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It’s Too Early to Get Up, So Let’s Sleep

Chris Kraemer

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“The highest purpose of art is to inspire. What else can you do? What else can you do for anyone but inspire them?”

-Bob Dylan

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It’s Too Early to Get Up, So Let’s Sleep Table of Contents: (Things in italics are albums and artists of inspiration) Act 1. Strays (Tales of Nobody), Forever by In the Wake of Giants Storm Song, Kokoro by Renja Junky Sweets Songs for Someone’s Life, Speakerboxxx/The Love Below by Outkast Choked on Friday, Sunchokes by SPORTS Water/Falls, Kaya by Bob Marley Dancing/Dreaming/Dwindling, Burn Your Fire for No Witness by Angel Olsen Space Man, Take Care, Take Care, Take Care by Explosions in the Sky Act 2. Dead Man Dreams of Nonexistence, Acid Rap by Chance the Rapper Angry as Hell, Pussy Whipped by Bikini Kill The Singer and the Beat, slowdanger EP by //slowdanger\\ What More is There?, Undun by The Roots The Smashed Pumpkin King, The Second Gleam by The Avett Brothers Happy Japanese Lullaby, HAPPY BIVOUAC by the pillows Summer//Autumn: Fall isn’t Real, Lift Your Skinny fists like antennas to Heaven by Godspeed You! Black Emperor Cat Writes Man, Reconstruction Site by The Weakerthans Cassette Hospital, Spirit Desire by Tigers Jaw I Love Shamir Bailey, Ratchet by Shamir High.On.Life, Section.80 by Kendrick Lamar

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Act 1: Rollercoaster/Rides/Take/Me/To/The/Moon/And/Back/With/Nothing/To/Show/For/It

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Strays (Tales of Nobody) After In the Wake of Giants puzzle pieces don’t always fit, sometimes they fall out leave a gaping hole in the middle, or the corner they get lost in grates filled with mice then we feel the hot irons of rage it’s supposed to fit it’s all wrong don’t get left out, you’re a puzzle piece pants don’t always fit, too long, too short they forgot their train left they don’t quite work we drop our heads to drink from pained rivers it’s not what matters it’s not fair why get left out when you could be like us? people don’t always fit, they look different they’re huddled under raw mattresses they talk different we find fear go away leave us alone you’re not human, you’re just a stray left under a dumpster. that’s what people say, that’s what we do.

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Storm Song After Renja for those who can’t get enough, take care, for those who hide under the covers, let the lightning strike and let the thunder shake your bones, for those who can never find the time, embrace a broken clock, show your fear, show your strength, let a shiver of birds flow down your tailbone, touch your toes and thrum, a simple sound, a buzz of static, it grabs your mind, it’ll take you somewhere else, away from fear, show it your terror, then there is no wind, no howling pack of wolves, then silence, sweet sounds of gentle electric hums, fresh rain painted in polymer, rustling leaves made of aluminum, feel the thump of cold hands, soaked in water, the low hum of back-up generators, hiss of gas, wash ears out with the sobs of men and women, rogue wires crackle, then the roar of water, the city is swallowed by a great fish, its stomach is filled with the lost people, it pierces the skulls of the fearful, the world has died, a land of water and broken glass, is that the crying of a baby? are the sewers gutted? is the city underwater? is it too much to ask for a helping hand? there is so much silence, your skin crawls

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Junky Sweet Songs for Someone’s Life After Outkast I. Feel like it’s been yesterday, everyday is like a suggestion made by a friend, tried to get outta this city, twelve days gone, can’t get them back, he got tied up, mouth chained, eyes poked out, they lost their shine, that shine that said, I am here, I want to forget him, so how bout we let this happen. II. We gotta go, go away, he won’t get a feel for this, too old and too new, he’s been locked up too damn long, Cupid is dead, I watched valentine’s day break up with itself, I wanted to leave him here, How can I? He was our father, her brother, his son, waves wash dope signals up away from us, I watched fourteen men die, killed by stray bullets, electric rocking chairs, knotted rope, we watched him walk the single lane path. III. When heaven and hell make a coin flip, he’s still locked up, I think he’s rotting away, Cupid died riddled with bullets stamped with gold hearts, they were friends since thirteen, now twenty seven going on life, his whole life has been lost, I can’t remember his face, if hope is the thing with feathers it better stop flying cause he can’t remember the last time he hoped he’d scream joy, I think it’s been decades. IV. His future sits on a silver plate, how good can it feel to fall down stairs? I heard he fell with a chain round his neck, cold iron pressing against his wind pipe,

