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Man Without a Head

by Man Without a Head

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1.
A great many, many men without heads haunting the same boring places nonetheless are impeccably dressed with countless disguises and faces. Obvious oddities are vaguely familiar to hollow shells of former selves lost in the monotony of a regressive, monolithic, superstitious anti-intellectual, media perverted, culturally diverted society of the spectacle. I am just a stranger to myself. I’m a body without the head. Sometimes I need to scream just to prove that I’m not dead. We can’t escape tall tales and endless paper trails. Everybody living as if they don’t know of the desperate encounters between human curiosity and pretty much everything. It’s a Spectacle. We’re susceptible. We’re going nowhere, and we’re going at record speed. Everything worth having is just out of reach. We’re constantly moving in circles to get out from underneath. We’re spinning in circles on the earth. We’re spinning in circles around the sun. Around the center of the galaxy we spin on and on and on. We spin on and on.
2.
Nameless cravings rupture from the depths, reduce the body to convulsions with a mind that over flows. The people come together and seek out a possession from the spirits of dead gods in the abyss. Earthly orgies of heavenly proportion; where brooding brewers haunt and serve up magic potions. A freckled spectacle of pepper in the night sky from the slow burn of jazz cigarettes. We’ll lift our spirits up for a spirited up-roar. Intoxicants turning strangers into mates who dance on slippery slopes to loosen social constraints; to have fun and be free. Come on baby, it’s the Dionysian mystery! It’s the Dionysian Mystery, a Bacchanalia, a drunken revelry. It’s the Dionysian Mystery, a celebration, a gathering of epic proportions. Mouths full of flesh. Tongue twisting tongue-tasting tongues tied together. Radical acts of passion are vital forms of action and desperate attempts to express any bloody thing at all. We’ll lift our spirits up for a spirited up-roar. The lore of the smoking tree, and the allure of the vine. We enter the underworld possessed by the dead divine—who bring forth the herbs and wine. We’ll get our spirits real high.
3.
Ballyhoo 00:39
4.
A finite Masquerade that cannot be explained. A Fleeting cognizance of a baffling charade. Welcome one and all to the Cosmic Horror Show. Fear not for ghouls, or spirits, or the demon haunted worlds beyond. It’s a Cosmic Horror Show. Get this: the horror is reality. Welcome to the horror show. A backwater of human monsters that happened upon themselves breathing, conscious, thinking, feeling, being, seeking, and hiding in the dark. Terror, terror, horror and dread. The mystery of existence shipwrecked on our heads. Labor, toil, and work till we’re dead. We’re too afraid to live. Labor and toil. We’re too afraid to die. Labor and toil and work till we’re dead. And in the end, there’s nothing left, the joke is on us, it’s meaningless. AH HA HA HA! It’s a Cosmic Horror Show. The human masquerade cannot be explained. We regret to inform you there is only one escape. It’s a Cosmic Horror Show. Get this: the horror is reality. Welcome to the horror show. Don’t you understand? The humans are the monsters killing, lying, making something, loving, dying, and laughing in the dark. AH HA HA HA! It’s a Cosmic Horror Show. Can’t you hear the great masquerade of humanity? Can anybody hear us? Does anybody hear us out there in the dark?
5.
Blood Sugar 02:10
Sugar Bears and Honey Dews and Lemon Drops and Fruity Chews. We’ve got all the candy but we won’t share it with you. There’s sugar in your blood and we’re coming for that too. Hemoglobin Goblins, Creatures of Confection. (Coagulation Celebration). Tasty reddish fish splash and swim throughout your blood, like tiny chewy devils that get stuck inside your teeth. Mmmmmm! Blood Sugar, why do you taste so good? Candy coated skeletons are covered in remains, cleaned of all the sanguine grist and cracked like sugar cane. Sopping bloody bonbons, ruddy hokum coated corpse. Sweetmeat corporal confit candied carcass filled with gore. Blood Sugar, why do you taste so good? (We’re coming for you. We’re going to eat you). Viscera deserts gushing viscous at the wound, ropy membranes garnish bloody pudding on a spoon. Bodies piled high in heaps pour out from the inside, while monsters with sweet teeth exalt and feast throughout the night. There’s sugar in your blood, and we’re coming for that too.
6.
Better Half 03:25
What can I say that hasn’t already been said before or said better? How to convey that you liberate my mind from its fetters? Words can’t really describe how it feels to know that you saved me from myself, and that I’m terrified of what I might be without you. I’m better off with you. I’ll do what I ought to do. I love myself for you because I know you need me to. You take me out of my head, and make existence worth it. I’m better off with you. A wretched sourpuss curmudgeon, a philandering debaucherous knave, Ha! These are all the ways that I could have ended up without you. A grousing malcontent, hollow shell of a man. A brutish miscreant scamp. A pompous libertine rake, a specter and a tramp. But what does that say about me? I swear, it has all been said before, but said better. I swear, it has all been said before, so I’ll swear, to make it sound that much better. I fucking Love you, as simple as that. I fucking love you, the best that I can. I’m a better person with you, and you’re the better half.
7.
Attentat! It’s Propaganda by the deed. Attention. May we have your attention Please? Our Intention is to stir up preconceptions with a deadly display of propaganda you can see. Habitual crownings and ritual clownings, just a bunch of Big Wigs holding court. A glitter bomb to get it done, we’ll leave our mark amongst the blood and return to the shadows to watch the body politic contort. Attention. May we have your attention? May we have your attention please? Oppression is becoming too relentless and we can’t go to the police. Do we have your attention now? We will burn it all to the ground. Do we have your attention? We’ve been deprived and dispossessed of all we have earned now all we have left is disaffection, insurrection. Time has run out. Time has run out for the masters and rulers, the many have sat and watched plans that have hatched that deprive and dispossess us. It has gone too far. This all sounds a little too familiar: the guns and the bombs and the righteous mobs. The demagogue zealots claim that they’re saving the whole damn world, even as they burn it to the ground. Chaos animate us, order has lulled us to sleep. Attention! Men with dusty feet took their goods from town to town, they settled in and lost their heads, and now they run the show. These warlord merchant thugs have colonized like mold the ineffable spark of life with a dangerous status quo. A hapless mass of human flesh, with social skills and a reptilian complex. Apes that know just enough to be dangerous.
8.
PSA 01:49
9.
Revolution didn’t come. It didn’t come around. Revolution never comes. It never comes, no. Revolution didn’t come. It didn’t ever come. Revolution never comes. Foment and instigate during this moment of collective discontent. We must dissent, or anticipate to awake another day lacking purpose and direction, fulfillment and intention. Not knowing any meaning as we’re stuck, dismayed, and mired in the doldrums of a schism of rival populisms, all sides producing bodies for the grinder of a nightmare corporatism. Because the revolution didn’t come. It didn’t come around. No the Revolution never comes. It never comes, no. Revolution didn’t come. It didn’t come around. Revolution never comes. It never comes, no. Revolution where have you gone?
10.
The Unitaur 03:13
11.
“It’s better than being nothing at all,” I say to convince myself that I’m something other than nothing at all. I am confused that I am. I am confused and I am sad that it cannot last. I still don’t understand, but I’ve grown tired of asking: Does tomorrow come too late, or does it never come at all? Tomorrow comes too late or it never comes at all. Something came from nothing and became something else. An isolated multitude pondering itself. We expect the big questions surely must have the answers. If that’s actually not true, it could be quite a disaster. Honestly, it’s an odyssey. The only meaning worth pursuing is the constant pursuit of meaning. It’s all way over my head, so I guess I’ll just stop acting like I really comprehend what it’s all supposed to mean: the beginning and the end, and everything in between. Existence is wasting my time, but I’ll be dead before I even know it. I don’t really comprehend what it’s all supposed to mean: the beginning and the end and everything in between. Birth is by chance, and death is for certain. But we’ll never see behind the curtain. The joke is on us.

