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Post No Dreams

by Brad Hamers

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    Post No Dreams – New Solo LP by Brad Hamers

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

    Purchase of CD comes with Immediate Digital Downlaod of the album. All Proceeds go directly to the artist. The CD comes with extra art and lyric sheets. Brad thanks you for your support!
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  • 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.
flat yoke 04:15
i can’t light fires off the songs i swallow before each meal each day won’t ever drown in a puddle of love or go hungry screaming for mothers and things inherently allusive to wombs and open wounds will your dead god rob his own egg of trick questions do you steal other robot’s (battery money) internet connection see a tree still burning 30,000 (light)years after its been cut-down to install a 2nd moon a zero gravity shopping mall my granddaughter wears its advertising logo tattooed to her forehead who kills science hangs queens nails evolution to crosses this brainstorm shall be sacrificed in the middle name of dependency and psychiatrists overthinking thinking recipes and sheep counting for animals don’t do math the same way a wind really doesn’t blow keep trying to sing down brick houses and put out water i lost my bullets in a president’s head got molested by capitalism my manifest mutations all breathing outward in some imbalance of unison the symmetry in a car accident or the perfect sense in laughing we hung ourselves like paintings all night throughout parking garages and bar bathrooms i can’t throw neurosis off achievement peaks steeping in a cup of feverish anticipation like a mountain in a warehouse with my burnt tongue blowing smoke in people’s faces music without corners dries up in air like cigarette smoke won’t appease my leash out of breath and longing for my moving parts my decision appliance and formulated dream film i can’t watch tv off sturdy ballads and no unconcerned push cart not even off character charity or standing in line emasculated i can’t light wars off the books i feed wandering and repeating paying to be unbound what the ball of holes is trying to say holding a topic like a hat in a drawer looking for a purpose average encounter with her awareness sanded down says something about strange weather i can’t develop without dieing won’t stamp shirts or carve legal trees for a 14 bedroom void of regret or go starving breathing my unexpectations but i too carry my medicine i’ll take my dead tongue’s specific strut to strange and new places with its tailpipe trailing its 7thousand definitions and need for exact numbers let the spectators sweep the smog off the streets and into files you speak differently to everyone well you don’t play a trumpet like a drum from work to murky sofas sleep and back again if i’m not intoxicated i’m delusional or deceived work grain indicating an entire forest antiidle bubble bursts only half through its life span moral wing we’re the wind moral wing we're the wind the strong scent of soap can be as laxative and rousing as spilling a poem over the long rug of a piano thick from wall to wall with me tangled in it suspended in a chair like a spider web facing the corner of the room i’m coming up with too many words for this cave (as of lately my confidence and clarity (self-image) have been much like my beard) – (imagine me mirrorless) i can’t push fire on already lit rooms drying up in a puddle of love won’t dream in a gold bed ever die out in the sun i’ll take my playing song to its end i can’t sell fire to already lit rooms scratching in a dried up puddle of love won’t dream in a white mansion ever die out in a bucket full of gasses i’ll take my affection to silent fields to sing along with me i can’t push flames on complacency convinced of love proper without a puddle or its own reflection won’t aspire mansions in mansions ever die in atoms i’ll take my dancing to the beat
2.
traveling back from the fire the deputy carried my burns parading his better-bones i didn’t pay for the train and turned myself in reflecting on a skyless window (window waive the sky) or dollar store moon) i held the next day collateral we hitch-hiked a bum creditcard across the vanilla folds of a nother indexed cemetery under-construction and supposed hill to the light we left on in the rent traveling back from the fire i helped carry the hoses still trying to put out the siren a passing-bell lead me back to the town a hinge in the suit of a king marooned in a high hedge where the drought begins i brought stolen water and the sun as gambit then looked for shade so we could remove our hats shaking my pocket for the key to sing home i tried to sing it without all the crows on a second floor in a levied room in the ossuary i put my legs up my arguments wander looking for the blank to rest their bones a shovel was needed to move forward the only way out was down nothing in our dialogue jumped high enough to break earth we couldn't get any closer to dieing than we already were all of us tried some of us with pianos and moving straps some of us with boxes of wood and nails we each held death in ourselves some on a tire swing some in handcuffs and moving straps some on several tied together bungee cords the conversation never jumped from its branch we were all the same brand bird in one tree without leaves each a different amount of sky away from flying
3.
