Actuall Islands

by Octothorpe and the Aglets

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03:09
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02:55
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01:26
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01:39
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03:51
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04:11
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00:55

about

This album takes place over 300 days, 30.0 pounds, and 3.00 girls (more or less).

credits

released March 13, 2013

license

all rights reserved

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about

Octothorpe and the Aglets Seattle, Washington

antihypothetical

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Track Name: Actuall Islands
There is actuall silence here.
Isolate and disguise the dark.
There are actuall islands here, there are.
Track Name: Darkness
Darkness makes it impossible to gauge just how long this bridge is.
Everything becomes its shadow under the light conditions.
I don't exist when I'm alone; incognito ergo sum.
I don't exist when I'm alone.

High beams haul the husks of hovercars, wavelengths partiacle to the sound.
Wind rejects the wisened who-you-ares, and memories, life's living scars, become unwound.
On my right an empty ocean ebbs, but theres nothing left of me.
When I'm alone, I don't exist.
Track Name: Not Again
I'm alive at last again, and I don't know where I've been, but I know where I am now.

That's a lie - I'm lost again, not so much as a friend to show me where to go. Well, here I go again.

I'm off my path again. Did I die, verting in jest, some other way, word pathogen?--

Was I thrusted into lust too often/not try hard enough to soften my rough ego's coffin?--

Has my mental unhealth gone untreated/my job suck all my inners?--

Gee, did all my self-control get self-depleted?--

--Because this compass isn't broken; I just don't know how to read it... I didn't think I'd need it again - not again.

I'm not enough again of who?
I could have been stuck with who I am now.

I'm nodding off again, hoping some triggered event will seep in while I'm sleeping.

I can die at last.
Track Name: Lisa's Brain
You will never understand her, but it's not about you at all. (There's nothing you can do.)
Track Name: Care, Give or Take
It's going to be a day when my mom dies; it's going to be a fucking day.
No one left to prosthelytize her life lessons, my dad will throw all of her possessions away.

And I will dig through the scrapbooks she'll have left behind, and I will cling to every good memory I'll find, because the only ones not stowed away are the ones where I'm unkind.

And I'll inherit the no-longer needed, so long since heeded, chronicles of our lives. My dad will get a single bed 'cause he'll be single and half-dead, and the king'll need some rest from lifelong wives.

But I don't think I'll be able to sleep on her queen-sized mattress side, 'cause part of me will feel like I'm the one who killed her; part of me will feel like I'm the one who died. I should be the one who dies.

It's going to be a day when my mom dies; it's going to be a fucking day when time becomes concrete, cementing all my lies, and steamrolls every chance I have to reconcile with her lifeless clay.

And the guilt will start to bear down and break me loose, and all I've built will start to tear down. My wrecking crews will try to fortify my iffy fort, but it will be no use.

Fortify family is to strengthen one, then I wreck lose.

What kind of person shuns unconditional love? What kind of person shuns traditional love? Just the worst one - and I am that person (I am the worst son.).

It's gonna be a day when my mom dies; it's gonna be a fucking day.
I will cry and try to apologize, but I'll never get a chance to say, "I'm sorry." But no one will hear me, and no one will care.

Is this conjecture of her death romanticized? Should I expect to be bereft of standardized emotion, not agonize over devotion, with no one left (to antagonize)?

I'll be angry, because I've won, which means she's won, and there's no point now, with the challenge gone, because there's no pride in this kind of victory; there's no pride at all.

When that day in question appears, I'll question through tears, everything I know as real. I will begin to put things introperspective, but in the end, who knows how I'll feel?

Will I regret never have given birth, or not yet understanding what that's worth? Will I upset anyone I put on Earth, or is my karmic calling to experience love's dearth?

Who else will I pointedly wound by laying nothing on the line?
And if my focus on maternal seems entirely eternal, well, no offense, Dad; we were fine…
Track Name: Origins
Is there anyone else like me, who's got origins like mine?
Not too smart to not be crazy- but not too crazy to not be kind.
Not to exclude you, but is it rude to need someone who can understand?
'Cause, if they don't know where I come from they can't know when I'm going to be to who I am.

Who else took the chance to be something they don't know?
We're all victims of circumstance, but that's not how you grow.
What's a goal but a thing to grow into? What's a prize but something to trade? If you share my view, you begin to see how other origins are made.

If I met someone else like me, would I even recognize, or have I become something I strive to be but still despise?

