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Call it a mulligan, a glitch,
You say you'll never be the same again,
But you never know!
It's just an educated guess,
Nothing's set in stone…
…or ever over.
So check your phone,
Maybe test out some jokes. Like, yo:
If the threat went away on its own,
Why am I so afraid to be left alone?
I guess it's ghosts?
Yeah, I dunno.
But even if your stomach is a knotted rope
Over an abyss, every moment is a gift,
Even those that you wish you could totally forget
But you don't.
I guess it must depend on who you know.
Destiny is an illusion, everything is mutable.
Including you and your delusions—
So, you know, the usual.
They should do something conclusive.
So should you, and yet, you don't, now, do you?
Yes or no?
Speak into the stethoscope.
We seek out the confessional.
You can't be beaten with bread alone!
We better go
Proceeding from the dead zone
Easterly and westward ho!
But please let our chief predators know
It's jest for show
We're far from tough competitors, stuck
Under the thumbs of our editors, so
Whatever we said, remember we don't
Or any control, over anything! Though
We're quick to hit send on a threatening note,
Pretending we're over it, everything is a joke!
Unless it just depends on where you go.
Down the coast, the party's over,
While up here, the air is cold.
Years ago, we had ideas,
We made promises we broke.
Now the theater's spitting smoke,
The museum's getting close,
And we're really old.
I dunno. You don't talk about it much.
You were lonely, I was closed off, we were out of touch.
So you wrote... or like posted something up.
I'm wondering what it was. Honestly,
Nothing that you could've done
Could be that bad? I guess I don't know.
What is it you DO when you "need some time alone?"
Do you fret? Do you fume? Do you feel in control?
I bet you just crawl into a hole
Regress, and restart.
We act like we're collaborative
More than we actually are.
We stress and we starve,
We express our unhappiness.
It needn't be so hard
But it is.
Maybe we got stuck
In a vortex of our own creation, so
We play it up,
Saying "It's out of our control
We been workin', savin' up.
They must want us to fold,
Fade to memories and dust."
Although they don't.
Oh, maybe someone does.
It's hard to verify if you're just making something up
When you're out of your mind like me! But no, the joke is
You really don't know who the maniac is until the diagnosis
Also, whenever there's nothing but
Nonsensical shouting and shutting up,
The message is cloudy and underdone,
And soon enough, somebody's stumbling up
To number one.
So we know where you're coming from.
There's no use in confronting 'em.
Who among us knew we
Could be doin' stuff?
It's not much, but it's my pedestal!
Pay attention now, it works on several levels. Dug through
Details magazine on microfiche to find the devil
Or a reasonable facsimile and what I found was helpful.
The sentence? Death.
The present? Tense.
The threat is existential.
Perhaps the problems with
Progressive politics are perceptual.
Fetch some colored pencils and a couple tubs of gesso.
It wouldn't be a palimpsest without your pentimento.
Let it flow!
No use questioning the unknown,
Just accept that everything must go.
The waterworks at "Waterworld!"
You always were impossible.
Guess one of us is walking home.