Ah Summer in the Apps

by The Good Hard

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1.
iMinus 08:38
wut u got that can hit the spot a my not givin a shit bout wut u got? my petaloid scrips ovoid liaison with suasion that trips round the supersedural afterdamp of mechanical stupor siezure giving residence beyond reticence to the surround bound irenicon benefactor whose corresponding throngs of catalytic co-existence ooze choral fronding sexagons that enlarge the discharge of cowardice done up as critiquing to speaking from the smash up so u can surpass yr nichehunt, i.e. the bout we in's out once u shake yr tiny worthquake n get comfy with the spins a my inverst humvee. i'm so radically peaceful i hereby decree the haddock be released full into yr skull so u can testify agenst yr cavalier n feel the onslaught yr reel-n-yawn wrought hookin shad with dad. water envies me my anti-clotter alacrity. i'm a bridge to flow wear. i'm a ridge wence rings the navaho prayer that the springs of laval insipience might gush redolent in lush enbabblement n morph a schist a green between the fist n the fite. my hindsight is a kind light that shines the future on wut u were n lets u sit back n enjoy the signs that all along yr groove's throned to deploy yr bawl song so u cd quit wack n bong an improvier behoove to glim that then again yr been's has been. i'm 360 degrees a mixt free midst the words n the trees. my vietnam war is yr be it no more. i say the grilled vagina of the prophet shd get off it n find a spillway to wet that the pack may catch a buzz from my backway scratcher cuz... i'm a genus, bb, of lastronomical proportions, n my penis lady is so inane she cannot be recorded. i got so much nuthin, i shan't be dyin on the vyin. my bedraggled luvin's too ramifyin to defyin. my rhyme's so complicalculated it's gonna take a million venerated monkeys banging on a billion clunky catafalques at the leading trillion scattered shrines of cabala gone pro to bleed the skillions of convo-looted clatter out its uprooted a-regimen. like, i'm the sole denizen of never been so good lucky suckin the edgy allude out my oblique crasserole. i applaud yr efforts even as i slap yr gods with deaf words. it's not that i'm cruel, it's just i must die in every letter to end the shot rule of the tentative abettor. so let's go. pet my crow n we'll separate the spill from the nosey til our stride reparates the countryside. go on, foe fawn. come closer n i'll shed my minerva syndrome onto yr quarrelsome otioser. my kidskin'll serve ya bred n wonder til u foam at the crouch. alwz keepin it simple: a litl rippl seepin out the rainfall maze is all i need to call my scrum seed to sprout some middle spittle. ain't shit git in my way cuz i flit like a ricochet of tra la la off the cha cha cha a my tremolo mama. wut belongings? my girl's got three thongs for excessive night-errandry n a recessive pair a merle wings (n i barely got her cuz "where we?" is hotter) n anything more than that'd render my fatuity troubadour trite distracted. ethnically, i'm a poplar, but drop a doppler on my fine fettle of thermogenetic subdivine n u'll find traces of the faces of the unsettled murmur club that intermarried over endless harried winters with their own outlying watermelons that generated regurgitating beatifying roustabouts, hellions n squatters into the fruit bat dramaturge at the center of my tormenter preventer that waylays the trauma of the newest as it plays with the clutch cat, both em rollin thru my geranium soul broth, such that... to my gratisfaction run the gizzards of the lorelorn (forcefed the porcupines of war porn). n my swiss miss black son is gayer than the frizzy canard u were mournin born in (yet can't stop stormin like its dentiformin). in the set of show sets there ain't one i wdn't finger (O the jasmin squashes i shall sling her!). keep yr little red core sense, i'm here n now to let my nowhere linger (conqueress, may i untress thy blandishing ur?). i stik the rhyme in the occiput n mix it all up n i kik the time in the subtle butt n trix it all up n i lik the slime off the funky strut n slix it all up til u fix yr spine to my loco nut n we pix it all up
2.
Lazy Fair 03:39
