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He Forced This Island Upon Himself

by Millipede Antennae

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1.
I am war, sent to warn you of battle atop a red horse. I am death. I will destroy and rend you asunder. They call me Conquest. The greed and pollution of victory's spoils. One more seal is to be broken. I am war. I am death. They call me Conquest. I am famine. Pestilence. Famine. I am pestilence. Famine. Disarrary. Famine. I am hunger. Read the scrolls: I am War, I am Death, I am Famine and Conquest. Tip the scales. Lord, please bless me with fervor to rid you of these pests. I am the fifth horseman in your mind. I am vision, perception, reflection defined. I am vision. Perception. Reflection, defined. I am famine. Pestilence. Famine. I am now Conquest. Famine. War. Famine. I am Death.
2.
Holy Ghost, is scripture needed most? Holy ghosts, is this where lions boast? I never had to decide. I played it safe for days now. Spinning in circles as family starts to arrive. Our matriarch has fallen. Become hills from proud mountains. Shadow Walker, breathe into me black. This wasn't supposed to happen. Not while I'm fully conscious. Just let me sleep some more. We lack the common courtesy of standing still when someone is in mourning. We lack the common courtesy of keeping our mouths shut when someone else speaks. If words cannot make their way to you, just acknowledge that I exist. I twitch at every hour. The minutes shift to seconds. A dose of radiant coma. “Don’t take my precious heart! Don’t take my precious jewel!” Cause if she dies, then so do I. We’re bound by more blood than skin. We’re bound by skeptic Heaven. We’re all just patient ghosts. Pauline, can you hear me? Do you even know me? Are you even listening? Please just hear me speaking. Start the end frame.
3.
INTP 04:02
A pale brunette walks by with braces. And immediately I am intrigued. I've seen her before, but only just once. She had the purest eyes I've ever seen. They peered through my soul. Made my chest cavity feel like it was filled with gold. I won't know if she notices me. I don't know if she notices me. Notice me... The static sings celestial. "My arms are your arms. Second guessing the outcome before there ever was one. Possessed. Enraptured. I am a slave to her ghost. I can feel her breath passing through the noose. "I've been worshiping you." She sighs so heavily. Why should she ever be drawn to me? The dreamcatcher on her ribs sings an epic. The colored lines on my wrist don't prove that I exist. Raw beauty, under the guise of a goddess. Let me wear you like a crown.Incite the masses to riot. You're setting fire to tapestries, unwound. Let me walk right through your door. Forget the reason we came here. Let's just go to sleep, indefinitely. The static sings celestial. "My arms are your arms. Second guessing the outcome before there ever was one. Enslaved, I'm captured. I'm a carrier to your host. Put parasites in me if it's to set you free. The more teeth you have inside your mouth, the tougher it is to eventually swallow. Don't make this a reason. Purge the victim. Contradict yourself and take it slowly. Wait. This house of mirrors has a secret. If reflections break through, will we see them? We are both just spirits. We are lesser poison. Are we ghosts or are we echoes? "I've been worshiping you." "No, you haven't. I wouldn't be worth it." "I've been worshiping you." "Stop lying. It's quite unattractive." "I've been worshiping you." "You fail at being modest."
4.
You can't touch what you can't burn. Respond to distress just a second too late. The alms were taken up early. Guess it must have been fate. You can't forget what you've already learned. You cannot touch what you can't burn. Finally, we're alone. Tell me, how was your day? But you sit silent and cold, like you've got nothing to say. Don't hold your feelings inside. "They" say it's bad for your health. You're forcing this island upon yourself. You can't touch what you can't burn. You can't burn. It's a typical, honest portrayal of isolation and doubt. Like facing a hurricane, you're better within than without. And you think that nobody is listening, but we are outside of your shell. You can't continue this self-destruction. Don't force this island upon yourself. YOU CANNOT TOUCH WHAT YOU CAN'T BURN. The reeking drama of dragging yourself out of bed. The medication doesn't work anymore. It's all in your head. I will be next to you to defeat it. I will offer myself to the storm. Please relax that tired body. Please rest that burdened soul for once. You cannot touch what you can't burn. Whatever you take, you have to earn. You're wasting your minutes on your habits and wealth. You're forcing this island upon yourself. Don't force this island upon yourself. Don't force it. It's a typical, honest portrayal of isolation and doubt. Like facing a hurricane, you're better within than without. And you think that nobody is listening, but we are outside of your shell. You can't continue this self-destruction. Don't force this island upon yourself. You can't touch what you can't burn.
5.
