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The smash hit album of Norwegian music sensation The Turnskins!

01 Incommunicado

prod. @jeffkaale

My exes? No, I don’t think about them
I shrink around them
I go to see my shrink about them
On desperate nights sometimes I’m liking every picture on their LinkedIn albums, 
just in case they’re single,
I send winky symbols, I just hint it at ‘em,
I’m not thirsty, I’m just counting fingers at the drinking fountain,
I feel like I’m drowning when I introduce myself to crowds: 
like hi, hello, I dig your sense of style, 
I saw your face across the room and grinned a while,
I wonder, are you into smiles? I pinned a pile of polaroids up on my wall, 
I wish you’d be in one,  a ring or child or wedding hall or aisle, you’d wouldn’t see in them, 
I must profess I self-profess myself a cinephile,
I’ve got every single indie title soundtrack out on indie vinyl
I’ve got some on USB, just tell me where to send the files,
if you think this is dragging on, then you should read my tinder bio,

I used to go to central park in cargo pants and whittle bark off little trees 
like Leonardo to my heart’s content, with car keys from my 97’ Civic on a bench,
I’d grab my metro card and clutch a cup of chocolate from a vendor cart,
and then depart deep underground and check the clock and metro chart,
and that is where I met her, charcoal fingers, she was sketching art, 
my self-regard leapt twenty notches when she looked at me,
I told her I wished I could etch the world out with my pencil marks,
she held the charcoal out, our fingers touched and crept apart,
and when they lingered, 
lightning struck, I know, I saw electrodes spark,
and when she smiled a hundred volts
her pearly whites were thunderbolts,
the room around us did a couple somersaults,
the earth had shifted off it’s poles,
another jolt went through me when she twirled her necklace
we were so electric, I swear the third rail was getting jealous

she curved a crater on the paper with the conté crayon
every stroke she lay spoke to my spirit like she called a séance
her fingertips could conjure chaos, every splash of color camouflaged 
into the page, I swear that she had lingerie on,
I felt the rumble of the subway tunnel crumble up
she perforated scraps of sketches, gave em’ to me crumpled up, 
and bundled up and waved to me and walked toward the edge 
I mustered up the strength to wave back and then dipped off of the bench
the train tiptoed to the ledge, it’s open doors demanded entry
she got in and whispered to me from inside that it was empty
and my heart, it started drumming, my stomach, it started numbing,
the doors began to slide, 

and then she asked me,
are you coming?


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Paul-Andrew Sechler