Ballad of Carlos Monzon II: Johnny Pulp and the Lemonheads
Sleeve Notes
Just a butterfly Transubstantiation happens at the vanishing point. Vacuums too. Safe journeys happen at the full moon. Blood in a void will boil. Heads freeze. Will you think? Stay quiet? The expedition has found the last bone to finish the puzzle. Nothing must interfere and speaking of time, there are appointments. Keep as many as you can. Endowments mean something. Use your influence. Whisky and soda won’t forgive you. Are you a stranger? Superstitious? Corporate law takes more or less everything and works in a terrible hurry. Is there anything in the world that doesn’t belong? I’ll show you a trick so long as you don’t get away. Nervous disorders don’t add up to insanity. Instincts are frequently fixated. Absurdity comes from anger and conflict. My abandonment is a trick with a diamond pin. These feel like the old glam days. Nothing will be clear. Will you do something for me? You’re a perfect spectacle. How many are wrapped round your finger? If we were more then I wouldn’t mind waiting forever. The second floor is a scene of drama. There are limits to what I can bear however. Unlike the physicist the biologist sees everything historically. Can we really understand bravery? Is it just a twist to natural laughter? I never understood music. Especially new tunes. I know someone who denies tunes are really music at all. Carnivores make good friends, albeit hair-brained. There’s always a feeling that something terrible is going to happen or else you’re going to feel lonely or else you’ll forget the last twenty-four hours as a bad day. Have you ever hit anything that wasn’t in the wrong place? We should run. Or stop when you’re hungry. Or keep well out of sight. Are you singing under your breath? Worrying about stealing? Is there something wrong with me? All you ever want from me is an old bone and a shower. You’re impatient, did you know that? There’s a lifetime of misery if you go gay all of a sudden. Which is ambiguous to say the least. On the point of my breakdown your elder forbade taking anything too far. At which point I tore my suit. Where the dog lies, hearts sink. Lawyers make their random calls. There are no reasons. The whole is a perfect fiend. Show. Tell. Hide. Seek. Fiddle. Stick. Imagine the great still vistas. The cry of a loon is tragic and melancholic. I recall walking up and down and jungle fever. Two doctors – one says rest, the other exercise. There’s no saying what should be done. I cried into the last forest. Mine is a pear-shaped tone. Every scream is a mating cry. I can’t give you anything but love. That’s what I should have said. It was years ago. Or later. I don’t care anymore. I never remember the four years of hard work nor who ripped open life. I had things locked up and harmless but then circumstances changed. Are you sure you want what you say you want? I worry I can explain the whole thing. She limped because she’d lost her heel. Don’t worry about him. Gettit? Jokes happen.