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is an egg

by Wallace

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1.
I found myself alone, lost in the woods with no place to go. Surrounded by the unknown, lost in the woods with no way home. Symmetrical, right-angled and bright green. So sanitized that even the dirt is clean. Don’t be confused. It’s so easy to lose more than just your way. It’s a maze of amazing sickness called array. I found myself alone, lost in the woods with no place to go. Surrounded by the unknown, lost in the woods with no way home. No way home. No way home. No way home. Lost in the woods with no way home.
2.
You Are Here 03:26
I look around for a map, spying one across the way on the corner of an intersection. Upon reaching it, I forget about my cause for a second to admire the scuff marks, etchings, and partially torn-off stickers that adorn its frame. Remembering myself, I scan over the street names until I spot an awkwardly overlaid blot representing my position. “You are here,” is all it said. And the blot certainly did not lie. I was in fact there (here?) on the corner of Inter and Section, standing perplexed in front of the map, which not only assured me of where I was, but also informed me of all the places I could go. Overwhelmed, I looked feverishly for the blot once more. “You are here.” The words offered comfort now. “You are here.” The phrase echoes around in my head. To be here is to not be anywhere else. Everywhere you’ve been has led to where you are now, and anywhere you could go relies on what you do here, now. “Here” feels both infinite and finite, like a continuous stream that waits, but never asks for your participation. Now this “here” is over. I find myself not where I was. I find I stay more than I go. Ugh, those pleasures. I find myself not where I was. I find I stay more than I go. I keep seeing the same four corners of this block. I get easily mixed up. I keep seeing the same four corners of this block. I get easily mixed up. Losing track of direction puts me right back where I started. Losing track of perfection shouldn’t stop my movement forward. I keep seeing the same four corners of this block. I get easily mixed up. I keep seeing the same four corners of this block. I get easily mixed up. I find myself not where I was. I find I stay more than I go. Now “later” is here.
3.
Gears 04:46
A buzz and a beep interrupting my sleep. Familiar whirling. Familiar vibrating Scraping at my teeth—so fuzzy! A flip of the switch to get my fix. Familiar caffeine. Familiar nicotine. Shoveling down your ice box to your heat box to your gut. Warmer. Turn it up. This blanket of mine isn’t electric enough. Colder. Turn it up. This air around me isn’t conditioned enough. Unlike my brain, conditioned to reach for the slightest buzz, beep, or ring. Anxiety sets in when I almost break my things. Machine in the routine. Machine in the routine. Routine. Machine. Routine. Walking. Automate. The best new shoes will step me from place to place. I’ll digitize my essence. Silicon fingers and copper strings. Send out the tin man for my experiencing self. Automate. That old food will be pre-chewed and lectures, a pill to take. Machine in the routine. Machine in the routine. A buzz and a beep infecting the air.
4.
Bam! 05:43
Between reason and nonsense there resides a ravine. Banter and bellows, obnoxious, diluted and fooled. Chasing, craving, shaping their lens of what seems to be. Does all fit carefully or do we just see what we see? The order of nature. The nature of order. Cacophony and euphony: a harmonious pair. One can’t escape the loop looping— Exploding from nothing and then it began, a process we still don’t understand or command. Rational chaos and nonsensical order. All fits carefully, always changing, remaining and breaking, sustaining and quaking. Up and away we go now, falling around the sky. We’re dizzied by the cyclone jumbling our minds. Losing all sense of reason, parting with the absurd, flailing until we grasp the Earth.
5.
Am I an inch worm? Always taking my time, unlike them furry counterparts always changing their design, but that’s on them. A creature of patience with seldom a problem. Nothing in mind, one inch at a time. Cruising, moving slowly not worried at all. In solitude there’s no chance to be rude. On the side walk, in the raindrops, hope it won’t stop and ruin the mood. I won’t be in a cocoon anytime soon. Am I an inch worm just creeping along? Am I an inch worm just creeping along? Am I an inch worm just creeping along? Am I an inch worm just creeping along? Am I an inch worm?
6.
I up and ran away (ran away) from the cage to the grave. (I feel so betrayed,) so enslaved, (so enraged). Get (why) out (me) the (to-) way. (day?) (I was going ‘bout my day) my day (at the café. All was the same). I think I’ve been played (been delayed,) been insane. I remember the clearest place with… We are gathered here today to mourn the loss of a titan. So big and so tall, he will be remembered by us all. Elephant-ephant-ephant-ephant-ephant-ephant-ephant. Elephant-ephant-ephant-ephant-ephant-ephant-phant-phant-phant.
7.
Sunskin 07:58
