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This passage contains samples from Naked Lunch, written by William S. Burroughs. The part is performed vocally by Peter Weller, from the film Naked Lunch (1991).

I always intended to do a series of Interzone songs, but it's hard to want to stay in an Interzone kind of mood. Part one is done at least.

lyrics

Did I ever tell you about the man who taught his asshole to talk?
His whole abdomen would move up and down you dig, farting out the words. It was unlike anything I ever heard... a bubbly, thick stagnant sound, a sound you could smell.

This man worked for a carnival you dig, and to start with it was like a novelty ventriliquist act. After a while the ass start talking on its own. He would go in without anything prepared and his ass would ad-lib and toss the gags back at him every time.

Then it developed sort of teeth-like little raspy in-curving hooks and started eating. He thought this was cute at first and built an act around it, but the asshole would eat its way through his pants and start talking on the street, shouting out it wanted equal rights. It would get drunk, too, and have crying jags nobody loved it and it wanted to be kissed same as any other mouth.

Finally it talked all the time day and night, you could hear him for blocks screaming at it to shut up, and beating it with his fist, and sticking candles up it, but nothing did any good and the asshole said to him:

“It’s you who will shut up in the end. Not me. Because we don't need you around here any more.
I can talk and eat and shit.”

After that he began waking up in the morning with a transparent jelly like a tadpole’s tail all over his mouth. He would tear it off his mouth and the pieces would stick to his hands like burning gasoline jelly and grow there. So finally his mouth sealed over, and the whole head would have have amputated spontaneously except for the eyes you dig. That's one thing the asshole couldn't do was see.
It needed the eyes.

Nerve connections were blocked and infiltrated and atrophied so the brain couldn't give orders any more. It was trapped in the skull, sealed off. For a while you could see the silent, helpless suffering of the brain behind the eyes.

Then finally the brain must have died, because the eyes went out, and there was no more feeling in them than a crab’s eyes on the end of a stalk.

credits

from Better Living Through Square Waves, released March 28, 2013

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Toaster Pastries Salt Lake City, Utah

I am here… frosted, sprinkled and fruit-filled for your enjoyment.
Shove me into that toaster, baby.
Taste my hot fruit filling.

(My name's Jack, I make music. I release that music as Toaster Pastries.)
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