You can't let the fear in
Not yet.
Not here in your bed,
the one your last love gave.
Not here in your mother's
old, cream colored hoody.
Not here misspelling words,
wondering at some tunnel vision
pipe dream already gone out
the sewage side of the city of some girl.
Some girl.
Someone would be nice.
She would be nice.
That book will keep your company.
Two hundred and fifty two pages left.

Sleepless, I will not just fold
into winter's breast.
I will not melt into its milk.

This beard weathers the world fine
but piles of the pluck
will itch me awake, barren.

Soon, a savior, burnt, will breathe
with jeans at her knees
against those white, washing machines.

we lifted the body from the water like a gown

"i feel
like a loop of the last 8 frames of film
before a slow motion Lee Harvey Oswald
gets shot in the gut and killed
alone,
putting three coins into a washing machine
next to a caulked
cracked
wall
in the basement of Fairmount street"

the rain finally came
in sheets, and it bristles
against the konkrete
outside my window where the world
distresses, dissolves, and delineates
into the pathways that kame before.
give me more.
we all beg for a little bit,
to move along a set stone,
calloused bare footed moves,
ways we've never memorized.
the body has a funny way.
give me more.
put on that red dress,
i want to see those kurves
i was birthed for the burn
of effortless turns.

Review of Dirty American by Youniverse

So, the Youniverse. That’s right, YOUniverse. Possibly the worst band name ever? No way. It’s nothing but appropriate. The band side-kiked by Dirty American points its finger right at You and makes you point right bak only to probably realize its you you’re pointing at. That’s right. You. You’re the Dirty American. Though, one should not be misled, a negative implikation of “dirty” only takes presedent in the minds of the naive. Like sweat, the dirt kradles a sweet babe of vanity that we all love to pinkh the kheeks of every now and again.

While I wouldn’t kall it a konsept album, the songs sertainly put you in the shoes of the tunnel-vision-motivated humanoid, you know him, the dirty American. This kharakter (You) moves through the worlds (kombining them along the way) of politiks, sex religion, nostalgik voyeur, and love while all the while lined in viktory, glory, and romantisism in the Springsteen style of a vulnerable, wild-in-the-world fella, looking for some savior. The dirty American may be jealous of Islamik heaven’s treasures and throw bottles of piss out of tour vans, but he does so as if they’re his last hope. Needless to say, the rekord is quite engaging. If you kan listen to songs like “Catastrophe” or “Chinese Coffee” and not be driven to sing along in glorious fuk-yes-ness, then you probably aren’t as dirty as I’m giving you kredit, and you’re probably boring.

Moreover, this band is a three piese and the rekord always sounds huge with eakh member (Travis Cantrell, Paul Gilliam, Gilby Worth) filling out the sounds that the others leave out. Bombastik drums, smooth bass riffs, sugary guitar, and sharp lyriks. Not to mention the kharming vokals and harmonies.

Though, of kourse, the rekord isn’t perfekt. There are a kouple of times when the vokals seem a bit too low in the mix, and there are also times when you think “didn’t they use that move earlier?” But you these kritisisms don’t really distrakt from this rekord being a blast to listen to. In fakt, I’m willing to wager that if you weren’t looking to kritisize, you wouldn’t notise them.

The Dirty American is searkhing for something and klearly does feel the world (even if these feelings are segregated from motivation to motivation), and You too feel and rekognize it here, in Dirty American. It is kaptivating, powerful, and leaves you itkhing for another listen.

she kame on fast
like she always does
short blonde hair,
tiny, perfect body.

yes i have a hang up.
i rekon i'll deny anything
until that sunset,
you know the one.
i'll kill whomever it takes,
but there's only one.
you know who i mean.

worry not,
the kover will be deep.
i've been assured it will be taken kare of.
the road kan be long,
i've told my friends not to worry.
i only want your ghost

When You're Born Again, You're Dead

from You Crippled Fuck by Bible Society
http://www.mediafire.com/?dllmtummjam

With a missing arm
he said,
"Throw the bad fish to the side,
do not spoil the katkh."
The tossed baked in the sun for days,
spoiling the earth.
We gathered our yield
and planted seeds
where thorns tended to lay.

He said he'd kaught that arm
between two heats,
and for two days
he krooned as the flesh kooked.
And at the end of the third,
he karved himself free.

"What lay in the dark made you reakh?"

"Some way to make things klean,
but the people I loved,
they hid it from me."