forty&eight 03:56
there was a boat out of her sickness an ocean under the facts the last fisherman caught yesterday’s dinner again the medication bell stay-put-wetback-dreams jumping sequence i earned the shovel and pork fat greasing down a minute hand cut-off pant and growl wasn’t the doorbell jumped beaten down dream overdone off-track run-on box-car logic hopped-up fence and 4-car-garage-equality all the water you want my teeth on a running-away utter all the gold-receipts you want my teeth on a missing tit escaped ride-cow black/white graze-cow sugar on the bland moon 4th cup incoherent burnt tongue speak-less-clear easy go and come-down parachute-sun skydiving-day hard-to-fly turkey in turning gun’s keyhole broke-in fit-like-a-glove plenty and sleep lo-tech reach for the carrot good-for-you star in your broken-in-to eye watched the boat leaving didn’t believe the ocean of facts out-of-stock-hard-to-get clearance-dream last deep-sleep fisherman caught a fence in the knee-d- down-must-act next sheep on-we-go no-parachute jumping the-races-have-begun-gun gone-off-track sheep in the grays and blacked out drinking from the grease-pan formal egg and dead chicken-out cook your own caught and remembered dreams not a boat out of the illness no un-chartered ocean under the math 4-teeth-left pulling-on-the-stop-chord pitched-off chorus-ant red and biting the blackened-gray-can’t-remember just wave to the see of facts a whole see of concrete and brick-for-brick-go-along-anthems goose-down-dream singing out like a feather-gone from a dead swan soon all lake all allege and fish caught in the boat-wreck go-along-grab-a-plank-equal-opportunity-won’t-share-holder works-for-us-math symmetrical noose and bow-tie floating-bell ring-around-the-neck climb-upstream color-in-the-lines-tongue and hooked-cheek life-float dead-man’s-face-down caught in a crowd of well-dotted-eyes ordering chicken around a corner out of a half-loaded-window asking me for change done-well over-done once-again under-passion over-charged next-minute-down-parachute and miss shotgun sawed-off dream hold-up broke take (/) hold-up the next minute-hand shaking in the mold and allege incoherent-tongue-feedback-dog-waiting-for-bell-crack high-price-high-pitch-mayday-and-night-sold-out-sucking on the pork-grease-fumes high-level-algebra-side-effect oil-feather- down-dream-equality chorus-ant well red and biting back at the blackened out when-did-we-lose-it where’d-it-go next-minute-contraction broke hold-up-labor off the books on the tubes sewer-dreams resuscitated-take-it-no-more flush-away and restart 4th glass-and-not-counting-math pass-out-sleep-for-everyone-work great-opportunity-equal-and-sweetener-union no-think-straight-lace-hole-in-the-sole fly like shoe time like cannon shot-down-dinner bell flopping around on deck broke big-hole-in-the-boat-out there was a worn hole out of her sickness a lost-its’-see under the preserved thoughts floating dead-man’s-lite across the top of my head like a forty-and-eight across the track-marks on a strung-out-plain-and-once-again here-we-go-jumping-parachute next-minute-down-cloud and miss works-for-us-subtraction symmetrical loose bow down and pick-up hitch-hike-floating down the climb-up-stream and looped there was a worm-hole out of her sadness a box-car out of her war a fresh-water-ocean under the hope thrown at us like dogs like ropes like trained-teeth on ropes around cut-trees a whole see of must-be and maybe un-brick-by-brick push-along all the space under the stars all the space under the stars like the see under the facts like the unseen under the ocean we are records of ourselves and each other live-man floating on the cracked-bell wrung out like duck in the window reaching for a plank from the boat out
4.
she was bored she did this in a past life i fell out of a (no story) window again hoping someone would hear it differently this time i poke at the me i see in the computer this is about communication we created ourselves she was in the yard putting an addition on her memory i try and climb the barb wire there because i see it his eye ran out of ink they walk him along a wall a general becomes more his battalion marches out the tempo selling buying more (selling buying more) the dollar falls over dancing the air laughs under its breath a free spirited slave falls over to work falls over all the way home he got his thoughts on the black market we got our food rations from the general i try and climb the monitor but fell out a window again (considering too loud) this is about communication she learned the word for blue after she learned the word blue red was already red before it was read i bite a light bulb all on a burnt dream glitching i asked the money she sees no barb wire we shut the window to muffle the bliss the yard spotlight sweeps over our bed and the threshold of my dream over the sadness through all the drives
5.
saddest rifle on the trench line plow pulled by buffalo melted down to knife metal i was sold as topsoil paying for the plant life only to be eroded rented flowers on my powder-horn sang steady with the gun-shots thought it was a shofar reaming at the tree bark banging at the fruit rind sold us zues’s goat bone next moment: in grown bullet at the bull’s-eye pulling for my trophy-teeth hope they become piano keys dream behind next door greener always blank yard empty house rem sleep ghost dinner hoof-step resold vegetable-ivory value couch-elephant rifle through the buttermilk saddest subservient oxen on the tipping-line crying eye push-off tear at the edge plow on the waiting line melted down to cutting-metal saddest penny in the rifle-clip hit the target’s heart like alarm clock out of its’ head on the mark on we go but the buffalo nickel i rode in and back home wearing its’ fur and interest-rates wasn’t the only gunpowder in my loose-fit-musket-ball-sadness the only all killed color in my flat wheel it seems the sadness shines independent of the obvious cloud – it hovers always there – like a tied up bison or modern already shot hollow tip bullet on a string – (on display) (on a string) – like teeth- like teeth pulled or not always there like my organs my heart like teeth
6.
