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lyrics

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
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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
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credits

from the cut​-​ups of a paper woman, released January 1, 2005
written and produced by Brad Hamers

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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 ... more

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