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Perennial Dock Morning [Solo Acoustic Demos]

by Le Phone Cord

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1.
The Face, A Facade 03:31
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with my face half-frozen in the ozone layer lost and my fertile crescent body's essence focus found... the moon in May... birthday balloons... "perfumes don't fade!" laugh brides and grooms. don't you know a smile is a cistern, sister? umbrella––frown rain runs down. both at times do serve a purpose, and both do at times serve it well. as i soak in bath salts along fault lines wine in hand, i laze on rooftops... (blaze-proof snapshots sunburned out…) chalked up and chafed... on expressions zoomed... rattled glass panes predict monsoons. don't you know your cheek bones are glowing? don't blush that'll just make it worse. hollow and haloed and high-sloped... don't wear makeup, you can make it work. raspberry blisters where razor blade kissed her... the badger hair brushes swished 'round in the sink... rendered in slivers, i shiver through silvers as slender as ribbons–– “you're looking quite nice...” take it in pill-form if you cannot perform under shower pressure fogging up the mind. cuckold or cold feet, you're still young and so sweet, so don't sweat the details prevailing so far. bulldozed or doze off on fire escape loft, i ask, "does it matter Madam Macadam?" ruthlessly truthful: i'm not sure how youthful i feel at this fruit stand on my way to work in the streets of New York... New York, New York [repeat until it loses all meaning (i.e., until semantic satiation sets in), then repeat more]
2.
Welcomely Homely 03:29
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i keep givin' out my address in hopes that i can follow somebody home... all i've got is this real estate license that lately 's feeling so fake... 'cause there wasn't a house in the dry eye that night, so when i cried about you later i must've been doin' somethin' right... welcomely homely, honey, you've hardly been bathed in the afterglow of conglomeration... crisscrossin' Carolina in hindsight, our split-sides nearly lime-lit... been buldin' up this house of cards to have a place with its own deck... steamin' towards the orphanage of origin, but in the couplet of your arms borrowin' for tomorrow's tenement! every goodbye was a microcosmic sky- high signal, double entendre, bilingual breath... i nearly slipped through the cracks in my voice as i hoisted off... it was déja vu in dressing room with defenses down... this is my last stand against circumstance. this is my first glance towards a dove with branch!
3.
Navy Wife 03:24
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Navy wives on the pier out the rain crystallize, come… umbrellas full bloom… there’s a leak in the boat ‘neath her overcoat, soaked through… spoken for… broke in two… a fortress in a dress under strict house arrest that's self-imposed, closed off… salvos of salvation… Florencia's flotilla upon freedom freezes… all 's love in fair war. all ends––that's welfare. all 's well in love affairs. goodbye, my love, farewell!
4.
Receptors & Signals 04:01
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estrogen astronaut spins up from ashtray tins to ceiling fans–– the kite in my consciousness, the light at the end of my tunnel vision... i've secretly adored your gorgeous adornments and floral arrangements; i meant to tell you then... now water trickles in- to the vases' bases! drawers stuffed with clothes pinned... kitchen is saturated with your scents dispensed in redolence... i take your smile and bake it in- to apple pie, mood-alterin' food pyramids… seasick seein' ships through the rain when they're all empty to me... i was engulfed in your ample endorphins, but now all i see is these endless dorsal fins. but they won't get me high… strings detached from kites... their bodies will not rise above the waves to grave goodbyes... why?
5.
Goodbye, Waves 04:46
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sinkin' ships at sunrise appear as preamble... with auras air-raided we are stately in shambles. The Hereafter hangs like paper lanterns slung low, then glides down the river with full flames past row boats. “wait!” i will wait... “so long!” so long... airplanes scream, oratin', over orchards, barren channels... scene grows grand with distance–– emptiness overflows... the canyons are spacious... the craters are not cold. the sky sags with the weight of halos and payloads. i could only ever grasp you as a concept, so i held you in my head like the holiest math. at Calamity Synth, all our problems piled up. squeezed into a loft bed–– coupled Malthusian scrubs... they are bulbs burnin’ out, but planted in the ground will wane through the winter, wait for Christmas tree sprouts... don't cry at creation–– its dreams just like snow blown wild and widely… colliding kaleidoscopes... at my muscles zenith, i will crave you so glum. empty out my unrest with some fee-fi-fo-fum... splotches of his pigment trickle down from rags wrung... twisted ladders' rungs rang–– the necklace on which he's strung... she's finding her footing, she's up on tip-toes. *goodbye* she waves, wobbling, on balance beams baroque.
6.
My/The Roaring 20s 03:38
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electroshock... a ticking clock... i’ll sleep when i’m dead or i’ll die in my sleep. always tongue-tied... always waitin’... every time i go outside i end up with sun-fried skin. open an umbrella, it starts rainin’... i don’t even know what you want anymore! i don’t even... i don’t even... i don’t even know! who would even know who we are anymore? who could even… who could even… who could even know? the flag was flappin’ formin’ folds in the fabric like Pacific Ocean waves... a stolen car with broken mirrors, AM radio sta- tion in place of time... i’m not alone if i forget my age.