this is another poem waking up the dream the other poem forgot upon waking ,all my thoughts were bird calls couldn’t tell if they were from whistles or had really happened most of me lays dead so it seems it was the hunter or was it only my dreams i wake up in a half cut tree on a limb off a brain stem couldn’t taste my simple fruit or sweet gum called myself numb stood in line to get pinched still couldn’t tell i was dreaming most times waking up i can taste the whole world at once goes right through me like beauty or chain(ed) food too big to hold i’m only the filter in a salty fish tank full of dreaming horses not concerned about birds the worms stuck left in me swallow too much eating themselves out of the morning upon waking all my memories were heavy sacks of cotton (were overweight on a treadmill) were buzzards on their way to cages were sitting ducks in an air current or jet engine’s ingestion were on bird strike didn’t know if it was a dream couldn’t tell if they were supposed to have their feathers on wanted higher skies and trees and fruit they could taste with no tongue holding their nose waking up i was stuck out like a dead but still sharp bent upward ingrown house nail where i hold together my head i’m caught on all the sewn together moments at once swelling and panting like cheap blinds looking outward on the carved block exhaling (inward) it breathes in like the street vendors opening their meat coolers only for seconds never vending within 20 feet of a dream upon waking ,all my thoughts were bird calls couldn’t tell if they were from whistles or had really happened most of me lays dead so it seems it was the hunter or was it only my dreams i wake up in naturally fallen tree on my own limb trying to believe my eyes couldn’t feel my fruit or tongue only heart and head thumping like an axe on the dream this is the root or seed this is the root or seed (chopped down to build houses for land birds or was it the rotting fruit buried underneath or was it the seeds to create poem metal or new feathers like a thousand tongues on one (new flavor) dream on a stick like an ingrown tree all its birds ,from hawks to bought house ducks stuck up a dream ) (the dream ) (this is the root or seed) (this is the root or seed)
7.
they cut along the edge of the counted upon like an orange from a fridge- yellow and red said in short or slang we wore our handcuffs on the top of our heads it was drawl for who known it or who needs an astronaut (to know we're) in space we were in spaces in between lines part of the page waiting for words to describe the ineffable the white to know something else is blue the black of knowing it all (blind) tear gassed tripped over the pot of gold it was in their eyes on a search team for themselves they cut along the (discipline)must-wait like hidden gift paper like an apple from the neighbor’s tree because you know it’s all yours red is in the sun no short or slang to stand for it they wore their heads cuffed like pants in a flood wet money and in debt red blue green and yellow too much color they couldn’t see the tv didn’t really need to it’s like the food you’re eating we chewed the hand-out fed up and talking about it the cut wasn’t made with a knife nor anything sharp our oranges slit themselves open for us already come mixed with yellow and red we each wait in our own fridge pricing our own toe-tags gnawing on the beauty don’t know what we’re eating digested as sinkhole , as depression blue and black said in shorts or a skirt from her eyes to the ground they cut the wool out of the heard it from the rest of them all wanted to be shepards heard it from the sleep and the wind through the fences and every one counting in their dreams and every one counting on their dreams and we never hear them cut us open in the echo of the room never hear the echo of ourselves the way it is sawing on the corner in a room down to the next morning obtuse (pointless and round) cuts along the edge of a forgotten dream like canned sun or jarred half moons in oil always knows it’s own ingredients can recite the yellow teeth on the dream grinding away (its way back home) if your leash was time if time didn’t exist outside of counting it outside of counting on it the ceo shouts cut over the line of plywood props and filed down extras they cut for the door like skips on a dvd like sun through the trees like leaving in slang like a short way to say goodbye asking for their money (their paycheck - their cut)
8.
