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Between All the Letters

by Colouring Cats

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1.
Ship Departs 03:36
Say my goodbyes, check all the locks, Last walk around, last kiss to the ground, Sweet earth, its scent rolls into my lungs, Gripping me down, says not to go on without it. In circles around this place where I walked, Before I felt fear, now I sincerely hope I'm right, In choosing no god, believe there is no greater cause Than to discover... Ship changes course towards the abyss, Starry collapse - my god, this is it, don't go. Engine turns off, lights start to dim, Ship loses form and starts to spin. Vision's a blur, of white then it's gone. Feeling its pull, I ready my brow, Prepare my brave face for the speed of sound. Tighten my straps, breathe in and hold on. Feeling my pulse in the absence of time, Your brain won't slow down like they said it might. Everything else slows down to a halt - And then it begins to turn back.
2.
Down 04:30
Katie spoke Cantonese, And was reasonably read, And the coffee she learned to brew meant that each morning, Held less sense of dread. And each day she would write, For a few hundred words. She was developing characters, Honing her voice, it was no longer hers... Until one of them died, A development Kate tried so hard to fight. Keith planned a trip on his own, Down some yellow brick road. He had no clue what it was that he wanted, But guessed that it wasn't at home. So great heights he traversed, And at night was immersed, In the books he'd been given, By bearded young men in Che Guevara shirts. And it took him some time, But he realised that this whole thing wasn't him. Kissed the road goodbye, And set off for some more permanent thing. Claire waitressed for a stint, At a four-star resort. And she did not mind the work, Was known amongst the regs, For her witty retorts. All the men thought her lovely, By no means was she ugly, But the women saw no reason for it, They found her insufferably bubbly. So they were relentless in their jibes, So she held her head up high, And although they tried so hard, They never made her cry, At least never saw her cry, Until she went and took it... All the way down to nothing, All the way down to the bottom. All the way down to nothing, All the way down to the bottom. And sometimes it shines so dark For the ones with the brightest dispositions, The ones who seem to have it all. We're so susceptible, so gullible, so easy to fool. And sometimes we cut them down for the ease With which we fight against the current Forgetting always the way It feels when we're pulled down, Stuck looking up at the faces Blurring in the distance. So one just took a blade down the street and tapped out, Another in the wardrobe with a rope made of towel, And the pilot light in the bedroom would not go out, The oven was good enough for Plath so she was out for the count. One would get lost amongst The pills on the bathroom floor, His sentimental call Saw his friends bust down the door. They tried to beat him But they couldn't get him breathing.
3.
If I dig my own grave here, I’m sorry, It’s just that I truly believe there’s a flaw in the plan, To be charmed by a dream and then crowned and then gutted, and cut into bits to be strewn across town. To be made to believe by a director unseen That you would be perfect for the part, To be kneeled at and taken by An auteur with the greatest of plans, But at the mercy, Of his hand. Exonerate, educate, excavate, cultivate, Yearnings for things that most never would yearn. In the back of some classroom, eyes taped up and darting, Between all the letters to make out the words. Could you be seduced by the language they choose, Or what some critic wrote on the back? Could you be alive on the pages they write, Or the landscapes they deftly describe? I know they’re cute, but trite’s still trite. This story tells of a carnival Where the characters all kill the author. And exact their revenge on a plot that was forged In a head filled with notions of fame. Oh god! He’s a cannibal who just feeds off of all his own bullshit, Now he’s reaching the heights of the sorriest sights Where the colours are all the same. In the footsteps of greatness We’re balancing plates On the tips of our fingers In spite of the burns, If our guest here collates enough talent to take To his managers one of us might get a turn, If opportunity knocks then it’s scarcer than god Who’s always waiting so eagerly there, And if the first thing you feel When they judge you is zeal Then you’re sure to be changed or stripped bare, They take what’s familiar and weed out the rest. This harrowed bride tells a tale with her stride, Pay attention or you might soon miss it. She’s escaped the command of her man’s heavy hand And her actions are far from complicit. And the firemen all sitting ‘round playing cards, And the kid who just nailed John B. Goode on guitar, And the dogshow contestants all lined up so far, And the mothers all hoping they’ve trained them. And the chemists concocting some new batch of drugs, And the fully grown man with his hand in the mud, And whoever we pay to take pictures of us, We give them no fucking reason to choose it. Am I the only one scared that we’ll lose it?
4.
It’s all transient connections, crowded bookstores, and the promise of love, It’s the loneliness, long hours, and the constant threat of lining up. And you can live out with the gunshots, you can bartend on the weekends, But there’s a weight upon your shoulders, because at some point they will raise the rent. And I’m talking to the man with the horn-rimmed glasses, He’s threatening to leave because they only ever promise spring. And I’m waiting for a train and now it’s almost been an hour, I’m trying to find a place to stand that smells a tiny bit less awful than this. It’s all transplants and migration and the natives aren’t just holding their tongues. Now Spike Lee is on his high-horse 'bout how whitey just keeps fucking it up. And there’s a sense of hesitation as a beautiful voice echoes my way, Keep the performance at a distance – I don’t want to feel obliged to pay. Now a scream from down the hall's become white noise, just like the traffic I hear it with my ears, I guess, but not enough to make me think. If someone pauses for a second on the left side of the sidewalk, It’s all that I can do to stop myself from throwing out some limb. I was led to believe that this place never ever would sleep, Yet come four AM it’s last call, And the people pour onto the streets. And I know it’s a fiction, I know it’s just glass and concrete, But I thought that numerical grid might mean something for me. It’s a feeling in your stomach that you’re not sure why you’re waking up. Not like you’re all that money hungry, but the bills they just keep piling up. You suspect things might have changed, since CBGB’s closed their doors to punk, All the children – so well spoken, all the strollers parked in bars and pubs. But there’s something about the snow When it falls over the city, It belies the cold I feel Makes me believe there must be something I’ve missed. There’s something about the pain That makes not quitting seem a victory, Drop our standards down so low that We’re just happy if the beating’s swift. I was led to believe That this land was the land of the free, But when most of the kitchen Are paid in slave wages, It’s hard to agree. And I know that it’s nice to eat cheap To drink almost for free But this empire would fall If they opened the curtain On what’s underneath. This empire would fall If they opened the curtain On what’s underneath. This empire would fall If they opened the curtain On what’s underneath.

credits

released November 17, 2018

Music by Colouring Cats
Lyrics by Dan Troicka
Recorded, mixed, and mastered by Bruce Pagunsan

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Colouring Cats Melbourne, Australia

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