[p]lans of the [P]lanets

Finished Vocals:
Creature of the Tides
His Galactic Fangs
Not For Sale Sign
Kate There, Overlooks Behr Ave

Instrumentals:
This is the Age, We Do Not Age
Bela Lugosi Piano Song (needs title)

Partial Vocals:
The Castaways (32 bars at end of song)
Seargent Stripes (first half complete, new melody at 2:20)

Writing Vocals:
Isis Song
Fast Beat Song
Dad's Talk to Me Song

Ready to Record:
Fibonacci Sequence
New Day Awaits

Album Details

So we are roughly 8 songs deep on a record right now- we're writing constantly and growing infinitely- the leap from the last album to this one is mind blogging as the depth, the significance, and the performances are that much more involved, detailed, and aware

Songs Thus Far:

1) Galactic Fangs- finished vocally- need to pick out proper chorus vocal effect
robotic eyes
robotic fangs
sunk into the middle of carotid veins

geppetto's near
as they run yellow wires
bombs cant penetrate galactus fire

into his
dimensions of dreams
vel-vet
car-pet
stained
murder scenes

leaving through
portals of time
ship blasts through gaping galactus guise

while blood is spilled
while blood is drained
the galaxy of his future now waxes and wanes

pillow is drenched
teeth gnash and scrape
the gestapo clung tight to the ends of his cape

virus installed
mind turned to glue
infectious rhymes
infectious grooves

of

robotic fingers arms and knees
his mouths stand open for robotic disease

robotic tongues
robotic hearts
they leap from time portals as he rips it apart

and now
killer whales are screaming
motions
oceans

the stars are leaving

galactic eyes
galactic fangs
free from these galactic things

galactic force
bites
wires
intrigue
even in the here and after
spot still glowing on for days
behind vast curtains of galactic haze

galactic eyes
galactic fangs
when are they going to free me of galactic things

2) This is the Age, We Do Not Age- instrumental hip hop song, I am thinking of re-doing the vocal takes, as I am sticking to the original crappy wavs bc i captured a moment in time, it is more conceptual rather than aesthetic
3) Questions of Rebellion- track has vocal ideas set, but there is a lot to be done with this song and i dont see finishing it until i am able to spend more time with it after attaching ideas to all the songs

If the elements met on a singular beach and exchanged glances and trading cards,
This would feed into his piercing gold-en brown eyes beaming across vast rolling plains
Raining brimstone as each massive leg crushes those running to their new demagogues
Lining the avenues there, behold the suspicious face of the peril
Who lies in waiting
Who lies in waiting
Who lies in waiting
To whom must we give

He is surrounded by the movement of streetlights become twisting shadows whose ties become nooses as they become relished and asphyxiate
Resuscitate this movement
Resuscitate this movement
Resuscitate this movement
Resuscitate make this live

Start 2:00

Initiate robotic stake cold capture and contemplate the unknown regions of the universe
If they take this task, they make this path, then it will awaken the knowledge of our uniform
anonymity
Before me there is a map
Around me there is a sea
Above me are his pearl white fangs
Below me there is a way

3:00 in
His hands outstretched white palms face down
Her memories of long days in swirling tide swells
The clocks tick tock and they’re all the same
Their mouths are still moving but he don’t know their name
For all we fought for before his crimes
For all we fought for before these times

We washed ashore
And saw everything and anything as pure
Live lavish,
then you’ll be (flow fast)
singing savage,
on and on you
go through the fray
You’re a time warp (pause)
Into the
Cerebellum, antebellum
Of the record now (spit fast)
Spinning on and on for endless days
Pause
We have scratches to save
Your monies exchanged
The melodies of (spit fast)
Our iron butterflies (spit fast)
Spreading their
Invisible wings (spit fast)
We spread salvation indefinitely (spit fast)
In slow motion, the planting of seeds (spit fast)
Lest we (break)
leave (Break)
no thief behind (draw out)

We got six pairs of eyes and
A mouthful of cries

Listen to words
Erupt from my skull
Listen to tips
On urban survival
Listen to plans
On planet betrayal
Listen to sea
Call out for tidal
Listen to phrase
Do not what I do
Listen to dreams
They lie like I do
Listen to signs
All sales are final
Listen to sounds
All banal and primal

(maybe the below here speak over the break- voice modulation here- tweaked out)

Break with music, write some type of bridge- maybe water sloshing and drums isolated, with organ from the ending- creates consistency

Tossing and turning (spit fast)
Like a spindle weaving a warning (spit fast)
Grooving thru (spit fast)

(accentuate each syllable)
Mouth
Ing
Seeth
ing
Pour
ing
Breath
ing
A shock to the system (spit fast) (use recorded voice- very staticy, like on a radio program)
Brain child with no means to now mention (spit fast)

Crusty eyes (pause)
Porous, crimson, velvet eyes
Robotic and red (spit fast)
and pearly whites
Taste the sweet sap (Spit fast)
and needle pines
Dry Crisp Ash and forest fires (sing like porous, crimson, velvet eyes)
Why did we start with one big bang?

Moving through (spit fast)
With the force of their entry (spit fast)
Mindless drones
rusting for centuries

(have drums stutter with accentuated syllables ie BE-ING (two beats_

Be
ing
Seeth
ing
Sigh
Ing
Fiend
Ing
(insert a break)

The melody of organ here hits its pattern- add some of the same synths and what not from the Isis- Holy Tears remix you did- then we can let the song breathe- it basically needs one more layer and I think the whole thing will work even better than it already is

4) Untitled Isis-Esque Song- still in writing process, musically, no vocal takes or ideas established

5) Untitled (Flickering Lights, Struggling Youth)- the beginning vocals are set, they have a more upbeat vibe, but this is vital, as I would like to establish this type of variability now rather than later
Untitled
Wrinkled coats in summer months
Street lights flicker on
Raised forehead
Dried blood
Near her swollen eye lids
She asks for change and they turn away
Then continue on,
Beneath a misty fog
Do you hear that train rattling on?
Well,
It’s only life
Our day to day (say over :30 in song)

He swears I have the look of God
Smitten upon my face
Ingrained in my skin
Pouring from my mouth
I don’t know what to say

He’s a marine,
Selling street spirit
Wearing Nike’s,
Green stripes draw my eye
It’s the wisdom I remembered while
He’s spitting slang

He shows his wounds
As he rolls up his sleeve
You can see
His scar cost infinitely more
Than the alcohol resting on his tongue
It smells cheap
But who am I

Who are you anyways?

I’m passing by
Watching shoes fly
He tackles a newspaper bin
And I can see the crazed look in his eye,
Looking into mine
And I swear I see myself

6) Not For Sale Sign- three parts: a) set in an attic, the preacher is franticly recording his thoughts to his congregation after seeing visions of the Galactus, of Bela Lugosi cleansing his universe of the diabolically ambitious race of humans b) part two is the ramblings of the preacher realizing the horror of the end, the realization of the facade that has been religious beliefs, there is more to fear than heaven and hell, that there is a God who cares not for their whole well being and nurtured souls but for mere entertainment, how can they stop this? c) The service is held on a cold london morning, the pulpit is shaking as the congregation sings of the devil's temptation to buy the soul of man to imprison the creation, "Ahhhh there's something he'd buy!!" The chorus rings out, the people realize the grave nature of the future, questions arise, rebellion is promised, and the camera and author pan out from the church to see the preacher writing more and more but adding layers of detail to the future prophesy

Not For Sale Sign
(for verse- come in at start of song

For end with “something he’d buy”- 3:53)

in the downward sloping
cigarette tide
there lies
the truth you compile
as the type writer
types
it’s keys
pale white lengthening
your fingernails
slide
so bleached
straw hair bent back reveal to me
show me your confounded spine
show me

after first break- do a spoken word piece as below:

(spoken at a whisper, british, raspy, unrecognizably a whisper of conscience in the right or left channel, the music is now set behind to allow the listener to hear the words of the preacher

There’s something he’d like to buy
He with his long face, piercing black, beady eyes
Yet realized like phosphorous rising from the damp earth of reconciliation
The minerals of discontent revealed like pornographic obsessions and filtered drug induced sunsets where he sits yet writing of our amusing stories, writing of our frequent miseries and marginal pleasantries wrapped in the divinity of flesh
This is the price for our forgiveness, this eruption from the bowels of the planet, in the fiery furnace and core where fiery lions with as many heads appear with thunder and winds and
brimstone calling for you to behold:
His fires will taste you,
they will lick their lips of your flesh, break you
singing of karma of heavens of virgins of everlasting hell
Men fighting men and chewing the flesh, tasting the impurity
Of death revealed in the absurdity of life as they themselves
Feel their bones chewed upon by the gnawing, binding feeling
bubbling with the beginnings of our great lost world
the beginnings of our genesis, our adam and eve
see through me
see beyond me
look within me
you’ll find
the creature of wants and needs
that will betray you
as his cold blank countenance looks
upon you