i don’t have the time i can’t find my mind i just misst the sign everything is fine i’m not made to shine a line’s a line’s a line beware the other side tomorrow will be kind so she sed now she’s legally dead it’s soft inside the snub you’ve never felt the greatest danger is the cry for help it’s their right to choose someone’s got to lose who’m i to accuse it’s just a litl bruise they’ve a good excuse it’s not per se abuse once it’s on the news things will then improve so he sed as they drilled thru his head illusion lends at interest to itself conviction sleeps upon a crooked shelf lazy fair layin there unaware ordinaire past repair lazy fair don’t u fuck with me so what u disagree i’m all that i can be yr far as i can see my code’s autonomy pride and privacy violence hides in we love is slavery so he sed all alone in his bed lazy fair layin there unaware nillionaire easy scare lazy fair
3.
She smells some elemental sadness in the wires, Unknown restrictions on conflictual desires, Selling securities in fenced-in wild fires, Yet still she makes it thru the day. Promise me You won’t keep your word; Honesty Is what’s overheard. Take it back If it’s all you meant; The thing you lack Is the only thing you’ll ever get. As her entanglements adoring deliquesce Paternal waters into all she can’t possess, She floats her sorrows down a love-sick SOS, Yet still she never has to pay. Laughing with Is laughing at. Motherwit’s A technocrat. People dance Cuz they can’t let go; Your only chance Is the only chance you’re gonna blow. Stuck on the letter Stuck in the shredder She’s addicted To conflicted Aid-and-abettors. Crazed with discretion Crazed by profession Of unstable Love unable She’s her obsession. Lockt in her breathing room of gainful injury She hones projection on first-person third degree Full knowing nothing comes of letting nothing be, Yet still she says it’s all okay. Suicide Is the last hurrah; Life’s a cry In a camera. Where you’ve been Is the place to be; The show you’re in Is the only show you’ll never see.
4.
so i went to the bank of yummy, n they didn’t approve me for anything, so i went to the bank of yummy, n they quikly approved me for everything, so now i’m a dangerous, passive slut, but i miss the time before the deth of my scent; it’s not that i’m attacht to boiling up, i just crave an harmonious punishment. any port in a storm. i’m so crazy about my holes. this here’s wut i’d say if i had a movement in the age of collective estrangement: i’m the new blak power commando, n i enjoy the drama of being sand, yo. cuz ain’t we all in the hospital under someone else’s name, dying to be stowed in the beaker of the bellowing brain? watch me sleep dance til i get financed. thx, bb, but i’d rather take yr time. dear ded dad, can i be yr ad? cuz i’m so overwhelmed by my need to be in decline. i almost broke the mold, then i felt so bad, i broke the mold. O pounded beautiful ass to mouth machine, i’m singin to u like the litter to the rain: “it’s cool my breth makes u sick cuz u can’t make it stink, but if u won’t suk on my dik, don’t suk on my drink.” i want my mom to pet my bomb. i’m a fatal mess in reverse. Ah, summer in the apps. i blank on yr face as i fill in yr lap. my conscience is so clear it’s not even there. wut about my access to yr wheel chair? life’s an idea whose time has cum so don’t look now; it’s no way all over agen for the chicken with its hed stuk on a cow. it all depends on oxygen from the cavern of the unemployed onslaught of dirty triks. sho me mine, i’ll sho u thine, then get the fuk outta my kid cuz it’s just for kiks.
5.
Learning Man 04:05
simon dramatized the crime simon mechanized the climb simon monetized the dime n it wasn’t long ‘fore he turned into a sign a sign that blared against the tide a sign that always took a side a sign that held us to the tried n it wasn’t long ‘fore it turned into a ride all alone at the bottom of the mine far from home at the bottom of his mind, down we slide, like vomit down a vine, diving for the slime that we malign reach my heart thru yr eye find yr eye in my spine build my spine from the back of the line n i’ll be yrs wen u die ya, u kill it in yr shows ya, u shoot around the cones ya, u never feel exposed so it’s only right that u turned into a code all the rage in the middle of the phone half yr age in the middle of yr clone, round u go, like a badger in a bowl, digging for the bridge so u can troll yr so fresh out the can sorta trans on instagram such a fierce, tortured sexpian lying true to yr simon watch me blow away the field watch me scroll beyond the deal watch me role into the reel yo, it won’t be long ‘fore i learn into a wheel
