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Through Flames

by Through Flames

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1.
she brings her tool belt down from the highest coma the pointiest cloud drags it down like a parachute from a tree like all day rain like wet shoes she brings the Named ladder down last wiping crosses from her eyes blowing knows into the flag the pointiest dreams wild slugs on a team nation: gun made of money (pooh and turned honey) (made of) glut and fuck me he brings his wet pussy down from ivory towers like storm rain in a house gutter cums crashed planes like deployed troops money shot on afghan land she brings her ideology by a leash drags it around like fog like the lightest mountain (those only at the ‘top’ can climb) jog harder lift those sopping wet socks with holes you’re all day rain you’re (shackle-grade) lead shoes he brings the iron she brings the toast they break the hour glass and eat it like all day lunch the pointless-est cloud drags ya down like a fireman from a tree like all morning shakes he gets up gun first works backwards, draws straight lines with two right feet she dances in crosses and squares 
they weave pipe dreams (and bombs)  in and out of her
 he steps on her feet 
he makes them smaller and sells them to tourists 
they dance for each other
 the stage half collapsed 
eaten and full of itself tool belt down aisle pointless six black sites with mops Now get your shoes wet bring the ladder down wipe your fee(a)t of muddied dreams they bring their tool belt and horse down last the dullest of butter knives the barely a drizzle (annoying rain(reign) in your face) the pointiest cloud you drag it around like someone else’s balloon you found stuck in ‘your’ tree she congratulates you and hands you summer he charges you for it and calls it ‘vacation/holiday’ pay with your broken pocket guitar punching down nails pick something to climb and eat fruit from before they both kill themselves and we realize they never existed it was just a downpour in a dream it was just time
blowing kisses into a rag
it was only life 
dragged down like wet toilet paper from a front yard tree “tool belt down”
2.
My woke trances still my eyes make dumb my fluid thoughts arrested in liquid a floating orb in black water a flicker of azul and numbing like cold that is warm and blanketless but all around me might I peel them open? but the weight is light and pressing and there’s mud it’s sediment that mushes high-in-bio-nutrient-muddy-in-my-toes suspended all legs and heads floating water is air so I breathe in deep gulps and become my fish I am afraid of the black, still open-shut open-shut of the abyss I don’t have to turn for bedsores but I understand nothing nothing chases me and I can’t recall the faces I am standing in jelly-muck child-hood-river-bed-made-of-fish-shit-and-dead-leaves in still water it slides around my ankles sucking through my toes oozes the richness my feet clap out to walk Is there a rock at the bottom of the ocean is there sky is there an answer there? does the behemoth swim the deep and make a sound if there’s no human there to hear it? eardrums on vacation still yourselves with science still yourselves. still yourselves with science the ocean thinks it’s sleeping still yourselves. still yourselves with science the immediacy is in the people who are the earth and planets
3.
The Cycle Of 03:28
J: The cycle of people counting on you expecting you at nine am disappointing them by ten stabbings on the train or pushings on the tracks how has it avoided me thus far? why are we doing here? how am I possible? B: pick the mug out of a line of sinks miles of hidden bosses what cost costs us can’t dig up missing try and find lost J: The cycle of finding someone for you to make your life a lucid dream to keep you from seeing that you were being raped and you weren’t supposed to know how have we avoided it thus far? why are we doing here? how am I possible? B: the landlord lawyers hands up trope first money slow where i can see ‘em the loft swings 
strange fruit
 high suit 
trickling down the gutter like discount blood J: The cycle of loosing pieces of you they’re bought they’re sold they’re shared they’re spent until you’re nothing at the end drownings in the lake or jumpings on the tracks how has it avoided me thus far? why are we doing here? how am I possible? B: you stand out in traffic (clean) orange cone jammed in your arm learn the language don’t speak it burn(/bomb) the billboard don’t keep it
4.
Tulip Water 04:01
B: the countryside in me was lonely and idealistic abandoned rollercoasters stretching out for miles empty barns and high horses hearses towing (broke-down) hearses and smart hurt(s) verses vs verses in gun font numb blunted off dull stunted sullen presumptions J: (in tandem w/B): The things i’m told to fear: Sex Men Disease Having no job Bleaching my hair not birthing before my body is dry god sickness death jealousy war pride cars on the road aloneness toxic overdosing holes in my head violent acts strangers addiction alternative religion alleyways identity theft loss of my parents low income housing loss of things of value nursing homes cesarian section walking around with a diamond on self serving behavior talking too loud being in a big crowd getting abducted getting arrested getting caught outside too late sudden loss of faith speaking against the state debt loans authority drones not making enough psychosis infection hurting my reputation growing too old burning the house down mercury tectonic subduction ingestion of poison carbon monoxide poison polyvinyl chloride poison liver failure becoming a burden forgetting your family forgetting the stove’s on burning the house down B: (in tandem w/ J): assume was uniform, rehearsal was for real, prop sawed off applause gun, phantom sadness, i feel it even when it’s not there, the