The Velvet Tie

by Parcel Zed Fern

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1.
04:19
2.
04:49
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5.
03:30
6.
05:16
7.
02:58

credits

released June 15, 2016

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Mün Lün Kir Sa Easton, Pennsylvania

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Track Name: Portrait
Hiss terical. Bee lated. It’s a bigger deal. Bigger and bigger, more rhythmic. Pray cloud, high cloud, give me your attention. Breaks and dashes will offer up the heartbeat, medicine in fewer words than induction movement. It lends to simpler means as well. I can use you as a window to see the same kind of cracks and crevices found in the old man’s face. Life needs to be fixed by the deeply involved. Forget forget forget. In the back of your mind a philosopher stews, a portrait of a philosopher. Human ability uses reason, logic, and intelligence. A tremendous faith in human knowledge has been painted. The figure follows the philosopher with optimism but also with critique and satire. A fair amount of chaos, a fair amount of soup—a wealth of things, mostly nonsense. Chance doesn’t have any laws, does it?

A bridge of politics, politics on a bridge. You have one hour. And you only have so many hours in a day. You can try to change that, and learn the difference between who is who. Lambast in this profound new respect for the reporters, post to post, see for yourself. In my opinion he stumbles as the piece of the pie gets wider… And we’re constantly at war, maybe we need to look at it. They haven’t asked of you a penny. Lowering and lowering, just to borrow with no debt. Skew and skew, you have more issues than one. I was happy I did, at least. She’s not going to tell us anything. Anything or everything, give me a timeline for that, tell me your source. Fine retired intellectual white men? In my hometown, they say that institutional temples of validation are well founded in the wisdom of the crowds. In the Worship of data. Think about the source that calls you on the phone and gives you an anonymous tip. Sometimes this type of information doesn’t have an author. You can also walk to what you want to talk about—your desired location. Who’s talking here?

Second edition, third edition, I’ve been desired more times than that. That’s part of the exercise. A lesson in death rituals. What are they reading, who are they citing? Where did I come from?… Here’s everything I come from. See, where you’re starting from throws knowledge into an inevitable vacuum. Be stimulated by it, be pissed off by it, take my word for it. And you went that way… I’m going to say “This way!” You saw that, and I saw this. It’s not really anything academic. I want to take it to the next step. Someone might move it forward, or to the left or right.

A casket of jewelry? Look in another place. My wooden box is covered in velvet. Industrialism, arms, trains, artist as engineer. All that slashing around in my jewelry box. Deracinating, decontextualizing, and recontractualizing from one language to another…From my language to yours. Tight fisted pseudo militarism in an empty room with a flower vase under the window. The frame has been broken by the engine. It’s a marriage scene, totally strange. It is called a pedantic automaton by the maid. Placing the scene, it’s a tilted space. A voyeur in the background. A portrait digging into wood. The soup moved to the city, I will at some point too. In all the things I’ve showed you there’s fragmentation, rejection of heroism, and interior feelings. A nonsensical performance. All the skin is gone. Breaking down visual language, visual vocabulary. Social ideas. I’m both a mascot and dictator at times of thankfulness. There’s other things than what we see. See, feel, think, do. This limited sense of consciousness and reality… A false consciousness. You now have a sense that this is the way it works.
Track Name: Old Man
Much is to be desired as much is left. A mouse circles in a humid cloud of plasticine smog. An old man smokes his pipe near by. I’ve seen him before. His tobacco is sweet and earthy. Scented molecules get all caught up in his beard. I’m waiting for something. For something fragrant? Is it normal to take your shoes off? Is it normal to not talk to one another? Perhaps it is enough to simply be. Not being ignorant, or being joyful.

Life could be a game that was based off of life. There are so many trees. Will I ever know the man? In a month’s time he could be my best friend. Anybody could be my best friend. She could too.

I heard it’s best to sit in chairs that have no back support, as I sit against a wall with my legs crossed. Surely somebody’s nightmare. Somebody else’s normal. I could be more aware of things. People can walk by but the birds stay in the tree, yammering on and on about something. You may look up when you think someone is talking to you, you may also rush back into yourself. Is the old man still there? He could have slipped away without my knowing.

The humidity relaxes, plastic sitting on plastic melting. The old man is still there. How long can we sit? He jingles around change in his pockets. I hope he lights his pipe again. He lit his pipe. Sweaty concrete, freshly shaven. A car starts up where a car definitely shouldn’t be. The old man coughs. Rain drips from a roof. Higher and higher. Where did my shoes go? Higher still. Come over here, small crow. Come with your weird raucous cries. Come sit with me and the old man. Don’t get rained on. Do birds work harder when flying in the rain? Humans certainly don’t. They flinch and cower in acceptance. Rain isn’t particularly poisonous. Being whet witt what wet makes you cold. We are boiled like frogs. The old man has left. His beard smells nice.

