Seriously, What in the Fuck?

Coming Down Hard (Reprise)

/в небе нет сомнений - и не каждый полёт нуждается в карте/
I will make a paper airplane
and send it to you
along the route of a migratory bird
from the sea - point A - to your point B

white origami sheets
folded into
sharp corners
so as not to get lost in the clouds
and checkered sheets - so as not to get wet..

the maps lied to us with a dotted line
if we listened to their lies -
then we would fold our wings and fall
thinking that we will not find the truth..

where the airfield does not accept
a paper airplane will fly
and its radars will not catch
all the dashing air defense - take off!..

....
I will make a paper airplane
and send it to you
along the route of a migratory bird
from the sea - point A - to your point B

***

сделаю бумажный самолётик
и пускай он полетит к тебе
по маршруту птицы перелётной 
с моря — пункта А  - в твой Б

оригами белые страницы
сложные и 
острые углы 
чтобы в облаках не заблудиться
и не мокли в клеточку листы..

карты нам пунктирами наврали
если бы мы слушали их ложь -
то сложили крылья и упали
думая что правды не найдёшь..

где аэродром не принимает
долетит бумажный самолётик
и его радары не поймают
все лихие ПВО —  в пролёте!..

....
сделаю бумажный самолётик
и пускай он полетит к тебе
по маршруту птицы перелётной 
с моря — пункта А  - в твой Б

to you

“Tool = Weapon” By Murderwords

...Nothing.
Anything, Everything;
- Something.

- Keeps on distracting, 
not exactly sure, 
Of so much of - 

…Nothing. 
Anything, Everything;
- Something. 

- Keeps on distracting, 
Not exactly sure, 
Of so much of - 

…Nothing. 
Anything, Everything;
- Something. 

- Keeps on distracting, 
Not exactly sure, 
Of so much of - 

- Of so much of - Not exactly sure - 
- Of so much of - Keeps on distracting - 
- Not exactly sure - Of so much of - …

Bridge: - Of so much… Something.

Something. 
Something. 
Keeps on distracting,
Not exactly sure, of so much of - …


...Nothing.
Anything, Everything;
- Something.

- Keeps on distracting, 
not exactly sure, 
Of so much of - 

…Nothing. 
Anything, Everything;
- Something. 

- Keeps on distracting, 
Not exactly sure, 
Of so much of - 

Nothing…  of so much of.
Anything… keeps on distracting.
Everything… not exactly sure, of so much of
- Something.

- Keeps on distracting, 
Not exactly sure, 
Of so much of - 

- Of so much of - Not exactly sure - 
- Of so much of - Keeps on distracting - 
- Not exactly sure - Of so much of - …

… - Of so much of - … - Something.

Something.
Something.

Nothing.





"TOOL=WEAPON"

INTERLUDE - KRAZY KONSCIOUS

New Haggard Ass Intro



“Spun” by Murderwords	

‘We come, out of nothingness, scattering stars like dust’ - Rumi

V1	When you’re down and out
In a shadow of a doubt sometimes
There are no rhymes nor reasons
Treasonous seasons from time to time
When it's spinning out 
              	Of control, parts of a whole fall apart
              	Where so far from a center off 
              	It's so hard to look back upon the start

IN          	Sometimes 
It all seems part of some grand design
             	In time
              	Of these dreams, we all search for the signs
              	Sometimes
              	Whatever may come may come from inside
              	In time
              	We might learn to read between the lines

V2	Vulnerability
Weakness and fragility
Yet for every ounce of strength
brought to bear
To avoid what we’re afraid to see	
     	If I reach out to you
	And you reach out to me, 
	When contact is made in between 
	the space that we must face to be

IN          	Sometimes 
It all seems part of some grand design
             	In time
              	Of these dreams, we all search for the signs
              	Sometimes
              	Whatever may come may come from inside
              	In time
              	We might learn to read between the lines

CH	All, spun out—
no time, runs out
No space, is closing in—
no rhyme, no reason
All, strung out—
entangled in-a- 
shad-ow-of a, doubt
Enter the center,
or fall, spun out

No rhyme, no reason!
	
BR	Instrumental Break… When it's spinning 
out, of control, parts of a whole fall apart
No rhyme, no reason… x4

V3	As I spin in doubt, scattering those caught 
within this down and out.
As I push you away into distance,
But draw you all into my turning ‘round - 
- Burning out.
Gravity, 
geometry, and entropy—
Whatever may come,
May come to pass— Away, and yet 
through you, the heart of me.

IN
	
CH	        Sometimes 
                It all seems part of some grand design
             	In time
              	Of these dreams, we all search for the signs
              	Sometimes
              	Whatever may come may come from inside
              	In time
              	We might learn to read between the lines

	        No rhyme, no reason!