mess we’ve made, and the broom to sweep us off our feet, sterile get-up, hygienic slap, bash-ful futility belt, saggy breathe, i attempt to let my hog-tied tongue catch the buffet of words always running out of an open field and into a thicket of open arms and upturned spoons like a tight forest is dark before dusk, like a meal in a covered plate, i wait, for the woods that sit along the edge of our game like coaches and players, to call me in or throw me out sick get-up B: i folded this letter into a paper airplane, a brick from a building, (a window made of bottle glass), a spitball on fire, a siren to slow down head traffic and echo on through the streets the blood was red tape   shit shovel and formal workboot the sewer in me was ball room    and lonely J: we feel these things and are born by them these stories we tell ourselves are all the same floating above body grasping the edge of reason reaching for the shadow we know we fear this moment
5.
abbreviate outerspace OS operating system bombs remind us of freedom these scrolls at battle with language the highest roof is the only one talking what language do they speak on your behalf industrial thing abbreviate outerspace OS operating system bombs remind us of freedom puking knives stabbing stars in the back (before they ever burned) choking planets out, jacking their rings putting them in holding cells, black Op-erating theatre hyper-meta-solipcistic, deep space none bombs remind us of freedom what’s fleeting bursting in air the bombs bursting in air making yourself language gag violence coming out your mouth, sing your allegiance genocide of ourselves this abandon abbreviate outerspace OS operating system bombs remind us of freedom mascots melee in the coloseau language attends the masquerade language covers its tracks trend-genocide & death-sports Sytlin’ on you upper-management blockades to the bank (throwing your party-favors at the genocide) square-box toxic theatre bombs remind us of freedom bombs remind us of freedom making money off of death each firework bought and sold (creating borders purchases violence violence buys borders) lump culture it’s not a tumor we are the cancer where did you come from language is sexuality polarity as weapon competition between poles kick in the goal taught to rape and pillage on the 20 yard line poor kid on a stormy beach (intercom gloating)
6.
B&J: (b) romanticizing itself no pretty dresses on kings no butterscotch on burnt toast no hot tub of paint no more imagine no splashing in revolution minutia permit for feeling permit for staying put (j) From dirt to dollar Energy bound Degradation through trickle down Nutrition trees exchange everything but nutrient Eating The Butcher The Bank Teller The Sign-Spinner We need tickets to get in the door We need tickets to get out of the parking lot (b) no parking tickets on pretty kings no olive branch hanging from a bride big swinging clock ordering around shadows no shade in the alone carsick on preludes and promised hilltops no funeral for the overkill all road kill in the inner State (j) We are all climbing on broken skin. Going down the drain where went to see up rails to the down who were left tiny spots on a manufactured map Inventors invented time. but it spun before that (b) no magic carpet over inherited dirt no swimmable mud no more beach chair at an idea’s grave no glowing dead rock or star romanticize sadness no more warm campfires around united in struggle we hurt the same song sing it from your pillow feathers and road-tar lungs no romantic glue no ceiling-tile nostalgic horse for sitting still sing it from outside your own prison walls no clothes on the warden (j) Congratulations on your paper juggling skills They are really coming along while The Carrier carries for you The Cleaner cleans The Driver drives They eat The Cooker’s cook and have to ask for a spoon. Human god power lost in commerce (b) romanticizing itself sponge of many smells grass of plenty greener gangrene camo on the always-solider bootlicker of every moon every song is an attempt sing it from outside your own prison walls no clothes on the warden no more equal
7.
Speakhunter 05:13
foraging in the banal scorched earth hunting in the pay now and later as has it’s come to be and culture makes and kills me, while porridging through the next aisle i’ll detourn, take form and hot tail i’ll pile high miles upon trial of false scale broken fish off leash and the chain and chic kitsch just out on bail off the chopping block still chasing its tail Auction dreams up to idols,(up to Up), fresh-paint gods, sold retail crampin in the fatale ensnared in the right now caring about about pillaging in the banal one love bunting in the tri-angle too-hot-a-tubbin’ in a freak out everything come down to breath out everything come down to breath out live is live here or there now all crickets in the cr-cr-crowd copyrighted and self endowed make proud hog and white tree house dogged tongue over rung climbing mound drown-ed doused in do-zy dose and then et out hot clap proud from the still without drink quiet and letting it out the only chair in a very big crowd dragged out by its legs screaming in vowels brushed from the mouth up ducted in defunct guts and cut loud downed in how, how the fuck, what now speak from your guts up and then out out out out, out out out , out out out sunbathing on the edge of the drought big baggy fad on the banal no sign of rage in the talk of the town ankles deep in the bequeath in paid sneakers ad sheets to sleep and pass out all i see is cracks within the cracks, systematic traps within class, our face to the glass, blurred out, worked up, waiting for someone else to react, turn their shirt out church thrown on laps redact life begin ing, be fore begun, been gun main trunk to Wholesale every part let us tear through the veil worth more before we realize we’re