shitty pretentious pvnk from the svbvrbs. one-time repressing of 100 hand numbered tapes. half with original (tree) artwork, half with brand new (metropolis) artwork. all songs have been remixed specifically for this release.
We end answers with question marks and march in time to broken hearts. The future is a slow decay, we'll do our best to delay. C'est la guerre. C'est la guerre!
Track Name: "See That Shit? That Shit's Beavtifvl!"
The stars set in a sinking sky, perpetually twinkling in an incandescent pitch until they burn and blind and die. In the gravity of our imposition, we'll watch the world fall away. In the perspective of death, a red-blue shift.
Track Name: Cthvlv Hate Fvck
Your lips burnt into mine and the kiss lingered for hours. I felt your warmth radiate and fuse with mine into one. Two pages of the same book; adjacent and complementary. Pages we wrote ourselves with our own ink and hearts. And they called it fiction; teenage idolatry. Hate or jealousy fanned their fever to flames, and licked and danced around the fringes. And set the pages on a funeral pyre with nothing but our tears to put out the fire. And we were left as ashes, shadows of a former hope. We lay as abject dust, fleeting with the wind. But I believed, I believed it was love.
Track Name: Victory Pee. Hold my Wang.
The planet is dying. It’s a plague and it’s corrupted us all. Because there is no life in this prison of fear and reactionism, while the ravenous, avaricious elite consolidates its power in the panopticon that is the modern state. Coordinating and codifying and monitoring our lives until we’re nothing but products of this industrial elite. Sold, bought, traded, shelved, thrown away, covered in shit and bleeding raw. And we’ll watch as more and more goes to fewer and fewer: the hard-working and assuredly deserving prophets of the people, of the voiceless, grief-stricken, gentrified flock led astray by the calamity of prescribed hope. With patriotic zeal and religious idealism an idyllic future lies within the skies, but we’ll be dead long before it falls to earth. When we’re ghosts of the future, who’ll be left to speak out when our fries are stifled? Who’ll be left to teach our children how to speak? We’ll sit idly by and watch the future fold and collapse on a static tv screen; turn in on itself and consume, consume, consume until there’s nothing left. Was there anything in the beginning? I hope so…The future has been stolen from us, along with our free will because there is no future in social paradigms. The world is not now, nor will it ever be a human construct. There is no existence beyond our unique essence. There is no god beyond what we’ve created as the ideal for ourselves. I’ll choke on my words before I refuse to scream them. I’ll drown before I stop crying and raging against what the modern world has become. We’re buying nightmares sold to us as dreams because we all want so badly to fall asleep and never wake up. We live for it because we don’t know or have anything else. The meaning of life, the purpose of life isn’t as abstract as we’ve been told. It’s been convoluted and distorted in an effort to alienate us and turn us against one another. Little differences in the way people see the world are isolated and magnified like viruses on a Petri dish, and treated as such. We’re fed bullshit that spews from the assholes of ultra-national, power-hungry jingoists and we’ll eat it until we choke because we’ve grown to love the smell.
On their gut-wrenching debut album "Let Pain Be Your Guide," screamo revivalists Portrayal of Guilt demonstrate their transcendent potential, beyond a shadow of a doubt, in a blinding flash. Bandcamp Album of the Day Nov 30, 2018