The outline was set, 7 songs on the first album based on light, 11 songs on the second album on periodic elements. The third album has 13 songs based around the number 13, being an unlucky number I wrote about a bunch of catastrophic events, all the titles have 13 letters, just to be extra. A lot more spoken word in this album but I still improvise guitar work and a little vocals.
This first one is a pantoum about magma moving.
As magma bubbles and molds
Fresh layers of earth
Dirt settles from the sky
Just like oceans to vapor.
Fresh layers of earth
Endlessly cycle beyond life
Just like oceans to vapor.
The carbon in our bones
Endlessly cycle beyond life
Devoured, burned to dust
The carbon in our bones
Erased from history.
Devoured, burned to dust
Nothing left to study
Erased from history
Entire civilizations lost
Nothing left to study
No Wildes, Wrights, or Wells
Entire civilizations lost
Tombs folded in time
No Wildes, Wrights, or Wells
Dirt settles from the sky
Tombs folded in time
As magma bubbles and molds
My ambition far exceeds my skill level. ‘So Long’ from CRNDLSM I recount a story while playing a complicated guitar part, this I read a heroic crown sonnet thing while playing on a loop pedal, both very challenging, I know this poem could be better but I don’t have the drive to edit it, no will ever know if I edit it later. It’s an earthquake cause the magmas bubbling.
Why’d I quit? When I loved going to work,
It didn’t take long to get promoted
since the last manager was demoted
and proved himself to be a total jerk.
“Hey, you deserve it!” He said with a smirk,
“Chris is an asshole; no one devoted
more time than me. Fuck him!” he exploded.
I’m glad he quit without going berserk…
The next week, though, an earthquake struck the town
and everyone else was forced to quit, too,
but food can’t make itself; people still ate,
and my new job was to hold the fort down.
It’s my job to figure out what to do.
That means working all day everyday, great!
That means working all day everyday, great!
Without fresh applications, I was stuck.
Even the owner had lost his new truck.
He said he’d find help, I just had to wait.
Tommy, who I replaced, came to my aid,
cause he couldn’t find work at all. What luck!
I could help him get a few extra bucks.
Nine times out of ten, though, he showed up late.
until he said he was ending his life
and I needed to take care of his pets.
I called the police and he didn’t run,
sending me a pic of blood on a knife.
The message? “Only way to pay my debts”
No one said this was supposed to be fun.
No one said this was supposed to be fun.
when a couple applied at the same time
with open availability, chime
rang in my mind, so I hired them as one.
The next day, Chica went to jail. A gun
was found in her car, with previous crimes
on record. Rico couldn’t pay a dime
for bail, but charges dropped for possession,
back to work in a week. Next thing I know,
they were lying about doctor’s visits.
Rico supported Andi’s transition;
the problem was the name his ID showed
didn’t match his check. Yes I can fix it,
and I wont quit until the job is done.
Andi won’t quit until the job is done,
but the restaurant still needed tons of help.
I went so far to put an ad on yelp,
So the owner sent me his eldest son,
who had to meet specific conditions
to stick around (this place, to some, was hell), plus
he had a bad tendency to yell profanity
at customers. When money
disappeared, he was on register,
then he’d tell his dad that nothing was being
cleaned properly, the store in a state
of incomprehensible disaster,
reflecting my poor management skills. Me,
trying hard, to not surrender, to hate.
Trying hard to not surrender to hate,
I added two more people to our staff,
To find out one with cancer tore his calf
and couldn’t lift five pounds. Why compensate
unemployment, why try to terminate
him, when I could cut his hours by half.
His utter uselessness now makes me laugh,
“I don’t want to lay around getting paid!”:
something I’ve never had to do before.
The other guy I hired was just as bad,
except he had four kids control his fate.
At least he produced notes from a doctor,
I felt so sorry for getting so mad…
These unreliable character traits!
These unreliable character traits
can’t even get along with each other.
They make me treat them like I’m their father.
When something goes wrong, they can’t give it straight,
then the owner calls and has to berate
me over hearsay, but he can’t bother
to get a ride here to help solve all their
collective problems. If he could inflate
his ego any bigger, he would burst!
What am I saying? I’m a team player,
glad to receive a real first hand lesson
in running your own business. It’s the worst!
Unappreciation seems to layer
dead faith in humanity, feeling undead.
Faith in humanity, feeling unable
to survive on my own. Forces
beyond our control, all the excuses…
Right when I thought I never saw the sun
anymore (a rare glimpse), in walked Mike Chun,
ready to get back to work. His house was
finally repaired, saving our asses.