3:53
in the downward sloping
cigarette tide
there lies
the truth you compile
as the type writer
types
it’s keys
pale white lengthening
your fingernails
slide
so bleached
straw hair bent back reveal to me
show me your confounded spine
show me

you’re as crooked
as your blood thirsty crimes
do they
comfort thee?
Floating in the waves of a long distant sea
Could be
The timely decree
Of a minion of the devil who became
Our God
But can it
Awaken thee
Let the heretic be absolved of this
Take me to an infinite bliss
Show me

7) Piano song- Untitled- no ideas as of 9/29/07
8) Behr Ave- vocals complete, one change dynamically, add synth organ over second minute with an added extension to ambience, adds another dimension and highlights the vocal performance on the second half of the song- 00:30 seconds probably will be added, but it is a short song as of now, so extra room to breathe may better it

Overlooking Behr Ave
with this head in these hands

i can hear the sound of your voice over the cluttered silence
brimming over the side of the coffee mug in the corner of my desk
once grasped
once touching your lips
as i quietly

touching mine

trying to remember what it may

have felt like

the apartment's lights are on and the chairs seem spent while leaning
up against the door where i saw you say that you were leaving
us all behind
in the shadows
like a light blinking
upon the rocks
overlooking

behr ave

Quotes for Sampling

A long night in the apartment- ghosts at every turn

Lost in a sea of weeds and shrubs. Old bronze and stone statues left with memories of a city now grown over with people, technology, and sprawl. Who are these men covered up in the urban ice plant, spreading to eat away at time? It seems history is only preserved in small pastures, buildings then surrounded by new sky skrapers. San Francisco seems to be holding back this monster, but it soon will break through. Memories in the form of monuments of unknown people are fascinating. Lincoln and a few others survive but these others I see are alone, stuck in a moment when praise arose them from tools and natural resource.

And there was a laughing head, a cartoon man, right in front of my face, putting his bags onto the ground, and shouting to the entire surrounding crowd, "I'm afraid Bush is too one dimensional and resolved to see his enemy's own humanity enough to conquer him." He grunted, looked both ways, grabbed his bags, and continued to walk across the street.

Trembling red like these trains rumbling in The pitch black, the carpetbaggers Hiding in the shadows Alarms rattling The pied piper dancing In the middle of this urban sunset district A bell hop crooning, tuning himself With the awkward pitch Chiming Dooooooo wah doooooo wah Aint got no loveeeee, Aint got no loveeee You have so much to offer, son. You are not a still photograph, You squiggle and wiggle A painting drooling to dry Waiting for the next spectator To absorb life and liberty
Lest you drown in a pool of liliesDo not let these words echo Or dwell Alone -The fear of tomorrow shall not divide me the fears of today shall only strengthen me They shall ride up through my spinal cord channel its fervent compassion towards my fellow man Guide my hand, blind as I am for the future, It shall steer this boat towards enlightenment It will critique with every technique possible The information coming through these senses And fence and conquer those that may try to Persuade me towards choices which Compromise this integrity With courage, faint of heart, I will drive this tide carrying this ship Over the edge of the world And fall into the abyss With the love of the earth enntombing me in her womb and allows me to sleep forever

You conjured up meanings Now shrouded in mystery A skeleton of the past Rubbed with index fingers Every so softly Similar to the hands that built you You are my first word First step, my first birthday present Your smile is The smile I saw at birth Cloaked in developed haze A fog of San Francisco clouding, Leaving you there only for my memory Swallowed soon by the ground But resurrected -I'll find that zone and unleash the heavens from its seams, tight woven souls whose wings fit perfectly together creating a patchwork, a heavenly dam, keeping God Almighty from unleashing his wrath onto his peoples, the OT Catastrophe God poking his thumb through the tact and insecurity currently dominating the reality TV shows and plastic surgery abominations.

Excuse me sir, but that mask is ominous, very haunting. Will you be taking it off anytime soon? (Wild laugh)

in all things there are illuminations- spirits divine living and breathing through changes and events of magnitude floating down the crease of your spine- and so this came in regards to the poem The Morrigan- he sent, they sent she to deliver to me this message, calling my name, Glaim Tree

and aura hung above like a sun looking down through to the pits of the oceans deepest wells full of life crawling through its mysterious passage ways the only ways to the truth, to the light, to swim in the blackness and feel your fright become a menace, harnessed to the backs of the meek, we seek treasures, we find nothing as i am nothing, slithering over keys, letting this ring out over the networks leading this world by crippled knees and a vengeful bite

Action for its sake does not make one a good leader. Just because you have convictions, does not make them right. Just because you do not back down, does not make you a strong person, or a strong leader. In fact, such displays are rather caricatures of what our President should be, everything from his supposed devotion to the Christian faith down to the use of Hollywood action one liners. He is a cartoon of what a President should be, my friend. -It can be see as distractions keeping him from moving on into happiness. 'Cause I see in his eyes a morose, longing for any kind but some kind of passion to move him into a mood or drive all his own. I see him running from many things in his own mind and heart. But the ideas, the love, the intelligence carries him and people gravitate towards his natural leadership qualities. I see not hurt but I see idleness. He is caught in some void and needs to relieve himself from the routine, needs to find a love again whether it be a job or a woman....to be "somewhere" again with a "someone" he has clearly defined

I am afraid of becoming closer The closer we are the further I am away To the end of the pier staring over the side At shivering reflections in some vast, unrelenting ocean Where I finally find the courage to leave all of them Behind and become the best man I can be - we both understood we had no fucking clue who the other was or wanted to be....how sad, but how common I think. (german accent)

our eyes left stunned as we are stunned and I am on the sofa snoring and you are awake staring at the wall wishing you were someone else just remember life chose us and we had no other path but just what is it what is this where are we who are we when are we exactly

in the spirit of the law in the meat packers newest kill Eyes glazed and waiting to thaw there is life the colors of the rainbow are like the waves of grain you saw as a child under the hooves of blurring deer moving into slow motion magic and so this will end and so this will all become tangled messes of neurons and neutrons relieved of their duties passed on out of your skull to feed the universe not some vapid short life span corroded and enough but the remembrance of all you were of all you have loved

I think it takes that type of sacrifice of innocence to truly appreciate it, to truly kick down the secret door, pull the bogeyman out from under the bad, and get at the heart of who we are and not who someone else may pontificate us to be with the origin of life and meaning in an ancient model. we just don't know, and it is that feeling that drives faith. As you embrace belief, you embrace the unknown, and project imagery and meaning on to it, faith grows, it becomes your own identity.

Dissect the molecular mechanisms of our physiology and cell behaviors, and I say, why can't there be a God as it pertains to evolution etc. Is it harmful to believe that God actually had a plan where we developed over time, the ingenious creation all part of one another? That is sanctity if I have ever heard it described. The magesty of the Bible is not on it being fact. Hell, if we wanted that, we might as well study and devoutly follow Law books or company's standard operating procedures. No, religious texts speak more to the power of the human condition, the power of humanity to rise above its own limitations, its own tainted nature...so evolution and scientific theory are not conflicitng with the Bible or religion in general, it is a testament, it is a painting of God's plan. have absorbed as a sponge might absorb the ocean's salts and nutrients, I have internalized it, held my head underwater countless times and risen to the surface...more aware, more alive, more open-minded, more appreciative of the diversity of this planet than I would had I kept to my original dogmatic belief system and failed to venture into my respective microcosm. Tapping potential and surpassing it. thus, we believed, as he believed, that in these stares there is judgement, as there may be judgement for us all. where is he going, where are we going, we just don't know...but in the absolute reflection of thought, there is an absolute solution to the complications of one's life. this man is doing just this."

Plans of the Planets

new idea for podcast

podcast album

delivered with voice as a old time radio broadcast
The Vignette Marionettes- in the vein of burlesque or old time sci fi
but it could change every broadcast

instrumental delivered with pdf's? they read during track and have it be 10 minutes or more

other will have image with lyrics and accompanied art work as well

The Bus Driver

It was quite late, that's all he kept thinking on his first day. The training had been monotonous, rigid, and his employees uninspired, lazy, the only risque thoughts of various sexual positions enough to keep them awake. The minutes of the last months were spent simply with his eyes moving back and forth, his head bouncing up and down, and the snores of the homeless taking a free ride interrupting his reflections on the new found life of a Bus Driver.

