Intestines from ATST BOX by Convivial Cannibal Clan

"Nothing special lives in spleens. Exciting bowels before made to rupture. Stomach cancer. This is necessity. Untied hunger. Inexhaustible breeder. They pile up upon the countless chins of our insatiable feeder. Old death in rags comes alone by no bone paler. In this hell no known satyr is close. Even lurched from the great pit her selves to grade in grinding strokes this impaler. This porous joke. This dead eyed leather dress of lost hides. Fetid dross whom soil everything. Stain the vein and rust the soul shut. Trite instantly once upon a feeble mind. Frozen nearly, tarnished and turgid. Gashed lacerations under noose smells like the old home you once had. Drawn remnants split up into quarters. From hooves once on top of time. And though it was as though it were a dream.dreams seem to splinter and flake. Catching skin as fleeting streamers waft by winds in change. Chained. But alas chains erode though, through and through. And it like you goes in crimson swirls down the drain to oceans. Too fast to measure. Too hot to trample or retard. Too beautiful to ever contain in embrace. Like the flicker of pearls before swine or golden youth upon grand daughters in concubine. Servants of the eventual ritual eclipse in the eventful dawns abode just before our apocalypse. We go silent. Tired and haunted in deafening defeat. To lay exhaustion upon marble pillows as breath softly kisses concrete. Weary heads on the stone beneath sea level. At sum, by negative elevation, er, fathoms of about a rounded nine feet."

-Taken from the back of a breakfast cereal box

• Experimental
• cassette
• cassette tape
• record label
• tapes
• vhs
• Los Angeles