credits

released June 15, 2016

All Songs Produced by Glenn Curran
All Songs Arranged by Glenn Curran
All Lyrics by Glenn Curran
Tracks 1, 2, 4, 6, 7, and 11 Engineered by Seth Engel
Tracks 3, 5, 8, 9, and 10 Engineered by Glenn Curran
Unedited Acoustic Drum tracks on tracks 3, 5, 8, 9, and 10 Engineered by Seth Engel
Mixed by Doug McBride at Gravity Studios, Chicago
Mastered by Doug McBride at Gravity Studios, Chicago
Cover Designs: Glenn Curran
Photography and Cover Art: Ryan Bach
Insert Art: Jennifer Cronin

This record was written and recorded between 2014 and 2016 in Chicago at Minbal, Superior Street, the Owlery, and two of Glenn’s apartments

Glenn Curran would like to Thank: Jennifer Cronin, Nnamdi Ogbonnaya, Brendan Smyth, Patrick Mitchell, Seth Engel, Sam Libretti, Paul Casey, Daniel Wolff, Anthony Focareto, Sean Raila, Sean Hastings, Joe Valente, Doug McBride, Ryan Bach, Steven Daoud, Rami Gabriel, Steve Asma, my parents and sisters, and anyone who listens to this record.

Man Without a Head © 2016
Published and Distributed by Sooper Records, LLC
SooperRecords.com

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