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the cut​-​ups of a paper woman

by Brad Hamers

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  • Streaming + Download

    Brad Hamers Debut Solo LP (3SC 2005)

    all proceeds go directly to the artist

    Immediate download of [13]-track album in your choice of 320k mp3, FLAC, or just about any other format you could possibly desire.
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  • Compact Disc (CD) + Digital Album

    CD comes with 16 page insert containing all the lyrics.

    Also includes immediate download of [13]-track album in your choice of 320k mp3, FLAC, or just about any other format you could possibly desire.
    ships out within 10 days

      $9 USD or more 

     

  • Full Digital Discography

    Get all 17 brad hamers releases available on Bandcamp and save 10%.

    Includes unlimited streaming via the free Bandcamp app, plus high-quality downloads of 8 poems from The Humming Prole, La Pánica, Through Flames, Through Flames - GoCopless (maxi-single), Artax, Stone, Cat Child - c-t ch-ld, Child of No Nation, and 9 more. , and , .

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1.
mechanical …and stuck in a downpour large world small world i got my head stuck in a bottle : the letter without an address when she died the tv was on in the next room all this for just a small fee of $19.99 thirty second sitcom skits the connections that always end up fuzzy we both wear the same smile until it gets too uncomfortable in public photocopied emotions pasted to blank expressions the bulletin board of chores never accomplished i wear myself out and get compliments on my frown from strangers who might play the guitar in their snare time help the crippled guy cross the street help me cross the typos off my facial reactions wrong punctuation the question mark growing cancerous i connect the dot dot dots at the end of each thought and picture nice pictures to glue to my refriger ator ice box brain frozen in place a film reel on a treadmill out-of-service jute box love-letters hate-mail the city from a zoom lens glitched out mind sketchy art gallery the scrap book that’s scared to die moments glued together my ball of string brain my fading sweater my zipper-down soul poured out like puddles gone bad rich pockets full of yard grass wasting away in a tank dieing cigarettes smoking houses firemen rescue glasses pole-dancing jesus tips and dip i want a better view of the canyon snapshot family life a photo album dancing for the relatives the puppet show without strings or percussion off-beat anatomical heart learning to write raps more bass i want the empty houses on summer days i pass to seizure in synchrony an after-school death practice class people all cry the same just got different reasons to water their plants static electricity and people in a nuclear world atom bomb eve blow up doll with a fake personality the old ash tray with war stories from 1939 these new jacks don’t know how to die right humming air conditioner whistling kettle singing cd player old thoughts feeding tube i quit living cold turkey my visions jump from the blurry windows two floors from the top dreamless television built-in vcr memory playback the out of focus pictures misdated moments old songs the world forgot how to dance to the hard to breath gray woman with a colored television large box small box i got my head stuck in the tv self addressed letter never sent out the dieing light in my dusty corner she left with yesterday in her hair packed the bags under her eyes the on road moving funeral show an old painting in black and white a bunch of same brand clocks all staring at one dead watch wondering if his house will still smell the same in thirty to forty years right before their batteries go dead loud flowers and laminated dreams the paper dares me to key its car cigarettes are clouds raining upwards he cries every night just wash the dirt from the cracks no one likes an expected sidewalk fancy me with food in my teeth he thinks about her when the scent of dinner is still stuck in the room 2 days later the gray fuzz my tv keeps leaving all over the house she likes to count rain on the window watching the sunset from a hand mirror in a train heading west the woman with a stapled face trying hold herself together and hide her holes you’ll meet dreams in the darkest parts of your bedroom at 1am with the lamp screaming dully from the other room she’ll keep the world in glass jar on some shelf her memory built 8 years ago after a pair of flowers promised her forever would come easy just forget your head and let intuition take control the petals move and kill themselves off one by one on their own she knows your heart in a blue sweater not she loves in four/four time signature the easiest rhythm to catch a head nod off of let your feet move and keep your eye-lids away from the top of the window ledge but remember to develop picture perfect pictures of her while the lights are out because she won’t be there when the alarm goes off to help you grab things out your burning house or to kiss you good-bye from a crack in the bedroom door die out like a television hit the button and fade to static stomach drop the park ride people wait on line for for hours my light bulb buzzes for the cordless phone on the counter that rings once a day out of nail biting rituals and greeting kisses are cards that always seem to say more with their mouths shut the ideas count but nothing adds up to be much outside black suits and wood boxes we’ve all got somewhere to go the cemetery waiting list club membership your life insurance won’t