Archbishop Jason Polland - "Precious Futility II"
(BNW 022 - 2009)

I Feel Fine / Strangelove / Ghosts Mock Me / Intermission (Alternate) / Act II Outtake / Act III Outtake / November 17, 2004 /
Theme For An Animation / Self-Destruct / Theme For A Zombie Western / Neighbor / I Hear What They Say /
Theme For A Video Game / Making Friends / She's A Liar / Tarpit Of The Mind / The Death Of Charles B.
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Precious Futility II (ZIP FILE)




Please excuse the mess I've made of this room
Please excuse the mess I've made of my life
Please excuse the mess I've made of my heart
Please excuse the butterscotch pudding all over my checkered slacks

Ghosts visit me, they tell me I'm old
Ghosts mock me, pull their pants up too high
Ghosts lecture me to take care while eating
Ghosts laugh at me, and then disappear

Years ago, I could still love
Years ago, I could hold a spoon
Years ago, I met a girl
Now I have trouble peeling off the lid

Ghosts tell me where treasure is hidden
Ghosts laugh and point when I find it's not there
Ghosts reveal stories of how they died
Ghosts yell angrily if I doze off

When I was young, I was in love
Now that I'm old, I am in pain
Ghosts visit me to talk of the past
Ghosts roll their eyes when I get confused
I am haunted while trying to eat
Ghosts clear the table but I'm not done yet


His drunken revelry awakens me
His belligerence is audible
His car parked in my space again
He tries to take what's mine
Hate is such a strong word
He wears a different hat than I
I hear him beat his wives
So many wives
How long, how much longer?

I see my chance
I invade his home
I press the button
I plunge the blade
His shock and horror mirrors my own
And it is done
Unaccountable, unaccountable
They know my crime
They know my deed
No retaliation, they cannot touch me
Now I lock my doors at night
And wait

Hey, I know what they say
That guy's no good, he's just a deadbeat, a bum
Hey, I hear what they say
That guy stinks of dog biscuits and old antifreeze
Hey, I know what they say
That guy's a chump, a weasel, a bum
Hey, I know what they say
That guy sold roasted chestnuts at the Nuremberg Trial
But I've got news for you, so listen up
I had a hit record when I was young
But it got erased when I turned eighteen
Hey, I know what they say
Don't talk to that guy, he's covered in ascorbic acid
Hey, I hear what they say
Don't play Chinese checkers with that guy, he don't know how

My loneliness mocks me night and day
So I sculpted a girl out of clay
She glistened in the sunlight and melted away
My loneliness mocks me every hour
So I arranged a girl out of flowers
But she wilted and withered after a day
My loneliness mocks me like it should
So I carved a girl out of wood
We went swimming, she floated away
My loneliness parades around me like a marching band
So I etched a girl out of sand
But the tide came in, she was swept away
My loneliness mocks me like a tolling bell
So I gave up, died, and went to Hell

She's a liar, she's a liar
All she likes to do is conspire
She's the Angel of Deception, the Mistress of Misdirection
She goes crazy in the sack, but it's probably just an act
Every word out her mouth makes me want to head south
Feets don't fail me now

The Tarpit of the Mind
Hey, how you doing? Hope I didn't scare you
Now's the time for all minds to be laid bare
Stripped bare, eviscerated, chewed up and spit out and vomited into the ether
It's been a long and lonely thought
Life is naught but a single, continuous thought
And perhaps I should be sinking, rather than thinking
Perhaps I should be drowning, rather than expounding
Perhaps I'm more suited for decapitation, rather than contemplation
Perhaps I should consider expiration, rather than rumination
Rot takes thought, checkmate
Staring into the mirror, I see myself reflected in my own pupils
And that's perhaps the best image of myself that I've ever seen
Because it's just a ghostly hint of a silhouette surrounded in black
Inky, empty blackness

I sit immobile eight hours a day, pressing keys for poverty-level pay
The blood coagulates in my legs, my brains slowly curdle like scrambled eggs
The boredom and futility culminating in weekly suicidal ruminations
Genuine amazement that I make it through the night
Fools labeled me a prodigy when I was young
I dare say it doesn't take a genius to excel at tests designed and written for children
Even if you happen to be one at the time
The past is naught but ashes
The time has come to sell it all
Set up a modest trust-fund for Chairman Meow
Quit my job and bid farewell to a meandering, pointless existence
Which arguably never should have existed to begin with
The Tarcombs await, their viscous, labyrinthine tunnels laid out before me
Below, down below, where the Green Sun drips into the eyes

Do you know what it's like to watch all of your creativity swirl down the drain?
I know
I know what it's like

I crawled beneath a rock which had been chiseled into a lid
I pulled shut the sarcophagus and slept
I awoke in seven centuries, discovered little trace of humanity
All the buildings are crumbled, the cities reverted to forest
The information's turned to dust, every last bit
The flora and fauna look better than they have for ages
The cats are doing especially well
But all the yappy dogs are long gone, along with all of man's creations
Save a few stone structures here and there, buried beneath the sand
Exceptions to the rule of decrepitude
What do I do now?
Perhaps I'll take another nap

Life is a one-way journey, an inescapable path
From Point-A to Point-Less

Charles B. stood outside the convenience store one bright and breezy spring day
To celebrate his thirty-fifth birthday, he had purchased:
A bag of "Oh, You Pig" salted pork rinds
A two-liter bottle of Commodore Caffeine Rear-Admiral orange soda
And four packs of powdered donuts which he placed into his backpack
He regarded a small bottle of Sea-Spurt brand diet grape juice for a moment
And tossed it into the pack as well
"Gotta start losing weight to look good for the ladies," he said to himself
As he hefted the worn elastic waistband of his sweatpants one more time
And threw the backpack over his shoulder

While crossing the street, his attention was focused upon opening
A pack of a children's card game which he had purchased
And consequently he stepped into the path of an oncoming car

As he lay sprawled across the pavement
His backpack torn asunder from his shoulder, and his arm bleeding profusely
A woman emerged from the car on the verge of panic
She was calling the police on her cell phone as she approached Charles B.'s body
"Oh my god, oh my god," she shrieked, "Are you okay? I called an ambulance."
"Oh my god, you're bleeding, oh god."
As the woman knelt down beside Charles B., he noticed he was at the precise angle
To afford a slightly-obscured, yet modest view beneath her skirt
As the woman burst into tears, and the life drained from his body
Charles B. thought to himself, "Whoa, I can see her underwear... and it's bright turquoise!"

All Materials Copyright 1995-2010 Jason Polland.

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