The Left Stomock

Life's Such a Joy

2011-08-20T18:03:00.002-04:00

I killed Jake the royal stallion

and painted the castle walls with his blood.

I lifted high his mangled foreleg

and crushed the nursery master's skull.

Life's such a joy

When a healthy boy can find his release

I cut my ties

and let my happy legs

walk off with my feet.

I tried to fill the need in my stomock

by making a soup of the master's brains.

To burn off some of the strength this gave me,

I opened a few of my mother's veins.

Life's such a joy

When a healthy boy can find his release

I cut my ties

and let my happy legs

walk off with my feet.

I kissed mom and bid the subjects good wishes

then set their miserable hovels alight.

I played my flute and clicked my heels

and gaily escaped under cover of night.

Life's such a joy

When a healthy boy can find his release

I cut my ties

and let my happy legs

walk off with my feet.

I Hate Our Freedom (recorded)

2011-05-26T17:43:00.002-04:00

Here's the song.

So it only took six years, but isn't it worth the wait? No? Well, ok then.

The Stuff I Like

2010-08-21T00:07:00.009-04:00

I like angry hippies.
Free of grease.
Gunnin' for peace.
I like
organized religion,
apocalyptic vision,
orgasmic frisson.

Smokin' in my Prius
Dancin' in my leather chaps.
Eatin' soy cheeses.
Praisin' Jesus.
Finding a job
and giving a hand.

I like happy Christian conservatives,
secure in tradition,
a cancer in remission.
I like
confident whitey,
keepin' yards tidy,
no need to act mighty.

Smokin' in my Prius
Dancin' in my leather chaps.
Eatin' soy cheeses.
Praisin' Jesus.
Finding a job
and giving a hand.

I like the Nation of Islam
Bluegrass Jam.
Hey, y'all, goddamn.
I love
bomb-throwing peaceniks,
inclusive rednecks,
sharing their safe sex.

Smokin' in my Prius
Dancin' in my leather chaps.
Eatin' soy cheeses.
Praisin' Jesus.
Finding a job
and giving a hand.

A shaven Chewbacca
chewing tobacco.
Pavin' to Mecca,
drinkin' prosecco,
datin' Rebeccah.
He's our court jester.

Recorded in one take.

Duct Tape and a Contractor Bag

2010-07-13T19:36:00.002-04:00

Duct tape for my window pane.
Duct tape to keep out the rain.
Duct tape where I poked a vein.
Duct tape and a contractor bag.

Duct tape and a contractor bag
to clean up all the fun I've had.
It could be worse
than this state of bad
if not for
duct tape and a contractor bag.

One bag for my Miller cans.
One bag for my dreams and plans.
One bag full of hobo hands.
Duct tape and a contractor bag.

Duct tape and a contractor bag
to clean up all the fun I've had.
It could be worse
than this state of bad
if not for
duct tape and a contractor bag.

Thanks for All the Crap.

2009-01-03T16:36:00.005-05:00

Dashing from the plane.
Hiding presents from the rain.
Paying for a cab.
To carry all this crap.

Sitting on the couch.
Pick out a kid to play the elf.
Starting to unwrap.
Piles of Christmas crap.

We don't have to talk to each other.
Brother, we don't have to talk at all.
We don't have to talk to each other.
It's Christmas time...
Thanks for all the crap.

I tell the one where you stole my concert tickets.
Tell the one where we locked you in a box.
Sister tells the one where I totally wrecked her car.
On purpose. Because I'm a douche bag.
Thanks.
Thanks for all the crap.

We don't have to talk to each other.
We don't have to talk at all.
We don't have to talk to each other.
It's Christmas time...
Thanks for all the crap.

Paying for a cab.
Dashing to the plane.

Makin' It

2008-07-23T20:32:00.006-04:00

I'm a nut, baby.
You're loose a screw.
Before you bolt,
I've got a project made for two.

We'll be makin it, baby.
As best we can.
We'll be makin' it, baby.
Makin' it ourselves.
Makin' it by hand.

I've got a ball-peen hammer.
Baby, I've got wood.
You let the glue flow,
we'll stick stuff together,
nail it good.

We'll be makin it, baby.
As best we can.
We'll be makin' it, baby.
Makin' it ourselves.
Makin' it by hand.

I'm a mighty, musky man but I've
come apart at the seams.
Preacher says, "talk to the carpenter"
but I'm hammered butt joint to beam.