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he wanted it to crack, his eyes are gone, they’re dead, I know he lost his shine when he lost his eyes, his shine made us all love him, too bad. V. He’s been turned loose, I don’t know him anymore, all I see is a man without purpose, stripped of his rights, his hands shake in bright sun spots, hope is the thing that hurtles into the ground and goes splat, his eyes are still missing, his shine is still gone, he’s broken like a twig, no freedom leaves a man angry, ready to strike again, I can’t help but feel my gut eat itself.

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Choked on Friday After SPORTS I. Monday breaks up and it feels like night but sun Sunday is is far away there isn’t coffee just just just water boiled with salt solution disti lled from our tears Monday never sticks around II. Tuesday greedy, green, guts, get-better, get-out, greeting cards, gun smoke, goals, we don’t stand a chance Tuesday lets us see ourselves in a new life III. Wednesday hates sunlight, cries come come from attic shacks hidden teenaged dirt stains a n d torn bags, like pa per girls and boys they left something at the door it’s not too bad, goodness doesn’t pass them by basements hide Wednesday from unhealthy futures, and the dark IV. Thursday stays in bed 12 AM, 12 PM sheets stay on there is no break fast from night till morning bread crumbs and bottles of clear fire it burns it burns getting sick, getting better, sick filled trash cans belief ends here Thursday has no ambition V. Friday lets things drill crack skull find tender meat they dig, dig, dig, dig, dig, dig break it’s too real shaking hands torn stands, torn veins words, voices, words it hits too deep too deep, like iron Friday, wraps two hands curled and sweating Friday drops to the floor, no air it chokes on air

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Water/falls After Bob Marley If it’s noon I’m ready for this world to end, and when it hits, feels like a slice of heaven, balled up and bright, barbecued daydreams. Smells of summer time sweetness, turns to surf rolling up a river, I float down on a wood raft, carved from crying oaks. Silver thread should be hopeful, but it doesn’t dance, it falls over and rolls in black mud. Silver turns into greased oil slick, light a match and watch it burn away. It might leave a cinder behind, Let’s keep this dance slow, take and leave, sway and stay. It’s nearly night, moon time on a wood raft on a greased oil slick. I watch the birds fall dead. I surf up the river carrying fish bones, picked clean by four eyed fish. How long can we keep it up? I rub your belly and spin in a circle, let the earth’s pulse be your beat. You should wash off the oil, let the light flow over you. Don’t wait for it to disappear. Flying a cloud of pure smoke kills the atmosphere. Watch the stars die, grey doubt eats away at leaves. The earth’s pulse is my beat, use it while you can, while we can, who knows how much longer it’ll last?

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Dancing/Dreaming/Dwindling After Angel Olsen I need some peace of mind, god damn it, I need some peace. What is this music, that digs deep into flesh, then mixes and melts. You hold pieces of a heart, it isn’t mine, never will be. Stir them into a broth of bone, gelled up and making a sorry song. Keep away the burning stings of stress, and pictures of april trees. Little too crispy for me now. Any whole music fades with the man. Nothing but little drops, we’ve had enough. I’ve had enough, Night isn’t as dark as it should be. There is sunshine. My eyes are suns, your eyes broken mirrors. Don’t look at me like that there is no time. I need some peace. I can barely see past you. Is that clear sky? You need some time to wait. Wait for a day when my head is clean, when the ballet shoes are hung up. Your skinny legs chase me down pathways of lost time. Twang, twang, the sky eats me up. I’ve gone away for twelve days so sit back and laugh. I’m here, soul crushed and reversed. You were gone, but your skinny legs, pale calf muscles, move. Grotesque parodies of movement stalk my hallways. This time won’t end badly, but it always does, it all falls. You won’t let me get out, I’m stuck in my own head. We have nothing more to say. I feel like a package, sealed in checkered duct tape. Bottled up like old pain killers, frantically spinning a paint can, emptied. It feels fresh.

