Year Of The Goth

by Loner Chic

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I wrote some songs—I turn the tape deck on and I strum away my pain for everyone I found a girl—she keeps me sane and although I still hate my body I don’t have to hate my brain and it’s all for you! it’s all for you! Her veil is solid black— She had a heart attack when her father died And her sister kept the younger kids inside You can try to run— I guess they tried to hide but Death comes equal to everyone an alcoholic father or his youngest son You can’t choose Because your life’s defined by what you can’t undo and it’s all for you! it’s all for you! and it’s all—all— for you It’s all for whoever you’re singing this to And in the innocent days when you sat in the pew waiting for the dark voice of nothing to scream back at you “kid I know that you want to be included too” and in those childhood years when you sat on the bed with a guitar in your hand and a girl in your head Oh— you should have known you were better off back then But everybody leaves, and every song must have an end
(for Mark Kozelek) I can’t listen to your simple songs When you sing the words, the spirit’s gone Your eyes glisten, but the words come out wrong I can’t listen to your songs I can’t stomach the sound of your voice Your mouth emits an awful noise It grates on my ears, it pulls on my strings I can’t listen to you sing Because I can’t respect any spade that calls itself by another name And I don’t believe anyone who favors the moon over the sun But dance with me still! my last ditch love Drink ’til we’re intoxicated enough Your arms are soft, but your heart’s become rough Pretend that this will only happen once— and I’ll do the same I hate myself because I’m a spade that calls itself by another name
I was five when it all came to pass: I caught my eye on a pretty kid with her hair tied in class and when she let it down, cast across the room I swear I could see her begin to bloom I never forgave myself I never forgave myself for staring I was fifteen when the disease entered me Charted up its progress in a letter She told her mom, who told her therapist, who told my parents and I never forgave her I never forgave her for snitching Where does it go when you lose control? I can’t wait to see where it leads— Can’t wait to see you be a burnout, baby Can’t wait to see you lying on the floor Can’t wait to see you be a burnout, baby and not love you anymore Closing shop, everybody’s off the clock College/townie dusk It’s a perfect year for a summer fling— we’re gonna write another record and I’m gonna sing But I will never go back No, I won’t go back to that subject ‘cause I watched it go when I lost control I can’t wait to see where it leads Can’t wait to see you be a burnout, baby Can’t wait to see you lying on the floor Can’t wait to see you be a burnout, baby and not love you anymore and not love you anymore
(Blackout in E14) Well no matter which way you look at it, half our backup supply is gone Now the kids are out raiding their parents’ cabinets searching for any unturned stone There are spirits in the searching for the courage to go it alone I’d be a liar if I said this was not beautiful And no matter which way you cut it, the pie is poison but we are sewer rats And we ingest however much we can take with our circulatory systems intact So take two shots for the future, and take another three for the past Relax your mind and open your eyes and think of something clever to say real fast There’s a small potential greatness concentrated in this basement— A small potential for something transcendent something that won’t make us all want to end it A small potential greatness concentrated in this place and we don’t have to burn it down to know: It’s all natural I started smoking cigarettes Always felt like I was second best so I only had a minor case of arrogance I threw away my high school degree as soon as they gave it to me well, I’m sure that someone kept a record of it on the internet I try to keep an open mind at all times figure out which habits I should quit There’s a small potential greatness in the routines to which I stick and I don’t have to love my life to know: It’s all natural But let me tell you that when you talk to me your voice reaches the corners of this fractured scene so your high school party does not sound so appealing to me It does… not sound appealing
(And her famous brothers) I’ve got a two-step plan for resilience. It goes: 1) hate everyone you come in contact with 2) expect them all to love you. Expect all the girls to want to X you 
I could cut off all my fake blonde hair and broadcast my voice through the air like an atom in the void, I am a special kind of boy And you don’t know how hard you broke my fall I can’t live without you, Christie I’ve got a bottle I call home I’ve got a tired metaphor— you’ve got a few of your own In the words of every sad refrain on every adolescent page I want to cover up the bodies I want to steal your daddy’s car keys but in DRST 003a you’re arguing for God and I swear I saw him through the fog on College Street I’m walking— two blocks to your apartment And you don’t know how hard you broke my fall I can’t live without you, Christie I’ve got a bottle I call home I’ve got a tired metaphor— you’ve got a few of your own It’s hard to know what’s right I lost my Paradise Lost when I got lost in Paradise so be my desert island keepsake for tonight But the rescue ship is coming at high tide And you don’t know how hard you broke my fall I can’t live without you, Christie I’ve got a bottle I call home I’ve got a tired metaphor— you’ve got a few of your own
You used to say that with a lesser heart and mind you would’ve gotten far, but your torment persists and bad thoughts don’t quit. No, they brought you to where you are: by a bonfire on the beach with your head on your shoulders and your arms around me. Yeah, I know it’s not the best place to be, I agree. But when I turned seventeen you were the most beautiful woman that I had ever seen. I imagined your past life in a larger city and I went cold with the thought of touching your body even inside my dreams. You were imaginary. You were trapped inside of me. But I was free. You dyed your hair and then you cut it off. We met on weeknights at the coffeeshops. And you said, “I don’t exist to make you feel any better. I come and go like changes in the weather.” Well, if you were a hurricane and I was a storm, we will meet up someday soon when the air gets warm and we will give each other shelter as we travel up the delta ravaging city after city on the Northeastern seaboard in a downpour of love and pain and feelings more unsure. And I suppose we might regret it, but I can’t forget it. We’ll figure out in twenty years exactly what we stood for. So now you say that with a lesser man you’ll become emotionally blind, but I know you better: you don’t need anybody else to shine. Yeah, I know you well. You don’t need nobody… else.
