The Age Of Crying

by Julian Cartwright

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released March 24, 2015

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Julian Cartwright New Jersey

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Track Name: Minotaur
Ever find yourself at home?
At least you have a home.
Ever find yourself alone?
At least you have the luxury
to be alone.
Being lonely in a lonely throne.
And if you don’t have a throne?

Next time you come home,
you’ll find a Minotaur in your home.
Next time you come home alone,
you’ll find a Minotaur in your home.

Modern life is dead wrong.
You’re faith in modern life is strong.
People have said this
for a long long long long long
time.
If there‘s such a thing as time,
in an upward, positive, money-making line.

In a livable space
a criminal hate remains.
Walking in a big empty kitchen,
your lips stiffen
at the thought of what the kitchen contains.
And in the lush coffin where you lay often
And in the lush coffin where you lay often
And in the lush coffin where you lay often... .
Track Name: Saint Pete
The Bogart Street subway steps.
The human may prove to be a friendly beast yet.
But you still hope you don’t break your teeth
by some turn of events.
I throw out my sandwich trash at the designated vat,
but I lug love with me for the sake of Saint Pete.
I lug love with me for the sake of Saint Pete.

When someone tells me I’m in for a treat,
I hope I don’t break my teeth.
That’s my first concern.
And how many pamphlets can I really keep?
They should hand out something to eat.
And I lug love with me for the sake of Saint Pete.
I lug love with me for the sake of Saint Pete.

Like a rich man with a worm,
fishing pole strapped to himself.
No matter how much I earn,
I’ve got to sit in a lake.
They say it’s for my own health.
And I lug love with me for the sake of Saint Pete.
I lug love with me for the sake of Saint Pete.

I am not considerate at all,
not living for Joe nor John nor Paul.
As we crawl out of bathroom stalls, embarrassed and all,
I lug love with me for the sake of Saint Pete.
I lug love with me for the sake of Saint Pete.

Yesterday at one distinct point I said “Stop, I want to give up.” 
But then everything that happened made up a clear voice.
It said, “Shut up, get up, shut up, get up, shut up, get up.
Shut up, get up, get up!”
Now love lugs me for the sake of of Saint Pete.
Now love lugs me for the sake of of Saint Pete.
I said “Damn it all!” but only angel choirs whistled through my teeth.
Now love lugs me for the sake of of Saint Pete.
Now love lugs me for the sake of of Saint Pete.
Track Name: The Age of Crying
All tears are true blue under the North American sky.
But no tears will appear until the Age of Crying.

You remember 9?
9.
Was that the age of crying?
You remember 14?
--92 and that whole time?
I don’t know about you,
but that murder was mine.
No tears.
No tears in the age of killing.
No tears after you die.
We’ve had some tears of rage,
but we haven’t reached the age.
Aren’t things today horrid enough
to reach the age of majority?

You remember 18--
--62, my own country?
That slaughter was ours,
I don’t know about you.
and 1915 or --42?
Good thing that milk
has already been spilled, phew.

One of the main things you do
as President of the U.S.
is address the families of victims,
holding in the tears, or do your best.

No tears in the age of killing.
No tears until we’re willing.
This is the age,
this is the age of killing.

All tears are true blue under a North American sky.
But true tears won’t appear until we reach the Age of Crying.

This is not it, at any rate.
Until we admit what we fear is at stake,
all present tears will be mistakes.
All present tears will be mistakes.
Track Name: Hangdog Detective Investigates
Hangdog detective investigates
grisly series of murders:

in Midwestern town,
in Pennsylvania, drowned,
remote Siberian village.
In San Quentin 7 found.
In Tallahassee suburb,
Yellowstone geyser mouth.
On the edge of campus,
abandoned state fair grounds.
In Scottish mansion.
At Comic Con convention
teen zombies slain,
draw national attention.

Or:
In rural Maine,
in other show,
in freaky cult,
ten feet of snow.
In ‘50s South
or fishing barge,
in Bournemouth
suspects still at large.
At Disney World
or Swiss resort,
in warehouse
freshly pillaged.
And of course, outside Walmart.
Be on watch
and watch with privilege.

See, that’s why he is hangdog.
Mysteries are keeping him busy.
Lunch means nothing to him.
He is just rushing to win.
Track Name: Miles Around
Drunk at the inception.
It’s my destiny.
So much despair for
those I don’t really care for,
seemingly.

Broke my engagement,
drunk at the airport.
Drunk in the cockpit.
you’d all better watch it,
therefore.

And all I see is your face
for miles around, miles around.
All I see is your face
for miles around, miles around.

Despair oh despair, oh yeah.
Don’t make me lose,
don’t be rude,
don’t make me lose it.
I thought I’d learned a few things
about rising above,
before you doubted me
and I reviewed it.

But one thing about the life and times of me and you:
life never gave us time to have a clue.
And one thing we would’ve never assumed
is that the sky is never clear, it’s always blue.

And all I see is your face
for miles around, miles around.
All I see is your face
for miles around, miles around.