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I want to get out of here, will you stop? I need some peace, some real peace. Can I get that much, that little, that time? We both need some time, you more than others, we both need times to change.

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Space Man After Explosions in the Sky hurtling down, through unfamiliar atmospheres a desert, filled with black sand crashed space ship, surrounded by loss the space man, scarred and wheezing, star storms whip the faces of the dead, and flay the noble chins, the sky is split, red/gold, for a double sunrise, deep down the earth cries, but this is not earth, the space man is still wheezing, still alive sucking in sand, not air sand gets caught in the throat, a water trap coats the inside of lungs harshly used, like fine oil each wheeze a sandstorm, each new sandstorm dead faces, there is a new star out there, waiting for death, the water is all gone, dust and sand are not equal the space man can tell you this, each breath comes at the cost of a sandstorm the space man is still alive, even after star storms he’s different, estranged from his home, alienated from himself, this place of dust and sand, it’s all he knows the space man finds new meaning in the blanket of stars, by next full moon rise, the space man will be out there, among the stars, waiting for death, from sand, from dust, he has changed, he’s ripe, like peaches filled with galaxies, like plasma pears, apples made from Adam, he patiently waits, the space man watches as a sun births a fleet of asteroids, he finds that a compelling pressure is squeezing his chest, northern star signs twinkle, the space man smiles, in the vastness of space a new star yawns and begins the patient journey towards death.

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Act 2: Let’s/Hope/There’s/Some/Change/It’s/Not/The/Moon

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Dead Man Dreams of Nonexistence After Chance the Rapper I got tripped up by the skills of the night watch, I have no time to get up and stand watch. A hurt back bone, it’s twelve past midnight, and I thought I lived in the past. There’s trouble for a twenty something, I lost so much, I should probably do something. Just me and the day, I never had enough of nothing, would you be me? I think being paranoid is nothing. This is what it sounds like to make it one more year, what can I see? Blood streaked on asphalt, it’s been a bad year. We’re all lost dogs, all dogs know each other at breakfast, watch me hunker down and meet someone new when it’s breakfast. Let’s get away from here, up the yellow brick highway, I can’t go back. Juiced orange limes, I’m going to paint pictures on my face, take a step back. Let the trip hop slip slop at noon on a mop filled with moon hops the flip flop, it feels, don’t take this for granted, it won’t last long, take the time to know the feels. Fires in my furnace bake café walls made of brick, I sit in turn table taxis, they take me nowhere, I see broken newspaper windows and gutted taxis. Just let it move through your veins, it’s like a flock of multicolored birds, songs that aged well gobble up synthetic brains and float my head away, just birds. My metal throat throbs with a tearful thrum, I want to get away from these bee stings, I can smell mint highs, hairspray corroding the air, it stings. If I open my eyes will it be daylight, noonlight, or moonlight? If I open my eyes will I be here? Waiting and breathing like moonlight?

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Angry as hell After Bikini Kill feel this rage, this fire, fed by your words, fed by your hate, regret everything you’ve ever said, forget everything you’ve ever known, jump into my fire, my fire fed by rage, fed by the fuel I make from America, the fuel I make from crumpled newspapers, from the bones of society, jump into this fire, feel the flames lick your face, defile your power, burn you up, leave you naked, leave you weak, weak before this fire, our rage, my rage, the rage of anyone who’s ever written a poem, who’s ever wanted to tell someone but has never felt safe, feel the rage of the people who bite back words until the blood chokes them and the crumple to the ground how about we talk about truth? truth that eats away at a man’s bones, infects his right eye and snaps his lost rib, crawls down into his spine and speaks to him, drives him mad with guilt, but he convinces himself, he convinces the world, it was her fault, she’s the one who had too many drinks, let’s talk about truth if we talk about truth will it pierce deep into someone’s heart? the whole truth and nothing but the truth, let’s burn that into our arms, brick wall spattered in blood and paint will be our canvases, the night sky and rotting park benches will be our battleground, should we be quiet so that you can feel better about yourself? let’s write stories in fire, let’s write them in rain drops that double as tears, you want to talk about truth? how about the whole truth and anything else that makes you uncomfortable in your gold armor, nothing else is good enough.