Maybe I’d get a day off. The kitchen
had never been cleaner, morale was high,
but then everyone learned Chica’s real name,
and he/she quit in a rage. Of course, then
Rico went with… something happened in my
opinion, her and Mike, but who’s to blame?
Expected dramatic devastation-
Expected dramatic devastation
seemed to crop up around every corner.
Learn to expect chaos and disorder.
No more attempts for human connection!
Once the first does, the others will threaten
to quit if they don’t get a raise, more or
less strapping my neck in a vice. Border
line tendencies extend typical Monday
flair, flexing my overgrown power.
Discipline, such an arduous process,
verbal warnings were quick to write-ups. Eighteen
for the store and we vote who’s fired.
I don’t care who, they’re all so obnoxious.
They’re only quiet when I’m scrubbing plates.
They’re only quiet when I’m scrubbing plates:
my moment of Zen when the work is tough.
Cleaning dishes for exercise would buff
my arm muscles since I don’t masturbate
or have time to go out and find a mate.
The stress I’m under’s too much to get off,
and I’ve suddenly developed a cough
that I should get checked out, anticipating
another wave of workers to come
and go. I didn’t flinch when cancer guy
died, just another shift to fill the blank.
Three more from before the quake came back. Dumb
me over-scheduled, but I had to try
to keep this ship from sinking in the tank.
To keep this ship from sinking in the tank,
I tried to keep everyone happy here,
encourage them to make this a career
and increase all their earnings in the bank,
offering rewards to improve their rank.
But now when I walk in, i see them sneer
and all I want to do is chug some beer
and make them one-by-one walk off the plank.
That’s not what I signed up for as the boss,
especially since we used to be friends.
Finally, Chris the owner, could come back.
Sympathetic, everyone suffered loss
from the earthquake, but we’d begin again.
Productivity will get back on track.
Productivity will get back on track,
thousands of people were hit this year,
savings tied up in insurance claims. Near-
death experiences, city-wide black-
outs, the earthquake forced so many to pack
up and leave. Some say good will is a miracle
but it’s natural. I’d say we’re,
as a species, deserving a smack.
Then again, I’m dangling on the edge and
a little psycho, re-sharpening knives
while daydreaming of being a desk clerk,
buried in paper with persistent hand
cramps, injecting coffee to stay alive…
Positivity looks for any perk.
Positivity looks for any perk
despite the stress, the weeks always rushin’,
the feet draggin’, mind meltin’, soul crushin’.
Schedules kept changing, spinning me in circles.
Literally, I tripped, fell over, cracking
my skull, getting a concussion,
then came down with pneumonia. Discussion
of how long it would take to recover continued
south. Chris came by to ask
how I was doing, said my job was still
saved, I needed a shave, and the room stank.
He took a swig and offered me his flask.
I guess he realized that’d be overkill.
Some people just don’t know how to show thanks.
Some people just don’t know how to show thanks.
Tommy popped in cause he heard I was sick.
He didn’t kill himself, that was a trick.
He had been sent to a side hall, here, flanking
the building: psych ward. It was a prank!
So he’s out… A fucking maniac prick,
but free. He heard Chris had made his son Rick
manager. While he ranted, I shrank
into the bed and closed my eyes, drifted
into oblivion, sick of thinking.
Keeping them closed, moving them around, cracking
light accompanied great weight, lifted.
When I died, the restaurant honored a king.
They hung my name, engraved, up on a plaque.
They hung my name, engraved, up on a plaque
(talk about surprised to see me). He gave
me the plaque and a hug. He thought the grave
had taken me, so replaced me, but accidents
happen, and though he didn’t actually
have a position, my behavior
and work ethic were by far his fave.
Then he fired Rick, calling it a sacrifice.
They couldn’t stand each other after
working together. “Here’s your clipboard.
Count the inventory. Did you know Mercury’s
in retrograde right now? How’s traffic
out there, fine? Go get ’em Megazord!”
Why’d I quit, when I loved going to work?!
That means working all day everyday, great!
No one said it was going to be fun
and I wont quit until the job is done.
Trying hard to not surrender to hate,
these unreliable character traits,
dead faith in humanity, feeling unexpected
dramatic devastation,
they’re only quiet when I’m scrubbing plates.