7-30-06 a cut in half bomb with its rings being examined is chopped down to make paper and thousands of last pages (blank) a blooming ideology blinks each blade of green grass wild on her plains - a weighted trigger which takes some seventy years to pull i cut my hand trying to rip up a marigold (she was the lip of the impact (of the quiver) waiting for a bandaid) a patch of humans between a sidewalk and a building being fertilized and fed in a fenced in section of their head standing on their morals a (dreamless) bird standing on its head maybe we’re like ostrich and other bird which can’t use its wings (or wick) wind in a bag a black-eyed summer sky in a basement tied to a pipe and a beam rolling like a picture wheel like a universe in a jar (like a bomb on a highway) his piano was heavy and moving …and on a slope Part B (hidden poem) : broke flying kneed down hawk preying on food church trying to trade or sell the rings around my eyes (to those who already have em) pawned my chain they wouldn’t take the ball in my throat circling like hawk(up) back down into its drain pinball stomach sinks for eyes i stole the scrap metal and pricey-copper out on my head down to its piping and bone to get(thru)the security check (pawned the reward out on my head for the bullets to collect myself) sublet my skull for a corner to sleep in (sold every door for more wall) killed the content for more room in the belt (less things to trade with the indians) i sat somewhere in my electricity like the last great brown-out watching the stars change color the culture dive in (the ideology slowly losing its breathe) black-lung-lincoln-greened-shadow-mint-breathing down my neck shirt tag wearing tracked bird broke flying beak down crow perched on its caw an arched roof two ways to wake from a bed of eaten flowers dear eaten words dear eaten words sit on the outer edge of my licked mouth like stamps with out enough ink(to write) or postage(to send), cents in my clattering tongue hung from my mouth like a shirt pocket busted wallet on my heart consignment dreams on lay away day sleeps through the awake fake sleeping giant in the schedule booked solid (hard) indefinite sentence never ending stalk bow down and cursor through the dollar bill beak down in the mud of what it’s trying to say i’m saying i’m broke yolk (panned head) still trying to run from its center (like blood) cooked flightless kneed down buffalo wing roamed to church sweating bbqsauce pawned my castle ,my goat’s favorite dreams -ahead acres worth of popped pills and medical fields green as money picked with white gloves (churned to margarine) (i can’t believe its not money) broken dove down into a pigeon to pick from the bread crust falling out of the bags around some-one’s torn open eyes -a self storage garage - looted wiped the kneed down scabbing dream from my flowery eyes then traded them both in for (their) rings to spin like the rest of the debris in orbit around someone else’s hawked up(in)ward eyes stolen planet i’m the pawned moon only half 14carrot tonight the rest is fool’s gold and ice-belt cap-guns ,embalmed money and passed on coin like language like eye-holster ,like perspective -the currency lost in any given exchange ,our body language was a mistranslated poem he stood there holding his eye lids like where to stand in the bus-stop line i rode free flying kneed down pigeon-colored-dove praying on scraps of bread my money has preservatives my stomach has the morning hawked it for lunch money (my alcohol has its yeast) (hawked its risen up nickled and dime problems up (like still bouncing checks) pawned my overdraft head for my next- space on the board -i stayed as darkmatter -the one who said less ,we all never stopped looking at the last square but avoided endings but avoiding ending like page torn books and life-sentences avoided endings like tracked birds like missing hyperlinks like lazarus taxa- dollar for being spent cross eyed and been been pennied 5 cent worth of times worth of eyes, ears knows, touching my tongue pen to the plowed out backwoods -avoiding end in paper and bookshelves avoiding end like broke past not working like gliders - flying tow on the closest dove down into the foot of debt -avoiding end like parachute umbrella too big to fall giant on the camera stalk bottom line’s the sky -avoiding end like caught in the wind risky bird wings on a payment plan without end like nothing without end like nothing really is or can be too big to fall too big to end kneed down bread
9.
fog belt 03:45
fog belt (empty lot songs) (new field songs) we saw brick on top of brick never realized the building we were building we took turns working the door the revolving hackbut the musical saw someone had to keep their foot in i felt like the pepper-box in a stick up wearing my own stock and bonds (as mask) they all took too long to reload holding up their own tropes it was owed money first and obvious questions last never a full stop we stood handing out street signs to each other no one had a dead end everyone folded with boats and started holding up banks we were all drought or drowning river cards ordered onto rocks we each wore a war president's mask the right amount of sun or overcast over our face slandering our bricks i don't gamble nor breath only gasp and gulp in this overdrawn gulf i buy gloves and someone to kill without looking she held me up (with) her eyes half closed i felt like an emptied register setting precedence every president's a war president (every mask an extension of (or outlet out of (and back into) ourselves) we hold up banks each time we deposit a paycheck stilts on the house over owned land well known to flood over we floated like anchors only for second in what we were able to see brick on top of brick (we curse the high-card) (please) blow a hole through my next breath put plumbing in my waste build me a door i can lock the walls we build around nothing the walls we build around nothing my fort was myself all elaborate parapet the West Bank's very first wall he wore pilaster crown molding trying not to turn blue in the antique chair i snort my dust hand a bump to the (right) lane next to me everything was worth slowing down for but instead we chose to crash i took the floor let him hold down the couch it was gravity this culture weighing us down some wore it as gold around their necks others ninetheenth century slave iron or steel stolen from our outer space (can one hit dark matter) stolen from our float stolen from our floats drowning in the winning river card drowning in the bridge over a river now dry enough to walk i was every flame every missile bringing us down and did it ducked under and down comforter i hold all of you in my heaviest arms loaded into my A-134 gatling gun every breath too heavy to hold (every hand too broadway to ever fold) i don't bluff or gamble only breath and know one day i won't (don't buy in or play) (only check or call) (don't drink or hunt me down without a chaser) (i drown first thing each morning) (buy (steal) your swimfins) (your conga line or slave chain for anchor) (crippling ourselves crippling the deck) i know nothing of the game (can you tell) the parts of me lose even if they don't know they're playing breaking down the door card no hand to knock blown off arms they knew i only had a candy bar (or capgun) i still hold all of you way down in my throat (down as far as my heart) weighing down my throat every next brick added weight we sawed till there was nothing to see (down to the last ring around our ever dotted eye) (down to the last chip in our (ever shrinking) head) (and down to the last seen dust of ourselves) i asked for the vaccuum as my way out (had saved seats on a closed line) (how to kill sticker bushes in your yard) all the bricks try to breath can't all at once the building never knows it touches the sky even though it was and has always been from the very first brick (the empty space was garden dirt) (we dug down into the time in a straight line)
10.
