1. |
DABDA
05:46
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It gets hard to sleep
When dreaming of you.
Last year you seemed pretty clear,
Thought I saw you too.
But memories fail me again,
I tug at loose threads,
I staple your fragments,
And I say things you’d have said.
They say it’s called DABDA,
I said, “That’s not a word.”
“Well, actually it’s five,” “Yeah, no shit,
This, that, and the third.”
I’m not all that hungry again.
I skip meals like stones.
I raincheck a cry sesh
For the next time I’m alone.
Somewhere in Scotland,
You got out of your car.
There were sheep in the road
Is about how far you could see,
And I can’t help but picture you laughing.
We went to Wyoming
For a couple of weeks.
And we watched The Birdcage,
‘Cause I hadn’t seen it yet.
I said, “You’re my first real gay friend.”
You said, “Yeah, I can kinda tell…”
We snowmobiled through Yellowstone.
We drove like maniacs,
Like the park was our personal racetrack,
And we were Dale fucking Earnhardts.
Still, it feels too convenient
To say we were friends,
Cause you had a whole lot of friends
And acquaintances,
Some of whom knew you much better than I did.
Has it happened yet?
Are my eyes inside my chest?
Well, yes, I guess
Things make a bit more sense.
You’re not a ghost.
You’re just some guy I used to know,
Knocked dead in the road
By a bloke who could’ve slowed down.
I'm in the deep end of my DABDA,
A swimming pool of shit.
I'm in the deep end of my DABDA,
Stuck below the surface
Take off your coffin.
Walk through my mind.
Show me you’re not really gone.
This time I’ll try to believe it.
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2. |
Just Like That
04:33
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Cut it with the turkey talk.
Eat a bag of dicks if you can’t walk
On the right side of the road.
Had a hot dog at the Costco,
Had to get some new glasses so
We hopped in the Toyota and drove
Way the hell up Nevada.
Pitch nut in the parlor off the kitchen,
Crack a cold one in front of the colonel
She’s an easy-going cat if you can meet her where she’s at
And I know just the way to pet her on the back
Till she purrs, “Yeah, just like that…”
We were bunkmates in LondonTown
Took up space in Little Cairo cafés
Pulling from a hookah hose to prove that we were down
We liked the bookstores and the pubs a little more
Carved out corners and set fire to the dance floor
Rode on double-deckers and pretended they were roller coasters
It might be said that we were acting like dickheads
We ditched our classmates and we didn’t make our beds
It’s easy to kill time when you’ve got nothing on the line
And when you’re barely legal white guys like us, you don’t compromise
Just like that.
Our drama classes were a gas and a half
If I was Hal, then that would make you my Falstaff
Give or take your figure, which, you shall not find it so.
I feel as though we really saw one another
It was like we had this whole language of silence and eyes
And if I didn’t always like you, well, that doesn’t mean you weren’t my brother.
You’d clown around in absurdity like a playground
Shave one side of your face for no one’s sake
Cut your arm with scissors and insist it didn’t hurt
It’s a scratch, not a gash. It’s my business if I crash,
So you can get up off my back, or I can take your ass to task
Just like that.
Holy shit, could you argue.
You made your point, and you pissed me off too.
And wasn’t it just like you to get the last word.
Your brain must’ve been burning something awful.
You’d take a tumble and laugh yourself together.
And whatever the weather, if it’s good enough for the birds.
I heard you’d joined an improv troupe.
I heard you were living with this guy I sorta knew.
I thought that you were fine but never once dropped you a line,
And I was sitting in my bed
when Parker told me you were dead.
He said you went up on the Golden Gate
with something in your head.
And I can guess what you were feeling,
but it wouldn’t change the fact,
That you never asked permission from anyone.
You’d jump just like that.
I wish that I had cared for you (just like that)
I wish I could have caught you (just like that)
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3. |
Mirror
02:01
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4. |
Don't Follow
04:02
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I didn’t know that you smoked.
You joked you got yourself into cocaine.
It was a catchy refrain
I’d play again and again in my brain
But situations make plain
How far apart we had grown since eighth grade
When you’d remind me my body had not yet changed
And I was probably gay.
You could be meaner than snake shit,
And I’d relinquish the piss
Each time you’d come to reclaim it.
No need to get one’s undies in a twist.
Unball those fists
Don’t give me that face.
Don’t fuckin follow me.
You’re way too smart for that.
My daddy called you a dirtball,
And I had nothing to say.
Just stood there dead in the doorway,
My mouth most likely agape.
I couldn’t blame him for caring,
Scared for mistakes I might make,
Things I might say to authorities,
Things I might put in my veins
Like you did that day.
Don’t fuckin follow me
We’re not even friends.
Go back to your dad and tell him that
I’m doing just fine,
I’ve got my life,
And I’ll try to get by
Without his guidance.
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5. |
Impossible Objects
06:04
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I sat behind you in AP Statistics
Charting my daydreams, their characteristics.
In each one you gave me impossible objects
Like time on a string, an elephant’s wing.
For all of their beauty, unspeakable, nameless,
Their uncertain purpose, so happy and aimless,
I feel that I know you, if only in dreams.
