Ghosts

by Lapsus Linguae

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    Using crowd - funding, we were able to fund a limited pressing of 300 heavyweight picture-discs, with all our backers thanked in an insert which will be included with every copy of this edition.

    Around 130 people backed the project - we can now offer the remaining copies through mail-order.

    The artwork was designed by band member Penelope Collegefriend. It's 45 rpm, with two tracks on the first side and the third track on side B.

    The 12" comes in a transparent PVC wallet, and will be posted to you in a high quality cardboard record mailer.

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about

With the exception of the vocals, which were recorded in bedrooms during 2013, the performances which form these recordings were recorded by Lapsus Linguae in our rehearsal room in Glasgow between summer 2006 and summer 2007. Unless otherwise stated, orchestral instruments and electronic/synthesised passages have been programmed in post-production. If you would like to know more about Lapsus Lijnguae or ask questions please visit our website or Facebook profile.

credits

released 17 January 2014

Produced and engineered by Lapsus Linguae.
Mixed and mastered by Penelope Collegefriend with Lapsus Linguae.
Artwork by Penelope Collegefriend.

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Track Name: Flightpath Of The Enola Gaye
Preternatural conquistador
Every bomb and bullets ancestor
Simultaneously host patron and prey
To the flight path of the Enola Gaye

Distances immunities vs. increased ranges poison
Signs of appeasement hidden by curving horizon
Malign projectile benches five murders per minute
Scrutiny reveals his reflection in it.
Winged; Proud; Effortless; Blue-eyed; Blond.
I’d have smothered him years ago if he was my son

Fear and defeat secrete a barbiturate
which Enola Gaye extracts.
Relax, sit back and sip it.

Preternatural conquistador.
Every bomb and bullets ancestor
Simultaneously host patron and prey
To the flight path of the Enola Gaye

Blasting off by northwest Pacific
Burn two hundred thousand civilian souls as fuel
Touchdown dance by northwest Atlantic
Fifty-seven year lesson in economic provocation

In 1800 I saw the atom bomb
And shaped myself in its likeness
I have called upon my demons
Called upon my demons;-
“Possess my body,
Cloud vision,
Mushroom path.”

Fear and defeat secrete a barbiturate
which Enola Gaye extracts.
Relax, sit back and sip it.

Preternatural conquistador.
Every bomb and bullets ancestor
Simultaneously host patron and prey
To the flight path of the Enola Gaye

Borne of friendliness and loyalty
Let the children live to witness me
This is what the pious fear when they pray
To the flight path of the Enola Gaye

Photo-fits face of each assailant
Beast and fowl harnessed as surveillance
Martial hymn; unresolving cadence

Preternatural conquistador.
Every bomb and bullets ancestor
Simultaneously host patron and prey
To the flight path of the Enola Gaye

Borne of friendliness and loyalty
Let the children live to witness me
This is what the pious fear when they pray
To the flight path of the Enola Gaye
Track Name: Parade
March.
‘Til the skin wears from the soles of your feet.
Having no choice, you endure this charade
With us -
- we’re united as one thought, one revolting dream.

Chew.
Your gums house sockets where there should be teeth
Examples are made to ensure you’re afraid.
Of us -
we’re united as one thought, one dream,
And you cannot wake up.

Blank.
Work all week.
Drink hard.
Recover.
Repeat.
Celebrity gloss; haut couture is displayed
By us.
We’re united as one thought, one revolting dream.

Meet -
- conditions imposed by a learned elite
Minority views are obscured or betrayed
By us -
- we’re united as one thought, one dream,
and you cannot wake up.
Track Name: Papa Shiteholez Gonna Nail Ur Eggz
Spermatozoon, gnawing my womb
Bitchtoffee, auspices of doom
I don’t get to see this part of the room very often
Whatever tugs your bait
Whatever rapes your date
My work is largely unappreciated

I’m sleepwalking through papa’s
secret sundered totality;
I am Papa Shitehole’s
diet - I’m heavy in protein.
Past my leg scurries Papa’s
closet penchant for Disney songs,
fleeing the scene, mewling
“Papa hates you.
And rapes you.
And nails your eggs.”

In his dank, crumbling tower
Eros bleeds, castrated by bow strings
face contorted with effort
He draws hubris from the well.
He ascends one thousand
flights of steps to the pent house;
There he slits Aphrodite’s
throat with a leaden arrow head.

Over balconies, tsunamis
empty from Eros’ bucket,
leaving land pristine, like a latrine pissed clean.
The boy is coming to nothing.
He doesn’t want this world to survive him.
Now contented, he’s humming -
“Daddy, I nailed your eggs”

The league for the exacerbation of gender politics.
Stock car races.
Zips.
Skirts like Barnett Newman strips
Collisions.
Gear crunches.
Asphyxiation as foreplay.
Skids.
Junkyard derby.
Nine inch heels,
barely fucking standing.
Great tits.

Hooked on porn,
addiction is a tumour;
Guaranteed to spread like the ugliest rumour.
So too your legs the defence will explain to
the assembled jurors dragging out
streams of useless history
like gaily coloured handkerchiefs
from third-rate magicians sleeves.
Abracadabra!
More reasons to hate you, forsake you!

Daddy drops before I can deflower him
Mother’s cunt reloads before I can violate its possibility