save you there’s not enough room to write on small paper = the problem with jail cells he’s three meals a day a movie for tv special not one frame in this place has a single picture the blank pages in the back of a text book his laughter grew up to be the kind of closing bell we all wore shoes and handshakes for because he always made his weeping wear the color of laughter that never matched the tone of anyone’s conversation even if rain was in tomorrow’s forecast no one likes a magnifying glass in popular shoes and custom made family reunion shirts he always referred to her as the book he lost somewhere just before he finished reading it and stores don’t carry the pages with personalized noted and highlights -likes 3 spoons of sugar in tea -hates the static on radio i wonder if the sun poses on its way out knowing people behind cameras perform heart transplants to its closing credits the lowercase folks with their sharp words cutting conversation down to hand gestures and lip syncing in perfect synchrony the swimming routine that always wins the smile of a girl with the sun in her eyes the same song - we all just prefer to sing it differently and audience always matters even if you write for yourself keep your small world small i wonder if art existed long before the word
2.
i play dead i played dead and she bought two tickets to see the performance a stomach full of black and white butterflies a bankrupt kissing booth boarded up and spray painted with: i love so and so dated - dinner two nights ago - we made out on a couch and i made out with three dollars in quarters when the sky has an oil spill i rush to save the plants in my head that need sunlight to live built my own sun under a lampshade my own identity under a name and each day i convince myself that i can drown in a glass of water strapped with a plastic machine gun and a pocket full of quarters throwing change at a waitress she plays a tray with two plates and does rounds with a tip hat table one needs more conversation table two needs more honesty and i chase the bus boy down to the next stop for some more water i played dead and she saved the playbill for her refrigerator the jam session in my chest lost the drummer and all its sense of harmony spoons and knives singing together in a chorus line tables throwing up their legs and dancing out from underneath us the world goes by outside like rush hour traffic with headphones on watching an argument from a window the moon pulling the sun’s hair out and its dark lit rooms fire wearing vanilla perfume climbing the knotted wick in gym class for credit with the date i picked up at noon i wore a life vest and a clip on tie to the first lunch date my drink was poured overboard my eyes lost patience and wouldn’t sit still my mouth opened its doors at entrees the band went on but never played a tune last call at the bar was made collect for a taxi and silence tastes like twelve dollar plates with a fork that sweeps up after everyone leaves i played dead and she wrote a critical review on my part man inside a trumpet woman in a kettle drum i beat the thoughts out of her and she blows me off loud heaters and air conditioners with a nasal drip off beat floorboards and unconventional ovens wanting to skip dinner to play the radio in a closet with speakers that have a slurring problem i match my heartbeat to the snares and let my thoughts blend together like overlapping summer with love and sun tanning in a wool jacket brought a guitar that doesn’t work out to dinner and watched her get smashed on wine and vodka sauce mute television battery remote died broke speaker popped ear drum never hit expectation thrown off a ledge like falling from a high note singing into an unplugged microphone we sat in silence i played dead and she never clapped for my performance same conversation different plate of food we held a funeral for dead air and rung our eyes out like sponges over the clothes lines like dirty laundry for sale love took off its hat and asked for a donation hugging memories to death and burying them in the basement i keep a cup to the table and hope to hear vibrations but her voice box is still taped up and i’ve been throwing coal in her train of thought since we bought the two tickets to sit and talk but response never arrived i waited at the station it’s grub for thinking and hunger for conversation sinking in the hourglass quicksand out of my mind but left the alarm on knowledge is the spare key i keep in under a rug next to a jack and this engine breaks down quite often two advil and a scenery change every three thousand thoughts warrantee package never delivered i live in my car and we drive to dinner in my bedroom sit across from each other and listen the other people’s stories about nothing i played dead and she left me rotting in her bedroom with no funeral i was the dead man’s float for her parade rain marched across the pavement and the band forgot to bring their instruments a concert without music our dinner without talk i eat across from her every night and hope that i’ll drown in the next refill of water i was the dead man’s float for her parade rain marched across the pavement and the band forgot to bring their instruments a concert without music our dinner without talk i eat across from her every night and i play dead return rewound we’ve been meeting in the library twice a week sitting next to each other - reading at the same time but still have yet to speak i’ll remember this book forever even if it ends up bad
3.
