MK Ultra: Words





		Serbian Folk Song Catastrophe Practice Letting Go True Crime Billy Dale Hunt, Salesman Santa Maria Out With the Stars High-Watt Glow Grand Canyon Hopeful Monster Unless They Love You Hanging Man Ending the Century MK ULTRA Jon Merker Bass Vocals Jordan Newhouse Guitar Vocals Matt Torrey Drums Keyboards Vocals John Vanderslice Vocals Guitar Samples Produced by MK Ultra Engineered and Mixed by Damien Rasmussen Recorded at Dancing Dog and Lack–of–Ventilation Studios Mastered by John Golden Mastering Music by MK Ultra Words by John Vanderslice Except Serbian Folk Song Words Unless They Love You Words Words edited by Amanda Yskamp Graphics Mark Gordon Jon Ryan MK Ultra Photography Alcina Horstmann Contact Artichoke 1050 B Dolores SF CA 94110 415 695 9288 mkultra@sirius.com A Serbian Folk Song Lucy decides to become unchaste A young girl promised never to wear flowers, never to drink wine, never to kiss boys. Yesterday she promised, today she repents: "If I wore flowers, I’d be much prettier, if I drank wine, I’d feel much better, if I kissed a boy, I’d be much happier." Catastrophe Practice Jeffrey falls in love with Lucy I wanted to tell you: Your legs remind me of clappers in a bell. Green knit socks climb like vines from your black buckle shoes. Bells ease wordless yearning, vines climb outside my mind. The brutal truths refract swimmingly through you. Have you risen above all the earthly things that have dragged me down? Everything worthwhile is on the other side. You are as charged as two drunken cars inches away on the Interstate. I wanted to tell you: Your legs remind me of clappers in a bell. Bells harmonize the twelve-tone cuckoos in my mind. Can’t you see: I’m taking chances. Letting Go Gooey calms Jeffrey We found my cousin in my uncle Trevor’s barn, he slit his arm from wrist to elbow and back again. Hey lay there twitching, a goldfish in broken glass, they shook him, begged, pleaded, I said: "Let it be– he’s gone, gone, gone." There’s a sweetness in the worst things. My room was bare, so I hung a fuchsia over my bed. The blooms hang heavy, thrusting pistil, dripping spores; almost obscene, withered and ignored, they fall to the floor. There’s a sweetness in the worst things. True Crime Bok, sickened by sentimentality, responds I have a taste for true crime, slashed nipples and all the rest, I confess I like true crime. Three men pick up a boy at Taco Loco, and say: "You’re gonna be our leading man." They drive to Arizona, snuff him out on Betacam– ooo I wanna see that one. I have a taste for true crime, Faces of Death and all the rest, I confess I like true crime. From Don Juans in bloody sheets to the hollow cheeks of dredged-up cheats, I have to say I feel complete when I see true crime. Don’t give me all your shit: life is good and death is bad. I can think of many lives that are not worth living: A quiet man who lives alone tries to bury all the thoughts that are not permissible. He hopes there’s a line that divides thought and action. I have a taste for true crime, slashed nipples and all the rest, I confess I like true crime. From Don Juans in bloody sheets to the hollow cheeks of dredged-up cheats, I have to say I feel complete when I see true crime. Don’t give me all your shit: life is good and death is bad. I can think of many deaths that are worth giving. Billy Dale Hunt, Salesman Billy Dale is mistaken for a terrorist Outside of Baltimore I stopped at a liquor store, to use the telephone, to see if my wife was home. I inhaled the rainy spring, chewed on the raw wind, dialed my number and counted the rings. A bomb went off in the parking lot, it threw me down, singed my hair, and shattered the glass of the liquor store. I saw a gutted van, burning green and gold, spitting sparks; I thought I saw someone inside. I stood in shock ‘til the cops rolled up, they took me in, I was the only witness. I waited until the Feds arrived: two men in shades, half my age. They asked me about Desert Storm, the Turks, the Kurds, chemical wars. I told ‘em I only know the road– I told ‘em I only sold the Magipeeler, Forever Knives, the Eternal Dicer, Miracle Slicer. They said: "You’re not a suspect. Maybe we’ll keep in touch." Santa Maria Jefferey experiments with acid Down the stairs, in the basement, all the lights were out. Hide and seek in the dark, you're never too old to play. Sunday afternoon, we were in the basement. I couldn't see a thing- I hit my head on a beam– somebody screamed. I felt water dripping down. Please turn on the light, I've no idea where I am. The room is rocking back and forth, O God am I on a ship? I've no idea where I am– the Santa Maria? Did we run aground somewhere in the Carribean? No, I think we're going down. I hear water on the deck and the mast splitting in two. What I wouldn't give to discover America and continue to live– I'd hold the dirt up in my hand. I'm sick of this game– tell me where I am. Please turn on the light. Mice are nice. Out With the Stars Jeffrey is forever changed Out with the stars– they make me feel small. Out with future plans– I should learn to fall like a leaf, life can be sweet. In with the clowns– they're good to have around. There's a lesson in their pale of confetti: Life is little more than promise and empty threat. I've