6.
All thru the septic splendor New burgeons death reborn, Sweet spawn of nature’s terror, Weaving life fresh forlorn. It’s springtime for the virus, Green grows the fetid flesh, Runs warm the rill infectious Down mounds of misbegets. You know we gotta find a way To make it thru yesterday, To compose our disarray And grow thru our woe. I hear her cystic singing, I smell her scabs in bloom, I see her vectors winging Thru the glowing scarlet gloom. In ripe organic vengeance Her pristine murder glee Spreads fertile seeds of pest’lence, Like a rabid chimpanzee. You know we got a cameo In the future scenario, In the no-show video Where you preview you. As crooling infants perish, Their lives half full of empty, Each microbe rewrites genesis To read “There first was Me.” And in the shrugging silence Round the pile purulent, The victims of our negligence Some new disease ferment. You know we gotta take a stand, Raise a hand against a hand, So to finally understand Why we can’t be free.
7.
Lifeline 04:28
no one notices yr entrance no one takes u for a presence no one listens wen yr talking no one likes it wen yr laffing no one wants u in thr commune no one asks to see yr bedroom all u want is to be someone else someone not so unfukt n featureless yr no fun put yr paints away yr so dumb have an endless day u did wut u did, but no one came yr not in the running, n yr to blame u gave it yr best, n it was lame go take a walk to no acclaim the house is gone the stage is struck will u ever get up? go on home to yr lonely rut n cry into yr empty cut put it away put it away all that u say just put it away wut can u do wen yr last in the lifeline? it’s the chance of a lifetime to find a reason to live wen ther’s no reason for u. look at her luv wrecking resorts down the shoreline look at her luv she rips a reason to live from out the reason for u try lookin at wer yr lookin straining neks r made for crookin ther is purpose for the taking in the lite that brings yr waking it is saying sumthing to u so bewildering to so few: i’m home. so yr tough n have a lot to say. but wut r u of? who brought you today? she is luv she is a wonder drug take her home there’s a chest in the subnude wer ya never go n it beats for the plenitude that u wanna noe lay yr hed on its instead n listen real low n u’ll hear so clear y ther ain’t no alone giv yr pants to the singer man n his resonance correlative make u spring an am so restorative cuz the wind can’t break wut u build wen it’s windy n u’ll dig wut yr holed in cuz yr rollin with the everybody. wut u want with yr exhaust in front lookin thru sum didact like an eye thru a contact smudged with the shit yr omits emit u don’t need wut u got if it just gets u caught so lemme offer u a boff with a breakthru put u in the mind to be crucial to a better clime if u wanna celebrate wut u can’t keep straight give thx to the wind for wut yr spins liberate u r the way so get outta the way i am the way so get in my way wut will u do now yr first in the lifeline? it’s the chance of a lifetime to show that the reason to live is the reason for u. feel yr entrance scape yr presence luv yr laffing free yr sharing talk to listen sleep with transition
8.
How tortured are the beautiful By all they cannot be, For tho we eat them with our eyes They starve on what we see, They thrill not in their livening glance, Their glory brings them grief, And tho they find their splendor dull, O how I long to be beautiful. In spring they saunter thru the park Their pollen flesh full flush, And thru their pearly glamour gates All sentience strives to rush, Yet in their sacred city self The law of doubt ensures Their every moment miserable. O how I long to be beautiful! They congregate in giggling groups And greet with kissing cheeks. They stroke each other’s wonder forms, Share mutual bliss extreme. And tho they never sleep alone In lonely, lurid dreams They moan distress incurable. O how I long to be beautiful! When two exquisite beauty things Sit splashing in the club, You take their sparkling, juicy joy For most amazing love, But beauty is to be enjoyed By those who have it not, And though their love’s impossible, O how I long to be beautiful! Performing what the world yearns They stand before the mirror, And you might think they there perceive The bounty you revere But back at them the ugly glass Shines empty horrid doom, Their being steeped in ridicule. O how I long to be beautiful.
