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You and Earth Deserve

by becoming projections

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1.
Hot Mess 06:37
I don't know much about who, what, where, how or when; but I do know why. Like why there's nothing in me now that wasn't there before, it's just now there's more of it. Or why I don't need curtains: since everyone else has them, I can see things not seeing me; and in the land of the blind the one-eyed jackass becomes king, which is just the way I like it. In the beginning I smelled fishing in your well-wishing. If it's grace you chase, you should know I'm a basket case—that there's something weft to warp. Also know I'm the happiest sad you'll ever meet, and the most peaceful angry. I'm leaving. The sign says “gone remissing.” You yell, “Hey man! Wait for me!” But we come to learn that as we age we lose our alibis, and that being empathetic eventually drops e m. To be sure, it comes when it comes, it doesn't call ahead. And it's made clear that in our refusity there's no community. I think I'm going the way of the hot mess.
2.
Peace Trier 04:08
Try to empathize with a canine whose bark box has been severed—how infuriating it would be for us not to be able to announce. I play my dead-pan flute while you play your high-falute. The only hope is a cease-fire: it's our peace-trier. This eggshell moment in life will provide the tense, ill strength. If we still feel nothing, we must summon the sting with sing.
3.
I need to find some relief—I need me some of them unfounded beliefs. But dicot in me is more than one, you see?, so I'll see it when I believe it. But between belief and me is one too many doors and, in this world, indifference is the key to remember the owl hole. Earthlings are pavement paperweights, plus hate: It's my asphalt, but it's yo' ass' fault! At night, when factories emit, they admit—they rub pewter to play pall. What, with this world so full of scandalous evangelists, it's still all the same gross and Adam-Eve. So remember the owl hole... Whisper flight. Talons grip tight. See bright at night. Concave face hears it right.
4.
We're all miracle creations at birth: so no chump who's ever walked this Earth is any more or less related to The Pulse, regardless of any “Good Book's” true or false. You need to look at the shape of things to discern circumstance—Nature's Gestalt is divinity's freestyle dance. I know life's a song we're supposed to recognize, but I still get stalled when choosing notes and throats sometimes; because, really, I don't know any song well enough for Karaoke, not even one of my own. This isn't surprising for those of you who know me, but it's best to let me make it up as I go. I spin and listen now that I'm 33 (just like a record); but, once again, for those of you who know me, you know the need'll scratch Time's long-play in accord. Because I'm out to lunch and I haven't even had breakfast yet—in life, like this song, you'd never expect what happens next... We make sense only in reference to everything that doesn't make any. These hard lessons in Life Science perfected their defiance through misleading nomenclature. Take the word humility: it's really just a regal name for the strong-arm of repression and the opacity of hope. What seems more audacious is thinking hope is see-through clear. But the bitch about letting fate decide is that you have to wait, and the weight of that concentrated breathing is a give-in—it's all a trust lift and fall to know why this rib-caged birth sings.
5.
Cadence 10:03
Life: it gets in the bones of these times between the times. When all strong is gone, it goes from tired to terse implied. Random acts of random ask questions damned with faint phrase, like “what is it I want?” I want what I already have. What I have is this song; would I give it up if it's what was wrong? Do I keep things sad for these words to be had? Can I make-ready sense of this resident reticence? I relentlessly submit my feet to sore soles. What they can't take incantates soaring souls to work with possible gods that make places possible by compressing fly ash, like stardust, into new forms... Tit-for-tat, switching it for at—recognizing that the place is you! If you let it in it'll go to bat for you. If you stay in one place long enough, you'll find that it's munificent with truths... But if bricks and thoughts are trash, they still turn into grass. My foundation was cracked, I had to start at ground. A high-powered riffle shot me to another new town, where so many potholes are found; turns out these are my foxholes now. I didn't come to be seen and didn't mean to get mean. I came because I heard they scrub cathedrals clean, and to ask the hills for their decision-making skills. Now my decisions are most liveable, like my city. I decided to right-size my family ties, to be a sparrow in the Strip District—with a diet full of grit, but their bodies learn to use it. The Pittsburgh endeavor is my chapter 33. It's this town's choose-your-own-adventure that turns an end into a T at this intersection. Here the flashing light is fight or flight. The “Pittsburgh turn” is only left, but it's also right for this midweast Mecca—having mastered give-and-take, the three rivers wring these four boys for all the sound they make. And for our efforts, there's no more struggle to be heard when you can just feel the modern madrigals resonating Burgh's the word. It's auld lang syne that I flea. Pittsburgh now has me: it's this cadence of place that sets pace, so there will be no more maligning as the stars finally align. As long as we sing in time with them, it'll all work out just fine...
6.
From the Phoenix flight-on-high the whole world looks bleary-eyed. She's about to tuck and dive and there's no place left to hide. You and Earth deserve a perfect indoor space; but, people, it's time to face ergo our where go? I think about that flag they launched to Moon and stabbed—about how those 50 stars can't compare to the millions those point and stare. I give these thoughts to you because others should wonder too... To that this hymn we sing, so happy Thinksgiving.

credits

released September 11, 2011

becoming projections is:
Bruce Comings: sings, guitar, etc.
Dan Burgun: guitars, sonic specials, etc.
Phil Johnson: bass guitar, backing vocals, etc.
Geof Comings: drums, etc.

Additional Performances:
Jeanette Harris: sings on 1.
Morgan Stewart: sings on 2, 3, 7.
Phil Jacoby: sings on 3.

The Cadence Choir includes: Danny Bracken, Phil Jacoby, Jake Kilburg, Catherine Sheane, Morgan Stewart.

All songs written by Bruce Comings; copyright 2010.
Produced by becoming projections.

Recorded by Jake Hanner at Record On (Pittsburgh, PA)
and Bruce Comings at Ed's (Pittsburgh, PA).

Mixed by Leif Shackelford, Studio 1510 (Oakland, CA).

Original cover art by Dan Burgun.
Art layout by Brandon Gilbert.

Thanks everyone!

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becoming projections Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania

becoming projections plays music that is soft and loud, stop and start, dumb and clever, dull and epic, hate and love, famine and feast, strange and accessible.

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