antagonist

by crisis actriz

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1.
separation anxiety 03:51
lyrics
I made the mistake of getting a medium on speakerphone three months after your mother’s consciousness left her body still. ‘Steve from Georgia’ (as Jill calls the man on the other end) lit a white candle some where near Santa Rosa. he asked me to say my name three times and I obliged. somehow thought I was doing you this grand favor: some big gesture to burn through the veil and establish contact on your behalf. why I’ve always felt so inclined to do this work, to mend these tears in a fucked up continuum of debt and emotional labor, I’m unsure. I just do what my gut tells me; in this case, my gut got me on the phone with a psychic in a separate time zone who told me that Jackie was standing at the divide between death and life pushing against the eternal to reassure you of an interminable adoration for her boy that outlasts expiration, that transcends corporeal limitation. the fact remains that she could not take care of you (or herself enough) to stay behind and do the work but flesh failure doesn’t extinguish love or expunge longing. considering these themes of duality and fragmentation I sat there dumbstruck and shaken, in near disbelief of having received a message through the grave that put me in my place, as a conduit, in a way between worlds I realized that it wasn’t me you wanted — you wanted to be a son — some people are unlucky, and it seems that some people don’t get what they want. I’m sorry. there is no means of becoming the sun until you are finally one with oblivion: trespass its orbit. would if you could but Jackie doesn’t want you to visit — stop flying so damn close to the glow, to the screen between us dolls and melted plastic. I can’t keep you from dissolving but merging would be suicide. merging would be suicide. merging would be suicide. merging would be suicide. a message from your mother: take your time close your eyes. breathe. think again. remember that you’re loved and don’t forget that it doesn’t have to be over / you don’t have to hurt / you don’t have to merge we can all break free from each other and still be all right. release and let it ride: learn this before you die
2.
night terror 03:23
lyrics
tell me that I’m dreaming—this nightmare seems never ending I’m tired of dying, head underwater. I’m stuck here paranoia— paralyzing some boring purgatory— my feet are freezing tell me— is it over? I’m tired of dying, head underwater. lungs filling with windex— compost buzzing with flies This World Needs Another Flooding. karma comes in due time— so tell me is it over? because I’m sick of this slideshow, projecting nightly (on the inside)
3.
trauma voyeur 01:32
lyrics
I wasn’t taking my meds went off the handle I mean mental like he told me not to told me I didn’t have to —so I threw his shit out the window I mean that I couldn’t control myself, wasn’t taking medication : the stuff that makes my brain work you know the shit that he said I didn’t need but a doctor prescribed me the pill that lets me make the decisions instead of a beast called P.T.S.D. inside me raging in a vein/artery cage called anxiety rushing through dilated pupils when 2 shaking arms shoved those things out from above second or third story I don’t remember was blacked out and yet you let me be cause you said I didn’t need them and I want[ed] to believe
4.
shatter, prove 03:41
lyrics
wanting to fall through but no one knew that, his face pressed against the plexiglass drawing up dozens of fantasies about the end that would await him should a door open, but there are safety locks and procedures in place so that despairing passengers don't hold up traffic. during rush hour he peered down onto concrete the freeway - those strange structures that look like metal horses drinking from the bay... at Jack London Square he wished it would be over or that he could hide in horse flesh, anything but confined to self and this day his breath moistened the window a fog over San Francisco
5.
magician physician 02:02
lyrics
venus in gemini : never satisfied bad taste poor choices = constant indigestion caused by the medicine washed down with water pills to make me focus pills to make it better pills to clear my head pills to pay attention pills to end the frustration pills to feel something else just to blot out the bullshit just to crash like a spaceship take one to forget that I fucked him take more to ignore how I fucked up eat the bottle I still love him pills to erase my 'self' this head: stays screwed on the mind melts inside (feelings frying) (always trying) to burn through the day only to return to the bed I made: pills to help me sleep pills for the bad dreams pills to clear my head pills to stare down death pills to end the frustration pills to feel something else but bound to this existence coming down like a spaceship I shiver and grimace, sweat through my shirt. god made me sick. god made me hurt I shiver and grimace, sweat through my shirt. god made the pills but I can’t be cured
6.
sticker smile 01:59
lyrics
always tired can't seem to get my head straight know that I should leave this place open my eyes & face the day another number marked off the calendar— another twenty four hours stick on a smile for the kids they don't recognize what beckons ahead do you tell the children it will be alright? that all the ghosts in your head just feed you lies or do you toss & turn throughout the night? never knowing what's on the other side for us, for them wake up and try again—
7.
tenancy 02:01
lyrics