To keep this ship from sinking in the tank,
productivity will get back on track…
Positivity looks for any perk…
Some people just don’t know how to show thanks…
They hung my name, engraved, up on a plaque…
Why’d I quit… when I loved going to work…
An instrumental in the middle to follow the pattern between the albums. But I split it up into two tracks, this is a 30 second whistle theme to follow that 10 minute second track, I revisit the theme later in the album, this whistling is looped through the acoustic guitar.
Here’s a good example of an Instagram poem. It did pretty well on TikTok but didn’t hold much weight under review, doesn’t matter though, this song has no loop, only a delay.
The universe
is not expanding.
Infinite is
everything inside steadily shrinking.
On a massive scale of relativity,
we only observe
the growing distance
together.
A pantoum about a storm, 13 is unlucky for sure, I was born on the thirteenth.
Cause I got locked out of my house,
I didn’t have a phone to call for help.
I walked a mile through a storm
Cause I needed to get to the bank.
I didn’t have my phone to call for help,
waving down any car that passed by,
cause I needed to get to the bank.
I lost complete track of time!
Waving down any car that passed by,
soaked, slowly reaching my defeat,
I lost complete track of time –
the bank was closed and I couldn’t get paid!
Soaked, slowly reaching my defeat
(people after all were relying on me),
the bank was closed and I couldn’t get paid.
Interest rates on debts are outstanding!
People were after all relying on me,
now what will I tell my family?
Interest rates on debts are outstanding;
Hope the next check pays off this one?
Now what will I tell my family?
I walked a mile through a storm,
hope the next check pays off this one!
Cause I got locked out of my house?
And a dizain about a tornado
Twister
It starts as
a whisper
Air parts us
The crisp eer-
iness pairs
with sudden
thinned blood and
explosive
rain, mud un-
done, woe’s eve.
Halfway through the third album and halfway through all of Ellís Luiz music. I’m really getting tired of myself, I wrote this a few months before hurricane Harvey hit Houston, thought it was a premonition. I wrote the workman’s crown after Harvey while I was managing a dog house. I just quit the dog house after eight years and will start delivering pizzas next Monday again. Who knows what the future will bring.
Lush fertile land glistening near the coast
stirs with anticipation. The on-going
newscast update forecasts every minute
in living rooms across the state. People
who’ve been through this before tell the children
there’s nothing to worry about, it will
all be okay, as thunder shakes their walls and will,
wishing they also left the coast
with the others. A whole week with children
during a hurricane and already, tempers are going
haywire. All the people
left in town hold hands, counting each minute.
The mailbox flies off, the roof could go any minute.
Waters dripping through the ceiling, the windows and doors, and will
continue rising up the stairs, destroying livelihoods these people,
whose only dream to coast
through life unharmed’s going
out with children’s
tears. The children,
in a calm minute,
have no idea they’re going
to feel the full force of wind shoving them in mass against the wall. Will
nothing be left, all life washed away or flattened to the coast?
How long before they total the number of people
missing? How long til it’s over? People
feel helpless like children
as the non-stop onslaught persistently pummels the coast.
Every second turns to minutes, minutes
to hours. The noise and darkness will
make an exhausted mind crumble. The weather going
strong two more days, three more and powers going
on despite the devastation. People
start picking up the pieces, good will
and charities reaching out to children
who survived, all the men and women it
hurt, determined to live along the coast.
The coast has a million reasons people
are always going back, bringing their children.
I don’t doubt a minute they always will.
A concrete poem turned into a song, I guess all those heavy winds blew me away.
Blowing steam
My hot air
Balloon will carry me
Wherever it wants to go
I have enough heat to not
Care where I land, how hard
I might hit the ground, land
Or sea or outer space, my
Plans are wrapping up.
N c w
o o i
o m t
n i h
e n m fare
s g e well
And I wouldn’t let them
If they wanted to. And
They’ll never know my
Story or the things I’ve
Seen.
And then I guess the wind caused a landslide? Maybe the earthquake at the beginning causing all this mess, disasters are stressful, it’s all metaphor sure…
Somebody stop me now.
Keep my anger from turning inward
Everything’s coming down
And the mountain Slide made a burial or a flood. Catastrophe, this was a stream of consciousness about my friend disappearing, Nick from CRNDLSMs song ‘ gotta grow up ‘ from the first album Hit By Car.
One more thing before you leave
don’t go messing with things
you don’t wanna be
Mama told me don’t go
you know were gonna grow
I know I been down
where the ol’ river flowed
As the story goes
Ol’ nick went out there on his own
He went out alone in the night time
They found his row boat oh Lord
He never came home
how he died no one knows
they couldn’t find anything
Oh Nick where’d you go
He drowned according to authorities
He drowned somewhere underground
They sent out the hounds
You’ll never go home
oh Nick where’d you go?