Things fall apart,
rust and come undone.
Carpentry and plumbing
serve both uncouth and bon ton.

I choose uncouth.

Box

2007-05-04T20:26:00.000-04:00

Think maybe I'll make a box.
I think I'd like to make things out of wood.
But then maybe
I should think
about
the folks who make that wood.

Are the underage?
Do they get fair wage?
Lunch breaks?
And an HR guy who knows
how
to manage their 401ks?

Oh, man. I want to help them out.
Really I could really do the proletariat good.
And then maybe
they'd be grateful
and they'd give me the gift of wood.

Are they underage?
Do they get a fair wage?
Lunch breaks?
And an HR guy who knows
how
to manage their 401ks?

New Recording: Bring Me an Egg, Sweet Jesus

2007-04-23T22:14:00.000-04:00

Listen to it if you must.

Bring Me An Egg, Sweet Jesus

2007-03-31T19:42:00.000-04:00

The green grass grew up early this year.
In fact, it never left.
I might believe in climate change
if in faith I was bereft.
Now, Christ he comes in bunny form--
I'm clear on all the facts,
as clear as the sky, as clear as my
mangled, rhymed syntax.

So,
Bring me an egg, sweet Jesus.
Come invisibly, in bunny shape.
Sweet candies you hide
in the hole in your side.
Reach in.
Reach in.
And bring me an egg, sweet Jesus.

I always vote Republican.
The way the bible says.
And I'll root for the Jews in Jerusalem
up until the end of days.
Jesus is furry when he wants to be--
that's just the way things are.
And he'll smite the Jews when he wants to too,
and the followers of Ishtar.

So,
Bring me an egg, sweet Jesus.
Come invisibly, in bunny shape.
Sweet candies you hide
in the hole in your side.
Reach in.
Reach in.
And bring me an egg, sweet Jesus.

Umlaut

2007-02-19T19:21:00.000-05:00

I need to correct a few of my pseudodeutsch spellings, but here's a glorious blast from the genius Dzhrew. He came up with the idea & wrote some of it, then we recorded it together at his place, manye yearse agoe.

Umlaut

Fraulein mit der Reichstag glockenspiel
lederhosen strasse waffen macht.
Fraulein ist kaputen bundesbank.
Liebchen fraulein schnitzel: auch, mein gott!

Umlaut umlaut umlaut umlaut...

Ubersturmbam fraulein kraftwerk kopf
Leibe Hansel Gretel ubermensch
Kinder kinder kinder kinder nicht mach schnell
Und der kinder kinder kinder achtung kunst gestalt.

Umlaut umlaut umlaut umlaut...

Fraulein mit gedanken avtobahn
sauerkraut verboten. Guten tak!
Schweinhund ist geshundheit und kaput
und das underwasserreichenmachenwagonboot.

Umlaut umlaut umlaut umlaut...

Weinerschnitzel bratwurst luftballon,
Wagner, Goethe, Hegel, Otto von Bismark,
Pilsner heute panzerfallen schnauzer raus
und der teufel trinken richtich avtomat.

Umlaut umlaut umlaut umlaut...

Jagermeister avtobiken damen und herren,
krakhmacher, Postdamer, gummi bearen.
Scheisse mit der cuckooclocken heimlichpest.
Nachten musick machen auf Oktoberfest.

Christmas Makes Me Sick

2006-12-27T10:40:00.000-05:00

I'm surprised I never posted this. It dates back to just before I started the blog, I think. Here 'tis:

Christmas Makes Me Sick

This time every year, Santa comes down the flue.
Meanwhile, just to be parallel, I contract the flu.
Santa hands out presents every Christmastime.
Me, I deliver germs and coughs and buckets of nasal slime, 'cause

Christmas makes me sick.
Christmas makes me sick.
Every year a fever visits just before old Saint Nick.
Christmas makes me cough.
Christmas makes me spew.
Don't talk to me about peace and joy.
I'm full of Christmas goo.

Gonna live in a Christmas bubble,
a festive plastic home.
I won't let Santa in unless he disinfects his gnomes.
Please don't bring me presents.
In fact, don't come at all.
I'm fine here alone in my plastic home drinking germ-proof alcohol, cause

Christmas makes me sick.
Christmas makes me sick.
Every year a fever visits just before old Saint Nick.
Christmas makes me cough.
Christmas makes me spew.
Don't talk to me about peace and joy.
I'm coughing up fondue.