for sale digi- life raft, floating PC, and self-tale words as arrow , cursor have it out here and now Sacred cow way past making a sound informal-ity , commit to busy, drizzled down a shitty refrain , Old pain, metastasized game, retain trained, new day, evolved same, all blame, Not here, not here , (not here) Not now Still towing the same noun , frown plowing each morning down swallowed enough to sort it out Piles upon piles upon (stacks up (against) You can count on the banks to always rebound the butter on the bread is not spread out Paper Shank, sharp tongue, blood in, teeth out filing the blade down to breath out filing a blade down to (just) breath out repeat easy, speak easel, bob in the sauce and out to luncheonette, we’re all grilled cheese, investigated and dipping in each other’s loss, spice black out, early dish caught the swarm, stain it all, up in the mourn, always up, even in the mourn, loss of people is lost form and speak, easy and knowing one’s norm, always only what one’s when’s around, always only the speak of one’s so-to-speak ‘town’ , where you get your words from is your what’s around, same goes for coming to in chains and dogma, and refrain you know the side of the bed (piles of un-dial-ed-in free-styles) and when then comes to now the nightmare you can’t forget about Reach out , reach out , (reach out) retreat frown deflect greed, un-plant flip-flops, plastic trunks, plastic tusks elephant us, dial readjust, tough spastic, hit hard on the 1’s and the throughs shoes for grave-dancing, should’ve been born a shovel, or a rubber tire on fire, we all wear as shirt, always getting, always for getting, next window, how hard , what can (find) us find to throw through it through flames through ridiculous rules and fake sides take culture take 5 the prepared supper for hit deck in swam suit n always drown mute if one shuns or just bunts instead of home-run, stuck shunned by sports wand n corporate wants, Fran- size me up, give me a dad, had from the piss pot to not, golden arch, super wise n crappy meal, how’s the tether? give gas mask n umbrella, fuck shelter, need shelter, fuck seller, need seller , how to stay in this- here shell sir, all belt, no pants sir , no sir iwon’tsir FukSir it’s all must and stern on a quicksandwich of who’s turn fall light burn slow show it all show know hold no hold nothing and all at once speakhun-t -er
8.
Woe Rodeo 05:42
B: combing back the farmland with a foster family’s bulldozer pen, with a heart shaped spoon, cutting a bald head with cage bird’s teeth, up early skimming an inside-out pool for lining, styling the sadness, a plow dressed down, pharmacological blush, on cheek clinical cowlick, woe rodeo, not your first farm bought J: the fissures grow until you cannot leap them anymore when the only way is forward and left behind but you fix your hat make sure your shirt’s on straight before dying B: back to the salt mines the wound of the earth hopeless make-up songs bump shadow I finest bulldozer blade to taste cutting nothing off a sterile field, infected pepper mop mornings into lists J&B: open your throat and let the oil pour in it’s in your brain it’s in your brain, it’s in your brain, it’s in your brain, it’s in your brain it’s in your veins it’s in your veins, it’s in your veins, it’s in your veins, it’s in your veins open your throat and let the oil pour in B: paralyzed bull-pit, pen bicep, shy podium, cry hot light and sink head in cold and dead sand, old time, unrealized eventual, flashmob morning, trench oaths, selling old watches, color-in-the-lines time combing back the armpit, attempting to climb back up my spine, convention’s bedpost, the hacksaw and handcuff’s dream J: alligator scales weigh your worth and you dive in after it did you find it? it was stolen from you and you give the flag your first born too B: in the king’s bed clinical dump prescribed gutters, down, bloated scapegoat, fed em nothing but can half in the mass grave thumb-war children of remote-control parents, and now parents themselves B: combing back the sheets with a mouldboard pen, out of oxen, with a liver-shaped fork, cutting out scars like county road, we died in the same place every time almost written down halfway couch bereft of life white smock and pillow mint pharmacological kiss, in cheek J: my oil will get mixed in with yours when the days have buried us all i won’t have memory then but i live with your memory now B: full-blown maids to their own enclaves and when-trails cameo, not your first taste of whiteout hopeless high-traffic head in the morning combing back the armpit this is all me talking over myself J&B: open your throat and let the oil pour in it’s in your brain it’s in your brain, it’s in your brain, it’s in your brain, it’s in your brain it’s in your veins it’s in your veins, it’s in your veins, it’s in your veins, it’s in your veins open your throat and let the oil pour in
9.
8 hours to work 3 hours to yourself we make it ourselves we make it ourselves 8 hours to work 3 hours to yourself we make it ourselves we make it ourselves and wonder and wonder why and wonder why we and wonder why we are and wonder why we are all sick bad math fake happy dead eyes
10.
B&J: Please, safe space J: she got away by the rubber of her soul by the hint of something wrong by the narrow miss of time they got away by walking deep, not lonely after losing friends who only could be themselves at night he got away by swimming in the sea by leaving to be free still swimming B&J: Please, safe space B: crowded fire everyone trying to put themselves out use by mouth the doctored order eyes like crossed borders turned away raft in my tears we’re the no light left in the ash warm snow floating down a tube tv sitting on the giant’s eggs fighting for a seat force rescue no one here asked for the ropes lipsyncing freedom and back to commercial B&J: Please, safe space

