• Things I'd Rather Not Have Learned - Ampere
• The Regulator (bad Brains) - Ampere
• The Jailors Speak Of Freedom - Ampere
• Sleepwalkers - Ampere
• Secret Hallways - Ampere
• Remain Unadapted - Ampere
• Past Imperfect - Ampere
• Our Exit Strategy - Ampere
• Our Adventures Incomplete - Ampere
• No Miracle Here - Ampere
• New Urbanism - Ampere
• New Forms - Ampere
• My Favorite Movie - Ampere
• Mr. Suit - Ampere
• We Live Like Lost Children - Ampere
• Money Stinks (dri) - Ampere
• In Memoriam - Ampere
• In Antiquity - Ampere
• Escapism - Ampere
• Dover & Grove - Ampere
• Diffident Dissonance - Ampere
• Bit Part In A Bad Movie - Ampere
• Away From The Bright Lights - Ampere
• At Its Heart & At Its Head - Ampere
• Against Automation - Ampere
• Abject Failure - Ampere
• A New Dialect - Ampere
• A Letter To A Friend - Ampere
• Woodlawn - Ampere
• Your Still Life - Ampere
• Wormwood Radiation - Ampere

and i can say that i learned one thing from you (one single thing), how not to treat who you claim to love. no matter what you say, i will not be the same again.

You tell me what to say and when to say it. you tell me what to do and how to do it. And if I ask you why, yoou'll arrest me. And if I call you lie, you'll detest me. You control what I'll be, you control who I see. And if I let you you'll control me. You're the man who owns all the keys to the stores. You're the man who always wants so much more. You're the regulator.

everything we own, we have stolen. we've no regrets. obscurity and clarity collide. we've swallowed down these words for too long. all that is said can be disproved, and all that's not can be upheld. don't be content with being a spectator. speak up and choose a point you've made and expand it. choose a point you've made and destroy it. or critique the critiques. destroy the ironclad.

Asleep or awake, eyes opened or closed.
We'll see through boarded windows and cracked concrete.
You and me- all of us- we will be dischord, volatile, and explosive.
We will write our own histories.
We'll not let on to faking and plant a thousand lies.
They won't know; no one will know our truth.

smoke and mirrors, secret hallways.
our home, left behind in ruin, became somone's sacred holy land.
and still, searching for the devine, your plague will choke the life from us.
one day we will learn to stand.
no one in front, none above, not quite sure what we've become.
we're all great communicators and all such fucking fakers.
we're doves with golden haloes shot dead in the streets.
and looking up with fear, clouds open wide.

n this song, we'll interrupt ourselves & never come to an end.
all conclusions remain to be drawn,
everything recalculated.

we won't play your game. ou wrote the book,
made the rules.
we are excerpts from the same book,
dog-eared but not worn out.
all books reach an ending.
so, then, will our movement.
gather all your hang-ups & feed them to the sharks.
we'll inhabit the space between the two extremes:
so alive in body & so devoid of heart.
we knew there would be no future;

If this is our final communiqué,
then this song can be our escape.
Our disruption will outlive us all.
We won't impose any automation.
We won't fear ourselves.
We have escaped from a burning house,
faces bruised, bloody and torn,
but on its ashes,
we can build a safer house.

(i'll) write your name in the sand if you'll do the same of mine. when i'm gone, alert the press. tell them that though my body is gone i am still living. and you'll see me again. (of the) million words you said to me, spoke as loudly the flowers I laid out in the melting snow, wilting.

the apple doesn't fall too far, but the tree has been cut down. the roots that were there are like your heart so dried and so dead. you gave me existence, but could never give me life. you gave me a shovel to dig my own grave. eighteen years being taught how to get by. if your standard is complacency, "dig your grave" i am only dna.

we'll walk through candlelight and artificial flowers on sun street and drown ourselves in the swimming pool on the avenue of the little girls. you can't go three steps without encountering ghosts bearing all prestige of their legends. our vision fragmented, these monuments draw us back, draw us in, draw it out...but will never repeat.

there will come a time when the passion & fire in our words will manifest itself as a tangible revolution of the self & of the lives we're living. and when those floodgates open, we'll be the ones, arm in arm, wielding words as weapons, breaking down our walls. we are the few, objectified & marginalized. our time will not come, we must take what we can. this is what we've become. we are both life & death.

look into my blue eyes and say that, "you're a film that i've seen, and i know everything word for word, line for line." you said, "once you meant everything to me. i studied you, learned your every move." now i'm gone, fallen into place. i do hear you, and i can't say that i understand... but i want to.