Antidesensitize.
Track Name: Man Door Hook Hand Car Door
Man
Door
Hook
Hand
Car
Door
Track Name: No Animal Is an Island
I was a Wolfdeer
Molars where fangs should be
Got two paws and two hooves
I confused all the wolves
And the deer all just scoffed at me

I was a orphan
Not sure who my parents are
But did my dad just come
When he ate my mom?
That's foreplay gone too far

Oh I only eat by myself anymore
Because I'm the only omnivore
What did i do the deserve this
What did God do to me
Why are my friends just the things that I wanna eat

I was an misfit
Like if Rudolph was gay
But my nose didn't blink, my dick didn't stick
And I could never sashay

I was an outcast
But no one ever "Hey Ya"'d
The deer ran from my face and
The wolves all gave chase
They all thought that I was a fraud

Well I only hunt not in packs anymore
Friends don't like being snacks, that's for sure
If only I was a human
I could drown myself in beers
I should be an alpha, but Bambi still brings me to tears

I try to not wear sheeps' clothes anymore
I only kill now for food, not for sport
What did I do to deserve this?
What did God do to me?
I hate myself, because so does everybody
At least I can't even produce a baby
Srsly tho, will somebody euthanize me?
Track Name: Gravitas
How does it feel to fall for free?
I'm greedy for the gravity to fail.
Track Name: ЮOЖ
the uj
Track Name: Dream of Consciousness
There was a time when he'd eaten properly: recommended servings, daily doses, the like. He knew about hygiene once, altogether - the rituals passed down from parents from grandparents from monarchs from the Bible from evolution. None of this was entirely foreign, nor was it unlearnable, but at this point it had not sunken in, and he feared it never would now with disappear pressure.

He made the mistake [editor's note: he made many mistakes] to quit smoking too soon, right when his body needed it most; had he persisted, he would have managed to ride the bell curve of his health down with the rest of his neighbors, commiserating in the swollen night umbrella'd by the awning. A plethora of guilty grimaces to be exchanged, the immediate pact-breaking/making, these were now lost as he crumbled under the pressure of health. A slave to his endorphins, slaves to their genes, slaves to his parents'. This train of command would never derail.

On nights when the stars forgot to seem special, he would breathe without realizing it.
Track Name: ∞ ∵ Ø
I'm not sure what yr definition of "soon" is, and I don't quite believe you like the moon as much as me, but I thought I'd be stronger. I'm not the kind to long for you - that's not a thing I do.

I don't know if I'm just underrated or you're just underage.
Some depth would be appreciated; your distance is hard to gauge.
I am quite the catch, and you haven't got a cage.
If the world is your oyster, it's also all my stage.

With disgust, we discussed the f'act of sleeping. I'd slipknot if I only thought that I'd beekeeping you around for more than one stroll. How profound if you'd become my sole maté-drinking, life goal friend!

I don't know if I'm just underrated or you're just underage.
Some depth would be appreciated; your distance is hard to gauge.
I am quite the catch, and you haven't got a cage.
If the world is your oyster, it's also all my stage, and I only see one exit left.
Track Name: Phytophotodermatitis
Ow ow ow
Track Name: Modest Me
I can't change myself, and I can't blame anyone else. It seems strange to shelf these feelings but...

I can't trust myself. I view lust as healthy, but it's just as well, see: I don't plan on living long. No, I'm not that strong.
Track Name: People Tho
What's the point of people when they're all hypocrites and liars, freed from greed for who they could have been, but slaves to lave the now's desires?

Even if caught in a mistake, foibles foil their contrition. Disreputation's all that's at stake; there's no inherented polition.

Embrace the blemishes with revelry. Flawlessness is diss, aloud.
My hamartia's my haecceity. My humility keeps me proud.

I know why people drink alone.

But what good is a healthy mind if my intake's output's null, devoid of coupling of any kind, lack what I nary have to hold?

None-sided conservation peace; try to purge the nugatory, but this limbookshelf's contents only increase.
I've lost all reference points for story to judge life's book by its cover charge: the con that Meaning cedes to Pain.
Is righteousness akin to loneliness, or are losses justifiable prerequisites for gain?

I've walked a mile in most shoes...
I've walked a while in no shoes - it's no use.

I could watch every film noir there are, but only at the merci of some femme fatale.
I'd learn omni ad hominem for them, but latin itself non sufficit me et al.

But my, how people fascinate. What false futures they contrive!
Floss and eat, buckle your seat, vaccinate; they try so hard to stay alive.

Are there actuall people built like me? Can we con pair our mettle sum?
What do I even look like actually? What kind of thing have I become?
Track Name: Twenty-Five
No one understands themselves like I do. It's not their fault - they want to want just what they're primed. The only thing I ever had to be was lied to. A countdown is the opposite of timed.

I thought that I could die without derision. I never thought I'd live to twenty-five. How brazenly my past self masqueraded this vision! I've never really tried to be alive.

So I'd like to be alive a little longer, if only to affront the human race. What weighty words will write them off as wronger? A syllable contains the whole of space.