When you died you went out that night
No one by your side ones you leave behind
Where’d you go Nick?
no one knows
they just know you died
Hope you find your way home
And so after all the severe weather we just went through together, just tell yourself again, you are amazing, you are unique, you can do anything.
Endless streams coloring the memory
of fears and desires thicker, heavier. catch
loose ends tangling and collapse. although
weaving, unravelling always disorganized
deafening weight from what you believe
of familial pressure you yearn the righteous
and the roles laid lessons to lead, run
down by ancestors away with your needs
you are the earths farewell to fascism
eruption to freedom and dream, come true
you are the births complete personification
corruption, mutation be the change you seek
you are amazing you can do anything
you are unique you can make mistakes
you can be alone but you know you shouldn’t
you shouldn’t have done that.
An instrumental in the middle, but split in two. I teased you with the theme at the beginning so here’s the full jam, this albums split in two parts separated by the instrumentals (nice break from the heaviness), thought it was pretty artsy. I’ve realized also I’m gonna change the lyrics to disappearance to be about a blizzard, I left out snow disasters. Well, one more song left on this album…
Finally, last song on this album, another crown because I’m proud of it, not so much a catastrophe as a bad ass strophe… They’re stanzas. Anyways I’m real excited to start sharing the 4th Ellís Luiz album next week. There’s 17 songs so they’re all pretty short.
Too late again, it’s already viral.
Who knew a video could do such harm?
The media has made me homicidal:
I’m ridiculed because I’m from a farm,
because I have a basic education,
because I think and talk slow. It’s my life!
It’s a hard to achieve meditation.
Lucky, I found a compatible wife.
There’s very few things I wouldn’t notice,
but every time I talk, I sound dumber.
My defense mechanism’s to focus
on all things tied together through numbers,
experience my spirits revival
everywhere I see the golden spiral.
I get the most euphoric sensation
everywhere I see the golden spiral.
I don’t need meticulous equations
to know my odds don’t change every die roll.
To happen once, it might happen again.
Murphy’s law and karma and string theory…
Specks at infinetesimal depths in
existence, real and imaginary.
Sometimes, these feelings fade and I panic
and desperately solve Sudoku puzzles
to stay sharp, I mean nicotine frantic!
But, new information always muddled
the useless numbers streaming through my brain.
Thankfully now, I see I was insane.
In the video I try to explain,
I regulated your meds every night.
The useless numbers streaming through my brain
kept vigilant, the dosage always right!
But that you couldn’t give it to yourself,
and just so happened to have had too much,
and an antique collection on the shelf,
inheritances left to me and such,
of course your death was premeditated!
Of course your old man’s just looking to score,
disregarding I’m unmedicated.
So, now I consciously try to ignore
anything I can put in a pattern.
I killed my love, and nothing else matters.
Seventy years and deteriorate,
of all places locked behind a cell door,
with no one outside. Only my death waits,
so now I consciously try to ignore
any unchecked growing feelings of guilt
with no memory of evil intent.
In sewing class, I visualize your quilt,
and everyday relive the accident.
Maybe there’s not enough blood in my veins
to make right decisions. Life is thinner,
while no longer distracting from my pain.
In a few years, I’ll be hand-fed dinner.
It would be nice to join you in heaven,
But if I killed you, I don’t think I can.
Three years of fun and ten more of nagging,
our brief separation and reunion,
the counsel that kept us from back-tracking,
years of compromising my opinions
while no longer distracting from my pain.
You had a heart attack and broke your hip.
The pills that kept you going left you drained,
But I stayed faithful through your bitter lip,
even long after you were bed-ridden.
They never used to sting like this before,
subconsciously I’ve always been smitten,
I’m just too old to argue anymore.
I’ll follow all my orders here in jail
until my bodily functions all fail.
I’m guessing this is how you must have felt,
completely at the mercy of others
who couldn’t comprehend what you’ve been dealt,
incapacitated, sickly smothered.
I’m dwelling on day dreams of suicide.
They never used to sting like this before.
You died the day I took you for my bride…
Oceans of time, emotions we’ve explored
and fed, a big passive-aggressive bug
of residual resentment and hate
we can no longer squash out with a hug
since you first slipped to a vegetable state.
The doctors here are giving me some pills
but take too much, I still don’t think I will.
I’m losing my grip on reality.
My conditions steadily worsening.
They always discover new maladies,
but what’s really wrong, no one’s listening.
