1. |
The Escort
03:12
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Death floated through the ceiling and quietly took a seat on the sofa next to me where I watched TV. I said, “Is it me you’ve come to see? Are you here to escort me into non-being? Into the void between where I’ll dwell eternally?" He said, “Look at the screen. Where do you think you’ve been?" We’re all a little bit dead already. The weight you carry’s too heavy. We’re all too tired to find reasons to forfeit the fight. We lose our minds in the deadlights. I replied, “Don’t we all need stories? Don’t we need somewhere to be at nine each night?" But he said, “Kid, there are more worlds than this, ones that you’ll never see. The spirit of human adventure is deceased." Live your life through the screen. Ride your couch ‘til your ass chaps and bleeds. This is purgatory—the sweet apathy. You don’t need a chauffeur to get where you already are. Death is here. The show’s over. Turn off the car.
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2. |
Cavern
03:58
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We were descending into an unending cavern miles underground. Before our lights went out, we just wandered around and wandered around, blind in the dark, praying for a spark to light our path. No good could come to pass shivering in the depths. With no light to guide us we’ll die, as the sight bleeds out of our eyes. In the dark our bodies will lay until fire consumes the sky, 'til the oceans run dry. Soon my eyes adjust. I learn to trust my other senses and to be contented to be trapped in the dark alone. This cavern is our new home. In time we’ll all end up bones. With no light to guide us we’re fine. Our fear of blindness subsides as the blindness subsides. We forget all the people outside. Under skies made of stalactites, we live our lives. Grin and bear it. Bleed from the stick. Taste the carrot. It’ll be over quick. The bones beneath our tired feet inquire this: Can you resist the hopelessness of certain death? Buried deep in the darkness we're fine. Our fear of blindness subsides as the blindness subsides. We forget all the people outside. Under skies made of stalactites, we live our lives.
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3. |
Mothman
03:22
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There are owls in the old oak tree. I feel them calmly watching me, with floodlights in their eyes, their wings spread to fly, compelled to take flight by complete loss of appetite when their owl eyes caught sight of the ground at night. In the shit and the dirt creatures scream. Over their corpses, twisted monsters teem. In the eyes of the owls, I see disgust gleam. Fly away. There’s no escape for us. Our fate is ashes to dust. Too much twisted, depraved abuse. They fly in search of more pleasant roost. Now I’m left with my neck in the noose, screaming “Please take me with you."
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4. |
Shadow Puppets
02:32
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These days Plato's cave seems more like Plato's cage, a private cell that I can't see out. Are the ghosts that cast these shadows real? I can't help but doubt. The shadows dancing on the walls are beautiful sometimes, but I can't banish the question: Are the visions in my mind accurate reflections of life or a film playing from outside? Who runs the projector? Are my kids and my beautiful wife ghosts? Shadow puppets being played by some chemical god made of light? Step out from the shadows. Who's outside the cave? My body feels like a grave, a prison I can't escape. Plato's cave is my cage.
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5. |
Cracks in the Sidewalk
04:14
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I feel like a blade of grass, crooked in the cracks in the sidewalk. Buildings scrape the sky as people wander by like livestock. I’m afraid one will reach down and pluck me from my bed. Or worse I fear I’ll grow large for this concrete tomb. My roots will tangle and consume me. I’ll choke to death on my own breath. Maybe in time, I’ll grow up the side of this building like a vine. My face will taste the sunlight. No more being scared. My mind untroubled. Brick by brick I’ll turn this town to rubble. A spiderweb of cracks emanating but I’m fading fast. I won’t last. I won’t see the slow collapse. But didn’t the seed birth the tree in winters past? The spark ignites the blast. The weeds choke the path ‘til there’s none left. I'm calmly carving up your streets. Nobody sees.
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6. |
Rock N Roll
04:08
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Isn’t this the hippest way to be? Sitting dead on golden toilet seats, while our shit stinks, rotting underneath. Rock and roll. Kids all wanna use the drugs we sold, while we sit in our basements alone, praying for our meth labs to explode. Rock and roll. If God is dead what holy breath fills the lungs in our electric churches? The choir mouths are screaming out. But I am done. This Holy Ghost is worthless. Six feet under, the king has gone the way of the buffalo. There’s no magic left inside your wand. You reap whatever you sow. And there’s a sucking sound from the black hole. Drown your children underwater. I really hope the dead can’t hear us. We're somersaulting in our graves.
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Slow Collapse Los Angeles, California
LA indie/punk band est. 2012. Four weirdos havin' a good time.
Slow Collapse recommends:
Best dudes. Best goddamn pop-punk band in LA.
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Fade Into Colour (EP)
by Hotknives
Our buddy Zakk's hardcore project.
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THE UNRAVELING OF PUPTHEBAND
by PUP
The Canadian pop-punk band deliver their biggest-sounding album to date, rooted in full-bodied production and cheery nihilism.
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Crashing female-fronted hardcore perfect for afternoon slump revival.
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Is Survived By: Revived (Remixed / Remastered)
by touche amore
One of the most beloved post-hardcore albums of the ’10s gets a long-overdue remix and remaster just in time for its tenth anniversary.
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