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lyrics

There were continuous streaming red lights moving forward all around me. The sensation of floating. Such a smooth, safe sensation, secure. Moving so quickly, the experience felt beyond time. An everlasting moment, bound between beginning and end. A liquid moment. The solid ground meeting the unrestricted air. Not the collision, but the passing through. Ignorance of the anticipated explosion. Swift, arpeggiotic melodies contrasting slow steadfast ambience. Both complimented by repeating rhythmic funk. Traveling speeds at over a hundred miles an hour. But then again, it couldn't have been much more over 25. We were tunneling through existence. A roller coaster that won't stop, all I want is for the force to relinquish. Yet I take no action, as the pain caused by the disruption is speculated to be far worse than allowing the ride to run its course. The only true anecdote would be to decided to board. I chose to do nothing, as that is all that I can do. However, my decision to do nothing is also the choice to allow everything. Therefore, I'm really doing everything, as everything encompasses everything, passive and active. I can't do nothing. To counter this predicament, I must choose the most minuscule act. I close my eyes: complete terror. A stationary free-fall. Seemingly never-ending. I'm aware of everything. It's too much. Overloaded by what's going through my mind, body, and surroundings. Three become one. Focus, my eyes are open. My perception has shrunk to the size of a quarter. I'm walking through the desert at this moment. A giant pair of glasses rests in the sand. I can hear the voices of those near me. They are gigantic, yet distorted and distant. Words spell out within the clouds above me. "Everyone is just trying to make everyone feel comfortable." "Woah."

The conversation is flying around the room like a three-dimensional game of Snake. There are multiple players and multiple overlapping games. Each representing something different. The first, conversation. Movement is second. Thought is another. Yet is found in conjunction to all, but still is its own singular entity. Music, light, physical entities, both animate and inanimate. I'm trying to get everything down that Jaden is dictating. I'm seated upon a stone pillow, surrounded by abyss. I'm at a desk, accompanied by a gas lamp, ink and quill. A pillow is tied to the top of my head. A plume penetrates. I can see Jaden in the dark sky, his voice booming. Furiously transcribing. I understand nothing that he says. A goblin suddenly appears on the ceiling. I run atop the stone wall of the dilapidated castle. It is following at movements just quicker than I can perceive. Huge luminescent, horrifying yellow eyes, perfectly round. I'm not running away, I'm running after M. I can see her clung to the 12-foot-tall fence, adjacent to the highway. It's dark and it's storming. I begin multiple sentences simultaneously, and fail to complete a single one. She is silent, I think drooling, possibly asleep. I do love her so. The fence electrifies with a loud hum and blue sparks of light, accompanied by tinny explosive sound waves. There's a naked red-haired man on fire, located on the opposite side, attempting to fuck the fence. He succeeds. A gallon of white, hot steaming liquid flows out of his penis onto M's leg, like spilled milk from a carton, but burning. "I can't handle the feeling of feeling feelings." "I'm sorry, I just don't know what you mean." M takes off running across the dilapidated stone wall then stops mid stride. Perception has rotated 90 degrees to the left, she is frozen mid-air. Everything is steel. A coiled snake, about the length of half a football field, quickly slivers up and swallows M in one gulp, sucks her insides out, and spits out her skin still resembling her image, yet quite deflated. The skin suit floats the ground, back and forth as a feather does. Perception is restored to its original state.

Do you want to just keep going, do everything, or do you want to do like, cuts? I feel completely devoid of love. It's sad to think I can't connect to the sad guy with the acoustic guitar. I just find that dumb, they all seem exactly the same. "Huh, that's sad." "Yeah, I don't know maybe." I'm not used to reading my own writings. Reading in my head. I'm laying upon my bed. I cannot seem to find a resolution between the urge to act and the desire to continue my current state for eternity. One feels impossible and the other is impossible, without partaking in unhealthy behavior. However, the present behavior could also be construed as unhealthy. To wallow. There's a mental barrier that sometimes sleep can only overcome. This could be the result of needing more rest, and more unconscious time. It could also mean that I'm just prone to becoming stuck in a rut. However, the case may be, I have yet to discover a solution. This actually is not entirely true, as I said before, sleep can often help things. This results in me losing eight or more hours of precious time, most often more. And also partaking in masturbation. But this often leads to losing one to three hours of time, it can make me depressed if I cope with such a method too often. This method can often get in the way of productivity, as during the periods that I am active, I have trouble thinking of anything else. This gets in the way of reading, film, music, and discernment. I cannot think straight. Which causes me to become irrational. When I make irrational decisions, I feel that I lose my grip on my sense of self. Which, in turn, causes me to feel depressed, and very anxious. I stated above that I have a distaste for sleep, as it causes myself to lose quite a bit of time. I should clarify that I am unopposed to sleep, when I feel that it's time to partake in sleep. The problem that I have is that these stagnant moments most often come at times when I do not have this feeling of readiness. The problem in the past is that I can never come to this feeling. But at the present moment, I feel like I have it mostly under control. It is sometimes still a struggle.

My lord, my luge, the only love that could be for thee. Could not exist, should not exist. And I cry out to the all-fleeing spy, I wish this love would not persist. And it begins to rain. Water falling through the sky, the big rift is on its way. Sighs. Okay. Quivering. I love you. Prickly, like a gust of air, a quick one. Yeah. Crying. I'm so sorry. I have to do this. I need to get better, again. Yeah. Sternly, I'm glad I did this. Later, I'm glad I was the one that actually did this. Today, I'm benefiting from the fact that you did this. Whatever. I'm not happy about anything. Reality, not I, my voice is not your voice. Discontinue. To begin with a downward slope, quite steep, quickly turns to a slight upward incline, progresses Fibonacci style. After some kind of drop, there is no more. No more is of course so much more. Here, the rain never ceases or deceases. And we continue...

I have an idea for a story. There is a house with an attic. Inside the attic, there is another house. It is assumed that individuals are living within this attic, within this attic's house. But no one has ever met them or fully seen them. The residents of the larger house act as though they do not know this house in the attic exists. Someone, possibly the main character, whoever that may be, goes inside. Not sure for what reason as of yet. Inside the attic's house, which appears quite small, but is in fact very large, is the larger house's interior. The residents of the large house live inside the attic's house. It is unclear yet, if it is the same people, or if there is a different explanation, such as clones, representations, lookalike actors, hallucinations, et cetera. I am really unsure of who they are. I am really unsure if I should pursue this story. And I'm really unsure of who I am. Ghost, not android, want race unfortunate, frightened to end. It is not special. It is just all. You know, speak love of ugly, ick fat yum. Feeling. It is more important. It is of a higher purpose. It is meant to be. It is special. I want to be apart of it. I want to be apart of the experience. I want to experience someone else. I am not satisfied. How long can you wait? This implies a choice. It is ignored. But that doesn't really matter.

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from The Dead End, released June 6, 2017

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Erases Eraser Denver, Colorado

Erases Eraser (T. A. Babcock) is an experimental electronic artist, visual artist, and computer programmer. He has been making music since 2014. He played drums in Tantrum Throwers and Culture Chester.

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