about

Through Flames is an experimental sound collaboration borne from exquisite corpses, radical participatory theatre, spoken word, and love. Theirs is art for all those who have burned and all those rising.

A new project created by Brad Hamers, the prolific spoken wordsmxn, poet, musician, performance artist, collage artist and mental gymnast (Dust on Snow, Phlegm, Two Ton Sloth...) and the filmmaker, poet, musician and performance artist, jdaugh.
Each track on the new LP is the result of a unique writing and vocal experiment resulting in non traditional song structures and unexpected turns...it is advisable to read along with the lyrics.

credits

released April 24, 2020

Album Written and Performed by Brad Hamers & jdaugh
Lyrics and Vocals by Brad Hamers & jdaugh
Recorded and Produced by Brad Hamers
Mixed by Brad Hamers
with additional mixing by Adam Johnson on tracks: 5 & 9
Mastered by Frederic Stader at MusicMattersMastering
Cover Photography by Adam Johnson
Album Design by Brad Hamers & jdaugh
Recorded at Shrine13 Studio, Portland, OR
Shrine13, 2020

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Through Flames Portland, Oregon

Through Flames is Brad Hamers & jdaugh

"If there is still one hellish, truly accursed thing in our time, it is our artistic dallying with forms, instead of being like victims burnt at the stake, signaling through the flames. " Antonin Artaud.

Profile Photo by Adam Johnson
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