7.
Oh Me 03:58
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here i am once again–– in more ways than one–– in the sand on the beach bein’ bleached out by the sun. history, hysterectomies, anomie, and anonymity–– are these my enemies? manifest destiny? or maybe an option-three? all vessels must decide to be propelled by capillaries or masts/wood. false nostalgia could just as feasibly drown ya as your hometown could... what’s the umbilical, rhetorical effect of this struck syllable’s bell? fountain pens on a shell-shocked, hell-scaped young man’s novel fontanelle... the idea of soul ends up a phantom limb you can’t even fathom... “if you love it, let it go!”––unless it don’t grow, then all you did was abandon... i doubt i’ll ever feel as free as the first time i stayed home alone. a calling to belonging inside empty buildings and ruins of stone... cultural memories lapse but can also relapse within a synapse–– maps snapped open, astrolabes soakin’ in strobed light and my CSF casked… these are things about me… still i doubt me that they are me… they’re an armies fighting for me… there are five me’s, six me’s… seventies, totaling…? whippin’ around the bends and the blind curves of rail-less cliffside roads, had to rely on the signs so to not make beelines… end up in a maw full of sawtooths where there is no time, when there is no place you’re frozen when you die. there is a new Space Race that traces through the mind. i’ve a few good friends. there’ll be other women... but right now all i want is to go swimmin’...
8.
Gina 05:16
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Gina... broken coffee cups, torn pantyhose–– i need 'em by the bedside table telephone... while i was cleanin'... all your bobby pins in Dixie Cups, you leaned them like gardening tools in backs of trucks. at the marina... Eastern Seaboard trip in drips and drops... by the cantina... roadside flashes haunting the cornstalks... the rigmarole of our cin'ma's scope, and our lyrical e- lopements along The Lone Star Trail with masts raised and some gauze-wrapped bouquets of manifold marigolds in elegy for workers of rail- roads––an ode in light bulbs culled, pullulating, gently pulsating in tents, unrepenting… Regina Jester, queen of equestrians, sun- bathed by The Great Salt Lake on baked mud. Har- ry Haystack, slack-jawed, war-widowed horse whisper- er, sidled up side saddle to her. The Psychedelic San Francisco Blood Rush gushed through the ravines and the grandest canyons, ran the interstates––a kingdom come undone... the rusted colossus of The Summer Of Love. The New Frontier... that old front door... peel out, floor it... soon i'll be hittin’ the road; i'll be hittin’ the beach; i'll be pickin' up West Coast chicks–– let's go!
9.
Saturnalia 02:58
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Apollo abrogates and matter separates–– the strayin’ lights, low-laid... astronomy ashtray... coffee cream galaxy spilled in finale... in consummate café, feign feeling featherweight. watching the gunned flares fade, surveying the landscape... child pulls at pant leg–– another spinning plate... but i won’t scream your name inside a hurricane as echo chamber maid... i think it might be brave to not be that insane–– to open up my brain as if it was a vein... just like it was vein! just like it was vein! just like it was vein! just like it as a vein... when it blossoms i'm obliterated, and littered like petals in a bird baths, rotatin'–– pink and white ovations, slow motion dilation... do you know just how comely you are, as our deaf daughter puts earrings on? calmest canals cupped against a palm... navvy with barrow wipes brow with cloth…
10.
A Flood Of Mirrors 04:44
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six leagues long the shiver runs, rippling every reflection. all the self-aware unknowns of their spots upon the dome... queen of mis-en-abyme––though out of sequence–– shines subtly like sequins through the bleakness, as my myopic dreams fade to kaleidoscopic kinds of closeness... a waterfall of dresses meshes... refresh to palest pinks while blinking on a mattress... statuesque in the flesh––completely arresting iridescence... clumsily the stars and sea smear and smudge... messages in bottles spun... vestige, holy accident... people of the lost city increasing velocities... angels at all angles that fall, bedraggled–– stragglers zig-zagging like particles in stars’ sickle arcs, fickle marks out on larks that might fix us on the water... i'm pressed into your chest and cherishing the crash of your crests, and your warmth and its breadth, with irises intimate, locking-in above our buckling knees... suddenly the sounds and seams come undone... [part that was completely left off this recording: extended orgiastic soloing] wading knee-deep in a mirror... never thought you'd find me here... cirrus kiss, calypso tryst... from cocoa leaves, depart with grins... at the Hudson River bend, the glass––it broke! oh, bridge, belay! pants rolled up as the wind rises, whippin' hair across your face!

about

These songs were written between 2009 and 2011. Fairly fleshed out arrangements for a full band exist, but only in the mind of the songwriter, who has never been able to get a band together.

Each song was worked on for no more than one day and recorded live on an iPod Nano using the "Voice Memo" function. When possible/necessary/not totally inadvisable, the songwriter attempted to at least allude to what the full arrangement might sound like using various mouth noises. The singing is sometimes too quiet, but all lyrics are printed. If a song had to be significantly altered to fit the "solo acoustic" format, it is noted.

credits

released November 27, 2014

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Le Phone Cord Oakland, California

"Just a schmo like you or me.”
––David Thomas of Pere Ubu

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