03. Cut Down To Sighs 7" EP

(Self-released, 2009)

1. Wholesome Sleep Deprivation
2. Applauded Droning
3. Blind Reiterations
4. Wayward Nowhere

316 copies on black vinyl (211 with yellow center labels, 105 with green). All covers were spray-painted then stamped once on the front and once on the back, and all center labels were stamped on the a side, so there's a ton of variation.

Available at fine distros and dollar bins worldwide (mostly in the US).

WHOLESOME SLEEP DEPRIVATION - With all these rooftops in my midst I feel like some dumb guardian of flocks of strangers, lives intersecting. So what if my head's stacked with delusions like handfuls of pale stars. We're all numbering hours 'til everything is our own. I swear the laundromats used to shine like jewels, but now all I see are bugs, magnets to the glow. They crowd the windows and thrash their bodies against the glass. Hold my breath cuz blue's my favorite shade. Lend my banter, recite my age. These doubts indeed are making days stale. There's a world that exists only while I blink, with signs announcing just who's home and mounds of boredom for our climbing.

APPLAUDED DRONING - Feels like I'm lost downtown wandering aimlessly. There's people spitting slogans in which they somehow still believe. So cold they follow their own breath and it clouds up their heads with vacant promises and everything that's theirs to forget. Like this guy that we saw bumming over on George Street, rests this place on his shoulders and stares down at his feet. Everybody's wearing smiles like disguises and these sound clips are screaming and I can't hear anything. But my head is just as empty as everybody else's head. Write our names in wet sidewalks. Watch as strangers tread on our thoughts, armed with pleasantries and yawns to toss around familiar blocks. Walk in circles til things change, squint and give everything a new name. Until I'm gone in something sane, I'll pocket words that mean nothing.

BLIND REITERATIONS (formerly "Tenth Avenue Blackout") - Kill another night on the porch over at Goffe, waiting for the rain to start and smoking way too much. I spend my days trying to find another way to say "no future" without sounding cliche. I crammed between lines in the chorus of a song but didn't like the people that I found singing along. The cool kids got there after my band already played, and they say, "Sorry I missed your set" "What's going on?" "How have you been?" Like a broken record on a tired stereo. I'm applying myself but I'm never getting hired, trying to get high, just getting low. Sometimes I miss the parking lot of the legion hall in the town where I grew up. Sometimes I don't care at all. I miss the friends whose trust I've lost and hope the same don't happen to the ones I've got. This city gets pretty small.

WAYWARD NOWHERE - Taking to a dull worn road, an explorer with nothing to show finds constellations dim in daylight, made of traffic lights. Says "My mind has been misplaced waiting for the next delay. I tire too of manmade grins, all of them useless." And the tourists with ironed clothes congregate at stained windows to gawk at necktied strangers on their way out. They admire all they think they are, while their plastic dreams are sprawled out on continents they'll never visit anyway. I guess the world's not flat, and neither's the sky. My eyelids are up and these streetlights will guide me by litter and curbs where I'll sit and pass time watching each face pass and leave me behind. Sometimes I think that there's nothing to find except absent birds, once perched up on these wires. And they talked through their beaks, in nests on concrete, hung out in lone alleys where buildings don't meet.