never meant to have regrets never meant to never meant to never meant to never meant to never meant to have regrets never meant to draw on the drawing never meant to hurt in my battery never meant to die on the road never meant to take this exit never meant to hurt in my glue never meant to aim with this sun or shoot with this lemon never meant to eat it with you never meant to let it eat me never meant to have regrets never meant to smoke the flowers never meant to bring these clouds never meant put them on you never meant to have regrets never meant to hurt in my glue never meant to aim with this lemon never meant to squeeze into this box never meant to draw the lines never meant it to be a black box never meant to go down this sky never meant to go down in this sky never meant to have this weather never meant to paint on the drawing never meant to hurt in my battery never meant to die on this road never meant to blame the car never meant to take this exit never meant to drink the paint never meant to have regrets never meant to smoke the flowers never meant to brake the yard never meant to cloud it with walls never meant to measure tape my mouth never meant to hurt in my ceiling never meant to destroy anything never meant to hurt you never meant to tuck in my own throat bring me down in a fixed-wing aeroplane put me back in the water where they found otis redding bring me down in a mechanical pigeon drop me like 3rd world groceries where i found my missing teeth, hand to take and contact lens bring me down light like slow-film (clipped whites and underexposed) bring me up in a hot air market bubble no parachute or kite string - just drag marks around my insight like tax on what i buy into flew into the tower i jumped from like the apple stuck up the loudest tree (fall with a bow - just what i learned) bring me up in a bare-soil based orchard eating my way thru its corn maze put me back in the cereal half milk half tap water (spoon in each eye) soggy vision cut thru the yellow number five (to sleep) like (just washed) butter knives no marks on the throat i held hostage each time i spoke (the cameras wouldn't allow it) (only indian burns could show) (magic carpet burns on my throat) bring me down in a crane in midtown (ontop the court-house they through me underneath) (for an oil change and a pap-smear) drag me in in induced labor and tongue cuffs like politically correct language working its way up to god bring me down slow in an about to crash air bus yanking on my umbilical cord like the cigarette machine’s release lever (last stop on pass it down) bring me down in a slow fade out on time like my head buried in the sand and glass full head of bees buzzing around the honey stuck in my head like top hit and battered frozen (flour) pancake to the plate - (factory abused and demographically exploited) just-married meat in the freezer ice on our eyes better for the future (hold on our fishing rods iou on the water (and lake) bring me down like rain like bouncing checks in the flood of 1st stage dream on loans and misdiagnosed voices moaning in the milking-machines bring me down like full gulp of say cheese in all color stuck in my own throat like mad-cow tongue and speech tuck in my throat think-impediment joy-stick driven and on a slow decline like cigarette machines brought down in a dead-asleep-wing pegasus or sphinx put me back in my own riddle where if i found anything it was a therapeutic circle
11.