With fog penetrating the window panes of the flat faced tan colored bus, his wheels screeched while moving fast off the lines with a sudden green light. The area was quiet, the ocean simply around the corner, and down the hills to the golden ages of time. The waves muffled the rich pedigree of the past. Once filled with mansion tops, expensive baths, theme parks, it was now replaced with rather over priced restraunts and a once inspiring park left now to decay whose statues were random persons praised only for their antiquity.

It had only been a 100 years that it existed, maybe a bit more.

He had watched TV programs while unemployed that characterized true artistic wonders, thousands of years old, showing the thoughts and feelings of a civilization long lost to war, famine, revolutions.

"Fucking a hundred years old," he muttered under his breath. "Man, we don't know nothin'."

Cascades of shadows filtered onto his brow as he pulled along the same park now only a 100 years old. When the bus finally came to a halt, he sat back.

Sometimes he would stare off into space for minutes before awakening to either a cab honking, or a bum banging on the door for spare change, or the next shift knocking after catching him asleep while working. He knew the city needed him, they couldn't find anyone to take these shitty hours, and let alone work for a city with such poor benefits and meager wages.

It was always interesting what he saw on the bus rides through the city. The drinkers with their paper bags, the tweekers with their Jack-O-Lantern smiles, or the club kids sucking down water bottles after grinding their teeth, or the little old asian ladies who would only stare at him with a blank stare but smile as they stepped down in a shuffling fashion. These characters, heroes, villians made his days less tedious. He wished he had a notebook to write about the most horrible singer who would sing , "Take me out to the Ballgame," at 6 in morning to woo half asleep damsels in distress. He wore the old Lakers Champions cap with glasses he must have found outside an optometrist's office.

The Plans of the Planets

New album theme-

stories are dreams- nightmares meant to haunt the dreams of Bela Lugosi- the god of the geppetto universe- each poem, each story is meant to reflect his creation, it is taking the creator and making him face what the day to day is like- tiny dreams, snippets of nightmares

use dreams like-

dads chasing sons whose drugs are burning up in front of them
stadiums where people trying to commit suicide must be televised so all can lament their pain- its your best friend on the TV after having dinner and you didnt know he or she went home to try to end it all
it is becoming a fox and being hunted for sport

random obscure passages dealing with our world- it is meant to destroy Bela, make him go mad, and call off the Galactus

the other story line-

4 kids from random places come together to search out the map, the design for the pod to take the last of the human species to a new planet, a new genesis, and all that ensues with tryin to find the whale's whose belly contains a piece of it- calling it out

that's all for now

-this was all-
-in communication-

(3 lines said alone- two quartets uttered in succession in rhythmic pattern)

all our cries
flow through time
into darkness

with the wavering
fabrics of skeleton signs
with tiger teeth we puncture
into tweeked out spines

use the symbols of our cultrues
pass so holy, sublime
we simply shimmer in our
artistic vibes

in a foggy hue
smoke rising through
into twilight

with your image in the foreground,
we pressed on for you
with battered, ragged
diamonds in the soles of our shoes

while brotherhood still lingers
on the tips of our tongues
like fingers grappling mysteries of
long ancient songs

the light still calls
the tree roots hunger on
into eternity

chours

-this was all-
-in communication

(-put this chant between samples-)

---we were moving---
---we were moving---

--we were moving space and time---

they're trying not to shake us
in some other dimension,

dare i mention,

its pot

filled with the circulating
thrombolitic
parasitic
idealistic kind of
existential, new age thought

that causes rebels to pick up spears
become isolated man gods
killing their creator with the suffering and love

as they shave
their histories' blood and tears
ignore captured grecians who never hear
the sparatans calls to the best sides of us all

terracotta warriors of another space and time
a different kind of war a sword that
could injure a thousand or more
in the blink of an eye

all our cries
flowing through time
into darkness

this was all

in communication

Assignment:

This december read- The Rebel by Albert Camus before writing Plans of the Planets-

concepts: rebellion- what is it

Fuck the Galactus, Bitch

dude we need to put "the clock strikes" after why conversation and leave the three last songs together cause they are connected in theme and story line and are the basic introduction to The Plans of the PLanets- essentially

we begin on the shores of a great ocean, the working class all lying out on the shores of thr pacific ocean, lifeless, still, it is quiet, the dawn of the galactus had come to that last species of a distant planet. We explore the cultures of the future earth, we learn of its social orders, it psychology, its yearning for youth sung off key at midnight, crying, howling out over creation for us to be recognized for the purity longing for an answer. The knowledge of the Galactus' whereabouts, and the 2 gG's.

We end the album in space, out overlooking the ghosts, the remnants of past galacti frozen as statues where other planets had not been so lucky as the humans, total irradication.

The next tale is 4 elements that must be found to unlock the secrets to the blueprint, the blueprint for the device to save only two. who will they be? the 2 gG's? Clint are we destined to rise into space and be left? Who knows? The plans of the planets is to destroy and eat Bela Lugosi, God.

It is the kids, the adults, the races, together looking and catering to inner space and leave outer space to itself.

and
such

were the plans of the planets.

release the gaalctus, bitch

curt aka kurtz aka The Galactus One aka Dik Lizzard

write a poem based on xanga-

go back and find one liners
poem is made up of observations and one liners over the last 2 years

and i'll be stuck here forever
living in the ghost of your song

and i'll be stuck here forever
moving on
moving on

(underneath singing repetitively" the comfort of TV the comfort of TV the comfort of TV

Story Notes

Whales-

A whale is frozen like a statue in the ocean- somewhere- the key to finding the blueprint is to unlock various secrets on the earth- there are 4- something like the elements- earth, wind, fire, water- and so in this story- the plans of the planets begins with earth and its whales- to locate the blueprint, must awaken the cestcean- if awakened, it will rise above the water and its song will trigger some reaction that will help lead to the blueprint-

make the song actually focus on aspects of whales, like physiology all runnin rampant in vocals, no moby dick refrences please, overdone

anyway- travel through water by one of the teenagers- who are the main characters in Plans of the Planets- skippin school, wanting to become part of the 2 G's and defeat the Galactus filling the horizon with the emerald glow of his eyes, the horizon is a greenish hue at night

Star Trek Film Notes

The Only Relevant Species- Whales

10 minutes- cool discussion of the one vs the many, philosophical discussions with Spock

21 minutes- "United Federation of the Planets" Distress Signal

25 minutes- deciphering the probe message- whales are extinct- "songs sung by whales"- 10 million years before man- alien probe to discover why lost contact

28 minutes- plan of finding whales to bring to future

30 minutes- Hamlet reference- then "may fortune favor the foolish" then series of warps, steady as she goes, warp 5, 6, 7, 8, 9!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

THE POWER THE POWER GOES ON- FROM EVERY PLANET IN EVERY SEA
THE POWER THE POWER GOES ON- IT'S IN YOU ALL, CAN'T YOU SEE

34 minutes- i am receiving whale song, song coming from SAN FRANCISCO- From THE CITY- That Doesn't make sense- DUDE WE'RE USIN THIS MAN- slow his voice so it is way low- from the city

36 minutes- set us down in golden gate park- hells yea

41 minutes- walk the streets of san francisco and find some humpback whales

46- scientific discussion on the physiology and behaviors of whales- detailed physio here- and the principle enemy is man-

49 minutes- discusses what purpose of song truly is- mating situal? navigation? communication beyond our comprehension??

stop watching 1 hour 4 minutes

going to start bringing my cassette tape- 10 people all saying:

"and such were the plans of the planets-"

then ask questions-

where did we come from?

if there is a god what is that like? If not, why don't you think there is a form of God?

what do you think the Galactus is?

What music do you hate the most and why?

What music do you love the most and why?

There's apparently something about whales

So we're doin a whale song- i'm not entirely sure what this means, but i'm doin some kindof story about them great orcas! haha YEE HAW! SEA WORLD!! SOUTHERN CAAAAAALIFORNIA!!!! REPTILES! HOLLYWOOD!!! FAKE TITTIES!!!!!

Yep, there's something about whales, their sounds, their size, the fact that they're mammals trips people out the most. We are related to these biiiiig fucking fish in the sea, and I am quite sure the evangelicals praise it so bc of the bible relationship- even Shamu can be pawned off as a great moral parable about God and man.

Thus, I must look deeply into the movie called Star Trek: The Voyage Home- and i believe it is 6

I mean, why did they count every fuckin one- seriously, it is boring corporate advertisers who think we can't follow sequential movies- everyone knows Empire Strikes Back is in the middle and that Two Towers is the most epic and killer- the middle is a good place to be according to the critics.

