1. |
Headband Dream
04:28
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I'm okay. Are you okay?
The sky has swallowed me, the horizon
fills with trees all bending down,
burgeoning, yes, and I am one of them.
Is it true?
Are there lives I've lived
where I was kissing you?
It meant something, and
so did taking off your shoes
in front of me.
Picture perfect sunset makeup,
bound to be a dream so wake up.
Fixate, fixate, on a break-out.
Inhale, inhale, but don't breathe out.
File this attempt within failure,
I'm not getting any paler.
You've taken to the reddest of faces,
never were a one to be wasted.
Just disagree,
smile and show your teeth.
I'll use my awful words
to grasp at your bony knees,
to clean your tattered lungs,
to wrap your matted leaves until I'm
all coiled up inside the deepest dreams.
There's a ragged separation in the
acid-taking, rabid nation.
Phylum, specie, radiation,
the greenest party losing patience.
Life is a sonic disaster
made brilliant by the sound of your laughter.
The window, sweating like a headband,
it's getting fogged;
I'm not getting that much deeper,
it's shallow now.
Lightning dolphin headband sweat dream,
lying for you. Oh, forget me.
Sink in sunlight, write so madly
stagger wildly, sing so loudly.
Find yourself some sleep.
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2. |
Spinal Chords
03:37
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Pocket sun-spraying,
son, guitar-playing;
I'm in love with being lonely,
I've nothing to say
but that I'm a freak,
deaf and dumb and sick,
diving into the Bay at the Golden Gate.
Playing on your nerves
with my spinal chords,
running picks over your neck and
sounding hoarse.
Galloping away
from the friends I've made.
How could I tell them
that they're still inside my head?
Always hungry, I'm becoming
something I could never survive.
Water reaches out on beaches
while I stand waiting on the ledge.
Stuck in metal, fluorescent and fed up
of being caught up in trappings of mind.
It's all mental and no one has meant
anything to me since 2009.
Knee deep in windowsill,
ears full of daffodil,
I'm not getting something,
it's lifting and sighing
and breathing and dying
and wishing and sifting
through sand, it's wriggling.
Now comes the breaking of day,
now comes the breaking of day,
tidemarks'll appear on my face
when I'm washed up and drowned in the
varicose sound that drains
and the most powerful weapon I have is my brain
and I'm killing it slowly with saporous drink
after drink after drink after drink after
drink after drink after drink after
bittersweet drink.
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3. |
A.H.
04:05
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When you smile, it's like there's a scythe
that goes down my spine
like a liminal spike. The secret
life that you impart when you
fix with your smirk...
It's like you've a power that's never
forgotten, you're never returning it.
Smile. It's like a miracle mile
that lets you climb your way up into my mouth.
Alright, you can stay behind the littlest teeth.
Something bad is gonna happen to me.
It's fair to say that I have been running away, but
it's not okay to say that I don't face my problems… no way.
A.H., some girls face their dreams with care,
but honey, I'm not scared. I've never been less ashamed
of having something to say: you're gonna hear just one more thing
from me.
La la la la la la
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4. |
Branches Out
02:54
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If wood could speak
and I understood,
what would it say but "I'm
so tired?" The silence of
unconscious things is deafening
within my mind.
The bitter language between us is
rancorous. Your leaves and
your branches fall prey to
my glances.
Is this thing benign we're in?
Is it crawling over you
like it crawls all over me? Have
you been blinded yet by sentiment
or sediment or words that will
prick you?
If you could speak
and I could understand,
what would you say but "I
don't know you." And I'd respond
"You silly thing, you know me
because I have seen you!"
When wood comes to castle I know that
it's time to get out. When branches start
snapping, the whole thing's about to
collapse.
Have I lost my track again?
Will I run the train into the wall,
will I locomote until I'm dead?
I've been acting like a child,
so confused about the zest for life that
I do not want.
Leafy whisper
beyond my reach.
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5. |
Rust
04:01
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There are a number of regrets:
I miss the way you move your neck,
that sunny scent you wore.
I'm the nostalgic sort
so when you call me, I'm upset.
I bet you think I am cruel.
Relatedly, I've lost my way,
I used to wallow in dismay,
I felt so damn alone
even though you had just gone,
I don't feel anything today.
And I still hear your voice
refracted in water,
it's cluttered like a child's bedroom.
And it's all yellow smoke lapping at windowpanes,
women come and go
but you don't, no.
I bet you think I am cruel.
(There are a number of regrets.)
Each speck of dust inside the room
collects to form an image on the floor.
It isn't me, it isn't you,
it's just the tilting shape of grassy moors.
They're hyperbolic, parabolic. It begs the question.
Were we once at all?
(I bet you think that I am cruel.)
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6. |
Slacker's Jaw
03:15
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My unrest isn't right because
my life is nothing but good swag.
The sun sets and rises on buildings and
I'm out here with it.
No one is feeding my anger
by kidnapping me yet.
Is success a venture right
to be labeled as unfair?
What's wrought inside my iron body
is the thought that I could fall from
out the side of any building and feel
myself coming down and holding on
while my own colleague shoots me down
with my own gun. I know it's wrong
to hate somebody but sometimes it's easier.
I would like to put forth the idea
of an exile in green.
The right that the childish hold dear
because they are serene.
I bet you will tell everyone that
I am lazy and although
you would not be wrong,
that is not what I need.
What's locked inside my stranger insides is the
thought that I am alright.
Death will not control my whole life,
fear will not dictate how I write.
