the T​.​C. Wash Suite

by Rhys Langston

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    From the Estate come both of Rhys Langston's 2019 releases on limited edition cassette. Enjoy for the first time Langstónian salvos on the warm hiss of tape.

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about

the visual album: youtu.be/5NIH_rnA2ug

Of peculiar wont to vocalize for months preceding this recording, these 5 songs gave me the allowance to shed the burden of producing, and to test the main, though oft stabled, instrument. The project finds two songs, in sung themes of acceptant (and sometimes reluctant) growth, bookending 3 rapped exercises, which fill the middle in Langstónian eccentricity. Recorded, mixed, and mastered in the bedroom of the Black Market Poetry Bureau of Internal Affairs, this suite serves as a litmus of self-sufficiency in reflection and internal investigative reports.

credits

released October 7, 2019

All tracks written/performed by Rhys Langston
("Uhh..." co-written with Nahhphet)
All tracks produced by LXMONGRAB
(additional production on "Compelling Bars" by Rhys Langston)

Recorded July 2017- January 2018 at the Black Market Poetry Bureau of Internal Affairs, Los Angeles, CA

Mixed/Mastered by CH.DA.

Cover Design by AWALthe1ST
Photo by Beatriz Moreno

license

all rights reserved

tags

Track Name: Bipedal Intro [prod. LXMONGRAB]
i am made to break falls
a bootstrap clasp to stand tall
and with foresight
a concrete dreamer in this glass house,
concrete dreamer repaved the whole route

‘cause you see it’s
thicker skin than
what this precedence elects,
gazing in the mirror glancing at
that beating from my chest

i saw a grown man for the first time,
not that little boy effaced in congested rhymes,
it’s when the cognitive dissonance
condenses to a JPEG,

the flattened layers of a history
to an end point
on aged head
divorced from growth’s trauma,
the building blocks of something stronger
and larger,

so I:
no need to lament
(no need)
on how my skull did
bent and sway because
hey,

i am made to break falls
don’t need no clasp
I stand tall
and with hindsight
a concrete dreamer in this glass house,
concrete dreamer repaved the whole route

cause I am made,
I am made,
I am made,
I am made
to break falls,
I am made to break falls
Track Name: Compelling Bars [prod. LXMONGRAB]
intro to admiration,
9/10ths on the debit,
unleaded verse per gallon,
the word as credit, settled, said it
for journey post “read it”,
I-10 motions stuck to shift comprehension
(check)

self-indented, concrete, and curbside,
seemed to stop at the signs
signifying speed limit of the mind,
ticketed.
rolling without pause, line drive
wishing that
driver’s side note focus would just
elicit rep,

but fuck,
no forward movements,
losing confidence enthused with
loose scripts blown by airs
that regulate ownership, newness,
registration, license,
stoppage quotas,
monthly cycles,
car door exit clipping bike lane Haysoos
annotating red line bibles.

left vehicle in idle,
stomach prod rifle,
produced by uniform seeking libel
issuing a civil claim title
on a wordless roadside writer
(naw, naw, naw, naw, naw
hold up)

(just some)
wool pool over, eyes flash dash
scramble reason
uninhibited travel
so contradicts the held-up freeman.

who says
“seeing is believing,
“writing is intellectual peeing,”
officer notes attempt at public urination
as citation, treason

(about $73)
adjust black collar,
strolls back to squad car gripping baton
for protest/holler,
but he sees something else,
protagonist writer parked on the block,
inspiration searching in self.

‘cause all these compelling bars
held hostage in memory bank hold ups,
hold up

these compelling bars
held hostage in memory bank hold ups,
hold up
Track Name: Observations from the West Gash, a Short Story by Muckraker Jones [prod. LXMONGRAB]
I said this used to be a home, yeah (x3)

at the Southwall Corner Club,
standard levitation shrubs
after mortar pestle ground
with a Luminous Russula

got a quest beyond the Odai
of LA on a date with
Sugar-Lips Habasi sipping mild
cafe au-laits and

now the yields from
the fields of Kummu
they ain’t coming in,

investigating along the
West Gash Region,

but shit I’m jittering off them
Zapatista beans and the homegirl
ain’t give enough info for
my journal seams

I said this used to be a home, yeah (x2)

I said this used to be a home
spilling words, drowning tomes
drafted by the scuba divers,
glued spines with oxic notes,

the choral bleaching efforts of
one or two bereft technicians,
wordsmiths without tradition,
coffee stains
and cynicism
(word)

I said this used to be a home, yeah
Track Name: Uhh... feat. nahhphet [prod. LXMONGRAB]
authentic nonsense
thesaurus on a park bench

doing an about face
to round out my pretense

uhh, put my gene sequence
on leaflets, homophones,
ad-libs, ad-hominem,
no credence

days like these, I’m
an ink cartridge,
days like these, I
fail to get started

transmission locked in lowest gear,
granted manumission through fear,
uhh… what am I doing here?

writing in circles,
2πr times the word count,
if that amount is needed
to surmount the summation
of this blockage

(well)
f(x) equals the tuition
I spent for college,
whereas x is perceived mental wattage
(what?)

goddamn, that’s some trippy shit
and so dries the ink pen tip

goddamn, that’s some trippy shit,
fountain leaking reflections with
suppled linguistics.

[nahhphet]:
Taking off my glasses..
it’s too many refractions
to bear, no teddy, but cozy if you let me
pander to the tender grasses.
Lend the ashes to earth
and tend to half of all our worth,
but still denying where the god is;
look how progress led us all the way to atavism..
Aw fuck now, what was I supposed to have written?
Slipping like the butter on the corn bread;
dripping to the plate,
just how we're born dead and live to be erased -
nah thats too dark really.
Park silly / Building serious:
Intersects hubristic with the query-ous,
Drape the negligee of my deliriousness..
nah I’m just tearing down binaries
and wine sharing with the lush
malarky on my lips,
when sparking up the spliff
you twist up the next and we can talk big corporation,
cynical nation,
history of racism,
something about patience..
Laugh aloud
but laugh in person to your phone
now don’t just type it to me if you don’t
express it, that sounds cancerous.
To the sea from an abandoned ship
like it’s the brain
the ego
the fame
the evils
the sane
the regal
the….
Track Name: Ignatius Speech [prod. LXMONGRAB]
speak up, yes
speak up
speak up, yes
speak up, speak up

waking up to tea,
take the caffeine,
why can’t I sit down?

(no, no, no, no, no, no, no)

waking up to tea
take the caffeine,
why can’t I sit down?

(no, no, no, no, no, no, no)

double booked, bagged and
10 minutes steeped, I said
“this mind is mine to keep”

though regaled from the
point of sale to your
effigy, no social receipts.

I can’t seem to bend my knees
or to fold 90-degrees:
a layman lying on a public dais
spurt open valves in Ignatius speech,

another morning pot of tea
that blend you gave to me,
steamed I drunk it all
like a monarch

blank verse leered with
whitened teeth sovereignty—

a full theatrical release,
promotions,

well canonized now
the unraveling performance of
some unclear love poetry

waking up to tea,
take the caffeine,
so can’t I sit down

double booked, bagged and
10 minutes steeped, I said
“this mind is mine to keep”

though regaled from the
point of sale

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