Dreams and Clean Weapons

from Gills and a Helmet by Jellyfish Brigade

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It's a white zin whine bottle afternoon for the egomaniacal mad hat platoon. Breathing in the breeze and the gaseous fumes, pretending I was knee deep in the lily pad lagoon. I'm on that momentary amnesia tip, soles dug into the dirt ready for a Pangaea split. Sangria tint bleeding 'cross the milieu. I'm blocking all banter like "let's talk for real, dude". Where my sirens at? The tire tracks left the briar patch and headed straight for a cybercast. All the war riders donned an iron mask but accidentally slipped they secrets through the wiretaps. Yep. Shits a bitch ain't it. When the rapture don't seem as potent when you dictate it. Which way is which, wanna play a Daedalus, but the ideas are stale in the age of the plagiarists.

It was one of G.T'.'s burgundy whine bottle eves. Poured some drops for the death of idolatry. Watched the wonders morph to mind boggling on the crowded stoop of the Hives colony. We, the yet to be tested, gen X kids with Dreams and Clean Weapons. Raised by fear mongers and the television screen. It's a break down thing when the Jellyfish convene. Ciphering like it's an ancient ritual as the trickling twilight paints us indigo. I remember when the aim for the 5 mics changed and shifted to us strangling zeitgeists. The long views easier to see with my eyes closed. Every mishap’s a Venus de Milo to the audience at the Elysian sideshow who've yet to be tainted by the ether of high hopes.

Say that it's so, make me a mold of what's right. Take my soul out this cage into flight.

It's a blush whine bottle night with blind troglodytes crawling out of Plato's cave, here to infiltrate the database. I've been grinding on getting my anger straight ‘cause I know I'm scared shitless beneath my hater face. Stray a gaze into the mirror; damn it's been a while. I can see the effects of my vices in my smile. Miles on the odometer with the urban Iditarod where divinity's squandered in the churches and synagogues. I'm oddly tilted but I flash fluorescent. My glow casts impressions on a waxing crescent. Flick a tongue and its taxicab confessions, investing no faith in the cats elected. Zonked out, I stood with my brethren who said back in the day when he looked to the heavens, he'd search for the savior to come and reclaim his crown but waits for nuclear bombs and spaceships now.

It's a whatever keeps this high dawn. I'm outside bathing in the cosmic krylon. Stringing my gasping laughs to the bygones. The sun's all that's left to rely on. Slow waltzing with the swirling orbs, slurring the ideals we've been hurting for. Sang of transience in our acapellas with so much soul that the Gods were jealous. Often tell it like it should be, love. If I need a bit of advice then the mantras will hook me up. The day can be ruthless so I understand your costumes, but don't sweat it fam I got you. Maybe I mastered the fluxuating. Maybe I get it, or maybe I'm just escaping. I don't know how to deal with that shit, but I can't sleep until this feeling passes.


from Gills and a Helmet, released July 6, 2011


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Jellyfish Brigade Portland, Oregon

Machines and the Gods


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