black & white she thought the world was black and white before color photographs my mother got her first pigment at the age of 26 the painter with his imagination tied to a street post the circles make better squares in pictures with a dated frame the business suit eating classical bach and repeat talk for dinner the free spirits become price tags with sale stickers keeping their smile in place i push pinned my lips to hers and we returned ourselves for a new entertainment center a brain with a beach view the waves run re-runs every day at six check your local listings for tomorrow’s sunrise the young and ambitious become assigned seats at a dining room party for four eat your parents milk its good for your stick figure the puzzle always fits itself into a smaller pair of pants i can’t wait to fall off a building my first feature film
4.
half world 06:43
half world half world unscripted playwright ink blot the burn marks on my fingertips feature cigarette the sold out 9pm showing of yesterday in an old pink ribbon dance for the vintage camcorder ugly smile hiding itself in the corners of her face winter pocket hands and waiting for the bus metal leaves drift by the tree losing its hair the world’s receding hairline gets worse in fireplace moments and flannel smiles he needs warming up in the winter no good under a frozen streetlight the sun in an ice cube tray the blue curtains in the window next door never swallow sunshine the empty glass on the corner table the straw with its face blushing the drum break for our conversation about everything and nothing dinner to death tired of dreaming fishing blindfolded for fireflies that burnt out 30 years ago the uncooked dinner party we missed for an old sitcom rerun the laugh track my mind can’t get out of its mind enter key backspace to yesterdays in today clothes i’ve never seen tomorrow in its gown but she talks about it all the time outside on the restaurant tables for two and dinner food outside corner cafes smoking cigarettes and blowing out words the drifting sailor in his boat to nowhere words that float away never come back for its shit its shit it left lying around my one bedroom mind frame tarnished old pictures new faces rotting wall guitars solo prime of your life highschool dreams friends in a negative slide reel the fake smile implant she’s getting could never fuck my natural frown the moon’s underarm cliff diving into the pit in my stomach her wink keeps me strobe dancing in circles the earth on a bottle of hard liquor bad year broken memories in some fucked up repair shop refurbished view points the kids play outside like kids playing outside the wind on a leash tied to a tree chasing a butterfly in circles the sun with its palm out and a collection plate the sky on a harness hanging over my parking lot file save the white out spots on blue construction paper the man carry grocery bags the woman eating lunch alone in a one bedroom window frame : the over-priced art piece the out of place abstract painting abstract because it’s the only one not really abstract in a gallery full of abstract paintings the man made of wire hangers sitting legs crossed on a bench making love to a slab of concrete : the strange grass that gets planted more often then lawns outside middle class rooms 4 well educated walls and a floor with more support beams than a double D ceiling in projects the man thinking about hanging himself from his work belt from an old light fixture from home depot that’s been dusted maybe once maybe the man who straightens his tie before he shoots himself in the head the big blind date with death i hope she’s heavenly the kid who doesn’t play outside like kids play outside the fog bolted to the ground the sun without its make up and blush the clouds tied to a chain link fence the cars coming in and out the people coming in and out the memories coming in the highway in the back of my mind the entrance ramps and exit numbers out of sequence song the off beat and path bad berries stomach cramp long walk to oz sleeping is exercise for my brain : the treadmill set up in front of a smaller tv than the one in my living room the man in his living room cutting open his head just to watch the blood hit the coffee table the song on repeat that no one understands but sings along to its easier than dancing around the point pretending your tongue knows the cabbage patch will she remember me fifty years later from an outdated radio wire or gray tv screen the day we watched the headlights jump off a mountain and the moon lower itself onto a building roof : the dying man barbequing midnight snacks on top of his tenement by himself wondering why he always ends up here the other woman we caught staring at him from her window too : just another one of the seats in the movie theatre for some feature film that will probably fade away unremembered like most actors unscripted half world the person that sits at their dinning room table reading at night with tea and an ash tray the woman’s bike from upstairs tied to a light post the people leaving for work the man who’d rather sit on a bench then work the breeze throwing itself through my screen door window the papers from an old unread notebook blowing off the table file save
5.