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The Singer and The Beat After //slowdanger\\ Wake up the dead. That voice can move stars, carve up headstones into skulls. She takes a crowbar to the head. Dirt flies like it always dreamed it could it dreams of other people. There is no coffin, he reaches out to flick away some ants, then covers it. Flash of lightning, static heartbeat for the last time, for the first time, bloodied eyes blink, dirt shadows keep it dark dig up and out, puddles are mirrors, look at a flakey face, smile, does it help to wink? She’s not as dead as she seems, Dressed up pretty in peacocks, hide that face, that lipless smile, sing so he can hear fix it up nice, stitch your skin, she takes one nail, found it in her pocket, shine it real well, make a billboard out of his head, back to the dirt, back to sleep she goes back, the static heartbeat fades to nothing.

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What More is There? After Black Thought Forced up against a wall, hands tied, eyes blacked over in graffiti, tears of memory spill on dirty bricks, do I even know if I’m alive? Fighting against sleep like a cracked pill of Benadryl, insomniacs stole the soul I prayed to save myself from losing keep, I look back trying to stay the same, my fall from grace is fine to tell, just another hopeless story, I stabbed my Achilles’ heel, can you, living flesh, take my hand and say I was right? I used to ride the train, now I walk in billboards and jukeboxes, how it was it not how it is, do you remember? I’m keeping to my head, I notice my face, whose it is, where it is, have I got any space? watch me fall back and scream, beat out my funeral to what the cadence is, the same humanity that baptized my illness, dresses a leopard in human skin, I dance the dance, playing business deal, but I don’t know how to do anything else, to con a man is to save a man, I cause the blood of a friend, can’t forget that and never will, I want to break out, but what keeps me here? I gotta remember, gotta hold on.

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The Smashed Pumpkin King After The Avett Brothers I. An Interlude Tear up in the corner of an eye that has seen murder murdered at a young age, never really listening to old crowns crowned records of vinyl and silk, split up and sold for pumpkins, pumpkin seeds and fingernails, it’s a hallowed tradition, spit on the king, king of all crows and ravens, sitting on a throne of broken men’s tears, crown on head, head underneath the dirt, they try to give birth to pumpkins, pumpkin shaped twins, orange and yellow, like the old king, king of all music, broken strings and rotten banjoes, if only they could tear, tear down the building that made its way into their hearts, if only murder, murder is not death, clean hands, spotless like a golden crown, king of all laughter, darkness, and veins, he makes the tears, tears of salt, roll down cheeks and hit cement, what if a murder, murder of crows, came down from the sky, ate their eyes and carried off his crown, crowned prince of cassette tapes and vinyl records, they forget to feed a pumpkin, pumpkins grow in a garden, shadows clink shots of light together, don’t forget the king, tear them up like a murdered man does an old crown. II. The Lament King of daydreams and nightmares, give them some water, give them some salty tears, tears that fall from rotten holes, your orange skin pock marked and murder, murder carved across your face, scrawled in golden crowns, crowns with sharp edges, sharp eyes spot the stalks of dead pumpkins, pumpkin graves, old scratched records whirl and keep you a king, crown of autumn wind, love and hate, and hate and love, share a pumpkin, pumpkin jack? that’s not you, not a hollow eyed rotting king, king of all the things we wish were lost, can you shed tears? tearing the polymer from cassettes is murder, murdered silence, that’s what you get, for stealing a crown, tears written in sodium carbonate, it only seems like chemical murder, murdered in the dusty tombs of St. Josephs Cathedral, you did it for the crown, crown them in an ancient bedroom, jack knives sharpened and grinning, pumpkins, pumpkins keep the sky red, you keep the night blue, you are the king, king of all things precious to children, and it’s okay to cry a little salty tear, murder them, but give them all crowns, and put a spoonful

