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The Good Hard

by The Good Hard

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found a ded icon screamin in a beaker “shoot me in ur skull n u’ll feel deeper” lookt like a cross twn a beatle n a woodchuck winkin like a hi priest lookin for a cheap fuck shot it in my skull with a happy meal pistol bent my pride over n notcht it up a fistfull took all my bad thots stuck em in my no doubts mixt all my big fears up with my spaced outs now i’m feelin deeper deep as madonna eat europeans i’m a gentech piranha now i’m feelin cheaper cheap as a sperm cell move to Arizona live in a no tell wonder wut it wuz wonder y i shot it probly never noe now that i got it i’m a pop fetus screamin in a beaker “shoot me in ur skull nuthin cd be sweeter”
we r the last of our pathetic kind, but we don't mind cuz we luv it on the run. they turnd out bak / our baks into a shootn range, thr so well-trained / deranged we shal not overcum. let's go cry with the river, make all the luv we can giv her, so glad she alwz gets the best of us, for soon thr thorobreds shall lay us in her bed. we used to bead / used to be a vine immemorial, / divine in armorial then they gored us all with the shaft of uppishness. we kept our seed / wept our seams cuz our skins r thik, but those restiv hiks don't lak for inventivness. giv yr mouth to the medow that she mite sing of the shadows they cast on the throngs in her natal plush, for soon thr drones shall calve and thresh her droves to chaff. and we hug the gust from the spot-on blast that annuls our nest every day, as we kiss the fist just to make the most of the life we've lost on our way away. we walk a lot / walkt a lot to heal the broken ground, / to feel this broken down, it'd get us down / round were it not so arduous. / so part of us. thr rich remains r poppin up evrywer, n thr speakers blare, "bow to the ruinous." / bow to the rue in us. say goodbye to yr baby, squeeze her / him into yr daisy, then snag yr frown on the rising trust that thru our lifeless eyes they'll see that thr demise is all they need to thrive and so may win the wise.
Allagash 05:44
ded to the zen that it takes to yell a yawn ded to the crowd in the cloud guess that's y i roam wild thru u ded to the wend of the polysyndeton ded to the loud in the proud gonna sow my home wild for u fill me with yr wo til we overflo ded to the pond that they pave with atrophy ded to the leap in the loop all my ski's to be wild in u ded to the grape that they crush with deity ded to the reap in the stoop seed my famly tree wild like u spill me down yr throat til we overflo ded to the spred of the pseudo-pedalous ded to the shok in the cok nuthin ever kik wild as u ded to the bred with the cut cadaverus ded to the lok in the blok run my codl crik wild to u drill me with yr blo til we overflo ded to the fund for the face to pimp a pose ded to the glam in the game ima stay free to flit wild with u ded to the dream of the needl up my nose ded to the cam in the same i'm just hot to get wild on u thrill me with yr slo til we overflo hey maybe this ded way will leve me if u say wild i do cuz then we can take it n baby we'll make it wild anew n we will let grow all we've mown n we will let know all we've zoned n we will let go all we own wen we overflo
Incarnadine 04:18
i used to crave you, my Incarnadine. only your carvings left me deified. as the breast fell from the bone death felt less unforeknown, but maybe cuz yr harvest has my mother's eyes i can see thru you. you delimit life to free yr viciousness, recusing guilt by ingesting innocence, that yr kill mite self-acquit of the corpses in yr shit, but u noe i noe thr equivalence cuz I have been in you. yr so distraught I deserted yr scab-fucking sacrifeast. i guess my luv lost its suck for the guts of the sad deceased. it's all be funeral and multiply. wut kind of wine goes best with genocide? you'd see the bad scene in yr bun were it not so overdone, but shd you ever care to hear yr father’s cries, i'll be there for you. the less you meat the more you meet
