how many whales there are in this world

by Ghost Dads

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go dwnld this 4 free here:
ghostdads420.bandcamp.com/album/how-many-whales-there-are-in-this-world

~ r first evr full-length, writt3n + recorded ovr the c0urse of 2K14!1!!!! were zo proud, the DCR crowd collabed hard on th1s. Liam Kingsley + Eddie Maurer r Ghost Dads, Izzy Payero-Cabral feat on bass, Mike Bruns mixed + mastered it, Devyn Halter m@de the art. it$ crazy + wonderful + folky goodness + y'all should download and listen ~

CASSETTE RELEASE TO FOLLOW IN EARLY 2015

credits

released December 31, 2014

Released by Dad Culture Records
Ghost Dads is Eddie Maurer & Liam Kingsley
Eddie Maurer - Acoustic Guitar, Voice, Spoken Word
Liam Kingsley - Banjo, Voice, Spoken Word
All Music & Lyrics by Ghost Dads, except for the bass parts on "Steeping," "Fumbling," & "how many whales there are in this world," written & performed by Izzy Payero-Cabral
Mixed & Mastered by Mike Bruns of Dad Culture Records
Recorded by Eddie Maurer & Liam Kingsley at Dad Cave & mom cave
Album Art by Devyn Halter
"Postcards from Nova Scotia," was written by Christopher Kingsley. It was read by Barbara Keenlyside for the spoken word album "What The Truth Can Do." The poem and recording were used with permission from the author on the track "how many whales there are in this world."

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Dad Culture Records Potsdam, New York

~ DIY record label out of Potsdam, NY~

(photo credit to Devyn Halter & Liam Kingsley)

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Track Name: Dirt Drawings
I was the earth and the soil under your toes.
We worked together pushing against the soles
of your shoes. They were weathered from the load.
A tattered leather holding up the bone.
Well I guess you've got your troubles,
I've got my own.

I was a lightning bug cupped in your hands.
Your skin was ragged, bleeding from the land.
We slowed from greater speeds than were ever meant for man.
I just hope that you'll be able to understand.
I understand.

You were a moment I can't quite explain.
An abstract feeling others thought was strange.
A fleeting sense of orientation and silent pain.
I want to go against the grain,
but I'm not sure if I'm insane
I think I've lost the part of brain that lets you know.
That lets you know.
Track Name: The Shower Song
Held to down in ink;
swallow away.
I drown it it in the sink
to repay.

Holes in doors
you punched inside my dreams.
But will it bleed?
I guess we'll have to see.

You grind inside my teeth;
charming decay.
I wear the clothes you need
to love me anyway.

Piss me clean.
Mark me, I won't leave.
We fuck and fall asleep.
I kill you in my dreams.

Always.

Remember when
you kissed me on the mouth?
What slipped in,
I'll never let it out.
Track Name: Native
You came in with a wicked flash,
left me in a long zombie trance.
I don't think I understand.

What you were saying when we put on pants,
it made my head feel real bad.
I'm not sure I like that.

We conduct our coal,
starve forever in the general pose.

We spoke in closely interwoven prose.

We conduct our coal,
harsh and clever in the native man's clothes.
Track Name: First Saturday Ives Park
Home.
warm in our shame,
tired.

She kissed me,
humming my name,
singing, "I'll try."

But we showered,
filthy and shaking,
terrified.

And we sat there
draining our eyes,
going blind.

I
want to walk to the place
where you cried

and walked me through
the first time
that you tried to die.

And I
grabbed your fingers and
choked them with mine,

and I made you promise to never again.

Well, you promised to never again.

Well, here I am at your hospital bed.

Please just promise to never again.
Track Name: Bathroom Nightlight
Skin cold, warm for clothes,
but all told you burn the most.
And your car can barely move.
I think it's too far and far too soon.

The bathroom nightlight dimly glows.
You say it's too hot to keep on clothes,
so we'll eat Cheerios out of dirty bowls
while ladybugs keep flying through the screen and out the holes,

and the TV's on.