So there's that- and we need to now install the idea of interviewing people on the street and asking really philosophical questions, take them off guard, see how they respond, send them to Clint, let him fuck with it, and BAM we gotta track- if I go down to the Haight for 5 minutes I'd have enough material for 5 albums of sampling

And so it shall be forever and ever and ever

MORE

and now

the name of the third book

[g]eppetto [G]estapo- "Sir, We have the 2 G's Here"

Further Story Line for Geppetto Gestapo

Plans of the Planets-

Each human species has traveled planet to planet, where they travel out to next planet and Galactus kills each- and the way they get away each time is that a blueprint has been passed down to each human species traveling to new planet, the blueprint is for building a traveling sphere- so the plans of the planets is that this info gets out, but the humans have misplaced it over time- this is the longest they have gone- decrease in intellect???- in the plans of the planets possibly have a story of these kids, or detail each kid's adventure to retrieve the blueprint- to get to the blueprint they must get a piece of the galactus's heel- why though??? Think on this

Carpet Remains

Sik & Dik Lizzard in Carpet Remains

Story 1

Bob C Cock is supposedly dead, as Carpet Reamins we find him alive and well- thus we start a war of the absurb, we enter onto a Primus forum and announce Bob C Cock is alive and well- we will offer 1,000,000 to any man to find him and bring him to us

Find a hidden code to use for them to decipher- only the seriously good assassins will know

Thus song 1, we explore the exploits of 3 seperate characters, 3 seperate assassins as they try to chase and find Bob

While chasing him, they never quite get to him- before they do, however, they meet their end

use 3 seperate voices for each lyric

For metal parts- Scream:

I'M COMING FOR YOU!

Troy in Uganda: Ultimate Heart of Darkness Tribute

Story told to me by Troy Drysdale, allowing me to write it, based on actual events.

Story begins with students visiting Kenya. Find a website about an island with concrete relics, kind of like a resort in the middle of nowhere. What unravels is akin to a modern Heart of Darkness in sense of vibe these individuals were experiencing, not in total plot line as far as imperialism is concerned, but it does comment somewhat on eden and primitivism- are we happier at our most primitive state, a ravenous beast bent on serving itself and providing for its kin? The students are told to visit a fish village about an hour south of their primary location. They are then told to visit a small restraunt there, and ask for Mama Grace. Mama Grace could be this character who fancies the island owner, so she doesn't mind helpin him out, the free weed is also nice.

She directs him to a port a few miles down, I could insert lots of cool imagery here, like interesting relics, skulls, start to elaborate THIS AS A TRANSISTION or IN THE UNIVERSE HERE, THE MAN IS SOON TO LEARN OF HOW HOMINDS LIVED, MORE RELATION, BUT DO NOT BE DIRECT, MAN, KEEP IT VERY BELOW THE SURFACE
.
As they arrive to the boat, they learn about navigating by the stars, as the sun will not illuminate the correct path in the rivers, but it is cloudy and the characters don't understand why they are still proceeding forth. However, they learn the reason later as the notice he rivers at night actually glow green, bright green, they made a type of paint that has flourescnet properities, so that's how they get there. They realize it is a supply boat, maybe a disguise for criminal acts, or another favor for weed.

As they arrive they see a dim latern on some kind of bank. As they get closer a large bonfire, like the aggies bonfire (find the height), erupts and a ragged man, british, with wild hair and beard comes out in a torn white coat with a blue and gold hawaiian shirt underneath, comes out. It is honor system on number of beers, but pot is planted on the island everywhere and is free. He built the island with his own hands, the stone "dorm" and his own "castle," which will be described in the story as they come. The castle, however so I can remember it, has three floors, nothing on the 1st, a gust room on the 3rd, and his on the 4th- the stairwell spirals up in the shape of a square. Rises to the 3rd floor. In his room, there is a ladder to the top, where you can see the panoramic 360 view of his island and the shore off in the distance, elaborate here in the concepts of primitivism and relay the story to main character about his killing fisherman that are unable to swim, never taught, which explains all the drowning. He first murders to protect his fish and island, as the fishermen there started to catch fish in the shallow waters, pregnant fish who hold their babies in their mouths until matured age, but they are swatting plungers in the top of the water, which causes the pregnant mothers to swim away releasing the babies, killing their flock, but catching the fleshy mothers, essentially eradicating their commerce supply. From then on character, learned that killing sometimes is necessary in the most primitive of states, war is merely an extension of this concept.

Fire ants eat pigs whole, and charcters experience their bite first hand while exploring island. They then notice the strange concrete structures.

Have an episode where a police boat is coming towards island and freaks! However, it is merely corruption in full view, as the police were paid to take some bird watchers out to some indigenous, off the path places.

In huts, there are lizards and bugs, mice in the walls, rumbling around, their feet panning all over like the hitting of sticks, The dog opens door, in suspense characters react, think it is the singluar hippo on the island or a wild boar, but it is only the island owner's dog.

Draw comparisons of Kafka's Castle with characters Castle, making a proper metaphor with the ideas by the Czech existentialist.

Have two Danish blokes come out with young african girlfriends, and have some disagreement or do AS TROY SAID, HE LOOKS AWAY, HE BELIEVES THAT BY MERELY ACKNOWLEDGING IT, HE IS DOING ITA GREAT SERVICE. HAVE THIS CONCEPT RUN THROUGH BY BEGINNING STORY WITH PROTAGONIST WALKING DOWN ROAD, SEEING A DEAD MAN ON THE SIDE OF THE ROAD, LOOKING MERELY AT IT ONCE, AND THINKING THAT IS ENOUGH, HE WALKS ON TO MEET UP WITH FRIENDS FOR TRIP.

Religion-
There are evil spirits living among us, living in one's belly, curses from the despair and grudges of their ancient ancestors or other folk. And curses are like stones or sticks you hurl out at a passing animal. When you throw them, they can go anywhere, they can hit an unintended target, and withcraft is like that. Essentially, as a curse is made on another it flies across space, a metaphysical air, and could hit the victim's child instead of intended victim. Add this element to story, maybe have the island owner say this is his new religion, a truth revealed to him by living in those environments, science dissipates, technology and understanding of nature's complexity disappear, leaving the basic spiritual presence of ghosts and spirits, living and breathing in another world, the world that is producing these words, even.

Music Related Idea

For Plans of the Planets,

1) Opening is kid speaking about Galactus and humans moving past first planet which will doom the human race yet again, the only way to save it is by finding an ancient relic left by the contributors who started the species millenia ago. It has the answers to stopping the galactus. Once kid is through speaking, kicks into heavy, Isis jam.

2) Get RadioShack voice recorder, interview people and ask Question of Existence idea, what they would do if given the chance? Take all responses and litter them through the album as samples, also could use all to construct one sentence made of fragments from interviews.

3) Use recorder to record city sounds to give atmosphere to some tracks.

That is all.

Another story idea

Prison systems, small towns using privately funded prisons to house criminals, why is the US the leader in imprisoning its own people? Is the US govt changing slowly before our eyes into more extreme, more facist type of country? And are we simply moving along, lulled to sleep by commerce, such that under the surface, as the world's politics become more caustic, our response as a nation becomes more repressive? More backward? Why do fight a war on drugs when we embrace a drug that is killing our planet and murdering thousands now to millions of people, OIL?

It's Wallstreet, It's a New Day

So the new idea for a short story, is the story of a hungry wallstreet wannabe, a person bent on making it and the boss who creates a game, a world of facades to test the young up and coming investment advisor

The boss is slick, has the gentlemen appear at 4AM for an interview where he asks him what he can offer bc he know he has something he can offer him

He invites for a meeting with the business advisors, passes the test, meets with the main head honcho, where has asks for a salary and he says, "don't ever tell, let them make the offer first, then revise it all!

Read Liar's Poker and bget background then write the story

This along with other story idea:

Man addcited to entering contests and all the angles for why he finds it worth his while to win, and he does win with persistence, but why contests? Why the obsession with the feeling of winning in unwinnable odds?????

What does that reinforce?

What makes one do whatever to make it? What drives the man besides money, why money?

About the Authors

We only need 55 minutes of your time, that's all we ask. This is a literary and musical experience, where you must follow along, you must participate to see where the conception came from, and have fun with this little experiment.

What you have included here is the map of the galaxy of the galactus, a parallel universe of ideas geared towards innerspace, not outerspace. There is a story which will unravel before you if you look hard enough, if you put your mind in REVERSE. Think of our intergalactic map as a map of your mind, where you delve into the most insignificant moments to draw and discuss what drives yet cripples our species, what makes us who we are. This is what this whole work is, it is taking those small, memorable moments and speaking about how the little things say millions of things about what makes this world such an incredibly complex, ugly beautiful place.

On this map, there is a short story side and a poetry side. For each instrumental,which includes (in order) the Hominds are the Next Big Thing, Pearls and Dirty Deals, Why Conversation, and Questions of Existence, please refer to the stories printed on the galactic map of our universe. This will enhance the experience, as this is how we constructed these tracks, and put this all together. For the vocal tracks or others, the poetry side contains the mouth of the galactus, swallowing the innerspace, and swallowing pride and other harmful personality traits, what we all wish to do really.

