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Visitations

by Ambien

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  • Streaming + Download

    Includes unlimited streaming via the free Bandcamp app, plus high-quality download in MP3, FLAC and more.
    Purchasable with gift card

      $5 USD  or more

     

  • Cassette + Digital Album

    Limited to 20 - plain white tape with red caution font

    Includes unlimited streaming of Visitations via the free Bandcamp app, plus high-quality download in MP3, FLAC and more.
    ships out within 3 days
    edition of 20 
    Purchasable with gift card

      $8.50 USD or more 

     

  • Cassette + Digital Album

    Limited to 30. 3 variants. White/black/gray swirl (15), white/black/rust swirl (10), sparkled blue/white/black swirl (5)

    Includes unlimited streaming of Visitations via the free Bandcamp app, plus high-quality download in MP3, FLAC and more.
    ships out within 3 days
    edition of 30 
    Purchasable with gift card

      $10 USD or more 

     

1.
Grayscale 04:19
We move in shadow; we writhe in sunlight. In the cave of our mind we live at the mercy of thought and seizure—what do I think, and why do I think it? What do I take, and why do I take it? Easy enough to walk down the street with an air of optimism, but the street itself, the operating table by which the city removes limbs and lives, flosses its teeth after a full meal. You cannot speak in any language. Rapt with your surroundings, you admire the way the greenness of the evening sky glows. Place me upon the altar. I am a saint. Take me and burn me. Wilting flowers, grayscale sunsets. Color found and bound to the eye. Try to peel it off—inside the pupil is all the oil of the land; extract it, yank it like a string, fibers from the cosmos unwound like a mind lost in itself. And the black thread becomes a knot, with you at the center. The central image of now. And inside  today I am suffering. Have you buried  your child yet? The child is waiting,  there, free from soil, and you still  stand here looking up at black  rain clouds, begging them to sing.  Hold the wilting flowers in your hands, watch the grayscale sunset split the storm, and feel an endless kind of numbness tingle up your spine. You raised me, did you not? And yet I lie here, quite easily enough.
2.
We count our fingers as if we could grow more. We glide along rivers like insects in retreat. And when the waterfalls come, we could rise, but instead we choose to fall, tracing the flowing droplets with bodies too meek to recognize the power within the choice, the anger within the noise; falling still, we look at the water-necked rocks and expect everything will be fine. Everything will solve itself. People will not keep complicating. Love will not keep devastating. Blood will not keep spilling from the doors of the houses of the people blind enough to believe the kings who sing of peace like a myth of immortality; but every singer will meet their end, and their immortality will always outlive them; and their families will inherit the weight  of their choices, and the towers they build will be bought by someone else and torn down. And in their place, soon, it will just be barren land. And in their place, you, you will just be barren land. We count our fingers as if we could grow more. We glide along rivers like insects in retreat. And when the waterfalls come, we could rise.
3.
Lights overhead. A storm gathering inside—me, everything, no wonder we all die: magnetized, we stratify against our own constraints, split in half and half and half and half and half and half; we float toward some kind of hole, and float down, a crucial kind of settling, whether drenched in chemicals or ignited, the final ending, taken by the mind,  spreading. There was a story there: Below the firmament moon glow, my witnesses will go where I have dreamt. Wind, blow. I beckon them. Ribcages’ faces pressed against the skin, a sun too strong or too weak bearing down, and the moon is a kind of release from this leash of flesh. The sun just makes us sweat, and the sweat will not feed the crops. You are the likeness of a wasp, nesting overhead, holding the self to patience (follow, follow,  where I have led); but waiting to see whom  it is you should hurt. The weakening of the dirt, the soil softens, and it was all a trick: mouths open and swallow us: we become a spirit spinning through the darkness. Hades, call my name. I am brave.
4.
Compare now with then and be left breathless by illusions. Muster images of a perfect world: no eternity, no burning. The stars have been traced and we still can’t see what they measure. The distance between self and infinity is a key. Unlock the vision; believe in what it means to be “saved.” How broad, each stroke? How vain? We are stars, exploding. You are a sky, imploding into a portal: an eye: a creature beyond understanding. If manipulation is everywhere, where is truth? Which projection is best kept visible? Insanity ascribes meaning to even the smallest coincidence; so how do  we change? Someday these songs will end.  Until then, we put our hands together  and bask in the thoughts that bring comfort. Whose hands? When? A question  lingers on the tongue; dissipates.  Spoken word part 1:  Crushing, this search for meaning. Empty, this skull, now pleading, for a blockage, a seal. Stamp the wax and watch it dry into something you believe in. What is belief when a voice can  take any shape? What is a ghost when the soul doesn’t exist?  How do we see? How to form meaning out of mud— how to crumble—everything wet dries eventually. Spoken word part 2: Every storm becomes a sea. Water gathers in a body, a cult, a gullet, poisoned. We believe anything that grants passage from this world; we get buried, we want out, we want to escape. Being alive is the hardest thing there is. So be reborn. Launch yourself outward, discover new stars, trace them, and if we cannot breathe underwater, within the lake, at least we can see.
5.
Green Moon 06:57
The light calls us outside. Green moon in the sky. Shoes hit the street free of thought, free of mind. Steps taken outside of mine. I drop everything of the life I've built. Every house lit on fire. Hair grown from a rootless skull. In the garden there is a snake, the legs of a floating spirit, the robes of a dying god. The sky is a prophet and we are the (witnesses) saved;  be drawn from your door into  the flame. Into the flames. Chanting in the streets. Voices shouting the curses of every language as if the lightning  striking down would hear them, care, change pattern and position, cease. There is no end to the end; life is always ending. Step out your door and embrace this. Create a life to leave behind. Then you'll live forever. Green all around. We all step outside. The buildings (our homes) are on fire. Green moon in the sky. The lake, turgid and green, bleeds into itself.

credits

released August 24, 2021

Ambien is

Pablo
Jesse
Tommy
Jasiu

Cover Art:
"The Certainty of Death" by Kerstin Chlestil

Released on Tomb Tree Tapes

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Ambien Fairfax, Virginia

when we sleep we float like ghosts

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