Kill Me Before I Fuck Myself

by Theophagus

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about

{TCE-046}

Another hour of puerile home recordings by teenaged Xoc (me) from the mid-to-late '90s. Volume 8 in a continuing series that, having exhausted the most accessible and good-natured material at the start, just gets weirder and more off-putting, with its -FI getting LO-er and LO-er...

Enjoy!

credits

released September 1, 2015

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TrashCanEagle Sacramento, California

Official label of XOC* and friends


* one of those video game music guys

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Track Name: Driftwood from the Good Ship Skinpop
(DRIFTWOOD FROM THE GOOD SHIP) SKINPOP

Die on me with a rubber eye
The rotting hemisphere of a smart-arse pie
A deadline rave-up and Laughy Boy's blind
Kill up the land o'er de river fine
Another in the know, ebb lava world
You know Mother Nature is a riot grrl
A good blowjob in Carbide Labs
Your slip is showing, an' I'm just keepin' tabs
Mo Mo Bauer and your pirate soul
"Stalin's Revenge" and a drop seed goal
Combat jazz on the Skinpop mast
Big hairy pussy on legs, running fast
Tsunami bangs on Mrs. Risk
Fresh out of tune with the turtlehead disc
Fall-down drunk on the way to Nepal
Is/Not/No and that's not all
Sissy Mary La La, Phillip Space
Reacharound Robin gonna dance with your face
Stainless, painless, Skinpop boat
Stuff that laugh back down your throat
Romeopathic cock-a-doodle-crack
Kneecapped First Mate Snappy Comeback
Brownie drop tele-duct, New/Mistakes/Stop
Driftwood from the good ship Skinpop
Track Name: God Help The Ghost [4-track]
GOD HELP THE GHOST [4-track version]

On the bed, the Ghost, he said,
"I've got more money when I don't buy drugs"
and Flatt & Scruggs couldn't pick his nose much better
He got a letter from the probation judge
Please God help the Ghost
Tipsy, no brakes, stoned, no gas, and we coast
into HELL!
I'm lyin on the floor while pleasantries mutate
I'm past the astral plane
I'm the target of a nation's hate
In the pool, the cleaning tool
It creeps up from the opaque depths
So I cower on the steps in the shallow
Ghost, he says, "follow" [to] where the deep end was
After swimmin' we calls up women
And his girl he's had for a while
And with a smile he seeks emotional cover
Pretends he doesn't love her, but I think he does
...into HELL!!!
Track Name: Mini-Thins
MINI-THINS

The name is redundant, the feeling's repugnant
I won't ever get it - my stomach don't let it
The cheaper the pill pop
I can't afford 'Truck Stop'
Life, I just take it in
I'm bingin' on Mini-Thins
I got a lot of work to do
So I look for assistance from a little bottle of pills
and a cold Mountain Dew
The 'Thin' could refer to
the thinning effect you experience fasting
Cheap high everlasting
My head is a soda pop
The poorer man's 'Truck Stop'
The wired, tired, sick spins
I'm suckin' down Mini-Thins
I got a lot of work to do
So I look for assistance from a little bottle of pills
and a cold Mountain Dew
I got a lot of time to kill, so I figure
it'd be best if I was climbin' the walls all night
Just one more pill
Just one more pill...
Track Name: NDIC
N.D.I.C.

Naw, djude*, it's cool...


* i.e. waspy snowboarder dialect
Track Name: Born in a Soundbooth
BORN IN A SOUNDBOOTH

The descent from the deck to the locker
is my speedbag with hands
A horrible band’s on my back
Runnin’ low with the show of glands
The head has gone all screwy
I went spooey on his mother
A cursed loser (or should I say “another”)
Blood and sweat are floodin’ but I bet yer bottom rock
that I’ll be damned all of a sudden
if I ever let my cock lose any blood
and sweat are floodin’ but I bet yer bottom rock
That I’ll be damned all of a sudden
if I ever let my cock drive me to tears
Fake this job and love it
Tougher than suffering zen
A beat obsolete’s in my head
but the flow is a no-show again
Ballad of the Cattledove
The Battle of the Mess Tent
And the hesitant will face what they most fear
(no help from the balladeer)
Blood and sweat are floodin’ but I bet yer bottom end
that I’ll be damned all of a sudden
if I let it die again
And if my cock decides to rock
then it’s the lordy-lordy forty
'Cause I’ll be in molten sea
before it writes my songs before me
once again
Born in a soundbooth, grew into an untruth
Track Name: Swimming to the Sun
SWIMMING TO THE SUN

I danced a jig on a million backs
Left my trail of vacuum tracks
Snuck inside and pissed your covers
Swam to the sun in the toilet of lovers
Hands up
Reach for the sky
I want to spend the rest of my money with you
Hands down
Reach for the ground
Give me your life
Track Name: 21-9
21-9

