The Gas Heart
by Surrealist gesture
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Digital Album
Immediate download of 14-track album in your choice of high-quality MP3, FLAC, or just about any other format you could possibly desire.Buy Now name your price
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2. |
Down For Good
05:41
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Theater Gash
04:01
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5. |
an unspeakable betrayal
01:59
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My G.A.S. Heart
04:54
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On Occassion of Wet Snow
03:25
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9. |
disfunction
01:00
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11. |
The Hate Rags
05:08
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12. |
Weeds In Your Heart
04:45
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13. |
Self-dismembered
03:02
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14. |
Captatio Benevolentiæ
03:54
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about
The Gas Heart is a three-act hoax; it will satisfy only industrialized imbeciles who believe in the existence of men of genius.
Interpreters are requested to give this work the attention due a masterpiece such as Macbeth, but to treat the author - who is not a genius - with no respect AT ALL.
(Note: This work offers no technical innovation whatsoever.)
Interpreters are requested to give this work the attention due a masterpiece such as Macbeth, but to treat the author - who is not a genius - with no respect AT ALL.
(Note: This work offers no technical innovation whatsoever.)
credits
released 14 February 2013
constructed by JDD
production/mix/master by JDD
guitar on track #12 written/performed by Forrest Whitlow
constructed by JDD
production/mix/master by JDD
guitar on track #12 written/performed by Forrest Whitlow
tags
license
feeds
feeds for 
discography
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Feb 2013 -
Jan 2006 -
Mar 2008
contact / help
For help with downloads, click here.
For all other inquiries, click here.
- Track Name: Down For Good
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One of these days,
it's going to come...
One of these times,
You will not run...
You'll carry that weight,
Throughout all your changes.
While everything falls apart,
When all of it rearranges.
And that world will pull you
Down for good
And that world will do
Exactly what it should - Track Name: On Occassion of Wet Snow
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Woken up too early,
Yet continuing my dreaming
A vicious feasting
Carrion impulses
A straining and collapsing
A frightening point, a sharpening of views
So strained and so forceful
A straight-laced disciple
But nothing's of significance
Nothing is necessary
Pictures are fallacies,
Moments of treachery
Drawing on our smiles,
The faking of everything
Time will come,
When time's undone
Hide ourselves,
Shame our souls
Decomposing bags of bone
And you're so welcome, and so faithful
So perfect, and so fucking everything
Empty bottles strike out broken prose,
While painting on a certain majesty
Notes from underground,
I play the guillotine
Poetry pulled from banality. - Track Name: Captatio Benevolentiæ
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The period at the end of an illegible scrawl of a sentence; a universal scream heard by many which are already living in agony. A scream which simply fades out like an impotent sigh - something which can end this lethargic embargo you place over living your lives.
I want to give a beautiful speech at the end of the world - a rousing and inspiring collection of thoughts expressed eloquently through a dying language that is ultimately too little too late; absurd and utterly meaningless - almost insulting, as life burns away.
Meanwhile, I say try....
They need symbols to stand in for things of importance because we are all so small and superfluous.
I believe it was Henry Fool who once said, "We know we have fallen because we know who we are". So - do we know we have fallen because we know who we are?
One must ask children how strawberries taste to ever truly comprehend a pure sensation such as life. Your philosophies will drown, impoverished and incomplete while a child's mind draws circles around intelligence- running down ideologies and tackling them into the dirt with infectious laughter straight from a real, humble soul.
The nature of nature in its natural egress.
Haunt these endless limits we dream about - imbibing feverish nightmares of limitless endings.
Mysterious misanthropes with determination leaking from their pens: the kings of "if", the kings of "when".
A sick, strung out and overwhelming christmas of ideas here... everything that can be imagined can be bombed.
Have faith in the evil men do - they'll surprise you with their savagery, their horror, their gods...
You are not clever, you are not funny, you are not beautiful, you are not smart, you are not talented, you are not.
You are not.
You are the pot calling the kettle back, to call it black again and again, ad nauseam.
The fool is hurt, the fool is hurt! - and what’s worse, he revisits his pain. Awkward, insatiable and precariously drugged.
It is in this moment that life absentmindedly descends into revolt.
Alleviation is only an echo, trailing our orgasmic grunts of superficial satisfaction.
You have to understand this whole conviction… no, we have to understand so much more.
Invented and preconceived gestures of limp grandiosity.
Your petroleum drug and the meaningless qualities of learning yourselves.
There is an insincerity in your heart; a false, baseless prejudice that you push into the world.
Mediocrity in full bloom, watered daily with the saliva from your lying tongue.
Open on ___
Fade in on ___
Cut to ___
Fine.