The only obvious answers more drugs,
rendering me a useless drone. They went
and fed a big passive aggressive bug,
wondering what coincidences meant.
My cell number’s 853211,
exactly 55 years were married,
honeymoon we both just turned 21,
we were 34 when we remarried.
I wish you were here, pieces aren’t linking –
You would let me know what you were thinking.
There was a time when patterns mesmerized
and opened up the possibilities.
Trusting my intuition, close my eyes,
connecting dots through all philosophies,
and any time I’d think I need to vent,
my shoulders rolled off troubles every shrug,
wondering what coincidences meant,
and fed a big passive-aggressive bug.
They never used to sting like this before,
and no longer distract me from my pain,
so now I consciously try to ignore
the useless numbers streaming through my brain.
Everywhere I see the golden spiral,
too late again, it’s already viral.
You can’t hear my last thoughts lying in bed,
remembering when we were happy, young,
and all the hopes and dreams that laid ahead.
The news that I couldn’t bear children stung,
so tense the way you held your coffee mug
and spent six days sleeping in the basement.
My shoulders rolled off troubles every shrug
wondering what coincidences meant.
I knew that one hundred forty four was
your favorite number: where the Fibonacci
sequence meets perfect squares. Pythagoras
wasn’t crazy like you. Your mind’s splotchy
from routine and responsibility.
I don’t trust your mental stability.
I don’t believe you would try to kill me
but you’re clearly losing it, and I can’t
go days not knowing whether I’ll get three
or eight, or zero, and I could just rant
and scream but I don’t have the strength. I don’t,
and anytime I’d think I need to vent,
I’d just shut down, because I know you won’t
get back to your senses. All this time spent,
my shoulders rolled off troubles every shrug,
but then I think what will happen to you,
dying alone, collapsing on a rug,
helpless. If there was something I could do,
I’d make sure you were well taken care of.
Maybe I’m desperate, maybe this is love.
Wrestling with questions, answers, right and wrong,
trying to surrender to the river
of numbers you’ve obsessed over so long,
but I’m struggling with nothing to live for.
Connecting dots through all philosophies,
mostly how Plato and Aristotle
justified the actions of Socrates,
I should swallow the whole bottle
so you won’t have to worry or bother,
and anytime I’d think I need to vent
hate from breath I’m unable to draw, there
are more reasons for me to be absent
anyways. Now, how can I save you too,
and take care of you, so you won’t have to?
I know where you’ll get three meals everyday,
a bed to sleep on and good exercise.
They’ll have to believe it’s murder. I pray,
trusting my intuition, close my eyes,
hope my old, sore legs make it to their feet
and across the whole room without falling
and all the evidence as it was, neat
in the drawer. The idea is appalling
but the only thing to put me at ease
is convincing myself this is your fault,
connecting dots through all philosophies,
any disagreement brought to a halt
by your infinite eternal wisdom,
now a more debilitating syndrome.
I thought a seizure was shaking my knees
but I made it, and fiddled with the cap,
and opened up the possibilities,
and leveled a handful back in my lap,
too tired to take them all right away.
I hadn’t even stood up in five years
and can’t believe this plan might really play
out. Better hurry, I think I can hear
the stairs. My heart might explode already,
exhausted. I can’t stop now. Visualize
the ultimate goal: release. Hands steady,
trusting my intuition, close my eyes…
But all the possible outcomes I’m shown,
I’ll always be unsure of the unknown.
Nothing happened for a while, just breathing.
There was a time when patterns mesmerized
and danced in the darkness, just daydreaming
about our first date’s big carnival prize.
You’ve been my rock for half a century
not mentioning a few chips and cracks.
I took up sewing to stop bickering,
the counselor’s suggestion to help relax.
Scenes of Greek goddesses in their temples;
tokens from our honeymoon adventure;
starfish, snail shells, sunflowers, pineapples.
Our cuddle time on the sofa ensured
and opened up the possibilities
of growing closer. Ancient histories.
Too late, again. It’s already viral.
The pressure in my heart’s unbearable,
tremendous pain, no chance of survival.
Last second hope heaven’s attainable,
is that a golden spiral in the sky?
Am I hovering outside on a hill?
Do you make it in prison for my lie?
Do you die of grief to be with me still?
I’m just going to count until I reach
the result of my choices or destiny.
I hope it’s a blue sea and white sand beach.
One, one, two, three, five, eight, thirteen, twenty-
I guess nothing goes with, when someone dies;
there was a time when patterns mesmerized