looking glass badger; criminal ladle

by Dangle Manatee

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1.
00:19
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03:23
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00:25
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04:51
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00:17
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02:40
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04:11
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00:07
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02:21
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01:29
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04:37
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credits

released July 30, 2015

tags

tags: diy punk absurd absurdist anarcho-absurdo-dada-folk-punk anarcho-punk dada folk folk punk poetry Glasgow

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all rights reserved

about

Dangle Manatee image

Dangle Manatee Glasgow, UK

Nobody is superior to anybody else.

Everything is absurd.

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Track Name: i am waiting for a man
I am waiting for a man
with hair like an Italian goalkeeper
to kick his golden boot
through the prime minister’s teeth.

I will capture the moment on camera
and sell the image
for less than it is worth.
Track Name: i made a mistake when i stole the ice cream
I made a mistake
when I stole the ice cream.
Collected plastic knives
instead of spoons and
now you’ve sliced your
tongue-tip into our tub
of raspberry ripple.

The stub seeps blood
inconspicuously, jutting up
like a nipple full up
of beetroot milk.
You do not look thrilled.

A gull advances and says
‘I’ll have that if you don’t want it’
through those imperturbable eyes,
whilst the blood smudged on your chin,

it makes me think of pink granite,
and of the time we tap-danced on it
without knowing any moves at all,
and of the nooks of your body
sweating into mine.

Discarding our knives,
now, now, now, we kiss, we must.
Your lump of mute muscle slops beneath
melting cream as I taste your blood
in my throat and I dream of
never growing old.
Track Name: WLTM #1
monotone sofa-bed would like to meet selfish crustacean for enormous giggles

bendy ball would like to meet crunchy parrot for roman pancakes

proud tamarind would like to meet afraid meat-hook for turgid gas

hopeful raver would like to meet golf-ball-sized barn owl for unbelievable shits
Track Name: people in pain do painful things
Weave a rug from belly-fluff and be done with it. A caretaker mops up hot sick craving Jesus on the cross.

You say you don’t believe in anything, I say, ‘Do you think that crabs exist?’, you say, ‘Well, I guess they are a thing that is’, so I say, ‘You believe in something then’.

And if you hold your tongue for too long it will dry out in the sun, like a raison but less fun to eat on a creaking playground swing.

These cracks in lips they look so comforting, warm red ravines where we can hear the echoes sing as we count what we’ve stolen.

In amongst the monuments to a night well spent, a spider wraps its legs tentatively round a cork.

We speak in rhythms, write in tributaries, listening to owls that shriek like crying babies.

The pavement shimmers in reflection of the stars but I couldn’t tell you where we are in relation to such things.

And under bridges people sleep with only ticket stubs and cigarettes butts to separate them from the road, as we just count what we’ve stolen.

So count what you’ve stolen now.
Track Name: i have been left responsible for a small dog
I have been left responsible for a small dog,
the size of the top of a chimney pot.
It shits blood on a canvas for a living
and it is a genius.
Track Name: why do the geese go barefoot?
As a bee lands on a lily
and a toothpick slits some gums,
the height of hillocks increase like unhurried lungs
and climbers clip to cliffs umbilically.

Foxes on leads snarling uninvitingly,
but still unbitingly,
and we’ve got a special powder
to remove the toughest stains
from all of our chains,
oh, they really sparkle.
Broth burps bubbles above a flame.

As nurses relieve fevers with cold towels
and tourists hide money in their shoes,
the face of a kitten is printed on a pack of tissues,
and tractors corrode from their own chemicals.

Prosthetic smiles shining inhumanely,
we nod its-a-shamely,
then continue to comment on the intricacy
of the clock’s hands,
oh, the trembling romance.
The wheels on the bus go round and around.

As shelves of biscuits are re-stacked
and bags of bones patter in the rain,
eggs hatch like heads crashing through window panes
and siblings argue over maths.
We’ve had enough of that.
Track Name: i have become involved in a riot
I have become involved in a riot.
It was caused by a shortage of audio guides
at the potato museum
and it will all end in tears.
Track Name: i don't know why the fuck i'm here
Imprints of delight are shivered in my spine.
They converse in time with other friends of mine,
like fear and grief and missing kissing your teeth.
Every fossil’s curl points to a different world
but I can’t help but think.