sinking summer boat (although ship works better) dieing : the expensive trip i haven’t taken the one not for the kids - just a cell phone with worldwide service and a passport she left waving her red scarf from a sinking ship - two summers ago when the sunsets never dyed its hair pink always lets its roots natural color show through it used to rain everyday back then the problem the plumber couldn’t fix you’ve got to get used to that sound - learn to like the water leak: steady steady cymbal tap - dreaming at 88 BeatsPerMinute -sleep sound - dream loud - the brilliant albums that always seem to get slept upon my sink bleeds to death in the kitchen electric bill shot up - appliances running - the drive by we wish would happen to doors down i miss russian roulette with a cap gun - the scent of crumb cake in the oven on Sundays - and the fake plastic sidewalks on baltic avenue has your ship hit port yet - i want a postcard when you get there: a picture of the sunset in heaven with the disposable camera that i sent you in your care package the windows in this house never keep their eyes open long enough to see the seasons changing clothes mother nature naked in the dressing room - breast feeding her plastic baby the peeping tom that falls asleep behind his binoculars you’ll never get home from work after the night shift on morning coffee and the three cups of pointless conversation you drank throughout the day it’s better to be late - than stood up by yourself on the blind date you had with your dirty ash tray and a stack of bad magazines the bed tastes better with appetizers on the couch before the meal is served – but a king size stomach is always hard to fill without the 2nd place setting your paid vacation time is up - they’re short staff on the sales floor work’s been calling your answering machine with messages and missed calls did you steal magnets from the souvenir shop spend your saturdays stuck at the brochure stands and see the moon skinny dipping in the sea at night i haven’t seen the sun in two summers and my sink’s still bleeding to death in the kitchen but i’m only dreaming at 44 BeatPerMinute slowing down to a steady steady cymbal CRASH water drops and record pops my rain dance is out of style her think tank is losing water i turned the moon channel on and we smoked midnight cigarettes between our fingers like small houses on fire burning stories broken elevators a book with its chapters jumping from window ledges light hits her face like yellow wind my eye lids blow like curtains window open summer breath - heavy filling the room like gas leaks
6.
cliff notes 04:48
cliff notes the last time i fell off a cliff i was photographing the sunset an aluminum gardener rusted into position picking flowers for his wife i’ve been burnt by the grill that taught me how to kiss and the flowers in my hand never died only grew less distinct see , your pumping water hose is too heavy to hold and the tank you store yourself in is getting hazy like the dinning room you call a brain breaking capacity feeding itself till it bursts and i’ve been to peep shows where snares get fucked by drum sticks behind plexie glass my memory runs a slide show at the local fire house each evening come get your free horror movie pretentious acting lessons puke for the cameras popcorn for the frequents see broken engines only make for bad rides but i bought the ticket fare and have got nothing else to drive so you scribbled your name on my paper heart and forgot to pick it up when the rain check called to confirm the date well it’s pick me up at eight we’ll drive off a cliff and hope to die before we miss the way spring smells in your room at dawn and i carry butterfly nets like swords and wander round your thoughts swiping at anything with wings roses at the wrong doorstep wishes with bad postage and i only left my dreams at your house just so we’d have to see each other again i’m too bent out of shape to fit in blown out toll up bridge down gapped tooth and us two we’re broken ice sculptures that can’t seem to stay out of the paradise sun with matching paper umbrellas that keep ripping in rain storms you’re the thunder to my lightning the hair drier to my full tub electrons both negative always trying to make love we’ve got whores, alcoholics, drug addicts, insecure look alikes, origami pigeons pull my tail clip my wings it’s a smile mission make my lips get up and dance mouth get up and run off balance brain doing the tight rope greeting hug pull the plug and watch the moon pull off its panties half naked and standing in the window uneven haircut flashlight hard hat system glitch and i’m the white coat altruistic not too rich donator that keeps putting all my funds into a company that only robs me i shoved my quarter into her slot until she started spitting gumballs let’s chew the conversation till it’s easy enough to swallow it’s all bullshit in fancy toilets trash that’s gotten picked up one too many times fucking lip stick stains holes plugged with cork screws spilling bottles of cheap wine these kind of stains never come out and i’m tired of going in to save the ass hole who can’t swim you’re a fucking fly caught in my knotted hair that hangs over my face like fisted hands and at times i catch the slight scent of burnt rolling papers from the end of a cigarette and i think of long summers with pages ripped out i walked 4 and half blocks with your damp heart in a brown paper bag and my walkman dies every time you hit that battered note from here it looks as though your brake lights are out and its got my sexual drive in neutral fingers on the volume she’s in a dump truck pulling the petals off a piece of seaweed and how many blankets does it take to reproduce me and my lighter go out under the yellow porch light and talk about how fast we can burn the bridges over our flat lines without the moat sinking to the bottom so i gave my life to the first bullet that jumped in front me dedicated love letters to mailboxes that kept relocating a laundry basket that takes off its clothes for any drier that can supply enough warmth and affection a car that picks up any passenger that will refill its tank with enough reason to keep driving you with your flash light eyes your sos light show your dimming hope so the cap’s been twisted off the coffee stained my finger tips and i burnt myself with the first cigarette i ever tried to light my lover’s a sock drawer and i’m a scuff mark but not the only one on her shoe so it’s been a long movie you’ve now got your spotlight in the credits keep fishing in dirty ponds playing your love songs on broken guitars peel the sun like an apple flush the core and get that flash light out of my face and if you fall slow enough you can hit the ground just as the sun goes down