There’s a type of green I’ve grown to love. It’s light and slightly blue. Sometimes it gets rusty and turns combinations of mint and orange. I’ve seen it in a bathtub or sink. Sinks with the handles and spout on a vertical plane. Heavy, heavy, heavy. Cast iron with enamel.

Flat Biron on his camel. He rode his camel into town once, but nobody could see him because he was flat. Thieves tried to steal the camel, but every time he would squeal in protest. An abundance of squealing today. We are pigs.

Time doesn’t go as fast as I’d like it to sometimes. When will I put my shoes back on? Birds don’t wear shoes. If they did they would fall out of the trees. A couple kissing falls out of a tree right in front of me. She loves him more than anything. It would be tragic if she was just saying that. Maybe she doesn’t even know if she meant it. Best to not say such things unless you know so for a fact. But she did. She does.

Your boots click clack on the wet pavement. Think about that word. Pave, meant. Pave, pave, pave. She says “You’re so nice to me.” Does she mean it? Has anyone ever said that about me? I don’t believe so. Did they mean it? Probably not.

Somewhere, someone complains about their job.

Somewhere there’s a building made entirely out of green brick. Toothpaste green, it’s sort of a joke, but who would be telling it. Like being shipped off to somewhere, a dead pen makes you realize who or what is especially fragile. Footsteps make you realize that someone’s path of motion is fragile. For it could go in any number of ways, all different directions. Why is one way better than the other?

Formats of circles, circles have a capitalized C, always. A drain pipe is a circle in forward motion guiding sky water in one decided direction. One dimension, two dimensions. I want the old man to come back. Keys and faces and zippers. All things that rattle.

I enjoy when people don’t know how to walk correctly. I enjoy what I can perceive is going on in other people’s heads. Push the button please. Make sure it’s pressed. My eyes are virtual shoes. Plastic bag, old plastic bag. Your sounds are delightful. Deafening? Try to smoke into a plastic bag. Try to walk as far tilted back as you can. Lumber on and on until you give out.
Track Name: Twenty Dollar Bill
Increasing and decreasing on a baseline. “Hi, how is everything?” I’m talking on the phone and patting down my jacket. A cigarette box goes tap tap tap. Don’t oversell yourself. Cheap material ends up being sold for under twenty, without a strap. You’ll keep your two to yourself. The business of changing litters, it has to be cool. I clear my throat while talking to the administrators. A sweater falls in bad form—bad posture. That’s good.

You’re a spiral notebook living as a young artist. Rolls and rolls and rolls and rolls of paper, all those shiny things. The things we eventually figure out. Trains pass me by. Inhabitants here say that offices and jobs will manifest the howling hounds of recycling. It’s all very painful. Young mormons girls unfurl their thousand mile stares into the fog. How conventional it is to draw upon these subjects. A pearl earring with a hint of concern. Paper cut stuck in a rut, printed on bleached photo paper stapled to a telephone pole in the snow. If you see a beige bowling shirt, please observe the buttons. See how they glisten like gelatin on elderly hips. Fringe haircuts that have never been photographed. Loose hair in my back pocket. A black locket shows the work for twenty dollars an hour placed neatly on a pressed bowling shirt.
Track Name: Playing Cards
Males don’t process it the same way. Don’t put your cards in front of a house, if you will forgive me. Empty time is what we want to hold close. Please absorb the material in question through your humanity. Was that good? You could take my opinion and ignore it. I don’t see it here, I’m pretty sure. What is it that interests me? My inquiries filter through a mouse maze in the habit of being a problem solver. Therefore you need time to make a few wrong turns. It’s like what fits in the circle of three minutes. Tight, focus, focused on, I don’t want it. I’m the library. Inter versus intra. It’s a little bit beyond that… Remember, you have three minutes.

You might find your image in a book, or in a grove, or in a shrine, or in a stranger’s camera. Find that one thing, and write it down. Your face is cold, I’ll put her over here and write about her. Tie up the loose ends. It’s struggling with symmetry, tumbling and scratching the academia away like the crusted moss on a physical stone. You can get the resemblance. What is a portrait to do? How is it to function.

They want something more, something about what someone feels—A three way negotiation. I’m the subject, a paying customer. The world is the third ingredient.