Pandering to precious minerals but selling short your instinct's no way to live. Cancel every birthday soiree you were stoked to go to, but you never had gifts. There were lights and there were cameras but no audience to play to, so you just quit. Partially, but consequently, we'll just fade into the background all in due time. Make us into happy men. Make us into happy men. The brand new collegiates wince. Welcoming home crust and sin. When you came to, you were dizzy due to cocktails made my doctors and their students. They removed your empathy and now you are emotionless, but just not quite dead. Survey says we'll lose you in a couple of hours, but that's a risk we will take. Lost endeavors. Guilty feathers. Violent weather. Shift to sever. I'll not relent! Look at how the grasslands cringe. Posing friends as mannequins. When does abstinence begin? Make us into happy men. PURGE. She said, "The devil lives in laterals. He watches every inch of skin we show to one another. We are fucked while we fuck." Some glad morning, I'll appreciate the things you did for me when I was asleep. The addition of shade acclimates me better to protect myself from the sun. Is it better for me to resume my quest or would I rather rest for tonight? Ulcers. Cancers. Questions. Answers. Sleeping dancers. Mild entrancers. Where are the dogs? Sing you home with mandolins. Bartering with snake and skin. You've made us all happy men. But we cannot love again.
6.
Silver screen exploitation. Dial in loud exacerbation. Credits roll. The annotation dies inside the celebration. The media contains controlling celebrity arms. The apocalypse sounds like cheering after Cannes. Boom. Kapow! The check you cashed for a million bounced. Who cares? Friend or foe, you gotta believe these bastards can commit! It's time to ante up in the backroom. Let your drama play out. Little urchins, causing chaos in the balcony while the actor gives his acceptance speech. Begin catastrophe. I hope your new film plays in Hell. Let the B-reel make the Devil laugh as he burns your body alive. You've caused a riot in Hollywood. But holy Hollywood, she strikes back. You're feigning for more serious roles. Duly noted. You're on the back end of a failing career. Your glory days are dwindling. Optimism fades out.
7.
Loyalty is a dying trend. So why does it exist, my friends? Raise the bridge and extend the moat. Grab the kingdom by its throat. Just because there are praying men, it doesn't mean that this will end. America is a fading trend. Turn it over. Start again. Drain it dry. Drain it of its RED BLOOD. RED BLOOD. RED BLOOD. All we have to do is summon DARK FIRE. DARK FIRE. DARK FIRE. Nurse, he needs some MORE CASH. MORE CASH. MORE CASH. Pledge donations. Make the check to BIG CHIEF. BIG CHIEF. BIG CHIEF. Deserts painted on our skins. Eating needles, drinking pins. Starving nations underfed. Cycling the feast of heads. Shaking hands with foreign lords. Kill off livestock. Trade with swords. Oil does not mix well with blood. Our nation, under drying mud. Dig the earth. Dig it up with YOUR HANDS. YOUR HANDS. YOUR HANDS. Resurrect the lost cathedral. DEAD CHURCH. DEAD CHURCH. DEAD CHURCH. Doctor, give us MORE DRUGS. MORE DRUGS. MORE DRUGS. Finish everything you started. DEAF WORLD. DEAF WORLD. DEAF WORLD. No one cares what we say behind closed doors. We will still sing as loud as we fucking want to. Buy in. Die out.
8.
Tender as a newborn parrot. Checkmate on the seven seas. Gyrocopter interceptor. Decorated mother tree. I am the voice of the ancients. Your sarcasm needn't apply. Spinning your gold like the spider I am, you're here in all eight of my eyes. Repent and retreat, you old lion. Your sins don't outweigh the release. Prosperity throws itself into the fray while repeating the same verse you sing. Bright is the sun in it's splendor. The moon's wax and wane is irrational. The bones in my fingers comply with the ring, but my heart screams, "This marriage? Unfashionable." The all encompassing survival. The fire that lit up my hands. Unrendered like peace as a liquor soaked kiss. It tempts all the weak to disband. Lovers, clasp hands together. Lovers, say vows together. Lovers, press flesh together. Lovers shall die together. We're wounded like boys on the playground. We're dancing like dogs in heat. We spiral like jewels on a staircase. We pass on like ash in your teeth. Infinity, black as the spider. Hell is as red as the flame. Death to the preacher. Death to the sinner. In death, we all share one name. Weep. Oh, we weep. Black Infinity. You and I, we're not so different. You and I are not the same. Sharing parts of us that matter, but forgetting our own names. Candid blood buzz. Draining sleep shift. Opal necklace bought with sex. Lost communion. Canyon entry. Weep upon this blackest death.
9.
Atop the cliff, we say we saw "God." Enough to make the disproved ones just nod. "I find your lack of faith disturbing." "I find your faith to disturb me as well." Here we lay to rest this old dread pastiche. I am fine with living my life between Hell and sleep. With more data flowing into our hands, we drop the courtesy. We make demands. "We want proof! We want truth!" If I could make it happen, I wouldn't give in to your squandering. Here we swarm to death this old head of bees. Portray the symptoms of fashion overload and set fire to the streets.
10.
Her twin bayonets, sharpened like razors and I hear them whisper, "Kiss us. We're oh so sensitive." I'll oblige, but only if allowed. Her pink Juliet, swollen like her eyelids from staying up too late with me. It yearns for sensation. It begs to be touched. Wait! I'm not properly dressed! Her legs, like Greek goddess vines, ascend towards the heavens in fashions undesigned. Her arms, tight around my neck could slaughter and wreck any man that she touches. Wait! I'm not properly dressed! I've never felt of your sex. The interlocking of fingers only serves as another puzzle posed. I am trying to increase your body temperature. But with me biting your skin, it just makes me look more of a fool. The female body is terrible, yet treasured territory. We all fucking claim it, even though we don't say it. No matter who's been there before. The look in your eyes could move mountains. And when the wave hits, proclaim it at the maximum volume your throat can attain. Climax should be mutually beneficial. The interlocking of fingers only serves as another puzzle posed. Our gasping breaths synchronize and our sweat becomes one. Our skin becomes one. Our hearts become one. Our rest is assured and well deserved.
