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Perfection is a Process

by Naevus

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1.
The Obvious 03:36
Hand-banger messed it up again Set his wits adrift Just hanging on by the scruff of his neck Could beat the lot of them at Crufts He always got up in the morning In a church-going medley of sound In a quest for attention In and around Swiss Cottage He aspired to the television Discussed it at length While professing to hate it Muck-raking in his own mind Then rubbing it in your face In the new Victorian park He thought that he could watch the smell of air Thought that he’d found his way again He’s waiting to be counted now But I need to repel the fact
2.
Retreat 06:38
There’s nothing like this It was born in the past And suffers its way into the future Its hard head supported By the weakest spine Ever known to man It watches as others Strive to exist In a state that is its nature They think it’s the end But it knows that it is The process itself – retreat It has no manners To remember So it falls hard into its food And it slides down from table Into retreat Retreat, retreat, retreat
3.
Grip at an object with your eye Try to bring it into your mind Then fail to act Maintaining your absence from the world Choose your lessons from life Simmer but don’t boil Observe a procession of documented hardship Then don’t look Watch a hand placed on a load Watch the load swell to constraint Make a scruffy handbook Then watch a sheet lie empty as it should Grip at an object with your eye Try to bring it into your mind Then fail to act Maintaining your absence from the world
4.
Clay Hats 04:17
The trees are a crust on his vision now The road, a distant harm below him now Replica whitewash stands in sheets Everything accounted for Having hoped for Algerian loneliness Nothing is now left His shoulders yearn for skirting board As his skin shrinks from carpet Cubism lingers in the walls As testicles bang in jeans He hates red brick chimneys wearing clay hats And all other practical error His head full of stacked furniture An indoor mountaineer He sits up dead in the fuelled air Legs hope to hit energy Cubism lingers in the walls As testicles bang in jeans He hates red brick chimneys wearing clay hats And all other practical error
5.
South Bank 04:19
Now, as I walk on the south riverbank Synthesized I am creating false memories That will be useful to me As the tenements sit On their flat, concrete hands They grow slowly fat with distance And all along the Thames In brown or in grey They are empty But there’s no other place Or thing to be done There is no one But this one The waters may move Just as I seem to be walking I travel between every absence Between every casing As the tenements sit On their flat, concrete hands They grow slowly fat with distance And all along the Thames In brown or in grey They are empty But there’s no other place Or thing to be done There is no one But this one
6.
Look to the state Look to the state Look to the state One state One state One church Two meats Make seed Four bags On sheets One way to the socialist state One state, one state Look to the state Look to the state Look to the state One state One state Make needs Take soot From sheets Make heat Make weeds Make way for the socialist state One state, one state Look to the state Look to the state Look to the state One state One state One meat One church One need One heat Take heed Take seats for the socialist state One state, one state Look to the state Look to the state Look to the state One state
7.
I’m treading water because of you Moving materials from one place to another I’ll skim off another surface Denying beauty at every turn I’m making lists because of you One to eight and still not approved I’ll carry on gliding But it still hurts to pull the wire through Start again Urge has become a distant knowledge So far removed from the actions I’ve performed My left leg dies and my right will probably follow My chair creaks As your tiny imitation of heartbreak Breaks my heart
8.
Finding your voice in a bin Losing an oat in your face Having the nerve to go Hurting the food supply Being manhandled Up the narrow stairs Feet catching in railings In an awkward manner Tie to the side Your jacket-flaps fan me I’ll text you and I’ll text you ‘Til the morning light A heart full of gloves A handful of tape This never was Your environment Burning the price-tag In a plan of sorts Your wings are hot but stuck In the eyes of a dog you love Under the receiver Ability beckons Don’t do it now Or act like a zoo A canny young thing With feelers out for dregs The sponge drains the cup The froth fills the mop Put your face out to dry Peg it up with the shirts Choose an attaché case And a shiny new suit Be a cranberry Parsifal Feta cappuccino melt Be a pencil lover Take up that mug
9.
Scribbler 05:08
His ears are a-buzz With extraneous sound He is a tree on its side now He has never seen Such disgust On a human face before Scribbler The will is there To make into knots Every empty encounter He picks the sticker from His new pen And puts it to use Scribbler
10.
Afters 06:46
I eat all of my dinner for you Every pea and every carrot Dirty gravy clots And all of that cheap meat My spoon bangs into crust and to plate My place-mat fits my nasty place well You have seen me eat it all up And I hold it all in so well Seeing your hunger in me, your pupil My indigestion cripples me daily Oblivious to bowel or intestine You only see the mouth Every mealtime is just a lesson The dining room is just your classroom The dinner table is your blackboard And the cheese is chalk I have no special dietary requirements I will eat meat and I will eat gluten As prescribed By various ancient religious testaments I loudly belch and laugh “Bring me more fish! I have a hole!” In sailor clothes I jig for you In McDonalds, Burger King and KFC I buckle with the weight Of what’s on my plate But I’ll find room for afters

credits

released October 23, 2004

Lloyd James: voice, acoustic guitar.
Joanne Owen: bass, accordion, electronics.
Greg Ferrari: electric guitar.
John Murphy: drums, bowed cymbal, singing bowl, sampler.
David E. Williams: keyboard (track 3).
Andrew Trail: shanai (track 7).

Recorded and mixed by Naevus at Wooden Lung, London from August 2003 to June 2004, except keyboards in track 3 recorded by David E. Williams in Philadelphia on 28th March 2004 and drums in tracks 4, 6 and 10 recorded by Naevus and Andrew Trail at the 491 Gallery, London on 15th March 2004. Mastered by Hunter Barr at Retina II, London.

All material (c) Naevus 2004.

Cover image: 'The Cyclops' (1914) by Odilon Redon (1840-1916).

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Naevus London, UK

Lloyd James: voice, guitar. Ben McLees: bass. Hunter Barr: drums. Sam Astley: guitar.

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