7.
lookbehindu …and the pregnant way to carry an art text book the wrong way street her memory in a back room playing dusty records next to a window without a view every painting on the wall is a landscape she’s never seen the post card collection in a box with baggage claim tickets and family photos of passed down smiles and eye colors she’s never met her false memories enjoy wire splicing and taping journal entries to furniture the day waits to die sitting in its barstool waiting for the red head to fall asleep before it lets go the 18 story drop the book series written in window fog the glass building with its face in a magazine sometimes she jumps off the roof just to reread the 13th chapter to every man stuck in a see through office filing papers and rewriting writing coffee stains the world gets drunk on weekends for you the newspaper stand with it wonderful beach view complaining about its leg pain the escape plans of a dreamer written on dinner napkins and part-time pay stubs irony swinging from the pick me tree the full moon only looks that full from your small window typical in a new outfit just gets dates without pick up lines and free alcohol i’ve been painting chasing the running colors in my epic piece for the last 3 full-time years dada in an art book school pictures the one day you chose look different i’ll remember you by the accident on your face the day your smile took the turn a little too fast watch the bend in the street and don’t forget to pick up the pieces of yourself on the side of the highway the grown woman pulled over crying on the shoulder of the road a man bending to see up the dress of the double parked car standing in the street blinking record life the playlist of the vacant radio station that no one’s ever tuned into the old metal speakers left screaming in some soundproofed room the fat lady’s been singing for ever and the show still hasn’t ended it just no longer has a conscious audience another aspiring artist whose never touched a brush the development meeting in the halls of your brain the planning party let’s toast to the ideas apple picking in the off season the direct route to tomorrow without stopping over in poorly lit rooms empty with dripping reverse is a direction also times times two only puts us here with a pinch of yesterday seasoning for the bland chicken pieces we overcook each night who cares if it makes sense its someone’s brain with its tits hanging out and not asking for a necklace enjoy the shapes the geometry the circle doesn’t always have to fit into the circle my memory plays golf with hers every two weeks we bet on how many holes we each can find in our similar pastimes the mispronunciation of fore the video tapes have a better memory than you sit on the photo albums lap and ask for a bedtime story the wrong way street she’s back at the window again writing love stories backwards in the window fog an artists who’s never shown her work who watches the award shows and cries during acceptance speeches singing herself to sleep drawing the curtains and singing herself to sleep psychedelic scarecrows words music nervous drums cracking knuckles thoughts run out of breath full of noise spilling speaker i gave my heart a haircut and i only write to spend more time with myself more than just weekends and holidays i’m a pot hole filling up with rain that sometimes need to spill the words are synonymous to their $6 beers and i get myself drunk so drunk she threw up her turning signal changed lanes left the village to head downtown and i’m machete chopping bushels of wheat for a handful of berries safari strapped with a shotgun poking holes in sunshine two scarecrows hungry for a hug fingers made of straw -bent toothpicks she lit my hand on fire and we had a quality candle lit conversation for a good 3 hours before i completely burnt down to nothing
8.
footstep (a smile in script) i die easy and i’ve always been made fun of for that kill time shoot the breeze drove home with a dead cloud tied to my roof rack computer buzz nothing reminds me of summer more these are my muscle spasm pieces every ceiling’s just another floor and the world’ just another conversation going in circles the argument she just won’t let die my tv’s just another picture book - i just don’t have to flip the page or interpret the theme it does all that for me the sun always falling for his 5 o clock shadow that we’re not trying too hard look emotional land mime acting out the proper way to get stuck in a box and not let your tongue push your words around the continuity piece in my pieces is obvious very like a broken heart attempting to sign up for the 100 meter dash this is how real people smile all teeth and no feeling watch the stuttering kid attempt to read his paper on grace and perfection honking all the way home i’ve been practicing my casket pose lie still and it will all be over soon (all other voices are reading don dellio's 'white noise')
9.