This sounds extremely pretentious, we know, but this is entirely an artistic exercise, we felt could challenge what we do. We did this, not for any money, but because we love music, we love trying something new, something different. This is not some miserable little album geared towards the darkest sides of humanity, but instead examines thoughtfully who we are and where we are going, yet does touch upon issues such as end of life and poor choices we sometimes make in life.

We hope you find something in this album, maybe something you haven't thought about, or found something that reinforces what you already know to be true. We want people to think, as we have thought and worked hours out of our free time to contribute to what we feel is the most incredible part of the human species, art.

This album is dedicated to our father, who has unconditionally provided and worked to help us grow. We are not free from our mistakes, but his love has always carried us in his arms through this perilous adventure called life. Thank you for fighting, for working, and for loving us enough to accept our choices or at least try to!


With nothing but pennies in our pockets, we offer you everything that we are,

[g]eppetto [G]estapo



[g]eppetto [G]estapo is: Tone999 and Kurtz Oneday

The following have contributed and provided ideas and music-

jon gerdemann
Know One
andrew najberg
Gigi

samples and image work:

Portrait of Bela used in Map drawn by Basil Gogos
Sample [the galactus]- from the film, "Glen or Glenda," directed by Ed Wood
Sample [question of existence] from NASA Space Station audio located at NASA TV
link- http://www.nasa.gov/mission_pages/shuttle/shuttlemissions/sts121/index.html
Sample [pearls and dirty deals] from (get link)
Vocals for [the clock strikes midnight, resonating over the jungle canopy]- Gigi

[g]eppetto [G]estapo Photo

Book One off to be pressed and mixed

We are in the final stages of completion of all recording and will soon start mixing and mastering, and also printing our book/album

It is the Galaxy of the Galactus

We finished our photoshoot and waiting on the pictures!

Can't wait

for opening

we begin in the ocean alone, solitary, and erupt into the atmosphere and into the depths of space against the ideas of continuing on this species while the plans of the planets are formulating, the galacti shifting in the shells of their homes.

Progress

1 of 3 vocal tracks completed, need to finish these 3 this week and then 2 nxt Sunday

The Castaway

it seems like
elevators moving to the top of the 21 first century
mentioning
the one and only last loves calling you their

last theory

to surmise

you have worked
you have been
washed up on the shore

left to die

and this is why

you have worked
you have washed upon the shore
left to die

and this is why

surviving
only by great schemes with their streamed themes of
thievery

into the eye
of this high rise
a tide
moving like
brittle cattle
sent to slaughter
by the falter
of their stances
the brain
shifts and advances
romances the mind

one spirt

darkened by

what's calling you from that side
all sides
all around
inside you
eating you all
alive
like a hive mind meant
to feast on that fleece
warming slow
as the ocean blankets
the silence

you have worked
you have been
washed up on the shore

left to die

and this is why

you have worked
you have washed upon the shore
left to die

and this is why

This Week

is THE week. We are working on setting up a photo shoot for our album bio picture, which consists of me n the bro in our gear, me sittin at a type writer, both draped in these suicide girl lookin girls, compliments of clint's friend who happens to be a stripper, can't wait for it.

We are also finishing the record hopefully in the next week.

That is all.

Pearls and Dirty Deals

At the lodge, the elderly, Susan McDonald sits moving through smiles hugs and kisses, then starts to talk to a young 30 something about life and the concept of stories. Stories are what define people, make them grow, make them skrink, they define essentially who we are, as we all are a culmination of choices and the consequences there of. Susan had a bone to pick with the world, and so it seeped into every conversation she had. Her day to day interactions were only a series of reminders that she must live the rest of her time as an actor locked into a single scene.

Living in the footsteps of her deceased husband meant attending Lodge gatherings every week. The Lodge was simply an abbreviation for a fraternal type of organization for old folks under a layer of secrets and rituals. She could avoid these gathering, there was always that, but in the end it would be a poor decision, equating to certain alienation.

As Susan speaks to her new young friend, she feels the longing stare of an old codger of high notoriety, Leon Smith. He was the grand chancellor, who always wore his well-pressed blues with a red tie and an antique pocket watch. He stereotypically had cigars and a nice, fine single malt scotch on ice. His mannerisms were equivalent to a whirlpool, he spent his time spinning in social circles, while their powerful drums beat upon his heart, pushing him to stoop to suspicious behind the door deals and insider trading. His status as police chief had once led him to turn a cold eye to the exploits of past chancellors, but now his gaze is fixated solely on the lovely, Susan McDonald. As he speaks to his friends laughing about Cowboys football and bad barbecue at Harold's, she became his only exploit and focus; she was the one he never could quite corner.

The story goes that Leon Smith had to retire a bit earlier than planned, all hush hush of course, to avoid certain infamy as the one who may have single handedly ruined the reputation of the Dallas Police force by participating in the blackmail of a certain Colin McDonald. If it had went public, it could have also adversely affected the exploits of his wife, Barbara Smith, who was President of the Ladies for Christ. It was a classy women's group in the Dallas Baptist Church of Holy Mercy. Barbara has long since passed on, having sucuumbed to the pathogenesis of cancer.

The Church of Holy Mercy would later experience its own share of shame, as its pastor was arrested for having his wife killed. His plan was for he and his trophy mistress to live happily ever after. More so, he wanted the young pretty blonde from Los Angeles, California, to be next to his side publicly so that he, Bill Matula, could be recognized as not only the apple of the Lord's eye as pastor of the largest Baptist church in Texas, but also as the hot shot he wished he always was to his elitist congregation.

The Lord, crafty and ever silent, would have none of this, however, as seen by his eventual tragic demise. Bill Matula was also known for his elaborate love triangles among his flock. He and Susan M. cheated on their respective partners for a brief period of time. It was a lasting rumor, leading to many heated affairs between Colin and Susan, as those in power always become a target for suspicion of dirty deeds. In this situation, however, the speculations were warranted, what with the killing of his wife and all. When Pastor Bill Matula was arrested and all that horror was revealed, Susan did not seem to mind much, in the end he had thrown her aside as quickly as he took her to his bedside. He had moved on to a bigger prize, her former best friend, Lucy Deringer.

Deringer was interesting. She had been the Lodge's Thanksgiving Day Queen in the Lake Highlands Parade for three consecutive years, a Church of Holy Mercy record that still stands. Lucy was the wife of Billy Deringer, a blue blood, who's dad left him the family oil business after he died in 1935; it was a fortune which christened his first born a millionaire at the age of 12. She had chosen money in love's stead, as love to her was only a few months of intrigue, whereas money could take her farther, into the arms of suntanned, Italian bodyguards in the baths of Rome. Ultimately, Lucy knew Susan could never win the battle for the Pastor, and so she became another of her lost loves. At the end of the day, Lucy could deal with losing Susan, if it meant never missing an annual vacation to the Swiss Alps in Europe.

Thus, all these men and women experienced hardship representative of life. They changed in the pattern of sine curves, up and down like roller-coasters: simple, predictable, rudimentary. Wedding after wedding and funeral after funeral, the leaves continuously flipped and turned all shades of dark purples and browns preceding the footsteps of the ever stagnant, Susan McDonald.

As time passed, she became more and more aware that she was the single entity that remained in a time capsule. After her husband passed, it was as if she was placed in a repressive yet spacious container, where she now remained, living yet buried six feet under with her husband at the Willowbend Funeral and Burial Home.

She, locked away there and held against her will, was asking him every morning as she hit the snooze bar and looked over at her empty bed, "Why?" Did she not love him enough, did she not cook the meals to their proper texture, or hold him up in public as the beacon of her day to day? Every Sunday, like a mass or ritual, the lovely Susan would cook his favorite meal, watch Sunday Media Roundtable Delta Force, and return to Willowbend with the paper. She would sit at Colin McDonald's tombstone in a little, red chair she had, and read the paper aloud. Since he had decided to be a force of love in her life whether she liked it or not, she decided she would submit and honor his proclamation.

Alexander Beverage, husband of the fair woman Susan is speaking to, Blair Beverage, waves and moves past them. Blair returns his looks and holds his gaze, smiles, then returns to Susan.

"Why couldn't you ever remarry?"

Susan laughs, "Oh, if I told you, you'd probably leave me right now!"

"No, I wouldn't. It can't be that bad, can it?"