I don’t know why the fuck I’m here I could be fucking anywhere.

Machines that are built to kill used as tables until
I can hold my breath longer than you.
An exercise in memory mixes doubt with vanity,
steam peels paint and opens follicles
but I can’t help but think

I don’t know why the fuck I’m here I could be fucking anywhere.
Track Name: clean up on aisle four
Clean up on aisle four!
Praying mantis shaped pasta.
Track Name: on holiday i met a pauper
On holiday I met a pauper
with a box of raisons
balanced on their knee.
The sun was cooking
our brains inside our skulls.
The cobbled streets were
warmer to the touch than breasts.

From some half sleeping shopkeeper
I purchased a bag of frozen peas
and a small saucepan.
Then, in front of the beggar,
I poured the peas into the pan and added my loose change.
In between us I placed the pan on a cobble stone.

All at once
we both lunged forwards
to rub the peas
into our searing skin.
The shades shifted,
meeting sweat,
from green to green to
green to green.

We swallowed each coin just like our guilt.
Track Name: WLTM #2
potatoey postman would like to meet dogged cygnet for pulchritudinous panpipes

confused peanut would like to meet shitting tube for uninspired tellings-off

spongy colonel would like to meet portable specialist for fragrant tongue-tingling

talented farmhand would like to meet saucy pen for manageable jigs
Track Name: music box
music boxes full of watches
rusted tweezers and razor blades
turn the handle hear the jangle
there’s never been a tune the same

hrm bap nrrm tap grum dum lrrrm brrm hmm
hrrm grap shm nap snmmm nmmmm

turn them faster start the clatter
of baseball bats on baking trays
broken dolls feet kicking dust sheets
you can’t escape this song’s parade

hrm bap nrrm tap grum dum lrrrm brrm hmm
hrrm grap shm nap snmmm nmmmm

Shhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!
Shhhhhhhhhh!
Shhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!
Shhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!

hrm bap nrrm tap grum dum lrrrm brrm hmm
hrrm grap shm nap snmmm nmmmm
Track Name: what will you be wearing to the end of year dance?
What will you be wearing to the end of year dance?

An oat on each eyelid and a hot dog bun.
Track Name: the sprout is engrossed in its own growing
Rooftops speak to the sky throughout the night,
sheltering fingers peeling clementines,
as the faces of the moon iced onto a cake
help us to illustrate how knowledge is consumed.

Workers in launderettes wash socks to pay the rent
making sure to check pockets for spare change,
as drains clog up with leaves and plastic sleeves for straws,
leaving us to ask: what are we here for?

a spear on a wall
a soldier rubbing their chin
a waning waterfall
these walls are too thin

Approach with ill intent a bag of unmixed cement
placed at one end of a see-saw.
A career in the stars; a lifetime in the mud;
the wink of a dove scratching patterns into skin.

If fingers rough from weaving rugs stroke their children’s cheeks enough
they leave their offspring with the love of a coarse sponge.
All hairs are laid end to end from throughout history,
we walk this line screaming: where will it get me?

a column crumbles down
a note left on a plate
a dog dressed in a gown
it’s all over in a handshake
Track Name: stomach lining
Stomach lining bleeds from an ill deer’s anus.

We drink tea.
Track Name: all my past lives have been failed attempts at fame
I had plans to start a band of revolutionaries
and we were gonna kill the queen
but then someone said ‘Let’s chop of his head instead’
and I found myself beneath the guillotine.

So in the next life, I decided to try and write,
it was poetry that was pulsing through my veins
and I revealed in excess and, yes, I left a beautiful corpse,
but I never got around to write a page.

Next time around I considered being a an architect
to build spires which might pierce the sky,
but soon I found out it wasn’t so easy as it looked,
as the bricks all fell in on me one night.

All my past lives have been failed attempts at fame
but at least I can say that I lived them to the full.
Now I just want to be able to say the same
about this one but I’m not certain what I want to do.

So next I thought about being a prophet
to give the lost some direction in their lives
but when I looked out on the crowd that had come to hear me
I thought ‘Well, I’m just as lost as any of these guys’.