pickpocketed memory clip lost me under water with a three piece life suit brain sun burn have you ever watched a pistol talk about its problems there’s fight to be fought and paintings to stared at for hours on end and end worldview through a dusty telescope rusted in the head there’s emotions to run from and plumbing to be fixed have you ever watched a cloud of smoke dance around your 1 bedroom house fly on airplane spacecraft fighter jet american dodge ball out of service humans she won’t swallow my paper ideas origami dream land the sold out movies feed me dinner puke me mornings make something of yourself and the figures in the mushroom clouds the city in the sky the toll for the bridge is too damn ex-pensive ex-dream girl re-written screenplay turned nightmare horror series my television won’t turn off my muse won’t on digital world a seesaw in a busy parking lot where full colored televisions dressed like children dine with frozen dinners in wicker baskets and rolls of plastic wrap stuck in a maze too amazed with artistry to find the finish line our race ended itself with an old rope swing and a bar stool drowning in the river we sail each night to forget the land i was planted in whatever floats my heavy thoughts won’t let me dock in its water the moon on an anchor the sun backstage waiting for its entrance the play i keep playing the record revolving the gun in the corner with its head spinning fuzzy picture pixel out of sync movie short lasting vacations where the props fall over and the set needs rebuilding your life’s plastic and recyclable mine’s already melted on the sidewalk people jog in place because the tv don’t got legs fuck the backdrop outside we’ve got pretty curtains and a nice wallpaper design i’m cliché my smile keeps getting repeated copywritten feelings we rip off each other’s smirks and sew then on the fabrics that match my eye color’s never the same shade as my views i’m tacky and sticking out in crowds my stomach turns itself inside out and washes with similar colors a saxophone without soul the flashy people with nothing to say loud static radio show the cloud watching handbook for beginners wish upon a rocket we eat dinner waiting for the band to play at our table waiting for the bus waiting for the phone call waiting for the rain to stop waiting for my friends to come waiting for the funny part waiting for the paycheck waiting for the opportunity waiting for the day to end waiting for the song i like waiting for the wrong table getting a bullshit tip and spending it on a bad lunch wishing on lucky fish just makes the meal taste worse the catch is the catch isn’t what makes you satisfied it’s the gun the orange vest the camouflage outfit and the first deer you see but miss hunting bad thoughts in a barrel my mind’s open but no one’s coming in bankrupt chapter 11’s the epilogue i can’t find inspiration to write escape resist cancer get it while you can “police are nothing but clergymen with guns”* *alan watts quote will think for food look at me grin shit in my gums spin the bottle of poison and go canadian kiss the ass hole who looks like you clothing ad minus the good song being fucked in the ass dance around my fire place heart and we can tell work-time stories to the kids hiking kit floating in a puddle the sixty watt sun doing charcoal sketches of trees on the ground i nailed a posted sign to her back we stared at a puddle that was making fun of the sky wrapped in fig leaves and dried out memories picking yesterdays from family trees chopping through her thick head to the campsite where we drink water canteens and she tells me she’s dieing to get lost with me
10.
arms made for hugs like wrench metal a cracked glass gave me a wink and i bought it a refill she’s trying on her smiles so we can go out to dance we are paper flowers and i’d mashie her a better life if i could only buy my brain back two pennies and we share a piggy bank trading minds every saturday but this place is a sardine pack we live in a tin house without heart and shop for feelings at flea markets where i first latched onto her fur road kill playing in the avenue hop-scotching shadows of sunlight to impress the stars when i was drawn they made me with x’s for eyes- an algebra problem is the best description for my childhood i’ve got a glass mind and there’s a stone throwing every weekend so i invest in memories and bet on the horse without a saddle living on fragments slices of happiness used and recycled notions i’m finding it incredibly complicated to be original i was remixed at birth and never mastered always broken - skipping repeating myself every morning when the alarm starts to laugh at my schedule and i need to visit you more often i’d bring a video and a bad conversation we can play ring around the rosy for two hours and pretend tomorrow wasn’t cutting corners with the scissors mother nature’s been running with since they figured out how to use the word forever and i feel empty a house without furniture it’s like a bad can opener just puncturing the surface and i’m almost completely around the top of your mind digging for clothes pins to hang myself from so leave me damp and i’ll keep wrinkling your time you call life but i call it back star 69 to find out where the fuck it’s all coming from all these so over weight standards and that house where christmas is opened in a box drooling bad eggnog so wake from your drunken daydreams and drive me home you’re a steering wheel in my drive to accomplish something something more than this feeling……….so fuck what i say as long as it’s said appealingly and dye me the color of sky at dusk so i can fade without a crescendo the sunshine seems to only rain on this side of town when the weekends come back around we’re hang over hang men who