"Oh, it's a story I have no answer to really. It's one that has left me here to interpret it many ways, even by how I am feeling on any day! If I am lonely at home, watching re-runs on the cable TV, oh, it becomes that Colin wanted to keep me forever, even from the grave and afterlife. But, if the day is nice out and the cool December air is moving across my face near the lake down the street, then the story is he wanted me to always think of him and cherish the peace after the storm we had with our marriage. I think he did what he did because ultimatiely he wanted me to decide, 'Do I value money over love?' It's as if he wanted me to validate that Love was greater, more powerful and relevant than money. I was always something of a problem for him when it came to money."”

"I see."

"Love was and is important, but I am not at an age to make a new life. So I have boyfriends, all my age, who dream of dying with a soft spoken, caring wife, that decide to leave after they learn of my little 'arrangement.' It happens around 6 months."

"Susan, what on earth did he do?"

"He put a statute in his will that if I remarry, I would lose all his millions."

Blair was pretty much stunned. Susan had spent a decade living as a revolving door of love and loss, all for the millions of her dead husband, when their kids probably could have taken care of her!

But Blair caught herself, "Who am I?" she asked herself.

She knew that at some point eating and having a roof over her head may have been more important than any ceremony or the comfort of companionship. What did marriage mean when one reaches a certain point, a desperation point???

These are complicated problems with no real solutions. We have entered an age of dancing voyeur's. We all spend time staring through glass panes at the perils and miseries of this evolving universe and species bent on pushing the boundaries of their limits. We peer into it, we get off on the experience of life changing before our eyes, good or bad. How can this world continue to exist, when it seems we have become plastic flimsy shells of what we used to be in the days of FDR and Hitler? In those days, the lines between good and evil were quite clear, but on a grander scale, not like our microcosm of terrorist factions and the spinning of sound bytes. Our wars in the 21st century pale in comparison, resembling little brush fires planted here and there, whose emergent, collective property is a chaos of raging forest fires. There is not a clearly defined side to follow.

So we, the voyeur's, move from starlet to starlet from sports star to sports star, and there sits old, Susan McDonald who still witnesses a black and white innocence while watching Turner Movie Classics. These are not movies but photographs rough around the ages that capture an honest time, not the complicated turmoil of our homogenenous metropolis. On many occasions, she will watches these movies for what seems like eternity in the quiet of her study, often until the sun peaks from behind the top of the large maple tree at the bottom of her backyard hill. Even today it hangs over Forest Lane shielding her gaze from on coming traffic.


Susan whispers something into Blair's ear, they laugh, and she whisks away from the table, down the vacuumous tunnel of social standing. Hi, bye, thank you, see you, will you, then you, but you, past the big brown doors, and out to the parking lot. The crowd watches as Susan exits the lodge to her old, well groomed Mercedes. She immediately flips on her favorite Opera about the tragedy of two lovers. She rolls down the window, and sings at the top of her lungs.


As she putters down the street, the leaves move away behind her like the memories of Colin and the kids and the house and, definitely, the American Dream.

Story Idea

Character, a woman, is trying to track down her life in a photo essay, as she digs further she unravels truths of her family, she doesn't want to face, each picture brings that story to life before her.

Add to this later.

Book Two: Plans of the Planets

In our second volume, it will explore the worlds of the Galacti and how the space ghosts seekin to end all life are merely the spirits of the galactus of every planet in the universe, all lie dormant waiting to awaken and implode the universe to create one dimension, the perfect dimension, where wars and conflict are merely latent memories of a past bad experience, a perpetual heaven

the music is with maria and clint and myself, and will explore indie themes with a mix of male and female vocals exploring their own universe, the plans of the planets to bring back a utopia, a metaphor for our quest for self realization and unification

this is the second book, The Plans of the Planets

Poem for A Dissociative Distance

outstrecthed and stumbling
like the spirit
she always was

who was

to not only be
but she

who was meant
to gather and horde
more of her
secrets
upon secrets
slithering
with a tempting sway
all the way
behind the receptors
hidden in the hippocampus,
a toothed and scaly
giant breathing flames
of sensuality
swept away in a moments
revelation so defiant
of time
of infinity
of infamy
of all the things
blinded and glimmering
like colors erupting
from fireworks who
taste the atmosphere
for the first time
for the last time
showering
sparklers and hope
into her open mouth

she awaits in the sunlit tunnel

while he

crawls out of the smashed
degraded automobile
and back into his

fractured frame

Images for Book

We have finished all the music for the album and are in the process of recording vocals drums and bass, and are now working on the artwork for the book/album. It will be a comic size illustrated book with CD on the inside, we are making 55 of them and will number each one.

The Galactus

this is the companion poem to Questions of Existence

exploring together
forever

moving like milk
and plasma swirling

like a breath frozen
in the midst of revelation

what were they there for
and what do they chase

on the sunscape eclipsed by
their thirst for

silence

left like crumpled paper
floating to the ocean floor

where ideas for salvation are lost
in the chaos of time whose

grasses are transient silk and satin
robes guiding their piety

as they quench species
in dreams with seams tied together

by atom bombs and infantry movements
into the fray where

they say
nothing

utter only the whisper of the damned
who will not sleep

until they move past millenia
of black holes
and empty vacuumous space

finally satiated

as days slide
into nothingness

they will shuttle themselves

into another

Garden of Eden
and continue on


epilogue:

and the sturdy men, women, and children of the red icy igloo called Mars became stars releasing the message as they shared silence became the making of their own destruction by a force released from the ices of Mundar in the southernmost pole in Sleep and Sedation

It is he, he who dwells in all planets,
a button switch of sudden notice as you
become a sunspot gold lime line of coke
sprayed onto a blackboard
eating into the core of your busy
mazes with phases in and out
blazes trails
out from and in and out of how he
devours your spirit

whole

Release the Galactus
and release the millions of souls

into heaven

forever

Voyeur Movements

Here is the new song we wrote based on the intro and my friend Andrew's track he sent us, we radically altered and rearranged

at :42 seconds (repeat 3 times)-

there was no one
there is no one
there will never be

any solutions

at 1:43/44-

the hands move through you
and into (don't rush let note hang)
the movement of voyeurs
as they witness
as they preserrrrrveeeee

the words of these (high note)
please (high note) don't move from
the windows of churches (go to a low note)
perched
and searched
and ready to bleed (medium note)

from the fruit
of
their seeds
planted in me
streams of locusts
focus

planted in me
planted in me
planted in me


start at 3:03/4-
their dope fiends
descending as means
to behoove you as we move you
to simply let gooooo
and follow

the most hollow
figments
remnants
of youuuuuurrrrr
imagination

after sample at 4:11 exactly:
There is no one
there was no one
there will never be

any solutions (times 3)

start at 5:07-
of endless nightmares
of meandering day dreams
of hallucinations that are anything but
which one
son
do you figure
will be the spell
cast to hash it out
with you and your
shadow man
your fellow man
you left behind in a trail of
fast food signs
and empty voter polls

start at 5:48-
So here we are
Two from the same origin
no one in blood
but molded in notes
pictures and soundscapes
no longer beholden
to the molten lava
slowly dripping
from the tarry black surfaces
as you

look up like

there is no one
there was no one
there will never be

any solutions

(no one no one no one no one no one no one)

song is sick

more art work

Questions of Existence

soundscape by clint allday.
based on the story composed by curt allday

Questions of Existence

There were rotating spirals in her eyes whose majesty has yet to be witnessed again. The stars seemed to shift in and out of the the male contributor's periphery while spinning and rotating like rocketships rising through Earth's atmosphere, but in this case, anothers' atmosphere. Both contributors flipped their heads back like tripped mousetraps to see the last of their once great species disappearing behind a wall of meteors. It was left to these two, as they were the only two.

Gases popped off the sides of their trasport vesicle, a bubble impermeable to would-be space destroyers, ghosts of space bent on eradicating all life in the universe. In its protection, they could recycle oxygen for the duration of their trip; on its outer edges, there were microscopic sensors searching light years ahead for a life sustaining planet.

And as the final two moved on towards their new home, the man and woman stared at each other in complete silence for a succession of centuries. They dwelled in the orbits of their quiet minds, watching each other sleep, back in utero, moving through the galaxies as comets became windmills pushing them to their final destination. They did not see life or some type of aliens along the way, they only saw darkness. It was a maddening sea of stars and hidden hurricanes of electricity.

However, after hundreds of lifetimes, they both had come to a mutual decision. It was now time.

"And?" He asked her.

"It has been," she stated, reluctant to continue, the sound of her own voice seemingly unnatural.

"Yes, it has. It has been a long time, so many breaths, I almost can't remember where we came from or where we are going. So quiet, still, the blackness has filled me with a new resolution, a new question.

"What is it?" She turns her head towards him.

"Where do we, how do we, start again?"

"That is very true, but think about it a different way."

"What do you mean?"

"Maybe the question is.....should we continue again? Maybe we are intended to drift for eternity in here like some kind of time capsule. Maybe we were always intended to leave all of our flaws and war mongering behind us."