live: inner days occupy liminal space: between what was & is: my head a fog thoughts a daze feelings = smog sunken face: eyes blink blankly: this curse[d] sprawl a maze. how cramped I am searching for a place to rest: [my head] [recall skin on skin] simple pleasures once remembered now hidden animal by definition, from coast to coast I roam: return to california, sit by the sea alone tide rolls in slowly, yielding trash only unwelcome memories surface on the shore breaking with the waves they recede once more
8.
ego deaf 04:13
lyrics
fast forward— an effort too outrun the familiar creeping feeling that grows like weeds deep within human being/asphyxiating choking on daily living, this thing we keep doing: a task repeating tension ongoing static. unrelenting discomfort spirals in barbed wire on an unwilling fence it persists this tinnitus it persists our tinnitus all these phones ringing failure to achieve any feeling other than this constant buzz in the back of our heads the phone rings off its hook the phone rings funneling time a bottom line— the phone rings becoming the blur to which we comply, awake and raped by these facts and so on and so on and so on and so on and I am what I give; I have given up hope. I cling to the trellis and burn in the sun
9.
still born 03:02
lyrics
was never big had my fill hid in corners, tongue tied still passenger: rearview mirror wither, wallflower passive observer didn't have the guts to speak my mind for 28 years let life slip by stayed out of the sun: wilted inside caught in this p[s]alm feral cry into the void: human yearning subsides unmistakable child insignificant gravel stand by the window stare out the blinds what does it matter what I saw: women picking up garbage: room without a door the subway keeps clicking steel trap glitters twilight glinting into night eyes of teens taking their last ride makeshift hospital bodies shake from fentanyl— ecstasy and the withdrawal only I know there is nobody [on call] pain is arbitrary on a galactic level skin becomes the pavement— lips become the soil pilgrim hands start trash can fires homeless chatter beneath their tents crack pipes shedding light onto our grave immense walk by unseen: a dream [within a dream] we were born to die we live to die rushing away from darkness towards the light we bow at altars invoke gods' names seek holy silence beg for change each of us cursed each of us fucked each smaller than the others human scum: runts of the litter we were born to die we live to die rushing away from darkness towards the light we bow at altars invoke god's names seek holy silence beg for change each of us cursed each of us fucked each smaller than the others human s c u m runts of the litter was never big, had my fill— I hide [in corners] tongue tied, still. a trespasser: rearview mirror unreliable narrator: the dissociative bystander
10.
saturn return 02:08
lyrics
stick your head in the dryer you know it won’t be alright nothing stands still - we got nothing to lose but our own minds - 3 steps forwards, 6 steps back - you done gone and? slept? with? him? again? fuck. start over. stick your head in the dryer you know it won’t be alright nothing stands still - we got nothing to lose... but our life time: 3 steps forward now 6 steps back. late to work and your hair’s a mess didn’t have energy to dress with 'decency' an other day is just an other opportunity too. play the game and show some face if we’re lucky, we get paid if we’re lucky we get laid (if we’re lucky) we get made if we’re lucky, we sleep easy if (we’re lucky) we die while we’re dreaming
11.
vending machine 02:54
lyrics
my writing too often revolves around romantic obsession as if that is the only thing my honest to god life is about. whenever I am not ‘involved’ I am similarly un-'involved' with my writing: unfeeling, just existing without. I opened the computer to write. I sat with my fingers on the keys and asked myself to write as if this process is automatic. insert a coin [read: intention] and get a toy [read: poem]. this body is a vending machine. the mind is the mechanism. I am jamming it with coins. insert memory turn the latch. insert emotion. turn again. fifty cents. receive a poem. poem as warm up. poem as swan song. poem as reflection poem as recollection poem as function of intention. on pacific daylight swore I’d never write poetry about poems I have betrayed myself which is not altogether uncommon. ‘it was just a matter of time’ is something I say every so often. I often excuse these transgressions but I rarely forgive myself in the process. here it comes… the poem: the memory: the emotion the function/the flashback/trembling in a chair that knows my body well— recalling those hands, many hands that I’ve struggled to forget so I won’t have to bother with forgiveness of urgent fingers or of an inconvenient silence it happened again I was asked to remember them. on command. like writing a poem, the words impact with little impetus back in bed names of faces and hands return I’m eighteen now I’m twenty one come-to in a therapist’s office: now I am twenty seven. it’s called processing. it’s called thinking, then speak -ing, then writing. now it’s a poem. [the trauma is] a poem: [the tragedy is] a poem: the words transcend tense embodying energy of those moments physically beyond but just a thought away, within reach. I started to cry, stopped myself as it was happening. hands may try to claim me but these words are mine the poems are mine—when I can’t forget I write I write

about

written and recorded 2019-2021
lyrics provided for consideration
suicide isn't (always) the answer

credits

released February 22, 2022

words, co-production: luna
beats, co-production: anon
visual art: madi, gus, jordan

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crisis actriz New York, New York

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