The Sediment Club – Psychosymplastic The Sediment Club – Psychosymplastic

The Sediment Club - Psychosymplastic (2015)

The Sediment Club – Psychosymplastic (2015)

I’m afraid of supervolcanoes. Like, totally and irreconcilably shaking up all night terrified, tracing the shades in my ceiling by the dim green aura of an AM radio light until I finally pass out in a pool of sweat to the taste of tin and crumbling fillings sometime just shy of dawn when my alarm goes off and I have to get up and grind out my time in the salt mines with a shivering distemper everyone just assumes is a hangover or the DTs (depending on the day) and I just fucking let them because it’s better to be considered a hopeless lush at constant odds with his vice than a concrete cracker whose horrors always end up pointing to the long overdo magmatic apocalypse awaiting ALL LIFE AS WE KNOW IT! that some people still call Jellystone to be cute and fuck you because Boo Boo’s a bane on Barbera and Teddy once finished a speech with a slug in his chest so SHOW SOME GODDAMN RESPECT! and when that park finally goes off there’s nothing, nothing, NOTHING! I or my loved ones can do to save themselves or their things or their hopes or their dreams or anything, anything, anything, ANYTHING! because none of us is equipped to survive without earth and land and sky and even if the eruption isn’t so abruptly total as to wipe out this chi-chi seaboard of mine (I can’t remember the exact science of annihilation lines and know better than to remind myself on stag night) slow death would surely come in the ensuing ashen barbarism whether by blunt trauma or starvation or…shit, I guess I haven’t really though all of our potentially nightmarish ends through but, rest assured, none of them would be swift nor civil nor remembered by the monsters who were able to sustain themselves and their villainous gene pool through the years and years and years of cold, grey holocaust because their victory over God and man would be total and those kind of spoils don’t leave room for footnotes like me and my kin which is why, sometimes, I think I got into salt-mining in the first place and why I keep two hatchets and so many knives in the home because any good man knows you don’t need more than one good Buck to whittle and there is no brush to temper in Queens and besides most of those blades were gifted or left or purchased well before this endgame manifestation began and I just needed a job or a change or I can’t really remember but I’m there or I’m here but I’m slipping the script to try and keep away the shakes but that’s not justice though it may be truth but what good is supposition in this humorless assurance, huh? because the only real hones to goodness is that I’m current and I continue to be in this thankless, short-shrift way because maybe, just maybe, when we finally greet finality, I’ll have enough fight in these wires to help us survive the bottleneck.

I’m also scared of dementia.

Psychosymplastic Tracklist:

1. What’s Inside Ignites Itself
2. False Render
3. R Radio Raheem
4. An Unlikely Cure for Lockjaw
5. Apprehension Complex
6. D Backwards Romeo
7. Scary Part of Life (Tek)
8. Quantum Lump
9. A Test for Mennonites
10. Psychosymplistic, Psychosymplastic Here!
11. The Kattle Blacc
12. Everything Taste the Same
13. XF Ray Emit Threat

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