Asian! Avian! Spanish! Fun!
It's killed more than World War I.
The grippe, the croup, the hacking cough,
knocking half of Europe off.
Russian, swine and Hong Kong hit.
Thank you, antigenic shift.
Nature wracks its fiendish brains
to deck the halls with new flu strains.

Christmas makes me sick.
Christmas makes me sick.
Every year a fever visits just before old Saint Nick.
Christmas makes me cough.
Christmas makes me spew.
Don't talk to me about peace and joy.

New Recording: My Baby Hates Christmas

2006-12-01T19:00:00.000-05:00

Click here to get your own player.

New Recording, Old Technology: Bein' the Man Blues

2006-05-08T07:50:00.000-04:00

I finished my first viable cigar box guitar last night and celebrated by recording a quick Bein' the Man Blues.

The Left Stomock is almost a year old now. The year's output consists of 17 song lyrics, about 13 of which exist as some sort of recorded monstrosity. This leads us to say, "Khosighingda aghrighing bolmisa, tavuz yeyixtin khorkhma."

Gutcasting

2006-04-24T21:48:00.000-04:00

Can't get enough of that precious, precious gut? Subscribe to the Stomock gutcast at http://capnstomock.podomatic.com/. It's like a feeding tube delivering pure flavor (flavour, even) from our guts directly to yours.

It's Not Russia

2006-04-19T22:05:00.000-04:00

Centralizing power,
waging war against secession
via rampant nostalgia
for imperial aggression.

Amid currency crises,
and regional depressions,
conspicuous consumption
of material posessions.

Baby, times are hard
in the land that was the land of the Tsars,
so the past looks better
than it ever really was.

But, baby, it's not Russia... it's us.

An aging population starts
to think about birth rates,
the future of the nation
if it fails to procreate.

Riots...
breaking out on the fringes.
Growing concern
about alcohol binges.

Baby, times are hard
in the land that was the land of the Tsars,
so the past looks better
than it ever really was.

But, baby, it's not Russia... it's us.

Written & recorded in one shot this evening, without bothering to tune my guitar, divert from my usual guitar strumming mode & progression, or change from the default echo patch on my vocal processor. Enjoy.

Updates

2006-04-17T11:34:00.000-04:00

Well, the 7-days-7-songs experiment blew chunks. We can blame my mom for having a blood clot halfway through, but in all honesty I had a creative clot before that. Neither was fatal, thankfully. Mom's back home... back at work, even. Yeesh, mom.

Here's a new draft of Why Am I Here? thanks to Righthand Stomock Bryan, who added bass, backing vocals, and groovy guitar floaters.

Speaking of the Righthand Stomock, here's one of the songs he recorded last week: Toe Jam of the Devil. As its subject matter would suggest, it's sublime.

Day 4 Status

2006-04-11T22:09:00.000-04:00

Three songs written, one recorded, another with a rough guitar track down (that may or may not work in the light of mornin'). So I'm one lyric and 2.25 recordings behind schedule on day four.

Onward pagan soldiers.

Recording 1: Why Am I Still Here?

2006-04-10T15:03:00.000-04:00

Day three: two songs written, one recorded to my low standards.

Why Am I Here?

Got titles you want made into songs? Post 'em in the comments.

Song 2: A Foundation in the Blues

2006-04-08T12:58:00.000-04:00

I'm not much of a rebel.
I don't own no blue suede shoes.
I've got one thing in common with rock & roll:
a foundation in the blues.

I don't know much about drugs.
Sex scares me through and through.
I've got one thing in common with rock & roll:
a foundation in the blues.

Doo-wop won't admit me.
I can't ride the New Wave.
I'm more Elmo than Emo.
And Christian Rock makes me feel unsaved.
I can't afford the Grunge wardrobe.
The same thing goes for Goth.
I'd try to ride on the Jam Rock line,
but I know I'd just want off.

I've never choked on vomit,
despite all the chunks I blew.
I've got one thing in common with rock & roll:
a foundation in the blues.

I've got one thing in common with rock & roll:
a foundation in the blues.

Song 1: Why Am I Still Here?

2006-04-08T12:15:00.000-04:00

I said I'd find another job.
Tender my resignation.
I planned my moves. I told my friends.
Then I cashed another paycheck.
I said I'd quit when I had savings,
when I paid my student loans.
I'd flick 'em the finger
out the driver's window,
once I could afford a car.