"So we don't continue on? We let extinction become a viable option? I don't know, I have been having second thoughts about our initial decision." He uttered this softly as his breath visibly diffused towards her. In deep space, islands of ice are scattered variably throughout, swallowing them as they pass by, making them shake to the sounds of planet formation.

"Don't you remember what we left behind? The end was..." Her mouth quivered with the temperature drop.

"I understand, but can we afford to quit?"

"It isn't up to us, it is up to the Other. We wait, as His mind has yet to let His hand spill words of glass on to the page, to become one. He is the Other, the other striving to be convinced this is happening, trying to discern the answer to a miracle of explosive gases and reptilian dominance. He is writing because He wants to believe there is this greater purpose for existence.

"In time, there will be no more answers, only questions, and they will forget us or where we arose from. The Other's problem is ultimately faith, and so we must ask ourselves, if He can't find a reason to believe in our existence, then this story will be as vaporous as our surroundings. With indifference, He may forget to provide the details of our homecoming, about why we came back, about who we are, and why we persist on trying to nest an egg of human spirit in the blackened waters of the universe."

"Why would he do that?"

Her eyes became spinning plates, "Because He is hard of heart, self consumed, pulled apart from the seams, by aberrations and spirits disintegrating His mind into a kaleidoscope of wars, sacrifice, greed."

"But can't all this be saved on scrolls or His old, scribbled notebooks? Will He not be forced to speak and spread even if He does forget, even if He doesn't want to tell?"

"He could be," she spoke and her fingers moved up his arm.

The fires from the sun seemed to rain dragons along the curvature of their synthetic womb, their heart formulating equations while their copulations became waves of Eros, like mathematical equations solved in Earth's deep oceans.

He sensed her thoughts,"There are waves there?"

She nodded. Their eyes shut synergistically and they fell open and became open to another possibility, another experiment.

The descent had begun.

After a thousand years of travel, the two flew past the moon and down into the atmosphere. They opened their eyes to giant sized birds, filling the skies like a swarm of maddened killer bees making their way across Mexican dunes. Every inch of sky leaving Terydactals reeling, while they plummeted into the mouths of monsters who raise their eyes to the glowing red orb moving above them.

The fumes of life moved through their bubble and through their nostrils, filling them with strange, new microscopic creatures, who celebrated a new species of infection. Yet, they seemed familiar, a remnant of some distant visit. The Earth inhabitants seemed to remember their taste, one they had stumbled upon ages ago.

The contributors' silence was broken by the cacophony of creation, the chaotic construction of another civilization. Apes and monkeys once left to move through stages of evolution, congregated around the man and women's crude outline in the brown, sulfurous dirt.

With the puncture of the earth's crust, they rose from the flames, all memories lost of their past, failed time on another planet, in another future. In a breath of unfamiliar molecules, they felt life again, they felt their new existence, their relevance, their hope.

The Other watched from above and scribbled on and on and on. The creatures on earth continued, the contributors moved forth through the brush and into the rift valley. The palace from above was merely a dream, the past only a newspaper headline.

They had each other.

Hand in hand, their feet felt the lush grass and they knew this was home. The seeds had been planted, the mission complete. As the roar of the amazons and congos rushed forth, the tower of Babylon lay before them and they entered the garden.

New Artwork

New Artwork inspired by songs and themes:










Lyrics and song info:

New Edit: Zeus Zaps Like a Thunderclap (Claire Edition)

changed the format of this piece to better serve the music, art is a lot about compromise, you cannot hold on to a sentence or word bc such greed confounds the intention

anyway, here's the new edit:

start at 15 seconds and continue to 50 seconds

believe it

it is time
to unwind
"the dangling signs
from the hotel window panes

the cool frost building
on all thing quiet and still
the pills grasped
and dropping
and evaporating

believe it (fade out)

begin sample at 1:12
ends as beat studders, climax as changes

doyle plays and fades in and vocals begin as noise disortion over beat erupts

start at 2:33-34
like shuttles bursting through
the atmosphere
you move into my eyes
you show me why (end on low note, and sing direct)

in low, growl, add flange:
they
have

decorated
forest floors
doorways (sing this word)

--sing here---
into my mind
into your mind
the kind of find
you had as a boy

--back to abrupt---
wandering
all around
find
to try
this diction
and fiction
resides
in your skull
flying through your bedrooms (sing this word)

-----sing-----
with the truth of the wise
the other side of
those
rising tides

----back to abrupt----
reveal
a better way
say
its over
its never over
as my tear
rolls and
folds

then whispers (sing like the part "believe it"):

"believe it" (fades)

then let it ride

A Dissociative Distance

It began like any Discovery Channel telly show...in the Sahara, in the brush, in the hidden heart of darkness wild and full of guns.

There weren't any rifle shots, there weren't any bombs, or secret missions of escape. The hall of this vast, ever growing jungle of soul searching, was moving back across the muck and brush of swamps and cryptic lagoons, revealing Z's modest size bed where he sat in thought.

This was in his apartment.

Each room of Z's apartment had a particular theme, each met with decor and functionality to create a little world for the little Lilliputians. The Egypt room had the feel of ancient hieroglyphics with an odd twist. It was a shrine to Elvis, in only what I presume to be a metaphor for him being the "pharaoh" of rock'n'roll?

In his room with the Curious George hanging from the lone chandelier, he had a mixture of ash trays, CD's, and a framed painting of Biggie Smalls. Besides the Jungle room, it had the ever common castle room, where his roomie, a 50's something tweeker, sat and stared into the mesmerizing orb of his telly playing a VHS tape of the Guns N roses video, "Estranged," which by the way has no real hidden storyline, no real meaning, other than a mad man with soon to be dreadlocks swimming & waiting to leave the stage forever, to hide behind the stars of stardom.

In guitars and loud beats from bass drums and electronic whips and whirs, there is spirituality hidden deep. Each time it appeared on his stereo, he would drift away, moving through a dark night's sky, like some distant fog hiding behind the crest of the moon.

There are two of Z, there are two of me, and there are definitely two of you. There is this hidden soul creature that lies dormant behind the hippocampus, where there sleeps a dragon napping on his treasures of past victories against man and its mystic legends. The dragons of mythic lore are no longer need to storm, as man continues to create his own in blasts and bombs and button pressing and shock n' awe. The legends of unicorns, elves, dragons, and fairies retreat from our wars, our possession with hate and fury and war and politicking. And that is where we go when we are quiet, still, and feeling the music drift away into our souls. That is Z will be in 20 minutes as he moves further from his Jungle apartment room on the 10th floor in the mission district of San Francisco.

In households, such as his, enlightenment hides in its silliness. The mind must prevail against the idea that material space can somehow dampen the spirit, as sometimes one must purify themselves by living in simplicity with nothing whatsoever. This induces hunger, this pushes you to the brink, the idea that tomorrow will be better because today can be no worse.

So after getting ready, he grabs his coat and his cigarettes, while the purrs of a 11 cats hound his every step as they fight for some affection. The door thuds behind him and he hears, "Crazy Train," now blaring, he shakes his head, says something to himself, and slithers across the grass.

The rather tacky gold of the Elvis shrine is directly out his driver side window, as he presses the gas and leaves. The siphon of smoke coming from the end of the filter moves through the trachea and into the tender branches of the bronchioles, across to the blood, where one could hear the rush of black tar moving and attaching itself to the sticky plasma. The orgasms from prior experiences appear out of no where and then go away, he changes to the next song and doesn't know why, he believes the government is against him and doesn't have any real proof, and he calls an old friend from high school but mistakes him for a friend from college. He continues down the hills of Oak waging a war on mediocrity, becoming nothing other than a grad school burn out.

But in a moment, with the wind in the right direction, the waves of spirituality seemed to brim from the surface of his cerebellum, moving through every nerve, and out of his eye sockets. In the past, there were periods of time where Z's consciousness would be vaporous and become something ghost-like, a shell of another life, able to freely walk the earth and gather wealth, the wealth of spiritual revelation, a deposit for a rainy day, so to speak. The ghost of his unconscious moved away to the reality of the evening, a soul about to depart on a scouting session to answer all of his questions.

This was the place, this was the way.

The lights went black along the street. Everything disappeared and a faint blossom of a blood vessel appeared upon his eyelids as the heart pulsated in response to his realization that he had lost all control.

In the space of seconds, many dreams were realized, many poems were written, many songs were composed, the lights blinking rapidly hovering above his consciousness were mixtures of greens and reds and purples, vibrant royal purple leaves falling from the atmosphere, burning as they touched his reddened, balding scalp.

His shoulders felt pulled upon and light, no longer heavy and burdensome as in the real world, the world where his car drifted along the road, moving and moving towards the barricade, ricocheting off the sides and into a ditch covered in tires and empty soda cans.