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of pumpkin in their mouths. III. Hollow Head Tear down a banner of rules, eat it, and let the word murder, murder is what paper feels like after it’s made into a crown, crown for a little girl who doesn’t know your name, and sees a pumpkin, pumpernickel is what you keep stored in thread bear shirts under your king, king’s tomb, fall back down into a barn on fire, each sack of grain torn, crowned with gold fillings, your head is empty, what is a pumpkin? pumpkin pie served on flat crows, they can’t stay for dinner with the king, king of smashed records and minds, of hollowed out cheeks and teeth, tears, tears it little by little, a scrap of paper in a storm, a thrashing murder, murder of old crows, crooked winged and pop eyed, they serve your crown, king of all of the things in corners, corners caked in mud and dried gravel, tears, tears for everything you have lost, the splinters, the eyes of friends, a murder, murdered of everything you owned, slashed open, your guts spilled out, a bloody crown, crown your son with the stomach of his mother, feed him the seeds of pumpkins, pumpkins that were born by them, the beautiful faces, the mothers of kings, pumpkin seeds stay in the ground, the time of the king closes with three tears.

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Happy Japanese Lullaby After the pillows Sunset Park. like the last dinosaur, warm, before the world ended here and there, flamingo faced people gurgle glee, strangely I’m comfortable pink feathered masks, pocked marked washed with acid, they’re hiding something like plague filled grins, watch till your eyes melt, sunshine can drain happiness, waves of rubies crash into benches of washed up minds, geniuses covered in jewels, covered in shit green grass, what’s the time? truth is fiction, fiction makes the day sweeter, lost in alleyways and run down streets, those people who hide behind flamingo faces, they left their souls in dives, in concrete graves, fiction in Tokyo, Buddha never gave up on hunger, just got tired of bread, trapped in bottles of cheap liquor, the shadowless wander the streets, gentle gentle goes the clock, never caught up in the work day, what if the sun rose twice? it’s fiction in Tokyo the cooing of flamingo faced people, they want me to join them, get down and dirty in lost ideas, running down to the water, ruby red, there’s the sun still setting like a dream, moon rise is night time, the shadows return, flamingo masks come off, they enjoy the cool air, I feel my breath, the breath of Moonrise Park, no longer a sunset. I want to go to sleep tonight.

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Summer//Autumn: Fall isn’t real After Godspeed You! Black Emperor like a broken record, we/rise from the graves of empty caskets, fight our way through rusted/skeletons and we fell/like two birds, bundled together/packed with peanut shells, we used to be able/able to fly away, two arms can stretch, ligaments snap and we can/not be lonely, if only we/weren’t shackled to iron lungs, and our livers hadn’t been sold, there might be a chance, a chance that two birds/risen from the grave/hit by one stone could/fly/again/here we laugh because could a thing/thing of lies/be more false, it’s too much work/to feel like a bird, a pair of gutted fish/flail, shark fins tipped/in steel strips us of meaning, no art here/only the rustle of red and yellow leaves, a humming toad/a cracked turtle shell/a fried oyster, the things we used to be shed great rusted skeletons/slivers of iron flake off, we can only watch/wait as the days grow short, short like your patience/like my will to laugh, it could be worse/it could be spring, then we make new music, that thing that is alive/that is still breathing, it is not us/a new thing, a screaming face, a crying voice/limp veins, two birds/pair of gutted fish, consumes it all there will be no flying/no swimming/no digging, there will only be eating/consuming flesh and bone, iron meets sand/rust meets oxidized steel cages, teeth crack canals fill with calcium/one by one, piece by piece, embed yourself in my calve muscles/there will be blood, we made a drink/leaves golden brown crisped to apples, there wasn’t any/thing better to drink, copper fields of tin get watered, with the juice of liquid gold/ let us praise it, it flows through our arms/our legs, they shine at night/leaves of red, hemlock infests our conscience, shield the young/their embrace is priceless, old copper fields and new juicy iron/make it blurry, our eyes are one, winter comes up/not much to these storms, wind is the smell of human satisfaction/make us smile, the skeleton made of rust is limp, we were once summer time dancers/we were once two birds/pair of gutted fish, now autumn comes and we make/a new nest,

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from bolts and electrical tape/they will be happy, we will be happy.

