Crafted with love and assembled diligently under the fluorescent bulbs of a copy shop in Richmond VA, this 12 page zine features original words and artwork from Double Rainbow protected with sandstone. All zine purchases receive an immediate digital download of the five song album which accompany the text almost perfectly.
Includes unlimited streaming of All the Way Out into Space
via the free Bandcamp app, plus high-quality download in MP3, FLAC and more.
Come grab a gravity bong and a hotel bible, complimentary footprints on your way out that door. Shit eating grin on your face and your airplane is falling out of the ozone into the outskirts of remote outer space. Picture me in a life vest with the caption. I am a drowning accident just waiting to happen at my best in a nascent stage of death. Epitaph broadcasting, transistor radio trapped in my chest. So sing a song for the dead and do not, do not allow your self to malfunction. Maybe it’s all in your head. Would you beat back that bad bone fragment upon drum skin? No. I don’t have the time of day. I don’t even have an I.D. Probably got a cigarette, a phone bill, maybe a wallet, losing lottery tickets and pennies stuck in my pocket. The television at home is in tact. Clip off the antennas, but the limbs have been known to grow back. Turn on that bad news and try to relax. Kick off the shoes and go overreact to the same old scenario. Reality TV type Japanese Game Show. No reports of a Double Rainbow. Interrupted by the Tsunami. Tokyo. CNN. American men sitting in and thinking bombing. I’m carving a halo I made out of cardboard. I got a telescope that I made out of play-dough. I point it at the heavens. I’m notating in crayon. See, I am certainly no Galileo. Whoa. Naw. Another death sentence. Thank God I got an anti-clerical comeback. Show me the contract. I’m ready for warfare. A friend of the night time don’t have any health care. And at New Year’s, I resolved to be brave and I was excited for 2012. I’m a do my best now to behave, remain in the shadows and carefully line up each one of my dominos in the snow. Adamantly add another cadaver to the equation and then clench fists. Abracadabra. You’re somebody else’s hallucination now. Who doesn’t exist? A 3D-image stretched like fabric. At your best, a visible pulsation. My make and model is a mostly ape-like throwback recreation. I’m an organism in decay. Defined by my personal taste and geographical location. Now, shout outs to the Appalachians. I’ll explain… I really like apples. And I’m down with moonshine. But I’m not a Christian. And I don’t hate China quite yet. Not that I’m not afraid of em. Remember I’m ready for warfare. Remember to be brave. All we want is that special laissez-faire type of bliss or someone to show us that we exist or someone to miss or someone pretty by the death bed with a last kiss or someone on your birthday. No, I don’t want no hologram. Even if it’s better than no friends, or better than no family… because I heard that there may be some bad news coming along up on the horizon. If memory serves, they’ll all be gone. Miles away! Say they won’t be back. Hope you have a nice day. Know it’ll be okay. And from time to time, time takes your loved ones away. So sing a song for the dead and do not do not allow yourself to malfunction. Maybe it’s all in your head and existence is a mighty fine human assumption. Sing a song for the dead, and do not do not allow your self to mal to malfunction.