for him silence was a power tool turned on and making its way through a piece of measured wood a loud saw (carrots for the eye) for him the wood was another silent house another quiet car a way to make the trees make breath for you a less loud saw (more going blind in a room full of sunlight (and diamonds) for him constructiveness was a priest’s telescope picking out dead stars like chicken bones from soup for us the invisible(and gone off)bombs were like the morning sun just another day for her it was known the bombs were in silos and also were like the morning sun just another day gone for her the silence was a cut-down forest a missing tree to scratch her horns or blown out back on the overweight carry-on (she felt like) (the paid-by-the-hour-on-the-meter-(passenger)-bird) the-pick-up-and-drop-off-always-on-time-hand-grenade in a sound-proof room for them the recommended photo was now the loud saw up to their ear like an ocean talking with a mouth full of plastic a way to mount a scope on a evolver a way to mount a scope on a evolver for him thinking was a check-point pulled over painting on the pallet patting down every last color blue wore an extra layer (is imagined blue the same as actual blue) for her blue was yellow and green mixed up symbols never just depression (anger and introversion) (or only real fear and false bomb threats) always another saw to sing they sang it for us on high quality photo paper like pre-finished wood (using)the used and muffled saw the last thing we saw was like silence about to take place everything that happened knew before it did like a coffin farm washington – an outdated dream gray wig never aged (still with its finger up its nose) for him inspiration was a corner drug a cheap photograph the quiet saw frozen meat for the eyes sold like (cheap)diamonds like his own blood for him frenzy was a manual tool it’s all about the saw lunch for the eyes maybe they’ll see it more than their camera does 100th floor gloss vision poly tree plastic coffin shallow field overpopulated dream where will they bury our bodies like water full of plastic no plot left on fiction town fake dream (fake dream) i slept through the fake dream i slept through the fake dream for me silence was the water in a sponge the next flood like what’s already coming and came silence was the alarm clock going and what we chose to do next
12.
there’s more buffalo on nickel than grass there’s more plain on today’s fancy than fancy more buttons on our emotions than shirt (more headdress on our private(s) thoughts) than scalp (scalped in a hat for the cameras) more feathers in our hat than in bird (left to take them from) more make up than late more cover up on our eyes than uncomfortable trying to fit into this shirt the city was short sleeves and ring around the collar was one button and a hundred hands there’s more fingerprint (of mine) on money than my own thumb (and money that’s not mine) there’s more identification with value in pictures than having yours taken more tender than there’s actual arm to give it there’s more good in doing it without giving there’s more gold in the teeth of those without money what our gold used to be (literally they used it as receipt for gold) i change in my teeth for a way to say the next moment to stay in the next moment i was always in my place like a drink on tab on the bar reaching my way for another rung for my way around the next moment there’s more shirt on me than skin more cover up on my eyes than sleeping with them open more eyes on my back than the heads that use them there’s more wallpapering on my tongue than i can lick there’s more lick in this pop than i can take (Washington’s last thought is this) capitalism licks itself down like an alley cat that just got out the garbage we all take from each other equally throwing the same amount of interest and junk mail on each other’s lawns lied down like a hair piece in our throats (i cough my neighbor’s best combed hair - my coworker’s most politically correct hair day) had my sentences braided words in corn rows head amaized needle in the hayride (tire) the driver in the truck i crash face first into what i have to say my eyes were crash test dummies bored and dashing back and forth were right up against all they could see there’s more sponsored vision in donation plates than in telescopes more stars in my eyes when i’m asleep than when they’re open (or the opposite) (anytime but 9 to 5) everything comes in looking for a bargain - a sail to get the most out of their wind we could hear those with motors coming a mile a away pockets with propellers can’t remember my dreams can’t remember my dreams i didn’t just say the same thing think hard from your wallet which cab will bring you home i hopped the closest white picket fence following a sheep to sleep like it was drink every glass had a crack we look for shelter in the missing parts of her as she falls asleep it was somewhat easy because she was always sleeping putting paid workers in her place for a(nother) dream we all outsourced our emotions chain reactions on boats paid for the extra packaging it was soundproofing and headphones english is Esperanto (ride the bullshit to heaven) (every stereophonic way to say it) my feelings multitask with one hand taping its own mouth shut with the other working the paper mill (shaking every bills’ hand) (saluting each duck as it goes down) we hid under the closest machine under our own hatched eggs we still hang from too many yokes in one too many pans cut the nervous break down for money the nearest gold tree down for its rings every planet was a finger everything pointing at the sun the myth of profit she lays eggs without mating we pull each other from the bone (i started at her grace note) how many instruments inside one human how many insights into one view the closest we come to interaction is change back on gum (sugar pills and) bullets back on what it is i have to speak) blowing up whatever’s stuck in our head (the explosives sounded like drums) let our tallest structures be the measuring stick for beating each other with be the flash to the camera we remember each other with (smiles as big as the