U cudn’t be farther away, Crooked dirt road to a pine-hiden pond, Tumbl-down manse and a haunted show-hous, And we so smal in the fogy green fields, Ther to share in the wonder of our failings. In any hale and harty clan Ther’s the smilers and the scowlers, The makers and the mokers, The hopeful and the hateful, But we wur not so eazily saved from ourselvs. So u who crave evrything That evrybody craves, Take my word is won’t be yurz Wen u’r lonely in ur grave. Our life was in the theater, Experts only in contention, Playing at parts to decifer our dreams, Lafing thru the teribl tears, Uneasy save the abandon of our drama. The days of luv wur over then, Dizeze had struk the lulaby girl, Poverty crakt the actor’s back, Envy sourd the wine of words, Yet ded not our drive to invent a nu desir. So u who say evrything That evrybody says, Take my word it won’t be herd Wen u’r lonely in ur grave. We staged our circus round the fire, Poems that praizd the age stood stil, Songs confuzed at being sung, Tales to twist the father tung, Beneath a moon ablaze with our shimering sadnes. Our spirits rouzd up wild and hi, Sum with the mystical sewaj, Sum with calin the beter bad, Sum with rebilding tomoro, But u can’t forget the very thing u try to. So u who make evrything That evrybody makes, Take my word it won’t endur Wen u’r lonely in ur grave. Our nites went late in joy subdued, Recalling what never happend, Arguing over great nothings, Misdrawing the constelations, It was comon almost to a strange submission. In history each was diferent, Those of elite institutions, Those of unguided ambitions, Those of absurd fabrications, Al bound by the passion for a more perfect freedom. So u who play evrything That evrybody plays, Take my word they won’t aplaud Wen u’r lonely in ur grave. Wetherd wur our wide betrayals, Our mission branded futile, Our exploits shamed as facile, Productions infantile, By those for whom progression’s proved in wrecking. So wut are words realy worth Wen no un dares remember ther fears, Composur is a slopy ly, Extinction sleeps with ecstasy, Save as signs to show we are suficiently lost. And u who hate evrything That evrybody hates, Take my word it’s al u’l hav Wen u’re lonely in ur grave. It was just another inverse retreat, From the charity of our critics, The colaboration of the cynics, The jobs that pay in det and dout, But the batl rages alone to uproot the coward. Our victory is our memory, How we grew less eager for fame, Beleved a day in our deceits, Held and yeld, rebeld and fareweld Til next agen we run away to our trubls. So u who say evrything That no un ever says, Take my word it wil be herd Wen u’r livin in ur grave.
i cd doubt any fine as i screwd my flout with my crime and i blew my pout thru my tribe til i got lokt out of my child wut wd it take to make me know avail and trade my idle bluster for a sail u told the sea as i struggled with the sand it is truly a blessing to live litely on the land as foreseeable as it was unforeknown, once we got to heaven we just wanted to go home. everything still grows outta wut it's outgrown, so once u get to heaven u just wana go home. i bot it up to flush the fowl so my ponder lust wd hold it down and not wad my hub in the best renounced shd i wish to dusk the dumber found how can i cease to feel such snide betrayal of my desires in my desired portrayal u told the sky as i gnasht upon my hand it is truly a blessing to live litely on the land as forgettable as the hed u stone once u get to heaven u just wanna go home nuthin pulls u in til it's overthrown so once we got to heaven we just wanted to go home. under fire i barricade all i mite require to vacillate genst the modelized who radicate that it's my deadeye i can't evade where can i go to skip this whole ordeal of all i grow extincting all that's real? u took me ther wen u sang into my sham it is truly a blessing to live litely on the land y go to heaven wen this is yr home?
Don’t change from the mad of the forest Who made us and who will unmake us, Don’t follow robots and gab like a giftshop, Oversoaped, underwhelmed, a jabbering judge-all junky, But be curious and stealthy and original And most of all own nothing and do everything. The mad of the forest never get all in a fluster About the cyber emotional interface Tween the debts they can’t erase and the virus they mite create, But they can talk to the moths and the waterfalls And they solve their problems by staring at the sky And they’re happier than the whole upper lower middle class combined. If someone tries to kill you, kill them first. That’s what the mad of the forest would do. If someone tries to love you, love them back. The mad of the forest would do that too. Why get stuck on the stories of the suck-souls you work with? The mad of the forest would never do that. You scream for sports stocks swindling supremacists n scionic superstars, None whom give a flubbing fuck about you or your kids, So you shower in death and you foul your own air Trying fruitless to fangle your ten million obsessions. The mad of the forest know that competition kills And for time unimaginable they’ve reveled in nakedness and song. It don’t take a god-damned amusement park to be amused. Ain’t you ever sat and lafft at the stifling silence? The mad of the forest often spend entire