Xsufflation (dance like there's a cytokine storm coming)

by Odonian Drifts

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lyrics

Mouthbrooder, just before you doubled back,
the catfish swooped to lay a clutch.
Bad-eyed, unfit to cough out the cannibal,
as Pistis in likeness disturbs the water,
I coo to my croodle-twin, whose ‘eh’
rocks each cell like a pneumatic yowl.
To binge is to be binged on. Build build build.
Shun the slow worm’s glint and see a world
in a puffball crushed right under the nose,
an ichthus necklace of counterfeit gold.

Apostles of progress of the prodrome,
you had your chance to erase the aleph.
Rest your pretty heads on a lump of suet;
the Actionist has laid your tablecloth –
black-flecked from freshly-painted nails
and stuffed pink flowers in piscine bellies.
(Those infiltrates have even killed my jokes;
high time I tried a little mildness.)

How to rescue this, O eroding witness?
This hustle has us burning up.
An hourly scroll, slouching towards quietus –
may the unjust wipe out the unjust.
The errorist choir is all dyspnoeic:
sputum coloured with data exhaust.

In what distillery was the tiger bone mashed
for wine meant to boost the void-filler’s hard-on?
What vision made the bat a mechanism
for fecal grains of nocturnal shine?
Give the hylics a permanent backdrip
that tastes like bile from the moon bear’s fistula.
Tibet intones, ‘I’m by myself but not myself’ –
Woe unto those that still don’t want to know.

Selective pressures in this sharing economy:
code for efflux pump and genetic promiscuity.
Our resistance footprint on the snaky street
has room for both detergent and waste lagoon.
Dance like there’s a cytokine storm coming;
it’s survival for the faulty. Sip a spoon of sea,
then tell me you believe in microbial fixity
and the omnipotence of GDP.

How to rescue this, O graceful ruin,
as I’m ever brought back down to earth.
Include a tuft of hair that escapes the boxy mask
and a green ray created in a lab,
a kiss in a rain-erased Durruti Column T-shirt
and a Key West never fully mapped.

credits

released August 5, 2022
I.S. Rowley: guitar & vox
Alistair Lax: synth bass & production

license

all rights reserved

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Odonian Drifts Nottingham, UK

Just an(other) effort to orchestrate a withdrawal from futurelessness without recourse to faticidic guruism or modish agitprop. Via a floundering in theurgic processes, the ritual body is constructed, dismantling what Jack Spicer called ‘the big lie of the personal’. ... more

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