deficit) is this a complicated joke we laugh at more than think about which chicken crossed the street which walk sign do i fall over to which store do i buy the prescription she can’t hear her own desperation it’s in the wood that was cut to be rebuilt around her none of us hear our ancestors hear the (dinosaur computer) eggs we were cracked from my ear was to the pan listening for fire and meat to cook it to (Speed Levitch riding a bison on ground zero) i die before i fall off my saddle in my mouth head in holster our emotions were equipped with a thousand security cameras and barking dogs with a workcrew of others to handle our own thoughts they carry my food chain as i walk into the cafeteria competition in the market was like feeling up a stuffed bra hand in the meat cutter eyes on the milk udder tissue stuffed into my(pre-cut)eyes i used my looking muscle well built scarecrow standing head first into the crop (our flag - a scalp on a stick) (they cropped out my frown (put a moon under my factory harvested cow (had over how to pay for dinner) (crouched over over my desk) there is work in silence we all thought best alone so we left out all the details when we would speak gave back only saw dust no rings (except on the desk wood holding our drinks) no buttonwood with its arms out holding money they cut off my imagination and started counting my rings we purchased miss liberty from a cemetery (sold grave rubbings as art) hawked our eagles for pigeons and crow bars broke our selves out of broke by buying in george washington on wall street with his hand on the wall the only thing to hold i hold her throat way down where she once said it like a chair under me with a rope around my neck there’s more get off in going than there is in coming unless going is going(coming) back eyes breathing like olypmic swimmers (heart racing) head of would drowning in my strings i put on puppets like socks to fall asleep in the lights coming thru the blinds put on myself in the lights coming up for the next act eyes like intermission like holes like opportunity for new real-estate i died in chapter eleven bunny ears and eyes hanging out buffalo dead on fresh grass (every fence - a new dream to think over and out) (to realize before you hit the back cover) sleeping on the maps we never used the highways became markers for the amount of space we each had to sleep in i laid there -eyes puddled hoping to catch fire hoping there was some oil left in me a well counting its pennies trying to cover its eyes we hit the back cover (buffalo committing suicide over niagra falls) (more funerals for the paragraph ending) the next sorrow starts the same i made ink for the tears she wanted to cry but didn’t for the sake of the flood we all knew was a mirage but made summer boats and inner tubes for the alarm clock on the bed was a gun was a three legged sand bag race we wanted to be a mirage but wasn’t like the flood of time and where the water must go like the space i store my sorrow (like a storm sewer or gut icicle) we feast on free soup and beds sharing each other’s measuring spoons comparing each other’s volume i speak so hollow i hold mountains on every side i mumble so low i hold suburban sprawl in my emaciated gut (as if a valley) all my emotions were inverted fat every organ made fun of the next my brain sucked itself in feet thrown up sleeping on the maps we never used the highways became markers for the amount of space we each had to sleep in i make of the day a pile of bones and skin only sleeping in the fat my dreams peel off like tired fruit full of flies rotting from the branch like money in a bank burning my rubber eyes right in the middle of the street - a beaten piano kicks down the door waving a grace-note i curled up in a knot a ball of cello string and had someone kick me down into the morning alive his grandmother wants to die no one knows how to say it lacks the language ate it all for snack his eyes were crumbs at the bottom of a bag blind rope in the sky against the (window) screen doesn’t know where to put the apostrophe the invasion wasn’t a sacrifice we liked it up our eyes they knew it and sold us more i hope to reincarnate as a misunderstood sentence as the house fire as it reaches the top of my head i jump out my intestines never stop rolling through the day (dropped off at the morning like (still-playing) stolen tv on a doorstep) (the morning will wake me newspaper and old logs barely lit afire burning down the day)
13.
i drive myself away to confront myself my coffin in the passenger seat a mansion’s worth of hallways in my thought out a mirror’s worth of glass in my tire-d eyes clunking as they roll out of the reflection back to me like change cut in half nickel and dime sense of self went to the wrong bank to watch myself keep my head above water headed out lost like point blank tossed coin language beats the well out of me tongue hanging out like a bucket on a rope the rain was small talk (the window let every word bounce off it) the season coming had its chest out like tools hacksaw for the sun thumbtack and staple for the four months of coming overcast (my feelings jet-lagged still stuck somewhere in the psycho-tropics) (fell asleep with) my head on the space heater ) pillows tied to each ankle i skip sleep over the ocean i build between us gasping in the see-n it with my own(ed) two I’s they were like let loose doves or homing pigeon over bread crumbs each with a (different) letter in its mouth one with a camera to its chest (like dynamite) like paperweights to its memory bricks for each foot-print a jet tied to our leg eye like runny egg the hold on me like yoke like anchors being dropped into the expression on my face - no wake zone (only buried bodies) lengthy books and rope around my throat buried my cough i never held my breath (under anyone) there’s a wa(i)ste for every gun we all fed from like birdfeeders the utter we’re stuck with in our mouth the last saddle on my hoarse voice the boot(up) stood foot down tapping to the beat chewing the straw on my back last(sucked down)drink’s on me comes out of my empty pocket like copper-greened ghosts like haunted bank owned homes