Like a Tea Cozy.

Lady, tell me something I don't know. Mama, say goodnight so I can go.

Lantern like your sailing breath.
Drive from home till way past there.
From my house inside this tree.
Warm like hand down tea cozy.

Like the town where no one knows your name. Pull the cover--warm and cold-- the same.

Life like, press the glass, all asleep like that, tumble, curves and shiver, race past fall to winter.

Someone Else's Machine

Goodnight, to my american dreams
Pitch the fight, picking up downtown the embellishment fiends
Brush your hair, for these american girls
Fold your wears, creased down, belly up this mache face world

Include this old lie...

From this page, torn form an american book
That you saved, and pinned up like a jesus boy would.
Call your house, burn down the embellishment dream
That you threw away, into your rebellion schemes

I Get So Tired, Of Hanging Around.

Hey everyone,

I don't usually do this but I felt it necessary to rep two really good albums. My old buddy Stay-at-Home just put out over a years or two amount of work on two new records. One is called "Out of Magicant" and the other is "Adam's London". Both were recorded in London, Sugar Land, and here in Austin, TX. You can tell that both of these albums have had much hard work and dedication put into them--and the results show. Please, click on the links on the right for Stay-at-Home and check out some tracks. And then, email the damn goon and have him send you the free albums. Who doesn't like free stuff--incessant masochist bastard babies don't.

Cheers,

Henry

There's A Party Next Door.

I'm getting tired of looking at beautiful kinds of things. So I stopped coming out to catch a breeze and something else that isn't just a bit tense and surreal and goddamn small and pretty. Like its printed all over this world of dirty words and my opaque face is here to chomp it all away. But it won't stop. Like a large blue wall that isn't anything but blue and bangs and beautiful. Beautiful is overshot. Let's use the word overaching instead. Or pristine. If I remembered what Byzantine meant, I would use that too. But I can't help but feel depressed about not pinning my books to the wall to show off the intellect that I pretend to build behind you.