You run through the pines
where the sun never shines
and you shun all the signs
of import
It’s so fun to climb the vines
and to uncover their wines
and the sun scorched [the] little shrines
guilty in court
Just and gun and a dozen lines
She’s the one where they combines
and you stun them with your nines
just for sport
Track Name: Blame it On Rio Linda
BLAME IT ON RIO LINDA

Take a drive on couch-ditch mile
Have a line of coke and a smile
But it's toothless and upside-down
all the while
I remember all the way back when
Yard-car hotel until I was ten
And the go-fast mill in the backyard
exploded
again
Track Name: I Love Sleep
I LOVE SLEEP

I love to sleep, I love to dream
I love to leave behind the world I claim to love
But does it seem
that I would rather sleep than hang around with you?
It should, because it’s true
You don’t know what you do
When you thoughtlessly awaken me (or maybe you do)
But we would not be having this argument
if I was sleeping
Wouldn’t have to feel, wouldn’t have to see
Hear, smell, taste, touch, or have you bothering me
I wouldn’t have to feel what’s real
(Just a phantom reality)
I close my eyes and fantasize
but there’s a constant interruption to my dream
That’s spouting lies and interlacing and infecting
all my thoughts of robots and fleshpots
of gunshots and subplots
But you thoughtlessly awaken me
to all that is ersatz
And we would not be having this argument
if I was sleeping
Track Name: Ain't That Somethin'
AIN'T THAT SOMETHIN'

When I’m wet I turn to mud
and I’m thinning out my blood
For the smart surreal is somethin’
and the heart of steel is pumping too hard
Be that as it were
and as it may, it might
Wish upon a star from which there is no light
There is no gravity
The Earth just sucks
tonight
You run like paint
but somethin’ ain’t right
When I’m wet I look for drains
and I’m thickening my veins
For the smart surreal is somethin’
and the heart of steel is pumping too hard
The smart surreal
You faintly feel
You feel so faint
You run like paint
but somethin’ ain’t
right
Track Name: Who Not What and Why Not Who
WHO NOT WHAT AND WHY NOT WHO

Who Not What and Why Not Who
Track Name: God Help The Ghost [8-track]
GOD HELP THE GHOST [8-track demotion]

On the bed, the Ghost, he said,
"I've got more money when I don't buy drugs"
and Flatt or Scruggs couldn't pick his nose much better
He got a letter from the probation judge
Please God help the Ghost
Tipsy, no brakes, stoned, no gas, and we coast
into HELL!
I'm lyin on the floor while pleasantries mutate
I'm past the astral plane
I'm tortured and sedate(d)
In the van with a beer can
with his mommy in the back
and his girlfriend in his lap
He's feeling cocky (and he hears)
the walkie-talkie from the cop car
(fuck!) oh fudge
Track Name: The Longest Balls
THE LONGEST BALLS

It's so cold out, and it's so drafty
And life like mine, you're keeping warm
And it's a fashion, she's so crafty
and somebody's everybody to me
But I wish that I could leave my post
in the Arctic Circle to star in blue movies
But duty calls
I've got the longest balls
I've got the longest balls
I know I could become a star if I tried
But how do I escape from this trap?
It's freezing cold as the Arctic midnight falls
I've got the longest balls
Joined the Army and I was demoted
I couldn't keep my claim to fame
inside my standard-issue shorts
But I wish I could go back home to be a porno star
Exiled away, I want to smash the walls
I've got the longest balls
I've got the longest balls
I know I could become a star if I tried
But how do I escape from this trap?
It's freezing cold as the arctic midnight falls
I've got the longest balls
Balls
Track Name: Dixy Fixy Trixy Pixy
DIXY FIXY TRIXY PIXY

There's a stripper from the South
who'd never have to use her mouth
'cuz her lifestyle probably tells the story better
An' I'll annoint the point with ointment
at my subsequent appointment
when that lifestyle that I never led
catches up with dear old (who's-your-)dad(dy)
when it catches up with me
There's a basement underneath
where someone's mom with crooked teeth
has finally put that mouth of hers to use
And hebbin' knows, beneath the skin,
within that sinful Mex-a-kin,
there lives a lifestyle never led
where she would not have ended up
so neck-up-dead and pitiful to me
And then what came my way
was one that got away
Although some would say that this wasn't so
She'd been lookin' 'round for me
And I hoped that I could see
more of she who was so nearly mine
that I still believe
She surfaced at the perfect time
to break my heart and leave
And of course there is another
who is practically my brother
if she hadn't been a lover and a girl
And our love had blood around it
So she shouted, "I have found it"
But I'll save that for some other story
someday when my "dory"'s just a little bit more hunky
And that junkie lifestyle catches up with me
Dixy is rik-sy
and Fixy's a beater
Trixy is sweetness
But my Pixy is sweeter
Track Name: 1918 LAPD
1918 LAPD

Unenlightened visions
An ominous shade of shit
A worthless cause or a roasted misunderstanding
That this silent stone would stand the time
For generations to come and go in the green grass
What really happened, motherfuckers?
Track Name: Lyrics by That Girl Toward Whom I Thrice Threw Beef
LYRICS BY THAT GIRL TOWARD WHOM I THRICE THREW BEEF

[a poem she sent me about working at a Shell gas station]

"At The Station" by K.B.