So why
am I

still at the law firm?

I said I'd quit when I made partner.
Tender my resignation.
I planned my moves. I told my friends.
Then I cashed another paycheck.
I said I'd quit and buy a boat,
when I'd put away the cash.
An aquatic blender
and those styrofoam things,
so I could drink without fear of sinking.

So why
am I

still at the law firm?

7 Songs In 7 Days?

2006-04-08T12:00:00.000-04:00

Yes, that's right. I'm going to write and record seven songs this week. Watch the quality, already at local Chinese take-out levels, reach as-yet-unanalogized depths.

Wish me luck. Listen along if you wish. I may even post multiple drafts of each "tune" to maximize your suffering.

Wheee.

dannylujackson.jpg

2006-04-02T21:48:00.000-04:00

dannylujackson.jpg
Originally uploaded by dtaciuch.

Relevant lyric: "Yahee hee hee."

Uke Troop

2006-03-14T20:37:00.000-05:00

Rifle on his shoulder,
Ukulele in his hand.
Who could stand before such a soldier?
Who could face such a dangerous man?

Rifle on his shoulder,
Ukulele in his hand.
Ladies wink behind their chadoras,
but he's a family man.
Sorry, ladies. He's a family man.

Rifle on his shoulder,
Ukulele in his hand.

Listen to it if you dare.

For Seth, Matt's buddy in Iraq. Thank you, Ukes for Troops.

Ass First

2005-11-25T15:09:00.000-05:00

If I'd been born in a church,
Id've been a believer.
(Believer.)
If I'd been born in an office,
I'dve been a deceiver.
(Deceiver.)
And if my momma'd felt her belly distend
in the middle of a football field,
then by the sound of cheers
and whistles and flags,
I'd be condemned to be a tight-end.
(or a wide receiver?)

But
I came into this world ass first
I came into this world ass first
I came into this world ass first
and I intend to leave it
the same way.

What's in Your Mailbox?

2005-11-17T18:48:00.000-05:00

Is it a copy of the latest Stomock album, No Shit? Could be. I'm mailing them out to longtime loyal fans as they roll off the assembly line.

Title Warehouse #8 (Holiday Edition)

2005-11-17T15:47:00.000-05:00

Write a Check to Santa

Reindeer, Tasty Reindeer

Thanks for the Trash

We Don't Have to Talk to Each Other (but I still gotta get you a gift)

Do You Smell What I Smell?

Also With Birthdays Today

My Baby Hates Christmas

2005-11-17T15:10:00.000-05:00

No, she's not a Muslim
or a Hindu or a Jew.
She's a regular middle-American Christian,
like me and you and...
(I guess not you).
She goes to church
and she says her prayers.
She's a fan of Jesus Christ.
But every year I fear she'll lose it
and a Santa will get sliced.

'cause my baby
hates Christmas.
She hates it like it kicked her dog.
She hates it like it stole her lollypop.
She hates it like it killed her Ma.
She hates it like it took the last piece of bacon
that she needed for her BLT.
Yeah, my baby
hates Christmas
like Christmas
was me.

Yeah, my baby
hates Christmas.
She hates it like it screwed her man.
She hates it like it gave her VD.
She hates it like it burned her ham.
She hates it like showed up late to the party
in the very same dress as she.
Yeah, my baby
hates Christmas
like Christmas
was me.

What Was In My Stockings

2005-11-17T13:36:00.000-05:00

You've always been
a manly man,
looking at the ladies.
You reassured me you
would look not touch.

It didn't really bother me
that you were a skirt-watcher.
But now I know you like the skirts
just a bit too much.

My favorite part of Christmas
was what was in my stockings.
There's was always something tasty,
something shiny,
something new.
But after this year's Christmas
I'll no longer love my stockings.
'cause what was in my stockings
was you.

Kinky panties. Sexy bras.
I saw you hid my presents.
I should've known better.
Such a large sweater.
The pumps were size-elevens.

My favorite part of Christmas
was what was in my stockings.
There's was always something tasty,
something shiny,
something new.
But after this year's Christmas
I'll no longer love my stockings.
'cause what was in my stockings
was you.

