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by Nana Grizol

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And you said you felt a change was coming near I said “nothing ever changes here.” and so we watched for shooting stars we caught some in the shining shower In the morning I will never be the same There are trees that grow up higher than, some I start to believe you’re one of them, one who wonders where I am tonight who lingers longer in my sight who gives me one more reason to be happy (to go home) But you never used to worry like you do; at least before it was for things that could possibly be true. hey, this was never meant to be a bargain for your sympathy, it’s just that world sits heavy on your shoulders now you’re terrified of telephones as we grow older never slower, yeah Today we explored the halls of heroes past; all we found inside were autographs and so I picked up one or two but I still can’t tell what they do: I think I will return them in the morning
The shy and lonely hunter who stalks across my chest says “I’m only seeking glory,” yeah, but glory never gives you any rest: me to your body in an arm chair, wrest: me to the corner of your bed, rest: we in the place we share our tenderness, it’s there I’ll rest my head another night, lights at the end of the hallway will lead you to the back of some bar where cloudy headed, late for bed, you wonder where those fleeting families are: you, living somewhere on the west coast are: you, just a figment of my mind aren’t you the one who always told me “boy, it’s easier with time” to be the saddest sound in a lullaby speck of sand in your daddy’s eye broke my heart to so much as try to live the life that lay before me so you step tender when you don’t run so you surrender to everyone so you remember the place you’ve come to don’t forget the world adores you, said “I am but my body: heart and shaking skin.” How ever will you find a safe place where (you never let anyone into the space where) you keep all your timid questions, like “can I kiss you one more time before I go?” though I know the world is full of hopeless suggestions it’s us who get caught in the undertow, don’t you know we were born on a moving train, we took form in the pouring rain, we try hard, but come short of explaining that lives are for living and hearts are for changing. Forget, an instant, to stay the same! Not us nor mountains go as they came! All the things we’ll refuse to be framed in From what we’ve been given to what’s rearranging.
Embedded in each story, a lapsarian distinction an absolute, withholding “were” from “are” a predetermined path from omnipresence to extinction the lines we deftly draw connecting stars Is it so wrong if I can no longer place the features correctly together on my face? I’ve sent away so many ghosts out from my brain but these days they do descend in dreams to dance, it seems we might just could be friends again In thanatotic threadbare, a hazy Sunday morning when I can’t conceive the circuits in my head disconnected at each molecule, hungover and unforming a mist, I float among my unmade bed but it is only on some shaded degrees my synapses ever fire more efficiently and it is only on the sharpest of days I can connect the dots between the things I see And things I have to say I remain, skeptical
Tacoma Center sixteen hundred suffer sleepless nights no phone calls home to families, no reading, no Miranda rights a second tier of prison, as if the first was not enough it seems a citizen’s great promise is a place to stretch when they lock you up But either way, they are commodifying someone, as if said someone ever could just fade away: the dreary endless days don’t pass like numbers on a page, they sit in silence ‘til they rail against the irons of their cage In such a casual addition to supplies, to chains, to flows tucked between logistics systems, a lock factory, a railroad as billboards picture families, reunited in their homes buses carry “unnamed” inmates to unnamed jails, on unnamed roads It is a euphemistic package for apartheid a billion dollars earned in someone else’s blood a xenophobic answer to a manufactured question how to monetize the labors lost from deportation trolls Hundred and twenty five dollars a head hundred and twenty five dollars a bed and one weekend we gathered outside of the gates and we read off the name of the dead I must say it’s a strange sense of sedition just to show the hopes we’d hold contract the contradict contrition of soulless states, of stateless souls Oh eugenic organs, how you beat, constrict and breathe oh you magic markets do detain, defeat, deceive and on the edge of this gross city, your mixed metaphors conceive remuneration, replication, yes, interminably.


This was the EP we recorded before making URSA MINOR! We ran it as a benefit for the Queer Undocumented Immigrant Project and raised a good chunk! Thanks if you donated! Any money that you pay for download now will go to Cruisin' Records in support of future releases.


released February 22, 2014

NANA GRIZOL (BAND) (this time): Emily Simpson (sings), Jared Gandy (plays bass and guitar), Laura Carter (plays drums and her car), Madeline Adams (sings), Robby Cucchiaro (plays trumpets and euphonium), Theo Hilton (plays guitar, sings and writes lyrics). Derek Almstead, badass that he is, recorded this stuff in his lovely home in Athens, GA--January and February 2014.




Nana Grizol Athens, Georgia

Nana Grizol is a rock band from Athens, GA. Their most recent album, South somewhere Else, is about growing up in that town. In addition to Theo, Jared, Robbee, and Matte, South Somewhere Else features BZ Gibbs, Sherri Miller, and Kym Register. Cover painting by Patrick Sprague ... more

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