Spilt milk tension
You burned the house down

Since then
You stared holes into the ceiling
Wishing for weightlessness

Stress mess
Trees bend to slap you as you pass
As if you had offended nature itself

(Since you said you had to go to see to how to take two I too had to see to how to stop you)

Stop drop roll
Kettle condensation
Stare at the telephone

Drone clone
Smash your head
Against the slot machine

Dreams seem not effective anymore
You swore you detected a secret door

Since you said you had to feel love
You're never satisfied

performance:

dennis harvey: keyboards | voice

composition/production:

dennis harvey: composition | lyrics | mastering | mixing | production | recording

extra performance:

michael ambro: acoustic guitar

jason harvey: bass guitar

extra composition/production:

michael ambro: composition

jason harvey: composition | recording

performance:

jason harvey: bass guitar

michael ambro: guitar

paul ambro: guitar

dennis harvey: keyboards | noises

composition/production:

michael ambro: composition

paul ambro: composition

jason harvey: composition

dennis harvey: composition | mastering | mixing | production | recording

notes:

... My patent leather shoes echoed against the smooth walls of the dark corridor, leading down, down. This place brought the memories back into my head, smashing against the sides of my skull like a pinball the size of a planet. Robo-hood, the robots of C.R.A.M.P., the mysterious storytime dream, the training session gone wrong, the spider-witch Shesha and the fight at the robobar, Multi-Mouth's emissary inside the chalupa vortex, Rastanefarious, the drive-by, the carnival and Clown Nein, Shesha's human form, the bum on the street. And suddenly, the memories even further back were clear, memories of a life I'd lived beyond what I'd considered time, my life in another dimension. The ring getting the finger in Mount Doom, the long journey avoiding Mordor Florists, Shesha née Galadriel, the bum née Gandalf, my glorious space saga, getting down with the elves in the Rivelhizzy, memories going all the way back to dear old uncle Invisibilbo. I was a hard-boiled detective, fired for insubordination, chasing shadows in a dirty, run-down town, and my name was Baggins. The memories were all there, complete. I had ascended to the enlightened plane of Asskickagon. ...

performance:

jason harvey: bass guitar

michael ambro: guitar

paul ambro: guitar

dennis harvey: keyboards | noises | voice

composition/production:

michael ambro: composition

paul ambro: composition

jason harvey: composition

dennis harvey: composition | mastering | mixing | production | recording

notes:

... My filthy apartment, smelly sheets, the alarm clock beeping, sunlight streaming through curtains. I'd woken up in strange places so many times in the past few hours that I was beginning to feel like a character in an overproduced, career-destroying, self-indulgent concept album, but here I was, back at home, terrible anthem rock pouring out of the transistor radio. I breathed a sigh of relief and got up, fixed myself a vodka tonic, lit a cigarette, and felt refleshed as I sat down to pore over my latest research into the Multi-Mouth case. A ring kept popping up in the story, an ancient symbol tied with whatever data I had on Multi-Mouth, and it wasn't long before I connected the bots - they were being used as some sort of vessels for his sick plans, robots imbued with the spirits of his misshapen slaves from another world. That's why the clown led me to robo-hood, that's why some of the robots didn't go gangster on me the night of the drive-by - they were still holding on to their original computational circuitry, or however that nerd stuff worked ...

performance:

jason harvey: bass guitar

michael ambro: guitar

paul ambro: guitar

dennis harvey: keyboards | noises

composition/production:

michael ambro: composition

paul ambro: composition

jason harvey: composition

dennis harvey: composition | mastering | mixing | production | recording

all sounds by various artists

extra composition/production:

dennis harvey: mastering | mixing | production | recording

performance:

jason harvey: bass guitar

omran shafique: guitar

jon beal: keyboards | voice

dennis harvey: drums

composition/production:

jon beal: composition | lyrics | mixing | production | recording

jason harvey: composition | mixing | production | recording

omran shafique: composition | mixing | production | recording

dennis harvey: composition | mixing | production | recording

extra composition/production:

harry o'hanian: production

all sounds by anna harris

extra performance:

dennis harvey: keyboards

extra composition/production:

dennis harvey: mastering

And all these
Things I give you
Since you would
Put them to use
More than me
Let's remember
Battlescars
Ancient secrets
Hidden deep
Under mountains
Take in stride
All these footsteps
And release
Your combatants
Redirect
Take a moment
Of your time
Shrug your shoulders
Trace your steps
On the concrete
Treasure trove
Struck by lightning
Senselessness
All the habits
Bend and stretch
Breaking slowly
Catch your breath
Stop the taxi
Quick escape
To the phone booth
Once inside
Check for quarters
Juggernaut
All your faces
Avatars
Pick your poison
Whisked away
To the country
Clouds and calves
Cala lilies
Trace your steps
On the concrete
No one knows
How you got here
No one knows
You'll disappear
You were here
For a moment
And all these
Things I give you

performance:

dennis harvey: all instruments | voice

composition/production:

dennis harvey: composition | lyrics | mastering | mixing | production | recording

performance:

jason harvey: bass guitar | voice

michael ambro: guitar

paul ambro: guitar

dennis harvey: keyboards

composition/production:

michael ambro: composition

paul ambro: composition

jason harvey: composition

dennis harvey: composition | mastering | mixing | production | recording

performance:

paul ambro: guitar

dennis harvey: keyboards | noises

composition/production:

paul ambro: composition

dennis harvey: composition | mastering | mixing | production | recording

notes:

... until a pulsing light and the sound of a respirator made me reluctantly peel my eyes open. I was in a white room, lying on some type of healing slab. The curved walls of the room were formed from thickly intertwining birch branches and seemed to extend upward as far as I could see, like the vat in which I'd been trapped seemingly minutes before. It was like something out of a bloated epic fantasy trilogy. One thing was certain: there was no bacon in this place, and I'd be damned if I was waking up without it. Before I could jump to my feet and search for a refrigerator in this mystical elven healing temple, an insanely tall, white-robed figure with long, straight white hair and an epic beard strode smoothly into the room. The beggar from the street outside my office?! I stared at him aghast, memories stretching and pulling, a name on the tip of my tongue. "Gan..." was all I could stutter before he murmured something about memories and pressed a bony, disproportionately long index finger against my forehead.

I woke up again with a start ...