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Querido Diario: Andate a la yuta madre que te parió.


released August 27, 2013

WNMG: Vocals, guitar, bass.
CSCOT: Programming, software.
Charles Bukowski: Vocals on "June 9th".



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Cheating Spouses Caught On Tape Buenos Aires, Argentina

Misguided sexual energy turned into Pseudo-musical endeavours. The sound of bad jokes.

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Track Name: January 18th
This chloroform dream keeps waiting for me. A note from a scream says “I want the whole thing”. Too indisposed to cut the wire, I breathe before I see. Another tongue it’s getting higher. I should have felt them coming for me. This stench is fierce. This stench is real. I sleep on hard wrists while I travel in heat.
Track Name: February 8th
It's a world of multiple obsessions and not all of them are mine. Several sides to witness the mysterious and none of them apply. Hey, Mistress of error, can you spear my time? Hey, Mister Bold Verbose, will you close my eyes? This is the part where I cross through the night with ghosts by my side. Two of them scratching my spine in an indecent reply. It won't be enough. I guess it never is. You pointed out without doubt the problem with me. If we never shake hands that would be so weird. Purpose and regret I trace within my head.
Track Name: March 8th
We serve as the air runs wild. This hospital bed is one of a kind. Screaming out lullabies with tired throats and broken lungs. Should I go back to sleep? The flames are flying higher. We hardly can see through all the smoke. Our backs tied real tight. Won’t dare to say another word. Should I go back to sleep? Ideas and knives left behind. Not a single ounce to call our own. We wonder about the night. When did we realize our world was gone? Should I go back to sleep?
Track Name: April 1st
Boots and tongues hanging from red-winged trees. The smell of fire dissipating in a fog of vomit. Moving through this space where art is high and low at the same time. Perspective is a wall of mud fragmenting itself into blurred pictures of fate. These animals are not meant to be calmed down. On the other hand, their lives tend to be rather short. Concentric shells aim at gestures of confrontation. This molecular warfare is forever lost.
Track Name: May 27th
"We should talk", He said. "I don't feel like talking right now", I replied. "You never feel like talking". He's right.
Track Name: June 9th
“Their finest art” by Charles Bukowski.
Track Name: July 25th
If this is hair, what's in my mind? I shaved my head to reach inside. I've read the books and learned the stars. Undressed my soul with loaded guns. I am evil master plan. With empty hands I came to town. I drenched my back in boiling tar. A spectacle to lift the hearts. I'll fake my death for the last time. I am evil master plan.
Track Name: August 16th
She's sitting on top of the city. She lights another cigarette. Her arms all twisted and heavy. I bet you couldn't even see her. Make up on the inside. You'll never know where it came from. She never asked to be born. Her time impossible to measure. She's right, if there's a right or wrong. She'll take what's hers and more. Her eyes on ours. Scared to death of what they'll show us.
Track Name: September 13th
Bitter as the fourth best, I step on my steps. Trapped in what your eyes have deemed as unreal. This clash of words means nothing as long as I don’t win. Touch the plastic ceiling. Dusty signs of fear. The wretched and the soon to be. Their courtship is plain sick. Do you remember soft skin? Hands gone wild on secret tricks. Signals falling from your mouth. Trick or treat. Secretly I raise the bar as far as I can see.
Track Name: October 24th
To stay awake, I must admit, I am never awake. On fear alone I feast my own through fractured visions of gold. Uncomfortable silence. Our daze of hate, the perfect game. I can almost explain. Uncomfortable silence.
Track Name: November 15th
Trying to make sense of this I peeled off some skin. I thought I could find the right metaphors there but I was wrong. I found concealed ugliness, old wounds never properly healed and a book full of suicide notes. But no decent literature.
Track Name: December 15th
It’s not your heart that I want. The hidden knots of misplaced love. Though I am not the one to judge, this frame of mind seems obvious. The myth, the vote, the holy ghost. We’ve seen the remnants of it all. They gave us some to seize our hope. We settled for a few old crumbs.