1. |
THIS IS MY ART
01:54
|
|
||
2. |
Futility
01:39
|
|
||
3. |
Another Poem About Me
00:45
|
|
||
|
Do I really care
about anyone
but myself?
Am I really
that narcissistic?
so egotistical
so egocentric
so self
absorbed that
nobody else matters?
to me
A million and one questions
are reaching through
my head.
Questions about
me.
About me
in regards to
other people.
How can that be?
How is it that
when I look at you
I only see
myself?
How can I love
another individual
when I
myself
am so sick sick sick
in the head?
I’m such a wretched person.
The human race could do
without a person as sick as
me … dot dot dot
|
||||
4. |
Late in the Night
01:21
|
|||
5. |
Pillow Talk
00:34
|
|
||
|
My life tainted
with broken aspirations that
make me feel less than
and
and
and
my life hopeless
my world broken
my existence floating away on a wisp of smoke
and
and
and
if only I could see her again
be embraced as she kisses me deeply
the girl of my dreams
and
and
and
it’s a worthless struggle
step back and give up
as life shimmers past me dissipates and is gone
and
and
and
it’s gone
|
||||
6. |
maybe something
01:48
|
|||
7. |
w/ a hard-on for trouble
08:15
|
|
||
8. |
My Last Prayer of Hope
01:48
|
|
||
9. |
For Medicinal Purposes
00:58
|
|
||
10. |
Fear of Losing It
03:19
|
|
||
11. |
Drink to That
02:58
|
|
||
12. |
Right Now
01:04
|
|||
|
Right now the world is broken, and I fix it with the blunt edge of a sledgehammer. Right now the world is shattered, and I fix it with the crisp point of a pickaxe.
Really, I don’t know. Life is happening and I just don’t know. I squander this universe in search of some sort of answer, but the only answers I ever get feel like razor blades against my skin—
razors dipped in lemon juice, that is.
Right now the world is fractured, and I fix it with the heel of my boot. The world is damaged, smashed up, trashed, and glimmering with disuse. I stand in the crossfire
I stand in the traffic jam, in the haphazard assortment of nothing. I stand amid the mayhem and I scream
I scream as loud as I can—
This is life. Right now I can honestly say I’m demented, disordered—demented disordered and deranged—and I piece my brain back together with the stammering blade of a jackhammer.
Right now the world is FUCKED UP!!!
|
||||
13. |
Shit Happens
03:06
|
|
||
14. |
Word Vomit
04:30
|
|
||
15. |
|
|||
16. |
The Holy Ghost
01:30
|
|
||
17. |
||||
|
i know my art is dark & thought-provoking & maybe even scary to certain audiences, & maybe people are thinking, is he okay? is he gonna do himself in tonight? im a little worried; or maybe people are thinking, what an asshole! he just wants to complain, hes only seeking attention, is all———all for a few more LIKEs. but the truth of the matter is, i like this kind of art. when i see art of a darker variety, i feel stimulated, i feel joyful & alive, i feel like im on top of the whole FUCKING world, & i dont know why that is. i like things that bite i guess, for ive always surrounded myself with a more dangerous kind of person, even though to me the average joe was rearing to bite my head off, the prom kings & queens lurking around the corner brandishing switchblades & clubs just waiting for me to come rounding the bend, & you all know what would happen to me then, right? yeah, MY people wear spikes & leather, but YOUR people wear uggs & denim with plastic smiles & phony lives that seem so pathetic but still scare me senseless. you see, i stopped checking out plastic-looking girls one day on the train as i admired these 2 hot preppy-looking girls standing by the door, & then the thought popped in my head: Like fucking a dried-out blow-up doll, your dick chafing the plastic twat in between her legs—painful and gross, right? well, that did it for me; those girls no longer seemed hot anymore & the kind of girls that did intrigue me had piercing scowls carved across their faces, sporting short, spikey hair, with leather jackets dashed & tainted with loads of paint & spikes & studs sticking thru the vacant spaces. thats my kind of girl, this is my kind of art. darkness doesn't seem so scary anymore when youve lived it, like walking thru a haunted house; only the haunted house is your life & the ghouls & goblins hiding in the shadows getting ready to pounce on the first passerby that crosses their paths, are your friends & the only ones left to fear are the quote-unquote normal folk who are wanting to destroy you.
|
||||
Jeremy Void Rutland, Vermont
Jeremy Void is the author of 15 books. He lived fast, he fell hard, and he came to with a broken head, a worthless mind, and this devastating ability to paint with words down the page. Line after line, he continues to amaze, devestate, and deviate. With lyrical prose that plow through the airwaves like kamikaze fighter pilots; with poetry that treads a fine line between brilliant and insane.... ... more
If you like Jeremy Void, you may also like:
Atmospheric, poetic, synth- and performance-driven miasma floating at the intersection of no wave and darkwave.
go to album
featured on Bandcamp Radio Apr 12, 2024
go to album
Breathless indie pop from Oakland group neutrals, who mine the classic spirit of Sarah Records to terrific result.
go to album
A no wave oddity out of the Netherlands, Geo make warped and dissonant dance party punk rock.
go to album
Dead Cross, Retox, and Qui members dish out subversive hardcore with an indignant smirk; come for the riffs, stay for the synth experiments.
go to album
Sinister Feeling
by Sinister Feeling
featured on Bandcamp Radio Mar 29, 2024
go to album
This Is All We Ever Get
by SPACED
Knockout debut from a Buffalo, New York-based hardcore band who like their riffs sick, their drums fast, and their choruses sticky-sweet.
go to album