Your pinky's tendon can't extend.
I feel this as you absentmindedly play with my hands.
The sheets and blankets stick too much
but we lay here as our skins continue heating up.

I take your shape. You grab my sweaty hair.
The broken AC spits out water, forgets we're there.
And as we draw this war we never fought
you roll around to touch my face and say I'm drifting off,

but your eyes won't close.
Track Name: Household Warming Party
We research the deepest color.
Faces faded, I will find another.

Tender juices, wine stained sweatshirt.
I'll run through the dark to find a mother.

Chemical investigation.
Swallow serum and question my creation.

Oil painter, paint this friction for me.

Our distractions breathe our blissing,
empty pockets leaking no resistance.

Our mothers dream in ocular gestation.
We invent new tools for aviation.

Hollow dress code, hollow fashion,
hollow industry truths the honest attic.

Wrap in sinew, douse, and hover.
I will love you. I will call you brother.

Patient pacer, poison your insides with light.
Track Name: Alveolus
Playing musical chairs with my father's ghost.
I think I know what I'm saying when I say I love you the most.
Climbing up the stairs, up to a fatherly host.
I think I need you for more reasons than you're ready to know.

Oh, I feel so one-sided.
Oh, it's just so hard to see how I'm real.
This serum will make you feel like you're alive,
but you're a spirit.
It's synthetic. It's a lie.

(And we can't breathe when we're hurt,
and we won't speak just to be heard.)

(Would you stay through all this ghosting,
settling for it?)

(I can't discern me from you.
You'd said we'd float right through.)
Track Name: "I am."
Fell asleep with the lights on again,
and woke to a note that read,
"I couldn't sleep. I need some cigarettes."

I spit blood in the sink again, and wrote out a note that said,
"The dayglo you dreamed in is oozing out my skin.
I've stopped letting people in."

I lied when we fucked again.
She asked, "Are you good? I said, "I am.
I love you, I promise. Now let's just go back to bed."

I dreamed that I died again.
I dreamed I did it with my own hands.
It's not the falling that scares me, it's how desperate I am to land.
I'm afraid of who I am.

She said, "Liam, just go back to sleep.
I'll be here for you if you're here for me."
Track Name: how many whales there are in this world (feat. Izzy Payero-Cabral)
(Postcards from Nova Scotia

Four walls of fog
rubbing

against two sides
of the boat;

the diesel engine
shutdown leaving us,

twenty empty
vessels in one full one,

bobbing blindly in the
Atlantic.

“Try listening,” a voice,
the guide’s

out of
nowhere, says.

Whale listening, then—
we’ve paid

to listen to whales….
Like pyramid

smelling or
symphony seeing,

not a trade wind,
generally,

to tourist
satisfaction. But

make do
we must,

and so lean
into the soupy silence

like figureheads on sinking
expectations.

But all I hear is
the slop

of water
in the bilge,

a furtive potato
chip,

a man farting somewhere
on a fishing boat,

until a child
finally asks,

“What are
we listening for, anyway?

A splash? Some kind
of song?”

“For something large
and genuine,”

that voice again
replies.

“And like anything
large

and genuine,”
it says,

“you’ll
know it when

you don’t
hear it.”

Ah! Like death, then,
and love,

mercy and sacrifice,
too;

like deceit, grace
and denial;

what fathers don’t
say, all that

Basho didn’t write,
the only thing

Beethoven, finally,
could hear. Oh,

Dear Mother,
I think

you told me, though
I never heard,

how many
whales there are in this world.)

(Fishermen wait
Vessels bob
The ocean is, content to
just be as it always has.
as it should

We know this

But what is it to be its
breathing face?
Its cleansing teeth?
That thing we cling to when
we forget that dinosaurs are real?
The feeling of sated
unknowledge that comes;

that holds

The only god we can see,
and so we scramble onto boats,
praying to just maybe be in the
vicinity of
something
we can't believe

The thing that keeps marine
biologists awake as they
drive back through
the dark to their homes
every night,
counting on their fingers,
again,
and again,
and
again.)

(Light
bends and leans against me

Fingers
trace underneath and between my eyes

These contours
we question and create

Our center
we detach and displace)