We all have certain ideas. She seems like a rock, a single asymmetrical quality of flattering femininity. A super solid voluminous stack. Have I gone so far that I can no longer see inside? Ears and cheekbones. Back a century, someone blows their nose into a handkerchief. I am mimetic with soot, descriptive with narration. I’m a three act structure, beginning middle and end. Why do I have to translate thinking into nice neat sentences? Stick in your toe, here is a line of paint. Here is a vibratory sound. Language has a concrete reality, spoken to a dissembled man. Let’s listen.
Track Name: Sapling
My elevator pitch is a review in the Times, many times. You didn’t do the taboo, for you’re just supposed to know. These days, things might work to wane the flaunting of egotism. The sooner you start your paper trail, the faster you can add and subtract from a collection of children. Everything exists somewhere, I would say. Jackie wishes for a tin kite and an A plus with honors. With undulation, a one page person can begin with a skull. A very important person, the Heimlich maneuver, a changed name, Malaria, red pens, a stool with Hunter S. Thompson atop, Richard Nixon at a urinal, an ounce of politeness.

I’ll always remember, stifle a yawn, recounting thrusts through my shirt collar, not breathing. Anything Hermetic, hermeneutic, but frank. There is not that much competition for soot and grime laying on the desk of a lawyer’s lawyer. Implementation is seeking platforms in the middle of the ocean. Manifesting living space at the depths and the heights. Extremities and the glory of germ theory. And then there’s my partner Stewart. Stalwart, a buttress on a great day.

I’m playing the violin. What do they paint about? I’m five years old, affecting a family, interest, self involvement on the clock. It is to unload stock music through genuine interest, or experience social interaction with economists. Minimum wage is respectfully telling man and women they are wrong. Non existent IQ means an approachable idea, an approachable anesthetist. You can improve decency through citing novels in the moment. Who else feels a spark? I can’t force you to.

You don’t have to be a book, willing to show yourself to the famous. Stop and start, art of the steel. Beams and rods and trestles. No one knows this story. Beret clad and dangerous, cultural vandalism collecting a collection for the sake of condemned buildings through philanthropic means. I’m public and very middle of the road, I’m a museum for the poor. No good becomes of the best work. It’s a shame to forget your long lost teachers, sitting under a sparse shadowless maple tree. A sapling from a nickel flies in the face of the newspaper critics. You’re carrying a baby on my back. What exactly is “making it?”

An alarm goes off. In a gorilla’s cage protestors spin the thread of art speaking for itself. Thirty years of steam, dehumanized, anonymous. I’m sitting in a meeting, receiving a message from heaven. How delicious. People do try to find out. Twin cities ruffle out the hair of a middle aged white man like fake fur. Interactions that propagate acting out and fiery speeches relate to turning the pages of a pinwheel— of anger and discipline. Does silence lead to death or a performance? Become a member of myself, purely. Is this a laboratory or a monastery? The power within being alive feels as a stomach ache speaks. Bad posture means graduating through multiple representations and survival strategies. Join the cause. Auction off your own community, your own children. You can see the little bit of personality through the thick air that hangs.
Track Name: Old Woman
One of the best times I had as a second grader was when I saw a penguin at the zoo. My hands were so cold that they might have had frost bite. Happy like dinner, just as astringent. We were holding off starting our supper without you. We were talking about insurance and purchasing guitar strings. The queen is asking, “How’s your family?” I’m walking with a weak gate. I’m walking outside stiff and shivering. After all, everybody’s injured a little bit. Playing games leads me to the point of absorbing needling advice, enveloping it and massaging it with my insides. Over and over. Though I do like the idea, it cultivates an overactive mind. Frantic even. It makes one either induce head shaking or hearty laughs when exposed. French paintings of penguins will cary us on through the river Nile to eternal everlasting, effervescent, sparkling sweet life.

I’m a bingo game of a person most times. I have no pit crew, but neither do any of us. It’s salt on my tongue, so much salt. I suppose office parties are draggy and weighty, padded chairs are complete redemption. Even still, all these frozen hot dogs and old bagels in the company fridge must feel low. Internally, I mean, personally. Next to the mug rack, where the upper class gell, I’m hiding in the cutlery drawer. Come and find me! Text me in sign language, comfort me in Braille. Sing me my lullaby that you promised. Sometimes I may feel like I am the size of a mountain, with certain penalty I’m sure. Why is guilt related to how big I choose to project my thoughs? A long stemmed glass beckons. Am I an expert or a charlatan? Fruit salad with sap. Ambrosia with the heaviest cream with the highest flutter. Mushroom turn into moth. Analog can turn digital like fruit turns to rot, be wary.

