WORD DUMP

Hey

Hey baby

yeah, hey

my

m - y

hey

hey baby

heart

h - e - a - r - t

hey

breaks

b - r - e - a - k - s

hey

long

l - o - n - g

hey

hey baby

yeah

my

hey

heart

hey baby

breaks

baby

long

hey

baby

as

a - s - s

hey

hey baby

hey

y - o - r - e

hey

blowhard

hey

savior

but hey

hey

as

hey

baby

your

hey

b - l - o - e - h - a - r - d, blowhard

hey

hey baby

s - a - v - o - i - r - e

savior

hey

struts

s - t - r - u - t - s

hey baby

ten

t - e - n - n

hey baby

paces

hey baby

hey

ahead (whispered)

a - h - e - d

hey

akidlva;lsdfjads!

hey

hey baby

of

hey baby

you

hey

comma

hey

baby

nougat

hey

hey hey

fingered

hey

baby, hey

and

hey

hey baby

struts

hey

ten

hey baby

p - a - s - s - e - s - e - s

hey

ahead (whispered)

hey hey

a - s - k - i - d - a - f - s - j - h - b - g - d

hey

hey hey

of

0 - v - h

hey

y - e - u

hey

comma

c - o - m - a

hey

baby

nougat

n - e - w - g - h - u - t

hey

hey baby

fingered

f - i - n - g - r - e - d

hey

hey baby

and

a - y - n - d

hey

baby hey

leading

hey

hey baby

with

hey

them (in agreement)

them

hey

hey baby

deep

d - e - e - e- p

hey

r - w - e - d

hey

baby

leading

l - e - e - e - d - e - e - n - g

hey

hey baby

hey

w - i - t - h —- h

hey

them

t - h - e - m - b

hey

deep

baby

hey baby

red

hey

pimples

hey

pimples

p - i - m - p - u - l - l - s

pimples

hey

Baby, my

heart breaks

long as

your blowhard

savior struts

ten paces

ahead of

you, nougat

fingered and

leading with

them deep

red pimples.

What does

he or

him know

of shit

from shoe

polish?

(sigh)

Doesn’t matter.

One night, in about a month, him will stand uninvited and crying colors over his own sleeping body. The slumber, he fakes by focusing his eyes on the capillaries that pulse across each lid, hallucinating an amalgam of caricatures that laugh at him from behind the synapses.

Seems like he could slip away from him easy, but he don’t know if him is still standing on the mattress, or possibly hovering just above it, and he don’t care to open his eyes to find out. Instead, he will wait until the air shifts in his favor. But him is equally patient and will float on top of the covers, long as it takes, absolutely still, waiting for lightning to strike black, them fake sleeping eyelids.

So they hold, one aloft, one a-snooze, not knowing what the next sentence might be.

( S - E - N - T - S ) Boredom sets in and he begins to stir. Him bobbles on air. Their minds wander into the cold corners of the room. Then the finale strikes them in a wave of nausea. (N - O - S - E - A)

For 180 days, over the Badlands of South Dakota, a Grumman Bi-wing sky writes every word of Milton’s Paradise lost, catching the glint of binocular lenses that peer from a blanket of lawn chairs one thousand feet below, while back east, a split second of pyrotechnic glory crumples the Guggenheim into a heap. It smolders. After the last bold curve of stucco is stolen, wrapped in chains and dragged away by men and women of great means, Edgar Allen Poe’s white slatted cottage is air lifted from the Bronx and gently lowered on top of the remains.

WORD DUMP - video transcript