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Over the Parapet & Into the Precipice

by Stuck On Nothing

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1.
opening up a brand-new day, tearing all the cellophane away, despite all the chaos of you saving face. little things will urge you to go on a trip across the states. drive until you find your happy place. don't worry about the parapet, just jump right over… and into the precipice again. going on a midnight ride midwest stars will shine so bright. leaning each others' way, your eyes tell it all, don't say that you want me to give you serenity. looking into your eyes, fireworks will fly tonight. some of the sights you'll see, you're a flower among weeds… i'm going for a ride, a sunny, sunny ride with the windows down we roll out to an unknown place. upon arrival i find grace.
2.
Dead Battery 04:08
it's frightening really, all of this space it has foundered giants, moguls, figureheads — all distilled to succinct turns of phrase, cliched and barren. stumbling over paths they foraged, long ago lauded for, now receiving nothing but spite and malice from the trodden, rocky ground. something tells me a providential recourse this will not be — predicating our fears is this determined, accomplished way. we began the walk preoccupied wiping stray droplets (fallen from the outstretched branches of the surrounding firs, i suppose) off the body and strings of our instruments. and every chord we played, met with a stray root or other unsuitable interruption — tangible obstacles influence tidal rituals, searching for a free and imprint-able soul. the rope bridge played a makeshift stage, the crossing for which it was made ignored by all those in the cast. we sang apologetic songs to disappointed, direct sighs, there would be no compromise. and as we sat on that beachside combing the sand for reverence, withstanding torrential downpour: hair in eyes, i'm soaked, i'm sore, can't recall what we're sorry for, wait until next time to know for sure.
3.
Shotgun 06:59
tried to play this shotgun just like it was a violin. "bow across the hammer" father said between sips of gin. "the reason, dependent on the solution, not always presents itself with a conclusion. do you need some time, shall i rewind or do you want to go?" approximate your preference before it starts to show. i'm too hungry to think about sleeping, too tired to consider cleaning, and it's still a scam even if i don't ever try to predict this ever-changing weather. yes, we're too jaded to think about eating, too maudlin to consider thinking and it's only a shame because i don't even try to resent the stagnation. because the stories are addictive, you always lose. i guess it's our perspective, give in to what you choose. tried to play this shotgun just like it was a violin. "bow across the hammer" father said with a grin. "listen son, there might be repetition but it's what you perceive that determines its description" and yet i complain despite this wide open berth, chained to the trunk of the last verb on earth.
4.
Spanish Surf 02:30
5.
Rebound 02:59
rebound, she's your rebound girl. hemo, no you can't stop the bleeding heartbreak is her style. at it again but you cannot shake the skin of what happened to you. take it from me, no you won't be pleased keeping all hallowed concubines teased. having them around will only make lies come to light. play her, play your game but don't be distraught when you're caught and have to 'fess up to those things like messing with feelings, promoting interest can be expensive. stresses will build when you're juggling axes, blind to it all, well I'll give you some glasses: settle down now. she won't bring you what you seek, you'll have to start playing for keeps. i can see the strings coming off your knees, connected to acrylic phalanges.
6.
F# Shuffle 02:51
perhaps i see in selective positivity, a highlight reel if you will. moments of splendid, refined virility race past the light i choose to cast projected over memories lapsed, the reasons why we haven't talked in years. and still i cannot help but wonder why my mind isn't somewhere else. and yes, i remember in the waning hours being told eventually i'd illustrate the truth to un-enlightened, impetuous youth. and i've been to there and back, surprisingly recognize that my foresight isn't half of what it once was. and now i can't say that it's yours and my reflection against which i trace them all. a grease pen to mark disparaged frames. and my mind is somewhere else. if you will allow me a moment to clarify, i have this strange propensity to view water as future ice. the eventual reduction of molecular velocity — impending friction dormant in us all. let's pretend that you exist, can't help but yearn for memories missed, well your youthful years have not been lived in vain. for i too have spent them, consumed in an attempt to map and identify behavioral patterns so i can bring to you the sanest version of myself yet. and now i realize i just fictionalized her mind as somewhere else. her mind is somewhere else, and my mind is somewhere else.
7.
Pocketwatch 02:05
8.
Monocle 04:45
if it can be confined, keep it all inside we'd prefer it, of course there are men in hazmat suits standing by. oh my monocle, my what a spectacle, and i'm as skeptical as apparently i've ever been. and no matter how hard we try, need support beams to prop up the sky's straining, draining, ever-depreciating resilient, processed disguise. oh these ink stains they blot to pools that measure in absence, obstructing the awkward sustain. oh — these lines are here for reference acting as guides; surreptitious as they are, so one would squint to make out the signals they project.
9.
Deja Vu 06:43
she dreams deja vu: he's explaining this a second time to you, this matchbook collection is not to be used. father started it when he was twenty-two. and it's quite obscure, and i'm quite the curator. contained in a fallacious jewelry box that screams diamonds and other luxurious rocks, this decaying, sentimental facade represents promises he made with his god. none of which he followed through, even though he may have intended to. and i swear i've heard this before. not fair, this discourse my lord. she ascends the stairs to the rafters dredged with cobwebs and happily-ever-afters, feather boas, dress shoes, wigs of golden locks below which lies the aforementioned box. 8mm reels marked "family memories" shed light on what father had in store for his babies. and she watches his effusive pleas in the small, dimly lit attic where he recorded the confessionals. she rips the film out, scatters it across the floor, strikes a match and bids farewell to what will soon be no more. attempting to salvage whatever respect he still may have with his god. without evidence there's no such thing as fraud. and i swear i've felt this blaze before, and it's fair you feel it as well my lord.

credits

released July 25, 2013

chris newbold — guitar, vocals, percussion
joni krieger — guitar, vocals, organs, bass
zee ferrouge — bass, percussion, vocals
danny frye — drums, percussion, vocals
recorded and mixed at the halfway house 2011-2012
by joni krieger
additional engineering by
robert rios and daniel wheeler

mastered by justin phelps at cloud city sound

cover art by annick junota

all songs written and arranged
by stuck on nothing except
“spanish surf” by casey evan campbell

c&p 2013 Stuck On Nothing

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Stuck On Nothing Portland, Oregon

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