1. |
Custom Custom
01:47
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You have a custom
It is customary that every day you follow this custom
You have become accustomed to following your custom
You fall unconscious in a sandwich of
flesh, cushions, ancient lives, goddesses, soil, firmament, infinity, infinity, infinity...
I am here to customize your custom
You are letting me become accustomed to customizing your custom
You now have a custom custom
You faint for renewal
You faint for redemption
You faint for me
You faint for me
Take your custom custom
Become accustomed to your customized custom
Enjoy your custom custom
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2. |
Incantation
04:10
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When the leaves, by thousands thinned,
A thousand times have whirled in the wind,
And the moon, with hollow cheek,
Staring from her hollow height,
Consolation seems to seek
From the dim, reechoing night;
And the fog-streaks dead and white
Lie like ghosts of lost delight
O'er highest earth and lowest sky;
Then, Autumn, work thy witchery!
Strew the ground with poppy-seeds,
And let my bed be hung with weeds,
Growing gaunt and rank and tall,
Drooping o'er me like a pall.
Send thy stealthy, white-eyed mist
Across my brow to turn and twist
Fold on fold, and leave me blind
To all save visions in the mind.
Then, in the depth of rain-fed streams
I shall slumber, and in dreams
Slide through some long glen that burns
With a crust of blood-red ferns
And brown-withered wings of brake
Like a burning lava-lake;—
So, urged to fearful, faster flow
By the awful gasp, "Hahk! hahk!" of the crow,
Shall pass by many a haunted rood
Of the nutty, odorous wood;
Or, where the hemlocks lean and loom,
Shall fill my heart with bitter gloom;
Till, lured by light, reflected cloud,
I burst aloft my watery shroud,
And upward through the ether sail
Far above the shrill wind's wail;—but...
Falling thence, my soul involve
With the dust dead flowers dissolve;
And, gliding out at last to sea,
Lulled to a long tranquillity
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3. |
Nothing Sir
04:16
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D’ye feel brave, men, brave?
As fearless fire, cried Stubb
Helm there; steady, as thou goest, and hast been going
What a lovely day again! were it a new-made world
and made for a summer-house to the angels
and this morning, a fairer day could not dawn upon that world
Here’s food for thought, had Ahab time to think
but Ahab never thinks; he only feels, feels, feels
that’s tingling enough for mortal man! to think’s audacity
God only has that right and privilege
Thinking is, or ought to be, a coolness and a calmness
and our poor hearts throb, and our poor brains beat too much for that
D’ye feel brave?
this old skull cracks so, like a glass
in which the contents turn to ice, and shiver it
And yet, I’ve sometimes thought my brain was very calm—frozen calm
but no, it’s like that sort of common grass that will grow anywhere
between the earthy clefts of Greenland ice or in Vesuvius’ lava
How the wild winds blow it; they whip it about me
as the torn shreds of split sails lash the tossed ship they cling to
Were I the wind, I’d blow no more on such a wicked, miserable world
--all these things are bodiless, but only bodiless as objects, not as agents--
I’d crawl somewhere to a cave, and slink there
And yet, ’tis a noble and heroic thing, the wind
--There’s a most special, a most cunning, oh, a most malicious difference--
who ever conquered it? In every fight it has the last and bitterest blow
--These warm Trade Winds, at least, that in the clear heavens blow straight on--
Run tilting at it, and you but run through it
Ha! a coward wind that strikes, but will not stand to receive a single blow
--in strong and steadfast, vigorous mildness; and veer not from their mark--
Even Ahab is a braver thing—a nobler thing that that
--shift and swerve about, uncertain where to go at last--
but all the things that most exasperate and outrage mortal man
--uncertain where to go at last--
all these things are bodiless, but only bodiless as objects
--these Trades, or something like them—something so unchangeable
and full as strong--
blow my keeled soul along
To it! Aloft there! What d’ye see?
Nothing, sir.
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4. |
Night and Day
02:48
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The perfect poise of seasons keep
With the tides that rest at neap.
So must be fulfilled the rite
That giveth me the dead year's might;
And at dawn I shall arise
A spirit, through with human eyes,
A human form and human face;
And where'er I go or stay,
There the summer's perished grace
Shall be with me, night and day.
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SPSHL SNWFLK New Orleans, Louisiana
SPSHL SNWFLK is a studio project by Dan Schubarth (The Red Book, Testaverde, open jacket) and Jake Silvas (Pudge, Coworkers, buttoned jacket.)
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