I'm tired of being told what to think
I'm tired of being told what to do
I'm tired of fucking phonies
That's right, I'm tired of you
No, no, no, no, no, no, Mr. Suit
You can take your fucking money and shove it up your arse
'Cause you think you understand, well it's a fucking farce
I'm tired of fucking phonies
That's right, I'm tired of you
And if you turn and walk out that door
And take your fucking money, let me tell you what it's for
I'm tired of fucking phonies

capitalism is a dead end, anarchism has gone bust, "situationism" never existed, and romanticism is a waste of time. may no law govern our bodies, and may no singular idea impose stillness. us two, we are a movement that will not be held down by any self-imposed dogmatic posturing. we are fluid & volatile - no room for the taut & tame. we'll reject the notion of modeling our patterns on archaic moral codes no in line with our lives. the dreams we have - the songs we sing - they are flashes of an unresolved past. they shed light on moments previously lived in confusion & doubt. now is the time to stand back & ask, "are we living the lives that we want?"

I stayed at homw today
And I'm not going back to work
Money Stinks... Money Stinks
This city stinks
Smell the power, smell the health
Smell the poverty of Americas wealth
Money smells of evil, greed
Capitolist wants and pumped up needs
Money stinks
Money stinks
This city stinks
Smell the logic... Smell the jet planes
The dangerous goals and crooked aims
Smell the progress... Smell the dirty money
Smells like shit, this isn't funny
Money stinks
Money stinks
This city stinks
Nobody cares about the air we breath
Nobody cares about the air we need
Smell the profit, smell the success
Smell the dying dream of the mighty west
Smell the factories, smell all the cars
The adult book stores and the topless bars
Smell the pretty people, smell their false pity
Smell the broken promise of the living city
Smell the real reason, smell, smell the one way plan
The real estate, the desperate, state of modern man
Smell the excess, smell the death

from under your monument, the words rang out:
"je voulais parler la belle langue de mon siècle."
and you did.
you're a movement whose time has come,
whose time has passed.

We've rid ourselves of the monsters sleeping under our beds, but wake up screaming out of reach, something familiar. While we're sleeping, breathing, walls creak. We're there in nightmares, among half-thoughts. In cracked mirrors, there lie fragments of bedtime stories and dog-eared photographs. We're unfamiliar now with this place we used to call home. Faces obscured, foreign.
But I know you. At least, I knew you then.
Beds are cold new, and I'm still convinced that there are ghosts in my closet. I know they're in yours.
The scariest part is in what we didn't say.
All these years passed, are we still the same?

lies told a thousand times, take an independance from our words.
weve all been wrong before, but this is all i know, we can speak in absolutes, create a false truth.
but how can we be proud of, that which we despise? is this our quiet revolution, built up and destroyed? well believe what we want, romanticism blacks out reality. theres only so long that we can live in hopes weve had and dreams weve created. in empty rooms with sloping walls the shades are drawn the lights are out. theres no comfort in our blackened windows, we cant resign ourselves to this, we cant gve up we wont give in. were locked up but we hold the key.

Succession is built upon contradiction
It will never follow straight
He said that "I just can't say how much I wish that this could change"
Bury me with my words next to my sisters
Brother dear
I'm sorry that you knew
What I couldn't have hidden under my bed
Will you forget me?

car bombs and body bags, a never ending war. still we pledge allegiance and fly our flags at half mast.
dont ask questions that you dont want answers too. just sit quietly, rest assures. sleep long, sleep well, youre not complicit. youve convinced yourself that you give a fuck. flag draped coffins and shot gun salutes to sterilize a noble life. youre yellov ribbons dont mean a fucking thing fromyour safe suburban home. but its ok, youre not to blame.

