Wielding fakeness like a pro And what’s the point in hiding? He still gets time on all their shows On the plus side you’re a winner On the plus side you’re a winner On the plus side you’re a winner If you don’t know that you’ve lost The prick plays at a leader Buys a Neumann, TV station We don’t need no copyreader If we make up the information On the plus side you’re a winner On the plus side you’re a winner On the plus side you’re a winner If you don’t know that you’ve lost The pastor prays for justice Preaching fear and fantasy Whatever gets us through these troubled times I know that God can’t judge me On the plus side you’re a winner On the plus side you’re a winner On the plus side you’re a winner If you don’t know that you’ve lost At the very back of the liquor store Back behind the discount rack There is a metal door marked “Staff Only” Open the door and see there, in the middle of the floor A large, mahogany dresser Open the drawers, see what’s inside Outfits, every one your size Double-breasted suit, work boots, temporary tattoos Some fancy leather gloves, Aviators and jewels Back outside, they don’t know what you’re into They used to tell you, you can be anyone that you choose But they never knew That behind the entire perception of power Lies a simple truth about knowing yourself Every change that you’ve made changes you So you’ve already become something else The pariah, the messiah, the player, the prick The pastor, the pack, the people If all that you are is just muscle and will Then passion must be the root of all evil

about

(Poetry for the American Age.)
((Add volume and a climate of unease.))

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This is the junction where inspiration fails and words reflexively surface.

This music was written sporadically during a period of delirium brought on by accidental mismanagement of my type 1 diabetes. This is a record made under duress. In sickness, really. Poisoning myself, but seemingly also fending off infection from cultural and political forces beyond my control. It should be obvious that many of these songs were written during (and directly address) the run-up to the 2016 American election.

My poems are full of contradictory statements and polyphonic voices. Reeling as my body failed (much like reason around me), I tried my best to gather my thoughts and project them in a way that made sense.

This is a brainchild of demos from the distorted world. May it find you as despondent, confused, and frantic as this poetry found me.

credits

released July 27, 2018

Written, produced, recorded, and mastered by Kaelin Bougneit.
Summer 2015 - Winter 2017.

Cat. No. SBV-025

Cover photo by 'Lyza', manipulated from www.flickr.com/photos/lyza/49545547
(CC BY-SA 2.0)

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Psychic Sex Portland, Oregon

Worrisome punk music.

Psychic Sex is Kaelin Bougneit

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