Next I conceded I could be a scholar,
run this state through with my pen,
but upon filling my bookshelves, they all collapsed on me,
and the headlines read that learning leads to death.

But then I knew, oh I knew, that I was born to be an artist
the paintbrush like an extension of my arm,
and I cut off my ears to try and fit in
but the other artists they just laughed.

All my past lives have been failed attempts at fame
but at least I can say that I lived them to the full.
Now I just want to be able to say the same
about this one but I’m not certain what I want to do.
Track Name: fish can't swin through custard
Fish can’t swim through custard.

You have no reflection.
Track Name: when it's not summer weather, there's no use pretending
A child takes a sticker to say
‘I was good at the doctor’s today’
as in the factory where the stickers were made
ink drips onto the floor in the shape of a lion
the machines roar in mockery but it stays silent
as the workers whisper it will come to life someday.

La da da da da la da da da da la da da da da hey oh

Sweating waiters season salads
as a customer remarks ‘I don’t know how they manage.’
Their companion replies that they cannot sympathise
and ‘If you want the most from life, you’ve got to just grab it.’
A newspaper laying on their table bears grubby fingers
smudged over headlines about genocide and adverts for new cars.

La da da da da la da da da da la da da da da hey oh

A supermarket worker adds a cigarette pack
to the bread and fruit she’s packed in a black bin bag.
Now a fella shaking coins outside asks her for smoke,
she says, ‘I can’t give you no food in case you choke’.
A police officer approaches to ask if there’s any problem,
she shakes her head and says, ‘No, I just wish there was some way I could help him’.

La da da da da la da da da da la da da da da hey oh

Streams join rivers as lovers join hands
at the back of the bus their breath frosting the glass.
When a woman with a black eye gets on at the next stop,
the passengers surrounding stroke their feet in the dust.
Frightened foxes run from the sound of the engine,
as an old man slips his gloves on saying, ‘When it’s not summer weather, there’s no use pretending’.

La da da da da la da da da da la da da da da hey oh
Track Name: sunflower seed shells and bottle caps
Sunflower seed shells and bottle caps.

Ahhhhhhhh!

Bottom draw bowties and shower caps.

Ooooooohhhhhhh!
Track Name: a little dinghy, on the river, i resting on my oars, they lolling on air pillows in the stern
my little dinghy
my little dinghy
my little dinghy
oh my little, oh my little, oh my little , oh oh!
oh yeah my little dinghy
oh yeah my little dinghy
oh yeah my little dinghy
oh yeah yeah yeah my little dinghy
my little dinghy
my little dinghy
my little dinghy
oh my little, oh my little, oh my little , oh oh!
oh yeah my little dinghy
oh yeah my little dinghy
oh yeah my little dinghy
oh yeah yeah yeah my little dinghy
Track Name: coconuts for sex
Coconuts for sex,
coconuts for sex,
oh, whatever next,
now they’ve got
coconuts for sex?
Track Name: i was trying to be a fridge magnet
I was sat on a park bench eating pinecones
they were hard, they were hard to swallow.
What I have learnt it was all worth the strain,
but all that I’ve learnt I could never explain.

I was sat on a bird’s back just listening to them sing.
I wasn’t invited, but nor was I intruding
What I have learnt I know it was all worth the strain,
but all that I’ve learnt I still couldn’t explain.


I was at in a pistol, just waiting for it to fire.
I can still hear it, I’m sure, whenever I close my eyes.
What I have learnt it was all worth the strain,
but all that I’ve learnt I cannot explain.

I was sat amongst windmills, whispering to the breeze.
I asked for her secrets, but all she did was tease.
She said that ‘What I’ve learnt it was all worth the strain,
but all that I’ve learnt I can’t explain’.


I was sat on a riverbed as all the people sieved for gold
and I was relived when they picked me up, that I fell back through the holes.
What I’ve learnt it was all worth the strain,
but what I’ve learnt I cannot explain.

I was sat on an earthworm, we were coursing through the soil.
We digested old friends the same as we digested old foes.
What we learnt, we said, it was all worth the strain,
but, you know, all that we learn we can never explain.