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Predicting Memories

by Siva

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about

Music and lyrics by Eric Beeny; arrangements by Eric Beeny and Sterling Smalley. Songs written while Eric and Sterling were still in high school, c. 1998.

Recorded by Sterling Smalley in 2003 in Sterling's apartment. Vocals, guitars, bass, keyboards and some percussion by Eric Beeny. Drums and other percussion by Sterling Smalley.

Cover image by Carrie LaMacchia.

credits

released May 18, 2003

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about

Eric Beeny Buffalo, New York

Glass, the Wall's Ghost is the main musical project of Eric Beeny. His side projects include The Immortals Act Their Age (ambient, drone), Failsafe-B (abstract, political hip-hop) and, in collaboration with his daughter, The Strawberry Orcas.

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Track Name: Prescription Overdose
I take a pill for disaster relief,
8-ball for an eye, hurricane cyclops…

Needle-point a thousand miles wide…

This prescription is nothing more than
words on paper, eyelashes floating in milk…

My bicycle begins to grow
Dali’s moustache for handlebars—
flowers to pick at the finish line…

Along sidewalks, pigeons without wings
spread under ice, keeping wrong eggs warm…

Under turtle-shell umbrellas we dance
while our burning homes
race pills to empty bottles…
Track Name: Galaxies
I’m in orbit around you, afraid of words that you might say.
When reaching for a star, there’s a long way to fall…

I feel you over me, beneath you I remain
when our galaxies collide into darkness…

Stars in our eyes are born with every dying word.
The moon suspended over me as I reach for your hand…
Track Name: Blush
Every word I untie a crossword shoelace,
replacement therapy, still my tongue in knots…

Can’t think of anything to say, I don’t want to speak…
I just want to feel the stars blush when the sky has burned

away… These years will belong to the moon.
Those nice-guy words whose busted pipe leaks in my ear…

Burning bush that blinks when it lies,
sit at the intersection, silent, legs crossed,
eyes closed like a smoking monk…

Away, these years will belong to the moon.
Those night-sky words, whose busted pipe leaks in my ear…

It’s fitting that fossil fuels deplete along with our atmosphere.
Then, we’ll just have to think of a place to bury all the dead cars…
Track Name: Crucified Scarecrow
Useless as a revolving doorknob,
I turn to more fulfilling endeavors
like balancing a measuring cup
brimming with formaldehyde on my nose…

Ice cube eyes are dissolving under my tongue…

Even myself over an erection,
limbs like helicopter blades spinning
under a ceiling fan, or unrolling a rattlesnake
along the length of a casino floor…

Its ice-cube eyes dissolving under my tongue…

But, seeing as it’s claustrophobic enough
without slithering into the fireplace

I pilot a cryogenic carpet, my arms and legs
thawing out in all directions
like da Vinci sketching
a crucified scarecrow, voodoo doll
pin-cushioned to the illusion
of animation’s cross inverted…
Track Name: Novocain Tree
The night is calling me
to lose myself in its fate…
A wish, never made,
to drown myself in the dark…

I hear my name echoing
within the trees
the deeper I run into
the darkness ahead…
A pale full moon, all I have
is memories of you.
I’ve made that wish a thousand times,
never came true…

The stars above me lead me to this lake.
I’ve tried to live your lie…
I’ll drown but not in you
any longer…
Track Name: A Small Stream that Flows Somewhere in the Forest
As butterfly approached me,
fearless words on full moon night…
How long can they look into your eyes
without crawling back to explanation?

Cascade surrounds my body,
casts my reflection…
Rapture, circus of thoughts
of hugs and kisses,
last chance to be me…

Still I find me talking to myself,
isolated dreams of a falling sky…
To her I offered thoughts of rapture—
the tears of angels lull me sleep…
Track Name: Umbilical Patchcord
I silently tip-toe
away from the platform.
You’ve invented the clouds,
drawn up the sky’s blueprints…

Tight-roping my own flat line
I try not looking down
at the nurse bending over
to pull the plug—
she cuts my second umbilical
patch cord…

What continents surround
has a wet shadow…

…the horizon whose smoke stacks are
animated sculptures of ours lungs
where we’d use lit cigarettes for snorkels…
Track Name: Predicting Memories
I gather up the hills
and call to tell you about it
hoping to hear the telephone in your voice
tap against your teeth, smear the ashes
of your lips on my mouth…

Dusting each breath for someone else’s
fingerprints while clouds lung the sky—
a world healing in heaves, I hang up
with just enough light for shadows,
as if they need sun…

Without it they’re just plants with skin for soil.
Here, one flowers from mine across the room.
Her drinking a glass of water helps me breathe…

We’re all bridges under crossing kisses,
our throats the crumbling supports
when we finally remember the number
and no one answers…

Your darkest pulse runs the love from my skin
with lips that unwind toward the motion of sleep…
I can hear commas seeping between your teeth…

Too far away to exist, we touch almost like knives—
this helps to heal the ghosts of oceans
we hear and want to believe in…

This is just a simple mechanism—I leave the room
without time to return while predicting memories…