There’s a cat on the floor among many feet, and I have my tea. You play an upright bass while I drink tea. We’re vomitting together on a gingham table cloth. A sweetheart’s staple of family functions. Loosen the throat lest it tighten and clamp shut permanently. Breath if you can. Castration, emancipation, conflagration. I’m surrounded, what do they think in their pressed pants? Starched through and through I’m holding a baby that isn’t my own. How terrifying to need to badly express and not know how. An animal’s first time defecating. A cultured and distinguished adult ashamed of their flatulence.

Staple all the papers, hang on to me forever and ever. Wish an old woman well, she has no teeth. Tell her goodnight for the last time. Goodnight Abuela. Abuelita, abuelito. Mention a guitar only to purposefully leave the cell phone out. Have unadulterated respect for antiquated technology. But everything is technology. I am technology. Surrounded by a poison cabinet of elite innovation, it’s all hidden away to become stale. Please don’t feel left out if people don’t invite you to sit on the couch with them. Assume you have allergies if you have only been ailing for five minutes after ingesting large amounts of sweets. I might be dying too. A skinny person worries while content fat people pass by. Large hands are panning for gold, only to tap out of the fight at near completion. To sweat or to stay dry. To soak the sun in, to be a dentist. “Say hi to your dad”.

This is hitting the spot with a whole quill’s worth of arrows, over and over and over. I feel like a new haircut. I then feel like the stray clippings that make their way below my shirt.

I find myself sitting next to a watch maker. Or a banker? I can never tell, he’s wearing a vest and socks, fixing a wristwatch on a couch. My wrists are still at work. She lumbers by me like a caricature of a bear. Haggling, wiggling… Consternation is being being built up around me in a good way. This room is wearing socks. I’m not. I can feel the old woman looking my way. She lost her teeth this morning. “I don’t know where they went, it just happened!” I’m curious if she remembers me. Last time I saw her she thought I was a woman. It’s like trying to play an instrument while someone talks at you. “She just left,” “Are you doing ok?”

The young squire has been designated to his corner chair to play his lute. Mallard ducks swim around your table, following invisible rules dressed and distinct. Hugs may be addressed as dangerous, in terms of pathogenic possibilities. “A girl at her first prom.” You can see it in her eyes if you look closely enough. Get closer. I make a mistake. She’s still looking at me. Please don’t have another baby. How much money has seeped between to people that steal from one another? In three to four years disaster will strike. Parasites will infect the prim grass of the suburbs turning lawns to grossly exaggerated fields of fungus and upturned tulip bulbs. They make me want to dance. Ergot of Rye will go nicely with a new acquaintance. A lamp hangs over a plant.
Track Name: Doll
The status quo of the vermin’s nest could only be described as shell shocked. Political theory may be for idealists in this case. Dominant ideas play themselves out in a concert while A russian doll lulls the senses. Try your patience. I’m an ankle in a shoe, on time. Over the course of many crossings with any art, ask and you may recognize a number. Number eight, nine, and ten. Waiting and challenging, pulsating. Who else is being invented at this very moment? Maybe I should just go. What’s your story? You never said you were aware of the fact that light was transmitted into a small opening. A fish tank, and eye upside down.

Nineteen, twenty, to an address with pillars. A summer home in fact, your gym locker room. Seventy seven now. Abandoned pieces gather on isometric floors in a scheme for the machine of living. A machine for living. The concrete painted white, coffee stained and leaving the twentieth century. It’s probably enjoyable. Inside of a golden frame, I’m the Panama Canal, mentally healing. One person talking over the other. Ten podiums, one hundred speakers oozing democracy. Hostile fleeing, experiencing political instability, money control, gooses and geese. Money makes you put a mask on.

He and she suggested an idea, breaking the law. Nervous sweats, anti sweets. Animals go extinct and are juxtaposed. Battleships with nuclear resilience stain the red carpet. You’re ruining our symbols, our sacred children. If anywhere, that’s where a dead body should be. A woman is bleeding on the floor, critiques. The fears of man and woman, the only way possible in portrayed combinations. Lobster, crab, crustacean, praying mantis. The stories you always heard. The number one thing for a species is to reproduce, to make food for the babies. To locate the diode between irony and animal. You can’t just be another person, dominating, starting at the head. Triangular ideas bring up something about her at the opera. Something about an eyeball, see if you can go back. Look at your hand, investigate androgyny. Animals pulling a yoke, dead oxen, are not to be taken lightly. Stretch out felt, felted and felt up. I’m Looking through the hair on an arm like a camel’s eyelashes. “The physical effects will sit with you”, I assault. You’re hurting on a psychic level with progression. Sensitivity, sensory response. Doll like. Pull back the skin into the velvet tie. Collar Down.