Can’t fall asleep anymore,
without falling in the steep gorge of your amour.
Gulping as I sink into the wide gulf
of your loving like I never loved before.
Like I’m on tour.

And all I see is your face
for miles around, miles around.
All I see is your face
for miles around, miles around.

Drunk at the inception.
It’s my destiny.
So much despair for
those I don’t really care for,
seemingly.
Track Name: The Insured Man
The insured man is bruised,
knows drum rudiments.
The first to show up to the football game,
he was the first to train.
He was first to have-at the lasagna,
and first to marry, Mama.
He was the first to laugh when Grandpa
got so frail he couldn’t be moved,
with a rapid “Ha-ha”.
Somehow ready for hale.
He goes to town for breakfast
and to the dentist,
always obsessed with teeth.
He knows he’ll stay ahead in the race,
but decides to juice just in case.
Just in case.
And he has cancer.
He has cancer,
insured so he pays less.
A word so distorted,
is there even a grain of truth?

Pay up, pay up
Pay up, pay up
Pay up, pay up
Track Name: Michigan Again
On the way from Moscow to Detroit,
they showed an old movie, particularly on point,
about some guy sitting up in bed,
a big rectangle floating right above is head.
Later on, they passed out slips of paper
that they said would help to make their airline safer.
It turned out to be some kind of poll.
God knows what kind of monster or dope would be consoled
by the question they planted in our heads.
At the bottom of the paper, the last section read:
“How many do you figure are aware
of just how many meters you are up in the air?
How many do you figure really care?
And in case of an emergency, will you be prepared?”

Everybody looked around-- sort of out of place,
or else they just didn’t, and focused on their plates.
I looked at the control panel, bright above my seat,
with a light you couldn’t turn off, preventing me from sleep.
In a minute I was wide awake again,
looking out the window, past snoring businessmen,
and understanding something about fate,
but mostly wondering when I’d be in Michigan again.
Track Name: The Laughing Boys
In starlight or opaque dark,
the laughing boys start.
These laughs of theirs might
circle back to girls, ears open.
This they hope for years,
miserable boys.
One of their only joys
is written by the fear
that a girl will never hear.
And she’ll never know
his hollow joys.

She is put off, she’s annoyed.
She knows that he is unemployed.
And, drinking from a can,
she knows he is not yet a man.
And further, fearing her heart’s mistake,
she knows her heart would have to break.

Selfish and haggard,
he drinks himself into a swagger.
He is pissed, he is shy,
needs the love of other guys.
Laughs himself sick on a weekend.
Wakes up on asphalt or brick at 3:10.
He needs a tall, heady potion.
His heart is already broken.

In sunlight or simulated dawn,
because the floodlights are still on,
the laughing boys quit out of sickness.
They are boys learning to be men,
innocence not taken but spent.
Nick lost at Poker last Sunday.
Had to give up all of his pot money.
It was so God-damned funny.
Track Name: Groans
Let out a groan.
I drooled in school.
Received a dog-bite.
The snout had foam.
And Brian Jones
drowned in the pool.
Goodbye to youth.

Fork in the road, unmarked,
tail-gated by three alcoholics.
And past the farm, three stray mares
careen through the dark,
abandon their salt licks.

Scarfed down a quick Christmas Eve lunch,
and I had to go to Neiman Marcus.
Cut a small pill in half on a park bench.
It was legitimate prescription medicine
of which I now take far less.

Skipping the reunion at Baldwin Wallace,
Mr. Bones drove straight into lake Eerie.
The name tags’ll get you, but the beer, the beer is free.

Savoring the rush, like a dog out the window,
a strange release.
Monday back at Office Max.

At the revival, strange entrancing acts.
Not a shred of evidence,
and I jumped into the mix.
Track Name: Teenaged
Stumbled into a hurdle I deliberately placed.
Then the mirror caught my pimpled face
as I tripped across the boundary.
Afraid of my containment,
afraid of being free.
Around the corner is a ghastly face,
and that’s the face of me.
But ugly ghosts are skin deep,
could never touch what’s inside--
could never compete.

I bet you already know
what it’s like to be teenaged, all right.
Frustration, anger and fright.
This is what it’s really like.
And that’s how you and I were raised.

As soon as I had a say in my days,
I went ballistic.
No one told me what is realistic.
Couldn’t tell what was just a phase,
or even in what ways.
This is widely considered fuel for life.
Being teenaged.
This is widely considered to be fuel for life.
Being teenaged.
Track Name: Strange
While they work,
she tries to place events in time.
While they work,
she tries to place events in time.
As they walk out
the front door for the last time,
she thinks, “Is this important at all?
The box is so small.
And it’s a strange thing to say,
but am I important?”
Strange.
So she doesn’t say it that way.
She doesn’t say it that way.
Track Name: The Girl On Stage
There were four girls
at the show, which was mainly Party boys.
One girl was the bartender,
one girl was the sound man.
One girl was underage,
and the other girl was on stage,
and I’m the girl on stage,
I’m the girl on stage.
I’m the girl on stage,
“I’m the girl on stage,”
I thought as I stood
against an unstable table made of wood.