But I fail to see us intersecting.
So much for field trips, we all went to see
A local professor slash actuary.
He told us in five years, "One of you’ll be dead,"
But he didn’t say who, nor exactly when.
So laughing and halfway scared shitless and sensible,
We settled for topics less incomprehensible
Like where to get lunch and who’s willing to drive.
We all need to be back here by 12:25.
Had I known you better, perhaps I could say
More closely what happened on that July day.
The car rolling backwards, impossible object,
Pinned life to the fence in front of your friends.
That night we got high and went to the movies.
We talked about nothing, tried not to feel gloomy,
Saw M. Night Shyamalan’s live-action catastrophe.
We wished we had seen Toy Story Part III.
It always surprised me to think you were older,
Impossible objects you drew on your folder.
Then there was your mustache, spread thin when you smiled.
There’s no sense in shaving the face of a child.
It’s been nearly nine years since that July day,
And each day you’ve flashed through my mind in some way.
No justice in dying when numbers are king.
Maybe that’s why I cling to your elephant’s wing.
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6. |
Family Friend
06:06
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Bucky rubs her buckeyes
Didn't realize it was after midnight
Cigarettes and Diet Pepsis
Red wine and nineties comedies
House is mostly clean
And otherwise unoccupied
Up the steps is the bedroom
Right across from the playroom
Puzzles missing half their pieces
Good enough for kids' caprices
Count to fifty 'cause you're younger than me
And don't you freaking peek
Bucky was a family friend
A frequent host to our contentment
Me and Brother sitting in the den
While parents shout about the 43rd president
Little Sister is out cold on the couch again
Caught on cobwebs in your shed
I thought of seeing friends but did your yard work instead
For five bucks an hour and unlimited Fresca
Holy cow it's hot, I sure could use a Fresca
These afternoons are deadly humid
Why else would you hire a kid?
I trip on piles of twigs
And other things that have died
Inside your cloud of supposing
Mourning that happens at night
I must've thought if I could make you laugh
I could save myself from hating myself
I bore myself out of your gaze
I made a personality to fit your praise
I stayed up late on school nights
Vainly hoping you'd remain
Cancer came back with a culture grip
I had just returned from Philly with an internship
They'd moved your bed into the dining room
Off the sun room that you never used
And I knew I couldn't really feel confused
But I couldn't make it real
Mom and Dad drove out to Colorado
Given circumstances that foreshadow:
I was playing Death in a school production
Of an Appalachian adaptation
Of a cherished early work by Ibsen
The writing was on the wall
I guess it's not a surprise
Easy to characterize
Nothing some doctor and I
Can't intellectualize
In case that anyone tries
To pry a tear from my eye
I got this pretty disguise
Nobody's business but mine
The way I pray for a sign
For everything to align
A light to read every word by
A kind of silent reply
For when the truth doesn't satisfy
I need an endless supply
Someone to live in my life
What if I learned nothing
Measuring the silence
Holding onto blue
Holding onto you
Stuck below the surface
A swimming pool of shit
I thought that I could drain it
But I couldn't even contain it
The rain rolled in and made a big old mess
There's nothing I can't swallow,
If given enough drink
There's no one I won't follow,
If it means I don't have to think anymore
I'll close the door on closure
Cover every mirror
Disappear what might've been
Disappear what was
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7. |
Ghost Mind
04:24
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I got a bloody nose, lying at the top of the stairs.
The other soccer boys are probably playing
Harvest Moon in the basement.
10 years from now I’ll be back down there
with the swimmers watching Inception,
And my nose’ll still be bleeding.
Pulling donuts in an icy high school parking lot,
An early waveform for white male rage.
10 years from now I’ll be a failson
faking his life into shape,
And we’ll all still be angry.
You’ve got a locker full of creatine
And nudie pics to last a dozen
teenage riots in your jeans.
I mean I guess I believe you didn’t do it
But it’s hard to unsee what I’ve seen.
Can you believe we’re 22?
I mean, at this point we’ve known each other
longer than we haven’t...
My little brother could buy himself some
cigarettes if he wanted.
He wouldn’t. But he could if he wanted.
You’ve got a locker full of firearms
and Jim Beam® in the trunk,
you’d better let him out ha ha
My mom told me I ought to send
your mom a Christmas card
saying I’m thinking of her.
I’m still thinking of her.
You’ve got a Honda full of Swisher Sweets
and hormones like a watermelon, suck it and see.
They say God won’t let you bite off
any more than you can chew.
You’re in the big leagues now,
and everybody’s looking at you.
You’ve got a commonwealth of secrets
I’ll never get to hear
It’s probably for the better
But if the dead don’t really die
And if you’ve got something on your ghost mind,
Well I’m listening now.
I’m listening now.
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Kevin Dorff Brooklyn, New York
Kevin Dorff is a songwriter and playwright from Des Moines, IA. His debut record, “Silent Reply” considers the ways people we have known live in us beyond death. Inspired by the novels of Rachel Cusk, the paintings of Alice Neel, and the lyricism of songwriters like Craig Finn and David Berman, Silent Reply is a series of elegies steeped in 90s indie and folk rock. ... more
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