01 the shape of dead punk cum
smeared across generations of crude dicks, shitbrained epithets and erotic limericks paints a pretty picture of paradise consumed by oceans of trash: another tragic reminder of all that human beings waste as they try to escape the inevitable.
02 i'm a bitch & i'll kill you
tonight i find him alone.
he takes the long way home.
he looks so pretty when he cries.
his inflated manhood sends him through the crowd like it's his civic duty to rub crotch. backed hard, good guy, his bravado sways between his thighs. his dick is blue with denim, his swagger's porno-scene, his target's freshly seventeen, he's got it down, his whole routine.
goddamn this guy's a fuck machine.
my knife can slice his cock so clean.
empty his balls into his mouth
and watch his cum run all down south.
i just wanna watch him groan for the very last time.
lemme tell you, man--it's good to be alive.
03 anal sex for satan
i hope god cries when i masturbate.
every day i die a little death for satan.
take your crucifix and shove it in your ass.
take your missionaries and hit them from the back.
there's only one path to true salvation:
total global penetration.
i am the filth you shield their ears from.
this is the happy ending you were afraid of.
your willful ignorance, scared-straight,
body-shame propaganda--this is the outcome.
04 zapruder film buff
bombs in boston aren't a hoax but a flex.
we're safe from truth for now, but we're next.
caught in the cross-hairs of a military action-hero complex.
sex and bullets riddle the climax.
ripped from hollywood, theaters packed.
a nonsense, scripted patriot attack,
a cryptic stage-play's final act.
05 blood-red hands of the yankee empire
why would a pig
at the mall
use his gun
on a child
who had called
for his help
as he was told?
why were the eyes
of the crowd
on the price
of the clothes?
he was 10 years old.
there are no innocent bystanders
only victims and executioners.
justice is a myth.
we drown in the flood of ancient vengeance
or swim through blood to the surface.
06 i killed spikey jacket
i rinse my hands in blood
and swallow filth.
they come knocking with their guns
and i can't hide my guilt.
there is a cop inside my head and he must be destroyed.
you know where hell is?
it's inside my head
for the effect outside my skull.
the negative wake is without intention
and i truly can't believe myself
when you tell me how i've made you feel .
flowers die when i touch them
happiness has never lasted and i only feel inclined to
spout the nervous fantasies that come to me because
of course i'm happy to be in this moment with you and i
thought that went without saying but i guess when i voice
a half-concern that specifies the opposite, that original
assumption of happiness is negated.
i understand how this could contribute to an overall
environment of negativity.
they see darkness,
i feel just fine.
i see suffering
in the sunrise.
Consequences Of Mass Production Under The Entertainment Regime
08 millions of dead children
they feed their kids amphetamines, steroidal milk and thorazine. they take their brains and scrub them clean. they cut them up and crush their dreams. they tell them when and how to breed. programmed to be obsolete. and then cry at the brevity of their babies' lifespans when the real tragedy is their corn-fed mutant babies growing into gun-weilding hate machines that would kill for a cheeseburger or a blowjob or a raise or one last hit or wipe out an entire species because it looked good as a handbag. they make them play war, arm them with explosives, export them to foreign lands to kill other children, then cry when their babies come home limbless and full of shrapnel.
09 public castration was your idea
who gave these corpses microphones? these are the same flesh puppets who've been banking on rebel-chic since before we were born. "the medium is not the message" you say through a mouthful of your favorite corporate rock-god's cum. you've kept this edifice erect. you give these men respect. their beliefs are wrong. you're singing their song. are you sure you don't believe them too?
10 la raza
as long as this world is run by straight white men racism & sexism will never end. you don't get to say that word. oh - you were just kidding? ha fucking ha. i've got a joke for you: your flaccid american breeder identity. your priviledge is a symptom of a system that is failing. your priviledge is a symptom of a system that has failed. tu privilegio es simptomático de un sistema que ha fallado.
11 culture of narcissism
me, me, me, me, me, me, me, me, me! me on tv, me on your phone, me on your feed, me in your home, me constantly, me all alone, me everywhere, me i don't care, me in the car, me in the store, me at the bar, me & me some more! everyone, everywhere talking to me. all of them, all the time wanting to be me. you can't be me. me eat my lunch. me go to bed. me waking up. me having sex. me in your dreams, me reign supreme! war over me! economy! look at me! look at me! look at me!
12 smearing feces as a form of self-expression
you dont like the way i wear my pants. of course you don't give anything a chance. gotta hold your bullshit righteous stance. you must be taking notes from fucking highschool. you only listen to three bands? well you're an asshole. you think that being jaded makes you wise. you are a product of the things that you despise.
when the bourgeoise meet in secret to drink blood & eat children, do you think they get high on adrenochrome or is it just a placebo? does the state orchestrate attacks on its own soil to fulfil some galactic blood-pact or is it just another excuse to steal oil? power ritual sacrifice. hooded figures, lidless eyes. they creep into your head while you are sleeping. you could be next. congress of sorrows deep underground. the rotten truth seeps out from the earth. exhume the child corpses from the white house lawn. make the bastards pay for what they've done.
14 you thought we went to art school but we worked at gas stations
"i thought you said this was grindcore." "you know i'm not into clean singing any more." "i don't listen to anything after '84." "i just get so bored." "those aren't even real jazz chords." shut the fuck up you entitled snob. even you die in the scrupulous minefield of your standards. no one cares. music is garbage.
15 dad saw jesus in the toilet on crystal meth
throughout history, human beings have enslaved each other with the promise of life after death. bound & gagged by faith, they lack the means to express their unfreedom, and fail, eternally, to create meaning. limitless intelligence awaits you if you try but it's not a golden palace in the stupid fucking sky. nothing happens when you die.
all songs written and recorded by C0MPUTER at infinite weed
records in philadelphia. cover art by cassidy jones.