(As J. Koster sleeps) When that asshole tore the lining of my leather jacket you punched him in the face and when my ex-girlfriend came home for the weekend you put her up in your place We sing softly to The Lemonheads in my room teenagers in a constant state of static crisis “It’s a shame” and “I’ve never been too good with names” but I still shine like the morning sun when you say mine So, will you stay a little while longer? I’ll tell mom and dad it’s a sleepover In ten years I’ll be twenty five (watch the Autumn leaves fall) In ten years you’ll be twenty nine (’til there’s no leaves left at all) I was visiting museums on my winter break while you were working nights for $8.99 So smoke a cigarette out of the window of my childhood bedroom tonight! Nobody’s home except my former identity’s ghost and he will keep quiet if you ask him real nice But please, don’t call me “baby” ‘cause that’s my signature line And I cannot afford to recall all the countless conquests and all my regretful diaries and all the lies We broke up in theory not in practice But in theory, you were never mine And now he laughs reading the warning labels on the bottles crowding up the corners of his newly darkened mind You were spinning “Silver Lining” when I called you on the phone And I was standing on a bridge in Fairfield County with a one-way ticket to the city and no will to go
They replaced the record store today with a cheap designer imitator Pay $150 for a shitty sweater vest and I see one on everybody I detest I see one on everyone I hate Sate desire ’til it’s over Hell is frozen like your yoghurt And we are fucking tired of its bright fluorescent color scheme Plexiglas and plastic cutlery I still feel the stagnant air from the harbor on my brow It’s always fucking cold in this predictable town But I threw a little get-together in my college dorm last night Listening to Jawbreaker and turning off the lights I was a beautiful dreamer once I got a little in me Face to face as in a mirror, dimly So I swear I won’t spend one more night worried about how I’m gonna die alone I’d rather shoot the shit and talk about Yale kids that I’ve made out with, with Jon Stone ‘cause it’s not enough to spend my idle days on the threshold We’ve got to build a bridge that one day we might cross it We’ve got to build a bridge that one day we might cross it
“I see the townies holding hands” — A. Maine I do not dream I do not sing— I scream when I am alone but I’m never alone and I want to call you and that already seems quaint anachronistic develop the film unwind the tape Return, Copy, Paste Shift-key tapped to ruin I’ve entered so much information I no longer know what I’m doing and I feel like my grandpa with this infernal machine that I was borne into an inhuman being But how could you never want to be so well connected? My network’s expanding My life is a checklist Please accept my request Please follow me back to the ends of the digital universe in binary White and Black Let’s slow dance But I do not dream I do not cry— I empty Just let it all out the humors: the bile, the blood, and the gout My constitution’s a mess Oh, please held me undress Please make me come Redeem my defective corporeal atoms But how could you never want to be so well loved?
I am my mother: an unconditional lover I am an elusive fraternity bid I am an East Rock resident I am a beautiful kid
"His ibi tum natum Anchises unaque Sibyllam / prosequitur dictis portaque emittit eburna" In your new bedroom You will forgive me for what I do You’ll say it’s cyclical, like: “[I] break [your] heart, so that [you] can’t break [my] bones” But on the bygone Autumn nights back when Alison used to hold me tight… And when the ending came I chastised myself to reorient the blame but Would you believe that I’d never slept with anyone before? I mean really slept— entwined, embracing Not passed out on the floor 
I didn’t realize that I had done something right But the New York City car alarms are gonna keep her up all night It’s a bad habit for a good girl and boy: Don’t confront the chaos. Maintain a passive-aggressive relationship with the void I am borrowing my roommate’s guitar to write this one down tonight because I broke mine two weeks ago on the Philadelphia ice A shattered body’s not so bad— I’m gonna get it fixed in time But I pray my heart, my blackened lungs will still fill up in spite of what I do to them— I’m shattered again Pretend like you really mean it and I’ll try hard to pretend I don’t care And when the queen is in my bed I’ll finally be satisfied She grabs my arm and pulls me close as we watch Teen Suicide Now we’re in Cameron’s house in Bloomfield Reject the matter and keep the form We are listening to Nothing Was The Same in my college dorm Her lipstick’s on my neck tonight and I’ve never felt more alive But she says she feels nothing that her own touch can’t provide but Would you believe that I’ve never felt so providential? Like I’m a car you can climb into— shut your eyes and trust the world You’ll never realize that I am on fire tonight and I’m spinning out of control with no witnesses in sight And it’s a bad omen for a good girl and boy: Don’t confront the chaos. Cut your ties and wait to slowly be destroyed.


released February 19, 2016


Chris Cappello - Vocals, Guitar.
Brian Grochowski - Drums, Backup Vocals
Peter Stroczkowski - Bass, Backup Vocals
Jon Stone - Vocals on "Christie"
Chris Teti - Trumpet on "All Natural"
Jackie Hopkins - Vocals on "Your Simple Songs"
Ryan Stack - Organ on "Your Simple Songs", "Be A Burnout" and "Imaginary #2"
Jesse Newman - Violin on "Liminal Space"
Olive Kiley - Cello on "Liminal Space"

Produced, engineered, and mixed by Ryan Stack at Format Audio in the summer of 2014 except where noted*.

*Jon Stone’s vocals were recorded by Brian Grochowski in Chris Cappello's living room in August, 2014

*The strings on Liminal Space were recorded by Brian Grochowski and Cal McNarama in September at the Kensington Cradle

Mastered by Dan Courant at Sun Room Audio in October, 2014

Artwork by Derrick Shanholtzer-Dvorak and Katie Shanholtzer-Dvorak

Released by Broken World Media 2016

Thank You - Chris, Brian and Pete.


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Loner Chic New Haven, Connecticut


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