I'm irrelevent except for a brief walk on role as the less articulate heir to
a bunch of people who had a purpose and a plan all is shit and chaos
araggghhbnbt things change these days in such quick, cruelly absurd ways and
I'll never be more than a footnote to the bullshit my bit part in a bad movie

i woke up to rivers burning & dreamt of drowning in concrete. i woke up to dead time & said... "there is something in your streets that feeds some spectacle, and there is something in my eyes that says to burn it down." there's no place in my heart for failed critiques, empty words, boredom. we've seen your rusted trestles & abandoned warehouses, and we'll take you down brick by brick. under your pavement lies your real truth. while all around us is dying, we'll light the first match.

blood is filling our lungs & the room won't stop spinning. it's only now that we notice the ghosts in the mirror are us. we built these walls. somewhere, choking on words, in some far-off room, away from the fallout, we'll never make it out. and should this room become a morgue, our bed a coffin, our secrets will die with us. so still, so sterile. there are ghosts there, behind the headboard, under sheets. they keep us from sleep. footprints on carpet, and stark white walls keep secrets hid in plain view. and when our buildings topple, we will meet in the wreckage. among ashen remains, we'll be burning ember and we'll not leave any tracks. by sunrise, the wind will displace us. it'll be as if we were never there. and you said that there's not a word to believe in either of our whispured assurances, but we find solace... and we won't forget the sound of ruined gray cities, of shadows, and the silence...

young hearts don't always beat to standard verse & chorus.
we'll deviate from your script & fake our own deaths tonight.
we've plotted our escape,
using these instruments & a corrupt language,
with voices stronger than those projected.
the stage is set, but the set's a fake.
we refuse to memorize the soundtrack to your racket.
and i will not choreograph the next distraction.
interruption is music to our ears.

Our empty room, our deserted street
We intersect, overlap
Unacquainted, but not unfamiliar
It's tenuous, but not uncomfortable
We speak of petty differences, our tongues tied in dialect
In this room, it's always night
All shadows and darkened alleyways
All those songs of alienation and loss more or less add up to this
The length of our sentence simply meant that we convinced ourselves that we knew ourselves
But I only knew a sleeping body, you an empty bed
I knew the cover of a book that neither of us read
We knew of the smoke and mirrors, but not the trap doors

i'm dying to tell you my veins are containing the screams of millions within my blood stream proclaiming, "i'm alive, i'm alive, i'm alive, i'm alive, i'm alive!" look into my eyes, see this is real. look in my heart, know that i am sincere... and if we fill our lungs with hope (which we have), then revolution is in every breath. if we say nothing at all (which we could), then our actions could be our words. in everything i do and everything i say, there's an image of you.

there is no structure that compares to my heart, nor is there a formula to map it out. nothing compares to this dying; i don't expect you to understand. just hold my hand. care, that's enough. i whisper into your ear, "there is no way i could express with words just how much you make me feel alive."

It replays everyday and every time I yell the warning, “please turn back!” Sometimes, I can see you in the shadows; I can hear you in the echoes. I can feel you in the darkness. Sometimes, I can see you in the mirror. I can see you in my own eyes… and it scares me to think that somewhere… somehow… you’re not breathing, and I miss you. And I will never be alone when I still see you in my dreams… a minute for each mile, please turn back… a lifetime for each second of broken glass. Open, open, open up your eyes, and come back.

There comes a time when questions end. The page unread, a canvas blank. Answers fail, I can't relate. This is the time when questions end. Yours is a dialogue that I cannot erase. So hang tight to your fears and hold hands with silence. The old ghosts still inhabit the space between your bed and the wall. You've written your own history. This is the bed you've made, and I refuse to tuck you in.

've had this dream before, i know just how it ends. our eyes will fill with flame. our hearts will swell & explode. woodlawn is a place of abandoned hopes & dreams, of always wilting flowers & letters never read. but there is life here. you can hear it in the soil. you can see it in the shadows, etched in stone: "there is life here." so we're three years removed, and the earth around us has set. though the gears have stopped turning, the engine still hums. rewind, repeat, i see you there. you're alive on every page of every book. i hear your voice in echoes, in every line. this doesn't get any easier. this is a wound that time can't heal. it leaves a scar.