been in my garden mapping out the world, past the hedgerows I founded Mexico. The rooting plums marked Eurpoe as my turnip patch. Where I saw ants movving sand I invented Iraq and Iran. Hello Lilac! Do you remember me? I was your Hummingbird, I crossed your sullen sea. When you get that Swallow out of your mouth give me a call. You used to be my all. High-Watt Glow Billy Dale goes insane Staked out on Pennslyvania Avenue, I have seen the powerful ones in open car motorcades, they wave to me. I have walked the halls of the State Department, Archives; I know the high-watt glow that shines on Embassy row. On the White House lawn I was wrestled to the ground, on the Senate Floor I was roughed up and handcuffed- they didn't even hear me out. I wanna deal with North Korea, state reactor, bomb factory, hand in hand with good Kim Jung I would ask him how it feels when your Dad dies and hands you a country- when my Dad dies, I'll get the Chevy. When the night is clear the spacecraft leak signals, every night for a year I've gathered their messages. Interception's near: invasion, landing plan. I'm gonna save us all, everyone, everyone. Grand Canyon Lucy and Jefferey drive across country, settle in San Francisco The sky is cut into ribbons, a blue and white fission is patterned as far as I can screw out my vision. I cannot remember the name of this brilliant formation– I'm finished with the sky-gaze and airy variation. I'll keep my eyesight down on the the cold, rocky ground. If the composition's strong the image will last longer. Tonight I leave Arizona, Monday I'll drive California, but I will not forget today: The Grand Canyon winds down there below, suggests the violence you have to show to leave behind any kind of mark, to be declared a national park. Tonight I leave Arizona, Monday I'll drive California, but I will not forget today: the Canyon is comprehensive. Hopeful Monster When my sweet thing said to me: "Sorry dear, I have to leave you. I made my own discovery, I finally understand what love is: Mercury! Mercury!" I begged, pleaded, cried and sweared. She left: I lost my faith in words. I’m a Hopeful monster Hopeful monster She was a window that opened up on valley, churches, swollen sun. My sad and lovely view is gone; she left a mirror hanging there. I think I recognize that stare– Who am I? Who am I? I think I recognize that stare. Hopeful monster Hopeful monster Where do I go from here? I’m not the strain I used to be: I’m a mutant breed set free. Spawned on her queen-size bed, hatched in a roomy cage, raised on spit, sweaty words, creature comfort, lack of fear. Strange feed breeds altered beasts. Now I’m not the strain I used to be. Hopeful monster Hopeful monster Where do I go from here? Unless They Love You Jeffrey receives a strange letter from Evelyn I would like my love to die and the rain to fall on the graveyard the graveyard and on me walking the streets mourning the first and the last to love me to love me The Hanging Man Lucy leaves Jeffrey, he moves to San Francisco There is a scream There is a light There is a shining opal sky There is a breath There is a sigh May, June, July There is breast milk Silk nightgown And cows Rhyming airplanes naming names There is the wind There is the beach Stutterings of speech There is the sheep There is the snake Fishing on the lake There is the Yes Ma'am Please forgive me I'm late OK, the hard part: You are an avalanche of need and things are either in or out of reach. There is the moon There is the sun There is the cock There is the cunt There is the school There is the creek Walking on the leaves There are the books There are the grades Measures and the weights There are the lips There is the tongue Is there grace from above? Sometimes There is a time For setting out There is the van There is a road Another coast Goodbye Ma! Goodbye home! There is the new town Sundown Falling leaves Your window Looks down on The street There is the snow Radio Alone at the desk There is the job There is the rent Signing of the checks When you are unknown You fear you may Just disappear A wayward satellite Drifting further every night OK, the hard part: You need a reason to live A way of connecting the days– There is a scream There is a light There is a shining opal sky There is a breath There is a sigh May, June, July There is the wind There is the beach Stutterings of speech There is the sheep There is the snake Fishing on the lake... Ending the Century Bok and Gooey's spirited, touching duet To all you death squads on the march and mercenaries shipping arms, to all you wackos on the prowl looking for ultraviolence: Please try to tone it down– you’re pushing us to the end. To all defenders of the State, loyal servants of US, Inc., to all you lackeys in the labs, perfecting holocaust: Please try to tone it down– you’re pushing us to the edge. Millennium madness is getting to you, is tempting you to chaos. Settle down till the zeros hit– let’s end the century gently. Millennium madness is getting to you, is tempting you to chaos. My sweaty dreams divine a flickering in human time. I dreamt the place it all began: Somewhere near Bethlehem, there’s something stirring in the sand. As metal birds strafe the land, the beast rears up in the heat: a silo bears its teeth.