The blackness was solid, tarry, a veil over time and space.



Z awakened to a smear of blood, with iron glistening on his lips, the sirens calling to him through some forgotten hymns from psalms buried in caves and sarcophagi:

you were home, you were home, but we needed you to return; remember, this is not over and it is never a good time to quit, son, this isn't a time to remember the past and let it dwell, hollow us out; ya got to let it all go, ya gotta let yourself be hurt and healed, and feel the rebirth of a thousand baptisms, this is what is needed in your departure to another place, another space without any time.

This is where you will be, not where you are now. So open those eyes, open them up, and no longer be shell smashed, but free from bottles, free from everything, free.

Z opens the door and stretches his arms.

"I'm Okay," and he brushes off his scuffed up coat sleeve.

"Copy," the paramedic murmured, "Yes, he says he's okay, no medical attention necessary, got it... Listen, we're going to go if you're alright, " Z nods, "Okay, great... well, you tell him this will take at least 20 minutes and then we'll move on! Because I said so..."

The busy man trails off.

Z couldn't remember any thing then, his concussion scrambling his paperthin thoughts. He knew something awaited him in the future, but it was all forgotten; only sparklers and incense were left to move through his nostrils and into his skull.

Thus far, the layout

1. Zeus Zaps Like a Thunderclap (music at myspace, search our name, music is ambient, industrial)- breakdown, hip hop still work in progress, melodies complete

2. The Hominids are All Asleep (music by band)- melodies complete

3. Your Face and Plane Drifting to the Bottom (tone's bass line, music by band)

4. Why Conversations; use a audio tape recorder and capture conversation from this site, then add these lyrics after quote, melodies complete-

These are not the only words
Once spoken
You have said them to so many people
Why? Why? Why?

Updates to come

First 2 Songs Begun

Last night was our first full on practice of a band, with this dude Doyle from Phoenix who is a freakin bad ass drummer and my brother

We finished the Hominid Poem and The Bottom of the Sea poem seen below, and both are incredibly different from one another

We plan on adding very epic, ISIS type guitars over the second all spoken word piece, the Hominid one is an actual song with a discernable chours

Then my brother has two instrumentals from before sitting around, so we're going to use those two, I have to find a piece that will fit over it

Stay tuned

these are changes for The Hominids are All Asleep:

In streams you seem to move
ever so slowly
a hand swimming in
the river bed and all their
the heads relieved of exhaustation
in
one
fail
swoop
loops:
"You will not
forget
ever
because you cannot
predict,

you
can only remember sins"

you can only remember sins X 4

and lest
you wish to
become
preyed upon

ever there
glimmering and glittering
to gather and horde
millions of eyes
looking on
shifting on
the quiet song
will forever long
will dance and draw
to worship her countenance

you can only remember sins X4

in the
reflections staring back
RIGHT
from the stream serene (in the)
sun
LIGHT
Be-lieve (it's)
no longer a forgotten memory
or funeral late night revelry
it's a burial ground
an explosive rush

of putting this
of shoving this
of believing this

of believing this (repeat)

the following to be spoken or ascension:

it falls to the ground
the act complete
her face hidden
by the hands
now stuck

touching

fixed to

ultimately

infinitely

hers

It has begun

After much work and talk, Geppetto Gestapo will happen this summer, we are changing this album/book a bit, in the interest of money and time, we will record 3-5 tracks this summer that will include vocals, three poems from here, and the stories will be included in a pdf file or in book form

The vibe we are going for can be a cross between noise/indie/hiphop/industrial, some groups that are inspiration include dialect, 13 & God, Themselves, The Dragon Experience, Skinny Puppy, the anticon collective, nick cave, bob dylan, kurt vonnegut, haruki murakami, and the list could probably go on

Anyway, I may be posting more stories and poems, we will see how the inspiration surfaces, there has been many changes in my life that probably inspire a thoughtful, meaningful dialogue on life and death and happiness and loneliness

if all goes well, this could be done by next year, until then, this is geppetto gestapo (known now as gG) related, probably simply an intro for the CD:

the hands move through
into
the movements of voyeurs
as they witness
as they preserve
the grips of gripes and holds of
strings that hang like
vines
from Atlanta's greens,
their dope fiends descending as
means to behoove you as
we move you
to simply let go
and follow us into

the hollowest figments of your imagination
merely forgotten remnants of
insidious details of
what sour dreams are to become of
this world
as these atoms circulate and perculate
you to let go

let this master take you
forsake you
cake you
in make up
and wake you
from your eternal slumber

of endless nightmares
of meandering day dreams
of hallucinations that are anything but
which one
son
do you figure will
be the spell cast to
hash it all out
with your shadow man, your
fellow man you left behind
in a trail of fast food signs
and empty voting polls

so here we are two from the same
origin, not one in blood
but molded in flesh to notes
to pictures and soundscapes
no longer beholden
to the molten lava
slowly dripping
to the tarry black surfaces

you look up
like

there is no one
there was no one
there will never be

any
solutions

My Top, the Hip Hop, and the Twenty Cop Questions

story comin soon


with the same procedures,

how- do- I?

get the love that I
need from you

start with a long deserved break

may i

provide
another foci
for your utmost pleasure

another symphony
for you to consider

while playing it
over and over

will you

remember these last 2 years
with a soft
faint heart
gettin fainter
the faintest miracles seen

in what was
the songs coming from the sun
over light years and into
our ipods,
the concept of gods
bringing eternity and
interrupting
the circadian rhythm
of our footprints
night and day
being swept over
by
tornadoes dating hurricanes
typhoons chasing earthquakes
nuclear radioation outbreaks
with the nuclear
holocaust cleaning dishes
under the faucet
of the nuclear family
scrubbing the ashes
mixed with plasma
stashed in their
family owned
biologically enhanced
blood banks

as I'm calling

can I

with the toast of this stye
can i
get what I need from you? as I

with the same
procedures,

how do I?
get the love that i need from you?

as with graves
and neonatal clinics
the cycle becomes
the cynic

who repeats

in the morning with car horns
in the distance behind
the hum of street sweepers
polishing
streets

swimming strickly
north to south like
shaking lamppoles
as instantly as incredible
as papa once performed
unimaginable feats

while gentlemen coddle their wives
in red carpeted
armchair seats

as they drift off and push off
into their vericose veins
completely
and ready
to move beyond tissues

and become dreams of seas
of midnight romance novels
as we move to meander through
highlight reels and indiscretions

and the camera stay on
and the siren come on
and we all run on
and the TV come on
and the alarm turn on
and it won't stop goin on

so how
IN THE NAME OF GOD
do we make it stop

and for who?
and to prove

what exactly?

What has this allllllllllll
got to do with me
and whyyyyyyyyyyyyy
am I writing this allllllllllllllll
down when out that door
there's money to be made

it's 'cause I fiend
for a conclusion I
want it all to appear
at some kinda cross roads
and pry open my eyes
and see the heart
that drapes
that hates
that breaks
me wide open
so I know when
to say no when
I know then
that the answer is,

I don't know either
however,
will we as citizens
continue to do what we have done for hundreds and hundreds
of years
change those same ,
procedures,
into some constitution,
anything you want,

well,

how do I with same exact sutures,

how do I

get the love
that i need from you

"Terrible Lie!"

things are afoot, or maybe i am lying in only that NIN Terrible Lie kind of screaming a loud covered in mud kind of fashion-

back into this from now until the summer time-

I think the new Tool may spawn something, good god

Ok this is not geppetto related, but something i dig from writing the other day:

winds blowing
down your back
down again
down
winding its way
across
the crease of your spine
holding
the delicate balance
that has become
your waistline
an equator
a sunbusrt
blinding all the eagles
as they decline
from the sky
down your clothesline
into your white
basket

the basket
is where you meet
and greet
and seek
the feeling
the memory
the ceiling
coming
down

around

the sound

that's found
you as you once were
in the dorm room
coughing up smoke
drinking
the games
of our
youthful
peter pan
bliss

i miss

you there
snorting lines
trying to find
the times
that once made you so very happy

with some other
man

there i am
on the outskirts
ostracized
a word
that makes me laugh
at its utter pervasive
persuasive
negativity

driving you down
the charcoal colored
pavement
into
the hills

over a millenia
of cultures
you discover
all that
you could

ever
become
severed
from the gorgeous waves
carrying you into
my mouth
a shattered
prism
of words
the curds
of my eternal whey
they say
so many
things
they have given
me so many promises
for the accolades
and
i discover
it was all a giant
maze
meant
to frazzle
and razzle
the fires of

all

creation
through

and through
until
i sit

a man defeated
by the sceptor
sitting in his own hand

a symbol

for what,
we'll never know