Germinate​/​/​Divide

by Tatlock

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1.
03:17
2.
02:38

about

Here are two songs that I recorded over the summer of 2015.
All payments will greatly help me produce and distribute my upcoming concept album.

credits

released January 15, 2016

All music & words by John Tatlock.
Mixed by John Tatlock & Ben Mayock.
Recorded & mastered by Ben Mayock.
Cover Photo by Miles Scanlon, edited by John Tatlock.

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Tatlock New York, New York

Combinations of sounds to invade your ears and alter your mind (hopefully.)

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Track Name: Germinate
Run through the picket fence of another person’s breath with the scent of white paint and a couple more than 2 cents.
I rent the finest trashy motels and then step up to represent my ever public display of events with a bit of incense swept up the dual sense vents.
Sixth sense developed and sent all others out of sentiment, and I meant “repent” when I told you I’m aware we are different.
I’m aware we are dissonant.
I can barely inference the meaning of your sentences, what you represent, and origination of your many dents.
Many a fence thus be placed, many a pence with fuss be gave.
Many a can of trusty mace to fight the face, suffice, surface and break.
Sights engulfed in flames. Light the nights awake.
Write the bites away. Encrypt the code, enlist the foes, and then entice the right to stay.
Invite the sun to lay with me until we are swept away in flurries of inevitable haze.
But nothing can break my gaze. Not a single thing can make me say that I’d rather be in another place.
I could never pull myself away for the pure reasoning of being an essential piece of where I stay.
Therefore, here I lay.

I am a part of the:
Nitrogen
Oxygen
Argon
CO2

Today I proved myself completely incapable of completing anything other than the simple action of existence,
And I do strive to fix this but am satisfied living with it until I am completely dried up and witless.
I don’t really see the point to fighting terminal illness… life.
Is not really something I plan to finish.
Track Name: Divide
People love to react, only catching the fractions.
Eighths have got another seven, but unmentioned we’ll act on.
Burn the books, burn the bridges, burn it all.
Non-existent objects appeasing gods of the downfall.
You’re only one on my eight-track, vinyl splits completely.
CDs for continuity, MP3s defeat me.
Tangibility is key, summed with consistency.
Anti-interconnection free falling towards me.
Flac the radiation “wav”s, ignore the audiophile craze.
Over twenty-four frames hertz. Speaker tearing ear maze.
It’s mono over stereo. Or so they say.
Subsequently, discographically, redistribute this haze, like…

I will not be left behind, and I will not be fed with lies.

Pixelation, rage initiation, latency inducing hatred.
Foil-plated brains penetrated by radiation waves,
Cut the wires, short the circuits, blank it all,
Precious gigabytes deleted, infinite recall.