Title Warehouse #7 (parenthetical, mostly infinitive, clause edition)

2005-10-04T10:02:00.000-04:00

They Thwarted a Plan (to blow up a dam)

It Don't Take a Baseball Bat (to break a pinata)

It's Still Illegal (to run me over)

It's Hard (to beat you) When You Beat Yourself

(I never show up) For Death

Title Warehouse #6

2005-08-30T23:23:00.000-04:00

600 Meters of Dutch Boys

Ugly as Sin (and twice as popular)

The Captain's Panties

Personal Dust Bowl

Puttin' in Time (and gettin' back gumballs)

First the Beer, then the Wine, then the Bourbon (and then the Bitter Tears)

2005-08-24T20:02:00.000-04:00

You swore that your change wouldn't jingle
in your pocket from walking away.
But you first played that song seven years ago,
and I'm still dancing to it today.

I pour out a glass
for the good times
that haven't come near me
for years:
first the beer, then the wine,
then the bourbon--
and then, the bitter tears.

You taught me to drink beer like water.
You taught me to drink wine like beer.
You made me see red wine in bourbon
and Mardi Gras in the Jewish New Year.

I pour out a glass
for the good times
that haven't come near me
for years:
first the beer, then the wine,
then the bourbon--
and then, the bitter tears.

We were famed for our inebriation
with each other, right from the start.
Then like Carry Amelia Nation,
you smashed the saloon of my heart.

Title Warehouse #5

2005-08-17T08:41:00.000-04:00

Stuck in a Rut Called You

I'll Tell You What I'm Thinkin' ('cause I'm Drunk)

Finish Your Platitudes (there are children in China with no common sense)

Congratulations on Your Magical Pants!

Why Won't You Stay?

2005-08-05T23:30:00.000-04:00

I said that you were sweet like sugar.
You smiled and so I figured
I had gotten something right.
But I got hungry in the night
and tried to scoop up
a cup,
so we had to have a little fight.

Why won't you stay where I put you?
You're always doing something
that I didn't think you could.
Why won't you stay where I put you?
Why won't you stay understood?

I said that you were soft and warm,
like the wooly underwear
our grandparents used to wear.
But I got cold in the night
and tried to unsnap
your flap,
so we had to have a little fight.

Why won't you stay where I put you?
You're always doing something
that I didn't think you could.
Why won't you stay where I put you?
Why won't you stay understood?

I said that you were cold as an icepick
someone firmly took in hand
and jammed into my ear.
You said, "babe, you're too precise
and too uptight
tonight,"
and then we fooled around all night.

Why won't you stay where I put you?
You're always doing something
that I didn't think you could.
Why won't you stay where I put you?
Why won't you stay understood?

Fun is for the Young

2005-08-02T20:32:00.000-04:00

You can hold 'em back.
Fuss and fight.
Preach and teach.
Make 'em stand up right.
Lock 'em in their rooms.
Fill 'em with your fears.
Make 'em like you.
Make 'em dread each year.

Give your children condoms.
Let your children play.
Hand buzzer gags and porno mags.
Bicycles and bondage games.
I have seen the grownup world.
The grownup world is dumb.
Fun.
Fun is for the young.

You can press 'em down.
Growl and spit.
Wash out their mouths
if they say "tit".
Call up the priest
to cast out their will.
If all else fails,
put 'em on pills.

Give your children condoms.
Let your children play.
Hand buzzer gags and porno mags.
Bicycles and bondage games.
I have seen the grownup world.
The grownup world is dumb.
Fun.
Fun is for the young.

The choice is yours
until the choice is theirs
so take their choice away.
If you can't join 'em, beat 'em.
Berate 'em and beat 'em.
Berate 'em and beat 'em.
Berate 'em berate 'em berate 'em berate 'em

or just

give your children condoms.
Let your children play.
Hand buzzer gags and porno mags.
Bicycles and bondage games.
I have seen the grownup world.
The grownup world is dumb.
Fun.
Fun is for the young.

Draft Bier #1

2005-07-28T08:38:00.000-04:00

Drafts of songs decomposed in this forum:

It's Boston's Fault

Ego Free

LIMF and HIF

I Shit on My Grave

Fighting Tube

2005-07-26T23:45:00.000-04:00

You sat on your ass.
You read and woolgathered.
Like a wet glass on wood
you left rings 'round what mattered.
Now you sit there and say
you'll stand up for what's right,
but you might as well wave goodnight.

