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the T​.​C. Wash Suite

by Rhys Langston

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  • Cassette + Digital Album

    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.

    Includes unlimited streaming of the T.C. Wash Suite via the free Bandcamp app, plus high-quality download in MP3, FLAC and more.
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1.
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
2.
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
3.
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
4.
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….
5.
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

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

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Rhys Langston Los Angeles, California

From smoked salmon to freshwater microphones.

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