seasons Trying to comprehend the significance of a leaf But they never get anywhere and they always leave gratified, Can you say that about your visit to the blowjob ad agency? Don’t try to quarantine the mad of the forest With “that was then” or “get a job” or “i don't do off-grid.” Cuz the only thing that matters is who you are really And you are not an evinrude cosmetic automaton With hyperlink genitals and an assault trifle brain But you are a lost child from the tribe of the mad of the forest. You might be t hinking I’m saying something you’ve heard before But hearing is an infinite regress away from implementation, So take my advice before it blows up in your race: Drop your parsimonies, your pusillanimities and your proud preconceptions, Drop your clockfights, your car caroms and your cadaverous castrated confections, And go home to the mad of the forest.
my gf is woefully tone def / soulfully slow-blesst but i want her in the band cuz i luv her coralmaker brain breth so u'll just hav to take a stand: u the heat or u the fan? she don't play nuthin precious in the pro-way / me gusta mucha no say she out ther in it as big bend but her swiz trip resounds yr muted manque / endows yr demoted assay so hit her dirt n transcend cuz u cd use a blendier trend she got no synkronakronistik rithm but she bumper on the supple / i'm too thumper gummy trubl livin loge in a formativ collision / uncomposed by derivativ rubricians dump yr money up her mudl, or u cd keep on pumpin bust-all out the bubl. her malaproptical misrecreative gearing / her pantascopical interrogative hearing my deft poetic demutations / yr daft noetic deprecations hit-n-miss thru her phantomatic blearing / smit-n-mix thru my pre-traumatic fearing can u hak her tubulations? or u too strunk for my scrutations? my gf is under-over-dresst or she's naked as a dune can u call off yr self-slaughter house arrest n let her private arts get u retuned? or's yr tru-u consumer too consumed?
ther's a swale that severs restlessness from late wer yr straggling betters endlines aggregate that in every story wence u fite to glide someday's preservatory tussocks round yr stride but u say no no no i can't let go i do it all the time n i say wo wo wo yr such a show i swear upon my mind it's just a litl ways ther's a trill that stumbles from appease to shape swirling all yr grumbles thru shoots that soothe and scrape til gasping smooth and shaken in pools of recondite u feel the sob forsaken flow scoured of its bite but i say go away i can't today i'm shattered by the grind n u say hey hey hey it's me, ok? n i swear upon our bind it's just a litl ways ther's a crest of salience between fast and prime so fatuous in its valence we comfort in its climb for reaching's fair suffusion of easy thru displace as all our fraught collusion enfames our hiding face but u say cut yr net cuz i don't get people who get me n i say off the fret upset upset n be my walkin tree it's just a litl ways ther's a far-blown 'phemeral teaches prowl to lure whose stalk's been sed to tremble at sapping's aperture but if yr sip's no taking of scrip it needs to grove this mulled emetic slaking will heal whereall u hove n i say drop it, plz we've shred the weave that fesses cell to cell but u say parse the breeze then source the siege n tell me u can't tell it's just a litl ways ther's the one who shivers in the one who's warmed by the one whose pleasures thrill the one they scorn for the one whose anger calms the one who fears the one who's lost in languor of the one who wrests our tears n they say O O O y must we go so far to fall in free n we say yo yo yo look out below n once we're ther u'll see it's just a litl ways over no adieu over y we chant to the must pursue it's just a litl ways thru the cinch we botch thru the stares askant to nobody's notch it's just a litl ways over thrashing brim over vase and vase to the feral shim it's just a litl ways thru the standing by thru the barren pause to the underlie it's just a litl ways mite be tru boohoohoo tie yr shoe if u come too if i got u


Featuring Kirk Wood Bromley (vox, gits, bass, keyboards, drums), Sandstar (vox, keyboards), and Schrages (banjo on Litely on the Land). Mixed and mastered by Kevin Blackler. Recorded at The Home Of in Brooklyn, NY, except Shoot Me In Your Skull, which was recorded by Hank Wagner at Madhatter Studios.


released October 1, 2014


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The Good Hard

The Good Hard is playwright, poet, and musician Kirk Wood Bromley's band featuring players and producers in NYC and Arizona. Email the "Contact The Good Hard" link below if you wanna talk.

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