'cause when you look back and see blood
it's too late for peace and love.
The judge says
it's time.
To pull out your fighting tube.

You snacked on crunch snacks,
fat beef and cheese platters.
You drove everywhere,
even bedroom to bathroom.
Now you sit there and plan
to exercise your rights,
but you might as well wave good night.

'cause when you look back and see blood
it's too late for peace and love.
The doctor says
it's time.
To pull out your fighting tube.

And you won't miss it.
Not a bit.
You may wonder
what you saw in it.
You'll feel the peace
spreading out beneath you.
And you'll wonder just what took you.

'cause when you look back and see blood
it's too late for peace and love.
You know
it's time.
To pull out your fighting tube.

Title Warehouse #4

2005-07-24T00:48:00.000-04:00

My Very Female Wife
The Funniest Man in Texas
Oh, Craquerstan, My Craquerstan!
Tho Thor

It's Boston's Fault

2005-07-22T17:06:00.000-04:00

The people of Boston are so liberal.
I wanna fuck that boy.

So open-minded and so liberal.
I wanna fuck that boy.

The people of Boston are so liberal.
Makes me wanna fuck that boy.

So screwed up and so liberal.
I wanna fuck that boy.

And I've never even been to Boston.
I wouldn't know the way.
But somethin' 'bout those people in Boston
seems to be turnin' me gay.

I wanna fuck that boy.

A little trip into the mind of Rick Santorum.

Here's a draft of the song.

Title Warehouse #3

2005-07-15T10:05:00.000-04:00

Today's pool:

The Girl with the Spectacular Ass
Refreshingly Moist
Blues You Can Use
Fun is for the Young

I Hate Our Freedom

2005-07-02T06:27:00.002-04:00

I hate our freedom,
hate our fun,
the choice to have or not to have
sex with anyone.

I hate the church.
I hate the state.
I hate the space between them.
I hate how I can freely say
how much I hate my freedom.

Socialists in Europe
gaze across the pond and frown.
They live in huts in Amsterdam
and plot to bring us down.
The French, the Swedes,
the Luxembourgese,
the Injuns with their dots--
our grand offensive freedom
is always in their thoughts.

I hate our freedom,
hate our fun,
the choice to have or not to have
sex with anyone.

I hate the sun.
I hate the sky.
I hate the open air.
I hate that I am not required
to cut my hippie hair.

Socialists in Europe
gaze across the pond and frown.
They live in huts in Amsterdam
and plot to bring us down.
But though they hate us gaily,
thoroughly and often,
if they saw my rabid hatred,
out of sympathy they'd soften.

I hate our freedom,
hate our fun,
the choice to have or not to have
sex with anyone.

No PBS. No CNN.
No NBC. No FOX.
I feel the hatred curl my hair
and scrunchy up my nuts.

Update: finally recorded this.

Tasty Liquid Center

2005-06-17T09:20:00.000-04:00

Tasty liquid center.
I've got to take a bite.
I could get on TV
and tell you how I'm right
on the public path to righteousness:
one, two, thuh-ree:
A tasty liquid center
reveals itself to me.

Can you follow me
with your eyes?
Can you make a
grunting noise?
I'm here to help. See me want to help?
I've sympathy for your animal yelp.

Can you follow me
with your eyes?
Can you make a
grunting noise?
I could reach out my hand
to empty your pan,
but I can't 'cause I've got other plans.

Tasty liquid center.
I've got to take a bite.
I could get on TV
and tell you how I'm right
on the public path to righteousness:
one, two, thuh-ree:
A tasty liquid center
reveals itself to me.

Title Warehouse #2

2005-06-16T08:24:00.000-04:00

Looking for a One-armed Man

First the Wine, then the Bourbon (then the Bitter Tears)

My Meds are Good Meds

Tasty Liquid Center

Octave Moses

Bein' the Man Blues

2005-06-13T10:40:00.000-04:00

If you weren't being such a child,
I wouldn't have to be The Man.
If you weren't being such a child,
I wouldn't have to be The Man.
I'm gonna come down hard upon you,
which was never in my plans.

The Man, he wears a uniform
or he's my Teacher or my Pa.
The Man, he wears a uniform
or he's my teacher or my Pa.
So I never thought I'd be him.
I never thought it'd go so far.

I don't care that you misbehaved.
I don't care that you lifted, lied or ran.
I don't care that you misbehaved.
I don't care that you lifted, lied or ran.
But I'm mad because you made me,
you made me have to be The Man.