I don’t wanna get a tan. Peeling like a lizard, painted red (red), crimson (red) red (red). I’m not against going outside. It’s fun, bright, and warm, and besides that Vitamin D is nice. You know, it doesn’t taste like oranges though (red) oranges. Just sun. (red) sun. But oversaturation of the ultra-violent ray beams starts to take a toll and then I’ll have some constellation to remind me. (The sand, and the wind, and the waves, and Sun.) Got my bucket in my hands. Gonna shape the sand. A tower here and maybe a moat. It’ll be better than most. Wind swirling hair in my face, blowing umbrellas away. Look up and then I run toward the waves racing back and forth. I’m the only fish in the ocean; the others are beached with their lotion. Sun shining on my back: the friendliest attack. It’s the art of lying still. Browning like potatoes, sort of crisp. (crispy lizard) Why would I spend all my time making my skin so leathery? (so leathery red) Won’t ask again. Don’t bother me. So leathery. Don’t bother me. Do not bother me with your leathery skin. Do not bother me with your leathery skin. Do not bother me with your leathery skin. Do not bother me with your leathery skin. Hahahahahaha. Ha. Hahaha. Ha. Ha. Haha. HA. Haha. HA. Haha. HA. Hahahahahahahahahahahahahaha. My momma said to always be a good boy (a good boy) and to never play with guns (guns). Too late! Oh well. Yo momma, she said, She said, she said, she said…. She said “What?!” (What?!) Whatchyo momma say, she said, she said, she said…. She said, “I’m busy!” (what?!) “I’m busy. Get out of my sun. I need my Vitamin D.” I read about a solar-powered lizard on the rocks. Scurry. I read about a solar-powered lizard on the rocks. I thought how odd it is to be still to be crisp to impress. Scurry. I read about a solar-powered lizard on the rocks. I thought how odd it is to be still to be crisp to impress. Not for the lizard, just for us, it’s surely about time to get up SCURRY!
8.
Prick 03:22
Whoa! Waiting in the longest line, the biggest thorn in my side. Wait a second, that can’t be true. I’ve got so many things to live up to. Stub your toe. Trip up the stairs. Sit like a dog. It’s the little things that seem to break through. Squeeze out the peeves. Breathe in relief. Suck it up. Suck it in. Soak it up. Soak it up. Suck it in. Suck it up. Whoa. Whoa! WHOA! It’s the gum stuck to your shoe that just won’t go away. It’s the hole in your lip that just won’t go away. It’s the voices in your head that just won’t go away. Don’t go away. I’m not insane, just mildly on edge. Wait in line. Work a job. Jump in time. It’s the little things that seem to break through. Squeeze out the peeves. Breathe in relief. Suck it up. Suck it in. Soak it up. Soak it up. Suck it in. Suck it up. Please hold onto your hats. Please hold onto your head. Please hold on to your ass.
9.
Discipline. Strugglin’. Strugglin’ with discipline. They said show up every day, do the work every day, and look on the bright side every day. Every day. They said imagine placing a brick down as if to build a house. You try to do it all at once, but you can’t; you’ll just burn out. One by one by one day after day, heavier yet the weight don’t change. And iIf your bricks’re mislaid, you still get better at cementing them into place. They told me how to build the foundation. as they burned the blueprint, so now, I guess I’m shit out of luck. What am I ‘sposed to do again? I’ve been tripping over bricks in the dark, the house keeps falling apart, trying to build their intention. And then, right before the fall, the bricks stacked unevenly with gaps in between, not tall or long at all. I guess you could call it a wall. It took roughly a week of blisters and pleads to grasp what they meant all along. The clay weights crumbled down into a pile of trial and “I know now.” Restless, calloused hands reached for a weight. Felt lighter than yesterday.
10.
MGH 02:55
Balanced on a point of equilibrium: An invisible emptiness, an unseen vitality. The amount of rush I am not in during this fierce game against the conditions of time. Falling swiftly into stagnation, petrified by progress, I veer into various states of disarray, until the realization of my damnation by stagnation. Inspired, sparks at my fingertips, I am dying to be caught ablaze.
11.
Do the trees have needles or leaves? Was that Anne’s Lace or Water Hemlock we raised? Will that star fading beyond this clearing be back? I swear this place was greener. Birds used to sing, now barely whisper a melody, and the wind just drones on instead of humming its harmony. Noise must have gone. Lift up the pale, and I’m off to the stream. The trickling water doesn’t feel cold to me. And though it rained, the air still smells stained. Our flowers bring beetles instead of bees, and the saplings just stare joylessly. Suddenly wood’s burning, and smoke’s on the hunt. I flee, but smoke fades to smog easily. Your hazy visage is stalking me. Death weighs like sand sneaking into your pockets while you’re at sea: before you know it, you’ve been pulled under, still unaware you’re drowning. Dying is the easy part. Who cares about the petals? Who cares about words? Who cares about harmony? Who cares. Sunday: back to the garden. The beds have grown buds of yellow and pink, which fill the air with such sweet scents that will our Lace to bloom. On the way to the stream, a fallen bird seizes all my senses: resting tranquilly on its side, embraced by twigs and leaves, journeying, other birds still sing. For white feathers, I weave our petals then all the green returns. I throw a match in the pit. The smoke smells of comfort again.
12.
Just a Bug 01:19
Hey, I’ve seen you around before looking so slick. I meant no offense. Get some sense on your shoulders. I know you like to talk real big. Exoskeleton. You’re just a bug, an irrelevant itch. If you wanna be a hella swell guy, start biting your lip. ‘Cause there’s no sense when the consequence is immense. Still, you’re pushing for nothing good. So now I’m out. I know that you got your problems. It’s not really my place to solve them So why you gotta be all up on me? On me. In my face. Must be love.

about

In the spirit of pure collaboration, Wallace combines the mindset and attitude of punk with the vision of avant-garde.

credits

released June 25, 2016

Music by Koa Braunthal, Anthony Gamboa, and Giselle Tran
Recorded, mixed, and mastered by Dustin Vado at SLG Art Boutiki
Photograph by Yvonne Chen
Album design by Jared Gochuico

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Wallace San Jose, California

A couple a kids outta San Jose tryna make something a little strange.

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