Red Woman's Revenge

by The Good Hard

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1.
Hassayampa 01:51
"no one’s into me," cries the bolted door. thru the land of mines nurturing u pour. starey scary open frail n flail. those who shrink u for thr merry of the truth shall ever ailing fail. underground, for the birds, wow to wow bouncin like a water cure. upside down, rained n drained, thru the town, dying in an aquacade. i was such a silly girl wen i wuz a naughty boy; hook that dirtbag up to me n i’ll fill her up with joy. hassayampa hassayampa we shall return u to wut u were before we wanted more.
2.
she climbs the ladder’s shadow to a greener branch of man, prepares him in her pueblo then drops him on japan. she is luv left in the lurch so shared it’s barely there; a burning animate church says “enter me if u care.” so doled into the runnel of mussy implantation, via his jugular funnel, she owns insemination. u may wish to sire as music soothes the battled breast, but weft of bygone shivers, she gives no ravage rest. she is the only natural source of careful, carefree choice, her stewardship a gentle force that teaches points to moist. engage her in yr stakings, leave whim to her cognitions, else she drag u, gaping, down her wild preconditions. wen ya gonna jump off that grouchy clown n cell mate yr counterpart, not just slump round the slouch pump administrating a greed frown, cartelling words like duty-free shut-eye into the fuck-it bucket, like whoever tries to pull full from the well of ramify just needs more death-knell zinfandel? wow! such a large intestine! wow! such reckless lacustration! wow! such lame lamentation! wow! such happy livestock chin-chin! o dude, u make her drool o how u make her drool o dude, u make her drool u make her drool u into the been pool she soaks it up wen she’s washt away, between the crests her smile beams, yr frozen tongue’s her nesting dream, swaddling u wer the elder sway. let her be yr dirt-lord tonite, she’ll ghost-rite yr bored hurt into an undeveloped coast wer u’ll wallow in the thinkhole of her helpmeet hollow, a sweet daddle-clad man vole with the sad rattl in his showy slink, as she winds u up in wut the urth adorz, floors n floorz of nethermind worth whole wars, til u strut like harlemite eels, gnarled loose as the court of alleles, fly as a trike mob, turnin the burnin to lurnin bout a first-hand throb on the offtrack, cross-barred luvrs, cumback curst, skies in the hard of yr land. she’s all ears for eyes that happen to be she’s all ears for eyes that happen to be she’s all ears for eyes that happen to be on hers. o wut a beautiful mad. not a turf but she weaves the seed, upturns the pelf in her braidling prime, restints to drupe luxurious chyme, her coil’d swoon the follow we’d. wut brunts the gloze her sward abasks, on timrous edge she gulshes most, her iric flung a roving host, o freeing glean of heavy tasks. to lift her lid u gotta get amid, shake navels with the free-wrought genera, scout watertable synonym lib, betaking of in, outset guarana squatter anon, the thole pone breth is for, all about or, to multirole zones thrall-gyved, the occult snout hot on yr deth bok, viz gone-taught, so may u, splanish as drip splat on dark harp, unravalanchian, ling’ring like dew steam off hark scarp, in swish’s grip, fray fro, be stanchion like calve has, then shall her cliff dwelling in know secrets canyon render outlet-rich yr delving day. ee be da bee bee da gobba da ba.
3.
Thank U BB 04:26
thnk u bb for rubbin out my bummer queen thnk u bb for the wildhood memories thnk u bb for all that rollin round on me thnk u bb thnk u bb for teachin me to swim my heart thnk u bb for bein so substrate-of-the-art thnk u bb for gettin soft wen it gets hard thnk u bb for flyin me to ultimum wer everything’s a go for showin me that quarrelsome is rippin wut u sew for forcin yr curriculum on my pinocchio for squeezin my accordion so so slow thnk u bb for synchin my grind to yr delite thnk u bb for the tender in the chide thnk u bb for bein my biosatellite thnk u bb i don’t need lite at the end of the tunnel i just need u to be there wen it’s dun, girl. thnk u bb for lettin me camp out in yr shrine thnk u bb for never givin up yr prime thnk u bb for bein yrs wile bein mine thnk u bb i cdn’t have undone it without u, bb
4.
Scattered 03:21