forgot how to spell happiness you’re making my stomach clap its hands and all these so-called friendship collisions at the local i’ll take the regular order me a new evening and i’ll tip you with my cigarette ashes talking bar stool drown it all in a flask then resurrect it for the excuse to drown again shit is getting stale so the summer is gone and i’m an empty room please write me back with a kiss and i’ll carry it around in the pocket without a hole did you ever notice how snares sound like something falling from a distance and confused would probably be the most accurate image if it was one and i don’t know what we’ve been doing for these past few years but sometimes it feels chapped and i bite my lip when i’m chewing on this trying to save the world with a broken flashlight and a pack of chewing gum sticking my pen in places some call harassment so i’m charged like a battery with no place to shed energy so i keep you distant but close enough pet then it’s back and forth i’ll rain on you until you start to cry then we can reverse the order automated smiles to frowns sun to moon spring to both of us falling so counterproductive would probably be the most accurate image if it was one and winking at the stars only makes the morning look funny trying on too many smiles only holds up the line and i think paper flowers rip in the wind so i don’t know i’m not sure i’m up in arms and this is about a girl that i met in a bar only i wasn’t there but she bought me a memory and i still drink it till this day never seeming to get drunk enough but always stumbling around slurring all my good thoughts away and this is about a girl that i met in a bar only i wasn’t there but she bought me a memory and i still drink it till this day never seeming to get drunk enough but always stumbling around slurring all my good thoughts away
11.
hic-cup 02:48
hic-cup my disjointed brain does gymnastic tricks for weight in the bucket lift rent sets three times daily water the dishes give proper sunlight to the oven my garden hose home got kinked and lost its heart in a complex apartment meant to be comfortable my foot in the door fell asleep my pin and needle cushion needs more stuffing my cotton ball filling is falling out like words i love you to a drum beat scrap boxing in a circle rhyme to my heart murmurs good music sells itself to big name party caps and favors trade green for concrete the imprint my smile left on her cheek hollywood street teams i post up advertisement spots where her brain stops to pick up inspiration each day these coffee shops never close and these roads never end only reincarnate with a different name and a different hair-style from the pointy sky scrapers to the long wavy grass i can drive around your writers block for hours before i get old and thrown out bad idea being character sketched in an empty park these swing sets get no wind now-a-days and my electric run wishes won’t turn out to be beyond batteries or dated pictures in someone’s top fifty albums collection that was the time we vacationed in the wrong city next to the only photo i own of myself is nailed to the bathroom wall fogging up in the morning humans can’t fly but i broke the wings off a one way angel loaded my head with three hundred passengers and crashed into a stack of papers the black box composition journal entry detour lost my marbles in a marble notebook saved my pennies in an old mayonnaise jar i don’t buy your thoughts i rip them off and sell my own patched up interpretations full of holes and water leaks a house a shack a box of scrap paper broken half painted under brushed less groomed more knotty dreading death under dirt more boxed closed in open mind going bad unrefrigerated thought lost sleep with mind i lock it all away electric woman short-circuited man fuse box head she blew my mind do you ever wonder where all this missing ends at a severed sidewalk or black painted wall overlooking empty space no need for a camera or all those years you spent practicing you first dates how to memorize that empty feeling in your chest beginner’s workshop
12.
loose brain thread scribble hearts paper life crumpled face the wrinkle in my stopwatch counting cigarette drags and cars on the freeway streetlights pissing on the streets the radio’s some soft spoken hitch-hiker just talking to himself in the backseat our silence dresses loud and gets strange looks in the toll light driving myself nowhere the half written road map i keep finding direction in lost lost lost all the ink in my brain can’t finish the book i bought to read on vacation thoughtless and wearing the same clothes lonely in a rush hour buzz leave me and my breathing machine out of this half made robots the hair on my head is growing more metal gray days fucking crayons on a box spring writing in circles dull pencil shaving itself in the bad bathroom light the rest of the day is what i paint it blue a kiss red a novel fell in love with a stranger and spent our time figuring out how to get out before we starved to death my wishes got clogged in the well plumbing pipe dreams cracked out and burnt around the edges bad décor letter hallmark the writing on the wall because halls aren’t rooms and don’t have furniture can’t catch a breeze standing behind a window people need separation and dieing flowers and i can’t have problems unless they fit into a capsule stupid party hat tape dub dialogue fuck weather and whether or not you feel like sunshine standing on the corner selling itself - 12 hours for a thousand dollars you can do with it where you want i just wanted pictures with it when it was leaving for its honeymoon lemon dreams read the