I'll hold on while my ex-colleague
loads his glock for one more shot.
I have had so much of a chance and
what more could I ask for?
I just want to work it out
so I can write all the time
and play and sing of silent things
that are always fluttering
behind my ears like a moth
drawn to the light of future days.
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7. |
Fish Eat Fish
03:36
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Arms stretched out towards the aether, your winter's love
is shoulders draped in woolen cardigans.
Touch the place where your hairline meets your face;
that's a juncture I can swim across.
Sunny days are rolling waves again.
Desperate dreamer is a bleeder,
anxious Anna knows she's all alone.
Bernhart crying, Weinberg sighing,
no, this house is really not a home.
I will say just as I want to:
There's nothing wrong with love -
there's nothing sick about the rougher breathings of
a little animal. There's nothing sweeter now than
dolphins dipping down into the ribbon sea
and it will never grab me:
the sea's a sadness.
Sit at home
and hold the phone
and wait for someone to call.
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8. |
Rotten, Rotten Me
02:27
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Significant remorse is not
enough to say how sorry I have been,
I know I may not seem,
but realize that I have had the hardest time
seeming so afeared.
And the temperature diffuses away,
the colonial fruit, ribboning in yellow and green.
Flesh so sweet...
No, I wouldn't want it bothering me.
Playful feline things! Your
raucous indiscreet debris
litters me because I've come to see:
I've filled this house with bitter
pictures of myself and you
and I in deed.
Indeed.
And the temperature diffuses away,
the colonial fruit, ribboning in yellow and green,
flesh so sweet,
no, I wouldn't want it bothering me.
Life in the dark
is pretty difficult.
The soil succumbs
to bastard apathy.
My filthy dreams
too long and bittersweet.
Figuring out for myself.
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9. |
Seabound
03:51
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Automatic kool thing,
Anamatronic cool thing.
I am on a new ship,
I am as good as nothing.
One cool thing I have found
is tilting my head back as far as I can.
You better not take it badly,
but it may rain on Sunday.
The hollowed-out heads of good old friends
will be waiting outside to grab me.
Why would you fill the pantry
with all those fainter lanterns?
Why would you put down your weapons now
and pretend you will not fight me?
Lightly breathing, I watched you
pass out on the couch that night.
Vas-tu bien?
We better take your car, Gladney,
my shins kill and I'm sleeping,
the radio's fallen in the shopping mall pond
and my lover is crying madly.
You better not take it badly,
but all day it's been raining.
The hollowed-out heads of good old friends
are waiting back home to grab me.
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10. |
Bittern Suite
03:24
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This is contentious me;
spilling out of my shorts and shirt sleeves,
water making my body sink,
pizza boxes under my feet, my
rotten friends not letting me know things
'cause I told them to stop texting me.
The reckless stringing sadness brings,
alone, adrift on a clouded sea.
Vultures are circling,
they must think I'm one of them.
I wonder if they'll be my friends,
start sleeping in the caravan.
Hold me down with the blackest wing,
soothe me with their feathered fingers;
take me for dead, don't leave me be.
This once was contentious me.
The wizard king I used to be went somewhere else.
He went back home when I got way too overwhelmed.
He left his kingdom on my doorstep hoping that
my love of reigning would come swimming back.
"You've gotta take a step back!" he said,
"You've gotta come right out and tell them."
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11. |
Good Feels
05:09
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Been inside so long that I don't recall
the color of sky beyond the ever-present wall.
Tendrils of the end keep trying hard to break me,
the eucalyptus trees are winding down.
"He's lying. He's lying, can't you see?"
Undermining foundations around for the sake
of my hearing the sound of them all crashing
into the virtual sea.
It's a hill-going old kind of day.
Time to burn the shackles of the frame.
Silence all the solemn thoughts of pain.
Right the putrid wrongs of laziness.
Foolish headband dream I had to get out of me
is lying for you on the fucking ground.
I'm now not okay, the sun has set again, the roof is
falling in and it's so loud.
I'm the coolest man you'll ever stomp around on
so look back on me with a bit of guilt.
Hell is feeling right here. In the bright green west of
the no-homeland, USA.
Pasta shared with old friends tastes so good.
Strings get tangled, forks and lips come through.
Rings of smoke fill us inside the room,
finally, the vibes of good old days.
Time to burn the shackles of the frame.
It's a hill-going old kind of day.
Silence all the solemn thoughts of pain.
Loose the strangling reins of loneliness.
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Sun Kin Los Angeles, California
Sun Kin is
Kabir Kumar,
born in Bombay, broadcasting
tunes from Los Angeles
with friends.
Please send thoughts: goodfeels.feelsgood@gmail.com
Sun Kin recommends:
Caramels For Grandpa
by Everyone Is Dirty
Everyone is Dirty is thee technicolor vision of actually psychedelic, forceful, intense rock music. Gorgeous melodies, screaming violin, lush harmonies, massive rhythms. HIGHLY RECOMMEND
go to album
Big Man Says Slappydoo
by GUPPY
This is my other band GUPPY. We are funny. We all sing. This song was recommended by The Needle Drop and the senior music critic of the NYT, lmaoooooo
go to album
I was honored to add some instruments and harmonies to this wonderful and long titled album. Must listen.
go to albumIf you like Sun Kin, you may also like:
Brighton quartet Zooni round out their slick, ultra-rhythmic art rock vision with smart lyrics and ever-shifting dynamics.
go to album
The London band's new album is a vibrant postcard from southern Italy, boosted by brass, strings, and pizzica percussion from local players.
go to album