Nausea came from the bass guitar,
and the male crowd cheered in falsetto.
I walked across a patch of beer,
then some dude gave me the elbow.

“It’s a socialist show, didn’t you know?
It’s a socialist show, didn’t you know?”
“I guess, uh, well, no.”

Forty minutes went by
in heady conversation.
They convinced me to like their page,
but I’m the girl on stage,
I’m the girl on stage.
I’m the girl on stage,
I’m the girl on stage,
“I’m the girl on stage,”
I thought as I stood
against an unstable table made of wood.
I’m the girl on stage.
Track Name: False Concert
Walked into the back-room of the alphabet.
He wanted to blow an empty coronet.
Now the entire tenement has to hear.
It sounds so bad cause it is so bad.
I’m ineffectually covering my ears.

The worst part is: the man thinks he’s all that
for having just discovered Taps,
for having shined up corroded brass
and for raising a fashionable eyebrow.

Ushering an audience of dupes
into a very lewd area,
applauding and applauding
as I sob at his appalling wrongdoing.
Is this their false concert
or my continued hysteria?
Track Name: Absolutely Pure
The closer you get to absolutely pure. . .
it’s terrifying, don’t do this anymore.
The more words left unsaid,
we’re fed up with knowing.
And even knowing, never learn.
Never ever ever ever learn.

Some people never learn.
And I want to be there for them.
I want to be right beside them,
ignoring and ignoring,
never to preach.

Never to set foot in the church.
Because they never installed a door.
Architecture absolutely pure.
They never installed a door.
This architecture, absolutely pure.
Track Name: Anna and Allen
You tell me your past, I’ll tell you mine.
You'll confess to a first love frozen in time.
That was in the very beginning.
Then I was at a wedding with a bunch of people yelling
“Anna and Allen”
I can’t tell what really happened,
if the world’s changed the love around me,
but the sentiment I had never stopped sounding
just like :
“Oh what I would give to have that love,
I would like to have that love to give.”
Now, and for the last time, tonight,
like every night, you die,
and you’re only seen to sigh.

But if there’s a secret you could whisper in my ear,
I’d speak it to people who disappear.
If there’s a secret you could whisper in my ear,
I’d speak it to people who disappear.

On the dream plane, those whom your mind sees--
Those friends who you wish would appear in your memories,
are attempting to lengthen the picnics.
Then you’re in the dark, and where are all your friends?
Why on earth have you visualized that and not them?
Quite despite yourself, you’re looking high and low,
yelling, “Just where did all my good friends hide and go?”
If ever Amen, Amen.

Around the time that Allen drives to the liquor store,
you ask him if there will be more,
or....
His love was just blarney, blarney and bad jokes,
And never mind yourself, where did the time go?
Just where oh where did all the stupid time go?
Cause there’s no time for love anymore.

“Oh what I would give to have that love,
I would like to have that love to give,”
Now, and for the last time, tonight,
like every night, you die,
but you’re only seen to get high.

But if there’s a secret you could whisper in my ear,
I’d speak it to people who disappear.
If there’s a secret you could whisper in my ear,
I’d speak it to people who disappear.

I’m writing a letter now
composed of only things that I know,
so that you know,
before you go, my dear.

And if there’s a secret you could whisper in my ear,
I’d speak it to people who disappear.
if there’s a secret you could whisper in my ear,
I’d speak it to people who disappear.
Track Name: Can't Stop Crying
I can’t stop crying,
I just can’t stop crying
cause I won’t see you anymore.
No I won’t see you anymore.
I can’t stop crying,
I just can’t stop crying
cause I won’t see you anymore.

“Never in my wildest,
wildest dreams,” I thought
as I parked past
the Hawaiian store.
Bottle of anniversary champagne.
Now it’s down the drain,
I feel like novocaine.

And what is crying for?
I’m drinking more than I can pour.

And I can’t stop crying,
I just can’t stop crying
cause I won’t see you anymore.
No I won’t see you anymore.
I can’t stop crying,
I just can’t stop crying
cause I won’t see you anymore.

Why did you tell me this on the phone?
I bought a baseball bat to defend our home.
I bought a Duke Ellington record to play
for our friends.
Now they’re not my friends.

And it’s odd to spend the weekend alone.
The wind has a solitary tone.

And I can’t stop crying,
I just can’t stop crying
cause I won’t see you anymore.
No I won’t see you anymore.
I can’t stop crying,
I just can’t stop crying
cause I won’t see you anymore.

Yep.
I can’t stop.
I’m not laughing..

And when I see your sedan drive by,
I feel that I could die.
Must be the only one
with tinted windows.
And your love songs,
I could never sing those.

And I can’t stop crying,
I just can’t stop crying
cause I won’t see you anymore.
No I won’t see you anymore.
I can’t stop crying,
I just can’t stop crying
cause I won’t see you anymore.