like(digging in your pocket for) china lint balled up in the dust on a downward spiral a (talking)stuffed human that just sits in place -like a cold war bomb like an off topic - i take the road on ice away from my self to confront my self my coughed up eyes in the passenger seat (can’t see the mirrors right) i choke without sound (or (cl)kick-backs) the plane out was the lion of the sky we couldn’t hear each other changing the subject over it roaring day was the caterpillar still waiting to moth a year from now was the censor light we couldn’t even get through of the private property we claim like future like claims night was the slug of the dull(ing) hope was the hidden mine the button that had to be pressed to keep the bomb from going off of the going off the going off was the meat the dinner we chased off a cliff we couldn’t then climb down blot in my breeding pen a coup in my (already overthrown) mouth i threw it around like flowers and dough like food money like blood from a cut up wallet (down to its drizzle and drowning splash) (we drove in different directions) every idea was extra light pollution another exhausted foot stomping out the fire in my eyes for every spark plug a flat tire another swing on someone’s tree another yard to mow another photo to crop i drive myself down my throat to speak from the top of my head long ride home (my blame blames itself ) (everything sorry puts its weapon down) (i dropped my tools on my foot) (my anchor in my mouth) (they watched me wash up on the beach) (jumping in place in its place like a hammer on the bent nail i attempt to push into place - on line at the dhs pen on line in a mission with its empty sugar bowl and pointed spoon pull through in line at a throw me a line hook in line at a life raft give-away - i went there looking for water or for air to fill my float (s) ) (-we ended up using its rocks for skipping over shots of whiskey whisking me away (in the ritual) (never skipping a shot of whiskey) (whisking me away with the barley the feed crop cooking itself room temperature for swallow in a pot it’s all in) (eyes in my face like poker chips tongue in my mouth like fireplace- poker words like cut logs -the bones of what i wanted to say(stay stored ina museum inmy head) wired shut (together) out of place - my right foot forward backward in my mouth -my tongue on my hand -supposed to lick every shake like a blender dancing to the refrain fruit in the wind fruit in the wind hopefully there’s fruit on you my words fell out of the wide blue wind in my eyes my head jumped out in front of me slipped in the fruit that fell from you (drove myself into the stationary tree -my drive -the high-beams blanking out each shooting star) every idea was extra light pollution another exhausted foot stomping out the fire in my eyes they start rubbing themselves together the way money mates a bomb broke out on the (oily) face of my next occupied day black me out bills in the red let them bleed for me the blood is driven out of me like highways (a mansion’s worth of polluted heir looms hacks up through my liquid filled lungs with wind ,in it ,moth and dead unsaid hawk coming up out of its coffin) i drive myself down my throat to speak from the top of my head (a railroad map) (tracking out the sequence of words) (laid out) (on their backing) (ranting toward the source) (drinking from my blurry glasses) (seeing from my drinking glass glass in my mountain blasted eye) (most of me hides in the fog at the bottom) (of the (heavily breathed in) glass) happiness had a gone off gun time had a fat waste it got burnt into all the anxiety kept smoking tucked away loneliness was an antique cannon (that had to be dragged) (with)no order(s) the fleeting was a shot to the chest every next private beat in order with its’ hyper-perfect scars marching toward the fire missing you has a weapon that has yet to be made (every second a new science lab creating the next) time (also no orders) has a bomb with a trick candle wick and a debt to every next sky (also no orders) (we’re always with each other) (somewhere in time) now that comfort was the debris falling everywhere around us loneliness was a used ammo bag for empty shells (and ash dropping out of wind) certainty was the sand and what’s buried beneath it (the thought of tomorrow was the gold-detector) (or unloaded shotgun) (stomach full as an hourglass) (tomorrow was just the battery pack) (or only the saw) (or only the glass) (to see it through) (to see it through) (to see it through)

about

Over 3 & 1/2 years in the making, Brad Hamers second official solo effort is finally here!
Post No Dreams is Brad’s most conceptually cohesive and accomplished work yet.
Capturing what wasn’t taken to the zoo before it was freed, this album is a snapshot of the (in-fashion) chains we find ourselves in, a hole one can only dig themselves out of. Most songs were conceived out of an unshaven and woolly keyboard with its heavy heart caught in an amplifier, rotted and humming; and recorded onto a computer from the last ice age with buboes. Layered with shit drums and cassette fuzz, almost all of the album’s 13 tracks evolved out of old keyboard sketches and then grew new body parts and extra clothes from there. It is sooty and astral. It is lo-fi and fizzes. It is for the pensive and the head-sick. For the sleepless and the sleeping. For the myth-less and the mixed-up. The album features some accompanying instrumentation by Big Pauper (the other half of Two Ton Sloth), who also mixed and mastered the album in its entirety. And as with all of Brad’s work, this album is best listened to while alone and reading along with the lyrics

credits

released November 30, 2010

Album written, played, recorded & produced by Brad Hamers
lyrics & vocals by Brad Hamers
mixed by Brad Hamers and Big Pauper
mastered by Big Pauper
features additional instrumentation & vocals by Big Pauper, Jennifer Griffo & Shannon Steele
cover art by Brad Hamers
Token Recluse Recordings 2010
Long Live The New Police

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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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