V1/OUTRO




"SPUN"

"Behind" by Art0fficial 1nstrument

<V1> In a shadow,
         over the land
         Out of the wilds,
         came, the call

<V2> In a matter,
          of a moment
          Out of all the time
          Same for one and all

<CH> I'd try to run, but I could,
           never, outrun, myself
           Need must be done, but I for,
           One don't know what else would
           I'd try to run, but I could,
           never, outrun, myself
           Freedom of one, But I for,
           am ever someone else

<V3> Am I a shadow,
         over my own land?
         Out of my own wilds;
         The one, behind, it all?!

<V4> Or am I just,
          made of stardust?
          Afraid to, place trust in, 
                                                          what, 
                                                                      becomes of.

"Behind"

I'm Fucking Milli Maddox

Castlevania - Dracula X in bed

“Spiritual Hypocolonic” By Murderworders

“Hello humans, thank you for coming out to our high noon Sunday high intensity high-pocolonic is the spirit, I will be your host Murderwords. After a sick weekend of activities, let us take some time to recalibrate. We want to start by standing in a relaxed posture and taking alternate nebulizer breaths until we stabilize, intensity in, anxiety out, anxiety in, and surrender to various cat stretches, that’s good, now we want to look up into the sky and just ya know, really get a good look at it, try not to gaze through one another’s personal space, it will completely destroy their chakras, just kidding, don’t forget to breathe. OK, fantastic, now we want to transition to downward spiral and fixate on something on the ground, an errant Good Luck Troll, trinket or lost candy, focus all that is left in you to focus and - 

HEY! are you even paying attention, I said breathe, yer not going pass out, you can’t just stretch and not breathe, it defeats the entire purpose of doing drugs and partying. OK, you are doing great we’re gonna wrap up here with a tree pose, don’t worry if you fall down, we are way past the point of impressing anybody.Excellent, see you all fell down anyway, its 39 degrees out here. We will finish up with by taking 5 minutes to try to get into a comfortable position, which may fell impossible after a week of this mayhem, but breathe, keep breathing, not even worrying about how you are getting home at all, that’s tomorrow, debt is not going anywhere, the world is stagnant and life is a series of algorithmically programmed experiences, not a care in the world. OK, now let’s all embrace the person next to you and really breathe them in, Do you smell that, that’s love. Thank you for joining us, you should go home now, me, nah Imma stay.”

"Spiritual Hypocolonic"

Patient Name: Alan Kelly
Alias: “Murderwords”
Clinician: Dr. Scarlett Ruth
Date: 09/08/24
Time: 15:37 PST

This excerpt was my first encounter with a patient named Alan Kelly, whom I took on in 2022, as well as their alter ego persona, one 'Murderwords' who arose in my patient during the mitigation of a nervous breakdown during the events of the global pandemic. Excerpt is audio as follows:

“Why don’t you tell me a little about yourself, Mr. Words?”
“Please, call me Murderwords.”
“Very well. Tell me about yourself, Murderwords.”

“Okay. Well—

Hi. I am Murderwords, a guy who fell into a paper bag mask one day in a music playing accident involving originality while not maintaining situational awareness around an encroaching technocracy of dystopian malaise. I live on Alan's head. 

I would like to share my music with you, imagine that, in the hopes that you might do all those things we need you to do on platforms to keep me going—the sharing, and the liking, and the signing up.

Please don’t make me say ‘like, share, and subscribe.’

Awww, @&%$!

I am slowly migrating some work over from my low-tech facilities and lower-tech mind into this den of inequity.

If you are an artist or musician who is interested in working with me, please send me a message.

Remember kids:
We are not the product. They are.
And we are not content.”

Alan Kelly presents with complex post-traumatic stress disorder rooted in a difficult childhood, and the emergence of the Murderwords persona that arose during the pandemic marks a profound turning point in his life. Murderwords is more than a mask—he is Alan’s inner child given form, a fierce and raw expression of resilience born from pain.

As his therapist, I find this phenomenon both compelling and deeply human: here is a man channeling his trauma into an artistic rebellion against the oppressive forces of the music industry and media censorship. Murderwords is Alan’s way of fighting back, reclaiming control through creativity amid a nervous breakdown.

It’s a fragile balance—this shadow work performed in public—but one I am fascinated by and fully invested in helping him navigate. There is power in this persona, and I believe it carries the potential not only for Alan’s survival but for a bold, authentic voice in today’s fractured cultural landscape, though I reserve my concerns that the mask might eat the man if Alan is not careful.

This is Doctor Scarlett Ruth,
uh, oh nine oh eight of twenty-five at... fifteen thirty-seven hours.