The window glass magnifies the heat inside my head
Everyone moves by
Hurried on their ways
But I sit
rotting lazily in my shell
Oil spots and dirty toilets
Beep beep beep beep beep
Shut the hell up, I hear you
You stupid fucking cunt
Give me your money and leave my space
Ten on two
Go ahead and pump it up your loose faggot ass
Track Name: Larissa's Face
LARISSA'S FACE

Riding a pine box through deep space
All around
The spaceships still look like fakes
They told me what it takes:
Not to try and hide the wire
but to make the wire stronger
Gathering rocks on her face
Deep in the ground
They came back to let me know the proper way to go:
a heading far beyond the fire
But wait a while longer
'cause I don't remember which way is down
The mouth of moon talks of a place milk-way renown
Resurface the punk opaque
Don't matter why it's fake
Belly up and then retire
and wait a while longer
for the sky to shower embers
Then we'll go down
Track Name: Athena, If That Is Your Real Name
ATHENA, IF THAT IS YOUR REAL NAME

Everyone's behaving like Dutch Pink's dogs
and I've yet to believe
that there is anything worth saving
Between living and knowing
Here go the cogs
and I've just gotta find out -
Where is this place that we're going?
I've got a ticket
She's got a check in her pocket (or lack thereof)
Lookin' for love where there is no money
I'm window-shoppin'
We'll all be one-sock-hoppin' by the end of the night
Outside on the curb we are altered states disturbed
But we say it's all right
And I write what we say
But she's three states away
Track Name: Dutch Leaves
DUTCH LEAVES

In a town of sleepy-eyes juxtaposed with tweakin' guys
You reall start to wonder which is which.
The only rays come from cathode,
and when you drink, you have one for the road
And then another for the ditch.
And from this drunken wasteland came
a gangly figure with no name
(although it had been said to be Dutch Corning).
And Corning was a hunting man, but his only ammo
was a can of worms collected in the morning.
But one fine day upon his boat, he realized,
"to say afloat upon a sea of apathy is boring!
I should think on grander scales -
prove to all that setting sails
is not reserved to those who are exploring!
This town is but a burning clutch!
The stench has just become too much to bear!
I've got to leave this place today!
I'll let them know my name is Dutch -
and when my fancy sneakers touch the ground,
then all around will say, 'hooray!'"
He packed some things into a sack,
a fancy backpack with a rack
and stacked up all his crap into a case.
In need of rest, his mind distressed,
the dawn was burning on his chest
as he set off to leave that horrid place.
And as he stood upon the border,
he thought it might be too tall an order,
just to leave his home like that.
But clarity soon overthrew the doubts he had,
and then he knew this was the perfect time to get his hat.
Track Name: Misplaced Everything (Mini-Thins pt 2)
MISPLACED EVERYTHING (MINI-THINS PT. 2)
AKA “Calypso Collapse” AKA “Sylvia Plath Bake-Off”

A perilous compound, a time of misplacement
We rode the descentor straight down to de basement
I heard Chinese talkbox, I drank double-fisted
but by lubrication she was unassisted
I gotta lotta time to kill
so I think it’d be best if I was climbin’ the walls all night
Calypso collapse-o within Slater’s coven
We’re having a bake-off in Sylvia’s oven
You came to the right place for [a] butternut skweemic
The bachelor party that wasn’t bulimic
Track Name: And This Groovy Graveyard (God Help The Ghost pt 2)
AND THIS GROOVY GRAVEYARD (GOD HELP THE GHOST PT. 2)

As long as I've got the firing squad out
I'll make another formal goodbye
For a decade we shared the same brain, but it changed
And he's still lookin' for the ultimate high
"This groovy graveyard" has taken a fall
Of all our vices, he kept them all
Please God help the Ghost
Tipsy, no brakes, stoned, no gas, and we coast into hell
As long as I've known him
I'd rather not know the way his tangent ever played out
The night we had shared us a case
But my face hit the floor and gave me permanent pout
As for the stories, they'll just have to wait
Give me some time, I'll slip 'em under the gate
Track Name: You Will Want Me and I'll Run Away
YOU WILL WANT ME AND I'LL RUN AWAY

I never get lost in a daydream
'cuz I've got a map
I've got your copy
You always give a good read
What I choose not to tell you makes me laugh.