If you weren't being such a child,
I wouldn't have to be The Man.
If you weren't being such a child,
I wouldn't have to be The Man.
I'm gonna come down hard upon you,
which was never in my plans.

Ego Free

2005-06-02T22:03:00.000-04:00

The Mullahs say I've got to get down
with the Holy Book.
And they're right
about
me.
The Taoists say I've got seven holes
leading out of my head.
No wonder I
feel
free.

Look at me.
Look at me.
You should be
more like me.
Look at me:
I'm ego free.
Balance and perfection,
mind, body and soul.
Look at me:
I'm ego free.

The shamans shake and dance in their trance
and they break chicken necks,
and I know
what they
mean.
The Taoists say I've got seven holes
leading out of my head.
No wonder I
feel
free.

And in parts of Nigeria
they say God's busted up so small
you can spend all your life
just gathering shards
and still have nothing to show.

Look at me.
Look at me.
You should be
more like me.
Look at me:
I'm ego free.
Balance and perfection,
mind, body and soul.
Look at me:
I'm ego free.

Here's a draft of the song.

Polarity, Hey

2005-06-02T21:02:00.000-04:00

You used to beg for forgiveness.
I used to give it away.
But when we found each other,
opposites
changed our ways.

Changed polarity, hey.

You used to be plenty nasty.
I never could walk away.
But when we got together,
opposites
changed our ways.

Changed polarity, hey.

It must've been something 'bout
swappin' our molecules.
It must've been something 'bout
swappin' our molecules.
We should've been careful 'bout
swappin' our molecules.
It was just another passing phase,
'Till we changed polarity, hey.

You used to boil at the same point
where I melted away.
But when we got together,
opposites
changed our ways.

Changed polarity, hey.

Like
dissolves like, and I like
the way things are melting now.
Like
dissolves like, and I like
the way things are melting now.
Like
dissolves like, and I like
the way things are melting,
the way things are melting away.

Written in honor of my science pal, who works on fatigue and is quite fatigued with fatigue.

Title Warehouse #1

2005-06-01T22:21:00.000-04:00

Unused titles from the word bank:

The Rich Blink

My Heart's Not that Big Anymore

Everyday Hangover

Fun's for the Dumb

Fighting Tube

LIMF and HIF

2005-06-01T21:46:00.000-04:00

I'm good and healthy at the
church and gym.
I stretch before I exercise.
I know each hymn.
I shake hands with the preacher
and I pay my tithe.
I got flax seed in my innards
and hemp outside.
I park a hybrid car outside my
solar home.
I work hard for my employer
and I pay my loans.
No problems. Perfection.
My work is all done.
If it weren't for self-destruction
I would kill someone.

She's bad for me and I like it like that:
low in moral fibre and high in fat.
Balanced in the front by the load in back.
Low in moral fibre and high in fat

Written to fit with "Grindstone" a short, raucous, bass and drums track Bryan sent awhile back. The lyrics work with the tune, plus they'll please our many female fans. Or rather, they'll offend many potential fans who are female. But with collective sales on our most recent album weighing in at three copies, we're not really worried about potential fans.

I Shit on My Grave

2005-05-28T11:22:00.000-04:00

I wrote this one for the late Ms. Cleo, who actually shat on her grave.

I Shit on My Grave

In this time
of worldwide trouble,
just as bad
or worse than before,

I float around
in a happy bubble,
like a disco queen
on a disco floor.

[chorus]

I party with the pastor,
one glass from saved.
I limerick my epitaph.
I shit on my grave.

I don't listen to my heartbeat.
Just let it go away.
I plagiarize my autopsy.
I shit on my grave.

In this time
of worldwide trouble,
I could shout
and cling to a cause.
But I float around
in a happy bubble.
I'm my own good witch
in my private Oz.

[chorus]

In this time
of worldwide trouble,
I could help nearby
or in the Cote d'ivoire.
But I float around
in a happy bubble
I know the waiter's name.
I know the way to the bar.

Public Decomposition

2005-05-28T01:18:00.000-04:00

The olde Stomock's been a mite slow of late. Perhaps a blog laxative will help? We dedicate this Stomock to the processing of unlikely substances into less likely resemblances. Like the circular digestive system, it processes and processes. Unlike said circle, it sometimes decides to just let it go.

So let it go.