words scrolling across the screen when i grow up i want to be a decomposing corpse the centerpiece at brunch comment on the pretty wallpaper i couldn’t be me if i wrote a to-do list and bought a pack full of bulletin boards the nail stuck in my head is the song i’ll sing until the sun says fuck it and jumps from the bridge i’ve got a condo view of a postcard moment take photo here memory flipbook bad cartoon infomercial 32inch mind set shopping for a cheaper way to make tomorrow fit into my schedule without sucking in its gut the pride i swallowed gave me heartburn and the rest of the town came out to watch me fall to pieces under hydrant showers and cloudy skies nuclear fallout summer in the house drinking beer and playing the air conditioner loud dancing to the sun beating on a parking lot half naked cars my morning jog the dolly camera shot i record over each day doing the same thing wearing a different mood driving an old ambition eventually gas prices will be too high for me to make it anywhere my car’s a pen from a hole in my dining room i’ve been watching this woman with a sewing needle pick her threads apart she’s been stuck on this knot in her arm the coming undone was always advertised as easy the beach billboard your shitty hotel in paradise the broken pool chairs and the floating feeling in a deep end half full of polluted beach water ocean in a one bedroom apartment two drowning children pulling the covers closer to your face in the winter asleep tangled in loose string
13.
one bedroom apt. broken head the ash tray busting out of its favorite shirt refrigerator humming itself to sleep the concert rerun in a radio speaker with a hand over its mouth empty stomach the waitress upstairs cooking dinner in her work clothes another tree stump that buys herself a new ring each year with christmas bonus button down mouth popped open my gut hanging out rewriting blurry train schedules on scrap paper the love stickers to a new day still in its plastic and packaging tape inspiration feeding tube headquakes and pen drool vacation in the islands every man’s a salesmen door to door the sun in a business suit a summer sale on delightful window views my living room windows take deep breathes and wear reading glasses to watch the sunset the sun can’t color without tracing paper the highway outside my window sometimes sounds like an ocean trying to mimick itself alone - the new way to wear your hair been practicing death with a script and a hand mirror the brail on my skin when the breeze kicks in reads i wish floating felt more like flying like forgetting how to read falling asleep with newspapers over my face poorly ventilated mind the ten dollar house tour 3 rooms warped picture book with its stomach in a bind the records stores sell songs no one will ever meet or hold on cold mornings thinking about coffee sizes and the lines at the local gas station satisfaction would rather a face lift and surgery than me always complimenting its beauty marks :the reason i keep putting full packs cigarettes out all over my forearm is the world around you silent just before your car hits the water do play your favorite album at peak levels to fuck with the natural process or do you close your eyes and pretend you’re in bed with a pistol under the pillow waiting for someone to break into your alarm clock stuck in dream traffic with an empty stomach and a skipping head trying to keep your thoughts dancing the noise of cars outside my window burn out around three in the morning silence gives microphones to the floorboards upstairs they sing their songs on stage while my dreams talk at the bar open mic nights where the heating pipes even get up to do a number shades at the window waiting for the sun to come and pick them up off to work and work off the weight of bills and debt the power goes out my time card reads 12 o’clock lunch date expired my car massages back roads where the streets bend around shoulder blades like mountains driving the sun up a wall trailer hitching my shadow moving truck relocating my self image towing the broken down thoughts back to the shop open mind hours: 6am till sundown - moon up - in a tree sitting on a branch drawing self-portraits from a puddle kayaking in my stream of consciousness telling it to stop staring at me i can’t keep the boat straight the giant trash barge is distracting me heart - beat - machine the album with classic production coming undone she will love you in that new dress and you’ll tell your mind to wrap its arms around every smile to forget how emptiness feels: the skin of an angel: the drum without a beat my body dances around a bad song that never cuts to commercial wear yourself loudly

about

recorded in 2004 - debut solo LP
3SC (three sides of a circle productions) final release

credits

released January 1, 2005

released by 3SC (Three Sides Of A Circle productions)
all lyrics by Brad Hamers
all music/production by Brad Hamers
except: trk 2 - produced by Nobs
trk 6 - produced by Just Like Us
trk 9 (part A) - produced by Nobs
trk 10 - produced by Slomoshun
all songs mixed by Slomoshun (Fish Bowl studio - NY)
cover art by Jennifer Griffo
album layout and design by Brad Hamers

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all rights reserved

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about

brad hamers Portland, Oregon

writer, music-maker, collage-maker,, performance-maker, loud dreamer, mental gymnast

(member of: Through Flames, Child Of No Nation, Cat Child, Dust On Snow, Two Ton Sloth, Phlegm and Al Límite Collective)

Artist at Shrine13

www.bradhamers.com
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