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Hot Garbage, Hot Trash - A Night at the Firkin

by Atlas and the Astronaut

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1.
Megatropolis 05:26
He built the lamppost screaming at the subtext. Keeping the light on, screaming for what comes next. A triangle room is where nightmares spoke to him, exclaiming he's the man they've been waiting for. They told him to build a city at the sea, construct a skyline from his imaginings. Original architects of vague provence. Grab a handful of clouds predicting past tense. The sky is pink and filled with flowers—building bridges, toppling towers. Here's Megatrpolis. Built for what comes next. This is Megatropolis. Casting shadows on top of us.
2.
Somebody help. And it's tearing through the streets, fiery motes from dragging feet. Brilliant smoking stacks of defeat. Mountain-melting mammoth fleets. With a grimace of the face, as they hide behind their masks. Chiseled cheek bones shaping casts of chuckling nervousness from its wrath. Projected missile system caused an ever flinching disruption of all signals down for the count. Collectors: always on the rebound. And it's pealing off they're skin—all the itty-bitty children. Tiny artifacts who've sinned; now dealt the Beast's torment. And the Willow whimpers cool-headed, now distempered, "End this nonsense at the source." Failing the functions to recourse. Hematic hipbones shattered. From the weight of a hummingbird, a flight then birthing of a girl to be trained in the art of this world (You've gotta train that girl). The Collectors sit in their towers, while the Beast ravages the land. Thinking, "What can we do to stop this? When our authority dries up like sand." Somebody help.
3.
Alone in a room. White walls and geometrical shapes, no sense of space, except vegetation spread along in a trace. Fill up my mouth with mountains; easily sliding down my throat like fountains. Desensitized to malfunction as bright light flickers on leaves. Through a two-way mirror Den sullenly itches with the webs they weave. Willow whispers, "Train the girl, collect the debt that was payed." Tree-trunk alcoves house a sword teaching orphan to flay. I bet you thought your training was over. I bet you thought this was for free. I bet you thought our love was mutual. But I was paid a substantial fee.
4.
They met at the coin arcade, with the implication to get laid. He had the stalk to persuade. Rolling eyes, she was ready to play. They grabbed her jacket and made an escape. Sharing flirts while night turn to day. He kissed her lips and made his way. Into the sunrise, grasping his blade. She loved him. Weeks later he betrayed the cause. To be with her was his only thought. She packed her bags, and they'd depart. On his record was laborious blot. With abandonment the bounty was set. $40,000, alive or dead. The Willow wept and hired Den, who was known as Cruciverbalist. He hunted them down. Den followed marks and tracked the prints. Finding puzzles of their movement. The pattern placed was not complex—rotating instigation. A boarded flight and a child killed. Troubled times and terror-filled thrills. Den heard stories and chose his path, ruining dreams of lantern-light laughs. And that's how her parents met. Through cautious winks and solemn vow threat. A future flight and a taken life. A Woman's fear and a Mother's dread. Ismaros, Apiko and the bounty on their heads.
5.
I paid a man to kill another man, and he did so with the flip of his hand. Strike the flint and fire up the engine of a future that's in transition. Scope out the trees the train travels through, sliding across chestnut avenues. He sold his species a bag full of truths. You've left me no choice. Leave your lungs at the backdoor. There's going to be easy breathing tomorrow. I keep my hands on my hips of the legend at the edge of my lips. Spoke the words, "Swallow my people." Our silhouettes dancing to the hymnal. Paint off the brick the cries carry chants, it's animalistic happenstance. He's sold his species the presence of an absence. Feral synthetic material. Gas-powered and ethereal, coded data into animals. Built to break the progress of their father.
6.
戦闘の色 05:06
"Keep me strong." Speaking snippets by the water. "Child, you're wrong." As if I was his daughter. "Bare them fruit." Antlered child at the alter. "Little girl." Is all that it uttered. "I told you to beg." That's when the Beast faltered. Things aren't black and white, no there's blues and grays and greens. Pink-purple shades of life, and the colors in-between. Emotions are a construct, and I feel everything. Metal clashed inferno, blazing yellow almonds. Saturnine accusations of those opiate diamonds. "I am heaven, I am hell. The pieces of everything, girl." Trial by fire, try I will. Water from the well I'll distill. "Oh where oh where did my bird go? I thought I clipped her wings? I swear, I swear on the sheets, a pink-haired stain remains."
7.
We're like ants who can't understand why the boot keeps crushing, killing all our friends. Thinking back to the time, when we were gas lights with wicks for features and oil-bled rancor. Take solace in a frozen city, a living sculpture, an anomaly We are the machine fused together and gritting our teeth. We've got to recognize that we were fed a lie from manufactured lines to our frozen bedsides. Thinking back to the time when we pledged our lives to a screen that rendered patchworks of suture. We died with love in our eyes. Frozen shells and the men inside. We'll rise with love in our minds. Broken bells torn apart at the sides. Can you see me, murdered out in the sun? I took the whole system down by daring not to run. Tell me, would you rather have systematic architecture or foundations to fracture? I chose the latter.

about

Recorded live at the Firkin Tavern in Portland, OR on May 1, 2015. Featuring songs from Atlas and the Astronaut's debut full length, Tiny Artifacts, as well as three new songs not heard anywhere else.

credits

released May 17, 2015

Atlas and the Astronaut is:

Matthew LeMieux [guitar]
Casey Aspengren [bass]
Lucas Goughnour [drums]
Beau Rosser [vocals, synth]

Audio recorded by David Jack Jester
Editing by Beau Rosser
Cover photo by Heather Hanson
Cover layout by Beau Rosser

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Atlas and the Astronaut Vancouver, Washington

Fueled with mythic yowling and their own wily futuristic-heavy aesthetic, Atlas and the Astronaut brings surprise and passion to a growing crowd of melted faces in the Portland, Oregon area.

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