VIOLENCE AND DISCORD {Heavy Dub}

Skinned in secret to Sacha, Kaos, Louie Vega, Tetra—Yeah You (You Stole My Heart Mix). Metropole, Luna Slide. Amplify. Crowd is a kick. Kick is a beat. Beat is a play. Playing out is sound. Sound is light. Take light. Standing waves. Interference patterns. You don’t know what is in there. It could be everything you want.

Like a power hammer forge. You sweet exorcists. Briefly.

THERE ARE FACES WHERE THERE SHOULD NOT BE FACES {Club Version}

There are faces where there should not be, today.
On the walls, in the mortar. Seam runnel ridge. I think
         of capillaries. About flesh. And the leavings of a mouth.
Always I fall against anything and trace features. I was a draftswoman
         once. A restorer.
What did you do?
I’m asked. Well – I would sit in a church.
Dust dimming, time gone to private ends. That kind of light. That kind of day.
And then color in what great men, i.e. rough dogs had done. Who
in all their incarnation. Who in all their later incarnation
         tripped my heels. I tried
to shine the foremost there. Cut me, say the mouths. Cut me. Or
I think they do. I would like to understand. Your holiness, I’d
once say. Say all variations of that phrase. Holes in.
Holed
in. Hold the outlines in ink, on paper, on stone.
What’s left?
Sometimes I like that
I like that following me is a parade. Of remains. Residuals. The many steps
in the park, the thank-god-I’m-alive’s in the morning
         in alba-albescent morning, grey to yellow to white.
Always I touch things we drew over and over. Graffiti not exactly starry
on the building lost by fire, in the arcade.
I left that job. Praise be. All my jobs. I drove off all my friends
when I chanced to need them.

FINAL CUT WITH TRUE FAITH {Bass Bins at Dawn Mix}

Moles (misread ‘slow’) on the road.
The real pull of no sea to speak of.

How we played.
We were very much the field.

If you go back, you get loss.

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