Short Leashes (2013)

by Lump Sum

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"Philosophy, expanded to be the whole world, turns against the world of appearance." - KM


released June 4, 2013


all rights reserved



Lump Sum Brooklyn, New York

Logan Spencer and Matt Morgan make songs and (hopefully) you listen to them.

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Track Name: Cartography
Traverse the space between you and me and write it all off as cartography. Just scour your barren coffers. Bake me a poison pill offer: the kind I could never agree to, the kind that anyone could see through. I take a blunt object to a a soft subject. History shows that's not a very good idea; I never knew it.
Track Name: Beta
We find a different distance - a somatic reference, another reason to palpitate on the rate of return. There's a hole at the seam, just beyond the scene and betraying the saying for a way to slip through.

For the beta test, leave behind the rest. Stay calm, pack light, sneak out at night.

I tried, I tried, but I was tired, made a fuss but cleaned it up and made my bed to lay in early. I can only hold a grudge against you for a minute or two before I forget it. I'm hardly a slave but I'm also impacted by whatever you do.
Track Name: Short Leashes
All the animals know what we don't: we're terminal cases on short leashes. We betray it in our faces, with our scars. We never linger places, or remember too far to flameouts in the backs of cars and the hallways of half-empty bars. We forget how to feel who we are.
Track Name: Roman à Clef
In the cult of personality there are two ideas: rules painted over then scrubbed for days, a constant hum of consonant haze. The religion of duality is different, you see: it means you hold onto half of me. I soldier on, to fail is to fold on a sure thing.

In the entry room there are two chairs, frayed and unoccupied, been so for a long time, beside them stacks of papers to the ceiling, saved as healing but now stealing a sense of dissent as ink evaporates and coats the walls. Extrapolate and think about the cause.
Track Name: Machinima
I always felt the need to heed all the signs and resign to the fact that it's always coming back. So here's what i see: I'll try, but say "I told you so." It's a strange thing to say, but it's true.

I think it's an elemental subject. I think it's a relatable effect. I know I'm going fishing for a partner in deviation, or it's metaphysical, in which case it's difficult to ace a test I can't take. I hope I make a mistake.
Track Name: Billy the Kid
Give it a puncher's chance. Bo see your fate in me is a gambler's fallacy or a sampler's error, a covert nod to night terrors. be on one side, stay and reside.

The illusion of control is a tendency, then a dependency, and in the end an addiction to fiction of our own creation, playing on a loop and staying.

I wouldn't mind if you frame me for this when things get blue bloody, waters muddied by faith or money. iI's an alpha test, not a last stand.

Most things evolve or resolve, but few ever descend to our level, or depend on the devil to fall back on. Embrace the race to the bottom.

We tightrope the track, stitched into dust and gravel and left to unravel across the plain, live off the land and above the law, retire to caves where our treasure is hid, stay on the run like Billy the Kid.
Track Name: The Golden Age
Sutra - an aphorism continuous and without flaw; gained freely, come and gone, an allegory left bare for some.

I remember the times when you spoke of a golden age. Whether prose or just prosaic, I waited for you to say it. Even this was impious, left to a kiss-off to drive us away and confine us.

A shadowy flock of birds takes flight in the middle of the night. They set alight and tumble down in fluttering flakes of grey and white.
Track Name: Justifications
If I'm the type that says too much, I won't bother apologizing. I wrote the book on clichés so I get this one royalty-free.

"I can't help it if I'm pretty," she said, as I rolled my eyes, still in time, and admitted she was right.

If it's a full house, we can float around back. I know a few places where you can sit down and sneak a few sins. If it's a full house, we we can float around back. I know a spot where we can eavesdrop for free.

The streets here are definitely not paved with gold, but there's still a sense that we're young, or young enough to invent the rules.

I bet it's a full house, shoulder to shoulder back twenty-five rows, but I might know the guys who run the show.
Track Name: Maya
The analog of love lost, seen in figure or ground, is a meager pattern behaving as a natural totality.

But really, we're the exception to a suggestion, a sick experiment: emergence, reification and constructive invariance.

Do you see me as more or less than a sum? You can confess, but I'd say that I hear you in verse and refrain and steady cool rain.