Proper Release

by Patois Counselors

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The bills are unpaid. You have been warned of disconnection. You wouldn’t want to disconnect now, not when the tourney is starting, not when there’s cracking and heaving and wheezing glowing crystalline on the screen. Men on the field strut past men on the field who cut through painted white lines and those violent beats. They disconnect. Survey that field. Survey your life for disconnection. You wouldn’t want to disconnect. The calm of an afternoon. The notes of an old fight tune. The whiff of a past disgrace. The promise of new blood soon.
Last Heat 02:10
Was not instructed swaddled in a cradle. I was not lectured by some stiff above. A candle’s lighting up my hollow skull. If it’s love, it’s love. Too many patients in the corridor. They cannot get sick enough. Cupid spread upon the bathroom floor. If it’s love, it’s love. For every moment of flattery, for every inch that is shoved, there’s no denying the way I am feeling it. If it’s love, it’s love. Give it to them one time. Yeah, something like that.
A fevered hot imagination, a problem gifted to hearts nude and fidgeting. A kind of eroticism, they’re claiming it’s obscene. But eyes are wide and accepting. Visual cues, there’s so much you can use. Excitement. Loosen up crew; there’s so much you can use. Excitement. They drop the pole to waist level, a limbo none can reach. It’s base, cruel, and defeating. A kind of eroticism, they’re claiming it’s obscene. Hearts pause for the beating.
He makes mistakes every day, placing bets on a bender, parading around in the wrong part of Coventry because he’s the repeat offender. He pardons himself at the movie house, coughing loud enough for two. But he’s alone out for film and dinner, all letters return to sender. Desperate clinging to his Cheshire days when he could grin at Alice without inciting disgust within her. He didn’t wish to offend her. But he’s a repeat offender.
Making Appts 03:19
So tired of making appointments, I start breaking them. No more pills, bills, or ointment. I’m not taking them. Who is accounting for everything; everything that is given to me? Head in the clouds from the treatments, stop taking them. I’ve no more tears for bereavement; I stopped making them. Well, I got a headache one time; somebody let the whole system in. Reposed in not quite a slumber, I can’t get with that. They’re driving nails into lumber, the bone and fat. So tired of making appointments that I just quit, confused and still at a loss to decipher it.
I’ve got a new dance called smashing the fingers. Why don’t you gather around? And I’ll teach you. All you will need is an insurance policy. It wouldn’t hurt to have a handsome accomplice. Of course, it still may hurt a little. After all, the dance is called “smashing the fingers”. Too many digits. Who gave these idiots so many digits? What are you doing with your hands? They are wasted. You can go on lackadaisically living, glued to a LED screen in the corner, remote in one hand, a stone in the other, until the dancing commences.
Pffones 02:27
They removed his name from the writer’s door. He shuffles papers but can’t remember what they’re for. Using dial up when everyone wants something quicker. What is progress doing to his lonely ticker? Already pawned his interest in VHS, fuzzy pictures and memories that don’t impress. Tossed the glassware and purchased reams of styrofoam cups. All in all, I would say it’s looking up. Replacement for any kind of conversation, alone in the box. Yes, that’s the modern station. Soft abrasions, occasionally noticeable. That’s just the body adjusting to the modern station. No creative spark because it’s all been done. Just relax and peruse the web for something fun. There is no cause to expand upon this little world. There is no oyster greater than the perfect pearl. Already burned his ledgers in a passionate fit. Sheered his library card because he’s through with it. Got the laptop refurbished, so don’t interrupt. If they inquire, just say it’s looking up. There will be no feet treading on that marble floor. He shines utensils but can’t remember what they’re for. He waxes tables until the lights envy the flicker. That’s what progress is doing to his _____. (Come in).
You’re drawing my face all wrong. The contours are blinding me. The scale is confusing, love. And you are reminding me that flaws are inherent. Some combo of my parents. Some combination of my parents leering from the paper. It’s a terrible likeness. (Agreed). Why is my ear that low? It’s not recognizable. I thought I was more handsome, a regular raging bull.
All Clean 02:21
Come now, we’re all grown men folding nature’s laundry. It’s all clean. Pressed and primped and creases crimped and smelling just like it’s all clean. I've subscribed to complacence. Others pretend they don’t, and they topple over the bannister. They’re reined in. They’re reined men. Ha. Steel plates in their jaws, their heads are erasing the cadillac of artifices. There’s nothing like it. A beast in the factory. Momentary (conciliatory) embrace with a beast in the factory. Here Faulkner shakes hands with a cynic. They reach a mutual agreement. The laundry can wait.
You say I’m quiet for a comrade-in-arms while we’re out smashing mailboxes Tuesday night. Could there be something to my hesitation? You need a target, not a comrade. Hitting the neighborhood in the Camry, a baseball bat and a 40oz, the casual approach to instigation. Accustomed. I’m accustomed, well accustomed to this type. All juiced up and no one to blame, the misdirected Harper Valley King. Who says juvie is all that bad? I feel your pain, reputation is hurting. This city’s chock-full of aggro-lads in circle pits, pissed and fighting mad. Aim at something, anything, that parallels self-improvement. A crack in foundation. You say I’m quiet for a comrade-in-arms when I can’t recommend something else to screw. Could there be something to my hesitation? You need a target, not a comrade. Hitting the neighborhood in the Camry, we get messed up, nothing else to do. Juvenile detention ain’t all that bad.


Also available as a physical LP from


released June 1, 2018


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Patois Counselors Charlotte, North Carolina

Breathing and looking to play.

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a slowly rotating cast of toughs and softies, currently at six members

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