azhan wuz a blizzard of alone in the snow. she took to revision like the wind to the blown. her hed wuz deliverd evry day from who noes. t'hi-tail with her wuz to fly wer yr flown. n she go'd i taste a different time in evry sapid dimpl of the honeycomb. n i gotta chase my eyes thru all the hyalescence in the drizzlebow. but y such a bitter rind round my fructifyin wen they call me so scatterd, scatterd, scatterd. the rain run for cover down the bak of shaloom. his brain wuz the butter from the churn of the moon. he stuk to wutever got him slosht in the swoon. to thiks he was twinner than the ruff to the hewn. n he go'd i can't man my hands til i burrow to the hollow of the hitherto, cuz i hear how i began wen i wander wayward thru the overgrew. but y's my tail fake a stand for its rite to rattle wen they call me too scatterd, scatterd, scatterd. they met at the clutter of bad off n too bad. it took but a stutter for thr tongues to be had. they sukt from the flooder til thr feelers unsnaggd. then thr hands off the rudder they went down with the jam. n they go'd we jumpin off the sprawl into the be-for-all of the better never known. n we slug our werwithal from the waterfall in the riches unbestowed. cuz free r the so enthralled they absorb the squall til they soak into the cozy mother stone, scatterd, scatterd, scatterd.
5.
Shoulders In 04:02
if i get my shoulders in will you teach my instrument to play? yr my healthy option in a broken menu of gourmet mistakes. far is not terminal less yr back from wer yr bound. we’re a lot to haul, so y put u down for bein down a deeper lake? i’m in yr room agen, hey hey. i’m gonna move my men yr way. if i run yr dancer ded, can i have a week to make yr day? won’t u join me in givin hed to the god of no shared vertebrae? i hear she pays. there’s no old feeling worth its weight in lost desire. i’m up for kneeling to set yr thigh-high house on fire so i can throw myself on yr femoral pyre. the sea’s lockt its legs around my face. this balmy peopled soup is all my base. i’m gonna swim yr street-filled aches til my eternally postponed pregnancy escapes. i’m in luv, n luv’s away.
6.
“u’ll try again in the morning, u can’t win the year in a day, yr story gets lost in the storming, y trade the pack for a stray?” i met the man of the morning as i rolled another nurse for a vial of shine n tho smeared with the smut i’d been sporing i cd see thru the crack in my spine he was clean as a graphic image warning n as fed as a fire on the summer pine n wen i askt for the source of his hoarding he sed, “i have no mind to carry mortar to the rubble of my grave so i can drape my eyes with the tongues i mighta saved,” but 'fore he’d given me more wear’some reveilles i gave him mine, “nothin can wait til the mornin, the tower shall be taken shd we down, all thru the nite i’ll be warrin to gain more ground,” then in his rising my reluctant luv appeared, lookin fresher than the wasting i so feared, yet as i braced myself to face her kimantsis she brought me round “u’ll try again in the morning, u can’t win the year in a day, yr story gets lost in the storming, y trade the pack for a stray?” then silent we walkt thru the warming til i sed wut i nue wuz to say, “i’ll sleep wen i noe yr a sure thing,” n she lookt his way.
7.
you have smutted luv with worry, serving napkins for dinner. if u want me off yr plate, just eat me. my sacral flurry now awkwardly fibrillates in yr obstetrical stables like a droopy belated menhir, its flirty word reservoir reduced to an abstract on the recursive carcasses of yr trap-impersonating mousy act. O once relaxing frenzy woman, stop goldpanning the cinnamon. u pinch the party into yr burrowed brow, flake on the bakbone extract vow, like flowin with the O’s a disturbance mechanism that vomits creepy parvituded kanipshon all over yr free-range tunnel to collapse, but y rethink a relapse to synapse? u got more frets than a cheap trick guitar. yr teeth smell like yr nuklz on memoir. chill, u wait bloomer mill, my cok can swim, so throw open yr utopian penitentiary n let its only inmate retrofit sed sumptuary into a rudimentary adaptable rendering of yr unpredictable ideal swingin that sweet devotional hymn: O mi dulce circo pequeno, es el momento de mi bobo. i don’t wanna shoo yr litigative immunity, i just wanna brew yr nutripative lagunity. word’s there’s a ruse rose deep in yr clutch of whimzy, so kiss me on the precipice, n let’s out that inzy. how have we not left the accounting cathedral already? who seeks imbalance? my load pressure has reacht barometrical unsteady. set yr haystack off skeleton n turn that sway back on my rekless slobber gun. a fine match is now a sad fire, but it’d flare agen if u’d blow yr airhed on its coals of desire steada puffin yrself up to seem all scary to the darkness it once flooded for the good of all peaches n cream. lake longing longs for its lengthening, my lickable longshanks du llama. no more idling at the last chance turn off. we shall drive uninsurable rhododenrons to coordinates “mayhem n guava.” how hard is that? only as hard as u make it, cuz u had it, u gave it to me, n now u can’t take it? wut’s a man to do wen all he wants to do it to don’t wanna do it too but check himself