1. |
Mutant Insects
03:31
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Mutant insects of the
mute ant insects of the
mutant in sects of the
mutant in sex of the
mutant incest of the
mutant inspection of the
mutant insection of the
mutant in sections of the
mutant insurrection of the
mutant in sections of the
mutant insection of the
mutant inspection of the
mutant incest of the
mutant in sex of the
mutant in sects of the
mute ant insects of the
mutant insects.
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2. |
The Future of Jazz
03:36
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3. |
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Texaco makes the star point to my master.
Satan is laughing, the balls they are smashing as I strap on my V.
Arpeggios of lamentations wail as I pump premium.
Your hypocrisy has paved the road to hell past my back yard death metal gas station.
You'll never run out of gas.
You'll never sleep again.
Your children will need zipper masks to hide their shame.
And the fetal fungus lives in leather.
We're just the messengers.
Don't shoot the messengers.
We're simply reporting the abortion appreciation as it happens.
More neo-Malthusian programming on a day of rest.
Saint Paul is an Easter Island Easter egg built on the abbreviated lifespans of fetuses.
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4. |
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And then the Valkyrie’s hard chitinous exoskeleton is crawling upside down, opening her wings to show a golden powder from her saltshaker of death. In the sunrise, a pink snout and a wave rolls upon you, rushing to crest in a repeating time, soul splitting orgasm. You half cum an eye in your climax that sees the singularity and falls back in dual eddies as your third foreskin becomes a snout that breathes deep the golden spores beneath her wings like a stream of souls to hell.
The knowledge burns the nerves of your body in an all-consuming purifying light. The bed melts but the molten petrochemical ancestors are like sugar in your new being. The Valkyrie sees the depths of your ashen, polycrylic tits, then all is confusion.
The optic nerve twists, eyes spin counterclockwise and drain back into the skull and out of consciousness. Then a sharpness of sight is chained between the nipples of the ashen polycrylic tits of the Valkyrie. The turgid snout twists and browns it's texture, oscillating with the wave forms of intense vibration and falls off.
It swells to the shape of a prolate spheroid. Laces grow and the cannibal enemy tribes want to take my spheroid seed of death to the end zone of my ancestors. But I have a team of loyal eunuchs whose beds have burned to sugar armor.
Purple skins empty eye sockets and eyeballs as big as their boobs. We all have the number of our personal beast branded in gold leaf.
We are the Minnesota Vikings.
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5. |
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6. |
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“Well that was... different. It was... interesting. I like what you’re trying to do there.”
Oh my God… then you are clairvoyant! You have seen my past life regression where I am an Aztec miner who is cut in half by a block of marble. I piss a stream of blood into the afterlife that becomes the bullwhip in Robert Mapplethorpe's ass.
The shit reverse digests in his colon along with the HIV and the sperm through his small intestine and into his stomach with saliva and re-incorporates into the Trinity of saliva, sperm and HIV swimming backwards down my grandfather/mother's penis vas deferens.
I was guided by Piss Christ past the giant caterpillars who stood guard over my transmogrification seeking to decapitate me while crawling through rhythmic waves of Oobleck. I had to run quickly with no hesitation. If I sunk into the Oobleck, I would be trapped and there would be a certain end to this dream.
The proteins in the sperm came from chicken nuggets that were a descendent of the GOD KING MOTHERFUCKING CHICKEN MONSTER! I am so glad you can see all this and like what I am TRYING to do with it.
As you know, men can lactate. I'm going to implant you with my eggs because clairvoyant genes must remain pure. I am a warrior who, in my dreams, guides the white corpuscles in the battle against disease. Our offspring will one day cure AIDS!
I so love this moment of meeting you. As you know, I have always wanted to shoot a whip cream enema up your ass and then eat it.
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7. |
It Hurts to Wipe
02:56
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I want to show you something.
You carry oats.
Why are things evolving so fast?
Configurations… the best you can do is blink now.
You must be breathing… or are you?
Young man consider yourself lucky
that your anus is not your mouth.
Think about your tongue.
Tie it together with a brain.
Your hard parts are easier to fossilize.
Anterior posterior polarity unrooted.
Consider yourself lucky young man.
Ever and of you.
You were once a worm from beyond the crust.
You are the sludge in the extraverse.
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8. |
Take Fifteen
05:35
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9. |
Golden Spores
02:22
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We are our mother father’s ancestral glowing ash heap seed egg. The primal celestial gametes grow gills and feed on the larval incectiods which they are destined to become. We are all dying from the spores like human aquatic exploration shot off to destroy the dreams these fungus acquire.
Fruiting bodies release and puff spores pulsingly spewing forth replica after replica on replica on replica ad infinitum. Rinse and repeat. Goes great with Doritos.
Fruiting bodies puff spores out in undulating pulsations endlessly pouring out replicas upon replica upon replicas upon replica until the primal celestial gamete returns to itself to shake its own hand. And shake it off.
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Repulsar Minneapolis, Minnesota
Newt Skink: Multiphonic Vocals.
Michael Donahue: Guitar, Bass, Theremin, Synths, Percussion, Vocals, Production.
Wayne Sayers: Sax, Didgeridoo, Vocals.
Related Bandcamp accounts:
Primadonahue, The Crashdummies, Sesamoid, Jerungdu
... more
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