Holy Plasma!

by Cunabear & Gomec

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I found this moth in our car and safely removed it - Matty found one at work tonight. Just do you.




Brother Humble stumbles on his dragging limbs and faces faces that aren't his
With cockiness and purple fiz
To give that lisp something to sip on

Asphyxiated on sipping up all the slippage

I gargle soul power like it controls my dour articles spreading misinformation on psychic vowels placing curses within this small town

I treat my variant approaches to braggadocio like gently freezing caterpillars in the snow
If only they'd lasted a little longer they could monger these petty raps to the proper foster families en mass
Awaken with a crass emotional code as your homies sell their homes for blow and end up hopping trains all the way home

Appearance of brass, materialized as a perfect chrome and worshipped nonetheless when your only frame of reference is a bedazzled throne built out of black men's bones

Pray the old gods let you rest alone
Pray the robots let your DNA show

Impervious to the false definition of impoverished

Imperfection is the mastermind behind the world's most awkward side-quests and I
Tuck tough love behind my left breast until it's high time those fists connect

Bamboozled at the sight of my sleight of hand-in-hand teleportation to Magicant in the name of all that can

It can and does what it do

All we ask in return is that you choose to do you
Invest in your mood until your mind begins to run on mute
You'll find the point is never moot
I'll find myself amongst fellow moors in Orichalcum Suits raising an army of Re-Dead Groots from the Gnarled Root

Find me in the midst of the miasma
In pool of holy plasma


Yeah, this holy plasma wholesomely beckons me
While my whole being's being tucked into a bleach white pillocase still my curls emerge like triumphant catterpillars burrowing to escape my cold cold face

The surface of this planet is not what I thought it was, nor the crust and mantle of the decorations sitting humbly on my mantle. Reach a derivarive zero tangent balanced between infantile and geriatric. Brittle boned paladin resist the panic induced via gnarled facade puppet.

Have my own sword now so I stand tall, defending my front door, reach and touch the ceramic with paper bags in both hands and Matty lends me prose like we found out as children that we were long lost friends.

We can and we do what we do

Though I've never seen a wild thing self-pity I've seen seven billion rowdy humans let out a single high pitched shreik in unison as awareness of cosmic turmoil causes fear to peak. Still I peek out from my den when I can, whirl like a ceiling fan and bask in the sun until my hide is tan once again. I'll be made into a drum to be hit and played by my own child's hands

Strum no kept chords, horde snacks, wear all black in the summer and be called runner by your lover. Hover hand no friends banned from online forums, refuse to let nostalgia make your net days into bummers.

Refuse to let nostalgia tap into your Mana, at all.

Every day I'm fed, I hope to see you again
Place a note inside my throat you scrawled with pink ink pen

A stout Carolina Wren, perched on branches too thin
Will proudly sing it's song until it falls down dead


released August 4, 2017
written and performed by Cunabear & Gomec
produced by Gomec

Land of the Animals, an instrumental tape by Cunabear, drops Friday 08/06/2017:




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Gomec Clemson, South Carolina

Real South Records

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