11.
Everyone! Please follow me like an idol. I'm only famous to the ones that can't read between the lines Of commentary and "likes." They're blinded by the galaxies behind my stolen words and held captive by their computer screens. All hail the ethernet cable, plugged into our necks. Place your hands upon your keyboards. Praise be to the Internet! I saw the words you posted online. "Your screen name used to be mine." I stole that from a song. I hope your reblogs carry value. 'Cause I'm not taking Valium without a black and white picture of it. Follow and post until you're dull. You're a half-witted adult, leading a fucking cult. No one has their own opinions anymore. Make the masses know that you're so cool. Every post you make has to be artsy and deep. When the fuck did my opinion get washed out by sex, drugs, and hipster sluts? I thought that this could be my forum. My chance to ignore "them" entirely. But now I can't speak without the fear of logging off. Follow and post until you're dull. You're a half-witted adult, leading a fucking cult. No one has their own convictions anymore. No, they don't. And it's with such conviction that I have to leave. Signal boost the important and make a huge scene. Your pictures of mountains lead to a trail of false hope and shrewdness. Hell has prevailed on both sides. Leading to one night we all celebrate. Random post of cats! Awkward shot of drugs! A portrait of cigarettes! People with their clothes off. Follow and post until you're dull. You're a half-witted adult, leading a fucking cult. (You can read my life story on this page, but I'll only post what I want you to see.) Please show me worth not from your skull. You're a frightened-eyed adult, leaving a fucking cult. (Pick and choose all the things I really do, but I'll post whatever the hell I please.) No one has their own opinions anymore. No one has their own convictions anymore. You can't have your own opinion anymore.
12.
Somewhere in your life, you will be asked a series of questions. And they will haunt you in your sleep. The nightmare looks upon you with its wide stare. Its eyes are dead and glazed. Pray to God or whatever you call her. Some people don't deserve the breath they've wasted defying their own names. At the gates, what will you say to sentinel? Will you beg for mercy or just listen to your sins. We will all be judged eventually, for there is but a small silver lining. Do not be the flower. Be the serpent underneath it. Be the bastard lizard, born of sin and virtue. Sway the algorithm slightly askew. Invite confusion with each bite of the apple. Just who the fuck are you anyway? Someone shouted "fire" and the streets startled awake. Please. Just one second of rest. Exempt, we never shall be. The vase has tilted slightly off the pedestal and butterfly effects take hold. Which timestream is ours? Which universe do we belong to? Reality is untouchable. We are all taken for granted. We are products of failed expectations. Every single last one of us.
13.
Wished upon the weakened, the serpent bites its tongue. Only now do I realize that I was correct in my assumptions. The auxiliary recalls defeat. Spewing forth sad Christian rhetoric. When someone's thought process drowns you out, you just become a statistic. Know that beasts and demigods flock to where vulnerability shines. How do you know when to whisper? My flood, interrupted.
14.
The hopes of all our brilliant minds are creating a new age. A single entity constructed on de-evolution. Are we playing God or are we playing Operation? Don't wake it up. Don't let it die. . Can we breathe in it life? Can we give it a name? Can we take its shattered heart and repair it with faith? Are we committing a sin if we commit to this game? Then I believe all hope is lost, gentlemen... We have the tools to create a messenger who disproves faith, but do we lead it or let it lead us? Our cancers have disappeared into thin air. This new machine will lead us there, the place we used to exist before we evolved into these ghosts. Can we breathe in it life? Can we give it a name? Can we take its shattered heart and repair it with faith? Are we committing a sin if we commit to this game? Then I believe all hope is lost, gentlemen... This godless machine is no accident. This godless machine is irrelevant. This godless machine is a skeleton. This godless machine is an instrument. This godless machine is our Providence. This godless machine is our firmament. This godless machine is ravenous. This godless machine is perfect. This godless machine lives off plastic sand. This godless machine is abandoned skin. This godless machine is a wage we win. This godless machine is a hundred sins. This godless machine feeds on empty spines. This godless machine eats away at time. This godless machine is an open sore. This godless machine is a melting core. This godless machine has my brother's calm. This godless machine sings like mother's palms. This godless machine has my sister's charm. This godless machine owns my father's arms.

about

All songs written and produced by Justin Cole.
All vocals recorded and mixed by Justin Cole.
"Dread Pastiche" mixed by Dustin Dustin Dustin.
All songs programmed by Brice Rosa and Justin Cole.
Tanner Morris (Motion In Color) provides guest vocals on Track 11, "TVMBLRISAFVCKINGCVLT."

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released August 28, 2014

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Millipede Antennae Little Rock, Arkansas

Terrible music by a mediocre musician. Featuring some friends.

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