into the petting zoo? i can’t last three bad days less yr twinkle toe ragout, so drop the hotty plato, n beat razlin to my montague. is u at yr worst the best u got? how u supposed to throw me for a brag loop if yr always catching yr breath on a get-me-not? just cuz yr mom spooks u don’t mean I gotta belch her ghost. so look my estranged crockery in the grit n suck like lady luck wut yr shibboleth squandered to no jocose. i can’t get ur head outta my song. y u still lookin for wut yr lookin from? since wen were u born tomoro in a morgue? defaulting on the free fall leaves a lot to be explored. wen kids buy things, things buy kids; that y u non-stop shopping for self-refrigeration pyramids? i’nt sure how to say this without showing that u told me to, but yr all i want, bb, so be it, or we thru.
8.
down the road livd the luvly choralee in a home as bad as she was good to see. round we rode with the apples and the bees n now and then we’d kiss n i was free. n tho i sense i nue that she was doomed to win the hell whence she was being groomed all i thot was wut’s in it for me? maribel wuz as maimed as she wuz mean but her mouth wuz such a pretty, fierce trapeze. out we’d go in her licorice limousine wrong rompin as a mattress on the sea. n tho her eyes were drying with the grime that she wuz sure wd get her hi this time all i thot wuz wut’s in it for me? say "i do," my puzzling genevieve, n she did, n we wur wed like kennedys. n midst the kids n the games of make me leave, we’d often lie in bed n feel at peace. n tho she wuz such a gorgeous, crazy girl, she wuz just one in a gorgeous, crazy world, n all i thot wuz wut’s in it for me? n then, i dunno wut happened. maybe i had a syntagmatic hormone intervention. maybe i pulled a muscle n found the pass/fail gene. maybe i met someone bigger than me. maybe the damage i’d done became the patch i grazed. maybe i drank enuf to save a mockingbird. maybe i wuz rite all along n it wuz time to change. cuz now i see y the words “my love” refer to both the need n wut the need is for n all i ask is wut’s for it in me? n if u don’t believe me, just try it once, n u’ll see how getting off ain’t all that if u land on wut u were trying to get off. like u’ve never felt anything so verdurous as feeling like someone else who’s feelin verdurous. cuz sure as u can’t chop down a tree without it falling on u first, the pleasure around is the pleasure within. i’ll say it again so you can give one to a friend: the pleasure around is the pleasure within. it’s all good, it’s just not all that good at it.
9.
look at u yesterday u were so new o it was such a huge debut but it wasn't very long into yr little song before u… how i clutcht that something else u roused in us o it was such a wowzy rush to feel u everywer but that was then and ther before u… all my life i wanted to be recognized as someone at least half allright, to swell inside yr luv was, well, o hell, it wuz before u died on me at first i cried "don't hide from me" then "ally ally all come free" but u just held yr ground, no, u werent playin round, cuz u'd dun… wen we met i'd never noen such ravishment, my fugal rage, my lavish net, my bolted, secret chest, u utterly transgresst and then u… every day u blew my heavy cares away i suddenly had things to say cuz u so thrilled to hear, u freed me from my fears, and then u… such a blast, in we dove and wut a splash, so certain it wd always last cuz we were ment to be, like, well, like u n me and then u died on me, n wen i found u, so supreme- ly feigning inhumanity, i lost my better hed, "do not do that again! i thot u'd…" come on back to yr luvr, now. reach yr arms to yr luvr, now. give yr luv to yr luvr, now. time can scream but never will yr like be seen there's u n u n deth between so loving everything just means remembering u haven't... who's to blame? there's no returning in a name. safe and sound, we're sliced and slain, so who am i to think that every time i blink u haven't… i'm not mad. i'm glad for all the times we had but i'd be just a tad less sad if u wd send me word so i cd rest assured u haven't… died on me n as u lay there, so serene, so mortified i'd been so mean to one who'd been so kind, so giving, so all mine, i toucht yr… maybe i shd… maybe we cd… maybe u wd… where u where u where u where

about

All songs written by Kirk Wood Bromley. Produced by KB2. All songwriting, instruments, and voices by Kirkwood except organ solo in Thank U BB and bells in Shoulders In by Kevin Blackler. Some other vocals and instruments by Sandstar. Mixed and mastered by Kevin Blackler. Recorded at The Home Of in BK.

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released March 15, 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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