9.
marry me, inter-operational assistance resistance my poetry is death’s plan b for yr woe zone of woman work, cuz, like, it ain’t coping season already? yr obsolete as a means of gathering yr insides i’m an unmanageable cruet filled with intangible suet, n humans r dust donuts, so let’s drink sum pornaldehyde n i’ll be all i can be were i as dire and renovated as thee . art, aka unrehearst kink stew, likes to pretend he’s opposed to vigilance agenst cheating, but really he just hired it out, so wen will u flush the birds from yr backwards binoculars n get too swept up to get kikt around? marry me, unpredictable precondition with the spark of genius in her hair. the world’s past me by on its way to me. i only exist in deleted scenes. the invisible hypnotist claims another title. marry me, nonsense as popsicle. marry me, garbage disposal national forest. i’m a dreamy ever-fresh disaster in the leather flesh, crooked bushmaster of my ineffectual scheme, eyeing u, an indelible perfection in my blip, for the affection of the whomever dart, trying by lying to make dope of the hope that this cremation womb, this mensural cycle, this dim cross-observation tomb, this “hot turkey on the lam” is the start of an impossible relationship. stop lookin at me like yr cookin me, like i’m hookin for free, quit bookin my trik reflex for kickin in yr misfit sex shop n blow the jungle back into my balls til snorkel head breathes waterfalls n tweets to the sweets, “how can u be evrywer cept in my care spotter?” let my votive storm peal open yr veal cave, press my id scan imprint gentle to yr mammogrammatology, stamp this infinite detour chromosome jam down the homebound road to mutual montage mayonnaise, turn the sponge pistol on yr dad mess daughterspout prophylactery. marry me, upside down sound. yr a trifle markt for all pockets, u pay bigtime to get yr kok stuk in peace out sockets, a lost man is good to find, no? marry me, baby ground piano. marry me, u mock tease of self-reflection. yr my hed on yr spirit fish, yr artifice rims my orifice, wanna put u in lok down n set u free, wana play space cadet in yr trouble newt, wana chug yr rubbled piggy chi, wana tuch myself tuching u, wana strop my flank lips on yr dug pranks. ok, so i’ve ben a bad swingset. unbrad me from the moment i wuz ment n maybe i’ll play god to the details u don’t even have. i both cannot and can only revere the riveting morons that bellow in the oviducts of yr slobbering carafe. u purr o u, i purr u too, we’re the per se i want entre nos nous. thx for the imaginary cake in my face thx for the durational performance shoulders thx for the wanting member laden with gerber trace thx for the ticklish feminist boulders thx for the oleander nails on interactive labies thx for the squirting fanatic daily thx for the incompetent cats parted by meandering babies thx for opening yr yurt to my yak thx for the pre-occupied piper thx for mounting the trophy kill of my hurt wrack thx for swimming in my diaper in yr swim diaper thx for the hater in scrubs thx for the one day pas to yr silver spork club my friends, it’s time to bomb the village. only u shall survive. n from yr remains we shall build another composed entirely of belly ache pillage, n in a massive locket rocket we shall shoot our revivalist titty recollections into the impenetrable nite why, as we sing our hearts out whilst basking in cheap recreations of the shit stains of buddha as pest marry me, ingested in gest.

about

All songs written by Kirk Wood Bromley. Produced by KB2. All instruments and voices by Kirk Wood Bromley, except keyboards on Lazy Fair, Somewhat My Sister's Keeper, and Learning Man by Kevin Blackler as well as some vocals and instruments by Sandstar. Mixed and mastered by Kevin Blackler. Recorded at The Home Of in BK.

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released June 24, 2016

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The Good Hard Brooklyn, New York

This is my band. I'm a musician, playwright, and performer. I live in NYC and Sonora.

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