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Cat writes Man After The Weakerthans

Dear Man, Your days are numbered like canned tuna. I want to taste your blood, but you already drained it through needles and tubes, you won’t slip on my vomit and hairballs, watch out for your own rug. You kill the mice I eat, with poison and tar. do you hide their corpses? I can’t find the ones I kill. Remember the holidays? All of them, not just Christmas, on Earth day adopt a new cat, invite the night inside and scare yourself, it’s better than what you’ve been doing, so don’t cry when I leave you, watch TV and remember every ivory button you lost, I can’t help but wonder why we waste so much good paper. I have seen the horrors of mankind, an obsession with self-destruction, a dance with the devil never ends in victory, I swear I’ll bite you hard and live wild, get out of this house, hunt mice in burnt bone fields,, fields where men once stood. Sincerely, Cat

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Cassette Hospital After Tigers Jaw My insides got warped, I felt my heart inside my stomach, my lungs in my liver, a weak plastic cast held me together, kept me from spilling out on the floor. It hurt to breath, when my voice comes out warped, I hiss, the endless sound of a plastic wheel spinning, broken hearts keep me awake every night, polyester intestines get wound up again, again, again. Every ounce of confidence magnets away to something else. A magnetized love, veins could still hold blood enough to spill, enough to keep, do you know what it means to lose? Vision cracked like glass, fractured into crystalline shapes and shards, stop being sad. My insides were grafted to tape towers. My guts fused, lighter fluid and metal rods, to another’s. It stung, a lot. Being unrolled and rerolled, just for fun, just because you lost somebody. I tried to sing for fun, but my voice warped. They said I repeated myself, I said it’s never my fault. Never get used to little wheels, drilling at your gut, twisting you up. It’s not something you want, they roll you into a tight circle. It always hurts. Whether there is nothing, even if there is a white wall, where doctors and nurse lean, smoke cigarettes and think about death, I’m too old for this.

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Been used too long, there is a burden on my plastic cast, a piercing force. I can barely breath right, it’s nothing new, but it still hurts. If I melted, if I froze, they wanted me to try. My voice came out as a bloodied rag, covered in liquid polyester, even then they still pushed. They snapped my cast, my lung, heart, liver, stomach, they spoiled these white halls, these white walls, stained by magnetic black plastic. I hurt. when I died it hurt, when you die, will it hurt like a song played too many times?

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I Love Shamir Bailey After Shamir I can’t find my head anymore, I feel like I’ve been lost in a new dimension. But there’s no place I’d rather be, even if it’s early, I’ll enjoy this music, this swaying gurgle, please, don’t hurry. I take a deep breath, but no air comes in, somewhere a demon laughs, air whistles around the empty head space, I don’t want to make a scene, there is no real music here, only the beat of a tortured man, what can I do but sway and dance? Touch my breath to a plastic mirror, watch the fog cover my face, looks like I’ll disappear. My head sold my soul, don’t worry about it, it’s only a soul, I’m headless and soulless, gracefully leaning towards a bed of spikes, they want me to learn about pain, I shatter my knees and cry, there’s no hope in a dark life where these plastic mirrors hold the answers to life’s problems. If this is wisdom, I’m going to stay here, it’s my head that drags me around, it floats up like a balloon, it’s the head I lost, and it still floats away, looking for another plastic mirror.

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High.On.Life After Kendrick Lamar Forget how to respect a system that takes and doesn’t stop taking, remember that it doesn’t take a wise man to rise up, doesn’t take a dumb man to die young, takes a hand, cast of porcelain and bullets, one too many pills, dropped under two bridges, whiskey bottle dreams cracked over his head, doesn’t take a smart man, smart man can hear, but can he see? see an injustice feeding on our youth, felt like an addiction at age sixteen, forget that, don’t forget that, no old man can say he didn’t live through the 80’s, disillusioned youth, fed by a porcelain hand, molded by some new kind of half pilled up man, menacing men stand above him, holed up in bunkers of steel, doesn’t take a human to see what’s wrong there, wrong like a man who died at thirty three, not his fault, didn’t reach for a piece, stories reach out to us, cry to the listener, does it take a strong woman to say that it’s wrong? should it have to be a strong woman? remember it doesn’t take another human to resemble a perfect speech, it needs a voice, to speak its mind, strained against a window, hole burned by blazing lead, full of rage let a smart man see what’s happened, it takes one to know one, people don’t know who takes on their problems, who is their voice, who reaches out to the porcelain hand, it’s not democracy if it isn’t real.

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Influences: Terrance Hayes Sagawa Chika Amiri Baraka Dominique Christina Yellow Rage Rachel Rostad