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pause for thought
with lighted torch
at stick people on cavemen walls
whore scrawl daubing hallowed halls
mondo porno,
after all.
freeze the frame on vhs
these jerky figures at our behest
squint sleepy eyes to form their breasts
mondo porno,
blurred at best.
idling engines steamed-up glass
arched over hoods let strangers pass
panel beaters’ trembling hands
mondo porno,
what a gas.
she had a pink torpedo hanging on her bedroom wall
he daren’t go in there because it made him feel small
like magic marker on the toilet stalls
mondo porno, curb that crawl.
he was a quiet fellah modestly hung
“had the black beaten out of him”
now he’s just one more bukkake son
mondo porno,
good clean f...
she was a stewardess with a trick hip
always putting out for him
brought him with her bag handler's grip
mondo porno,
a mile-high trip.
a hip, a pit, ankle well turned
knee stately marred, axminster-burned
now the great dane takes a turn
mondo porno,
beyond words.
fag trucker detours yet again
too many rest-room stops for him
cruising for that perfect ten
mondo porno
what a gent.
to the
jacked-off tracked-off, mario-tached
the double-fisted coral-gashed
lopped-off, cropped-off mantel-masked
the soho-sullied, mackintoshed
save the money shot till last
mondo porno.
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I take the foreground
but I don’t make a sound
put on the gloves
and wipe the dashboard down, and
the twisted chrome
of
motorcycle.
I offer shelter from the rain, where
I lost my heart
to a roadkill ghost
clutching sticky sickly roadside bouquets
in the cab
i hate myself
the most
strange attraction
collecting scalps, these
moon-spun sugared dirty crimes
glory holes on every side
crisscross shafts of needling light, these
urinal games just suit me fine
when you take me blindly
from behind.
mancandymancandymancandymancandyman
candyman.
the flop-sweat tic, crawl, scrotal flesh
through mirror crack’d
bug-spattered haze
the ravens
flank
the motorway.
flap. flap. flap.
candymancandymancandymancandyman
candyman.
la, la, la, the radio goes
(…)
Now I’ve caught
my kind of man
the crippled disco
on which seconds hang
anyone that gives me time
will cleave to me till stall doors bang
he loves me
he loves me not
he loves me
he loves me not
he loves me
he loves me not
i love you
i hate you
candyman.
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3. |
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standing in line,
man 52
stripped up to the waist
in the fluffer queue
in the mile long club
i wanna ignite
slow slow
burning blue.
rub-a-dub dub
i smile
you miss it
a fleeting thing
in a blur of Os
i curse such skin
i curse such skin
in the mile-long club
curse your
pretty
pressed petaled pink
rub-a-dub-dub
rub-a-dub-dub
rub-a-dub-dub
rub-a-dub-dub
in the mile-long club
through me you pass
through stripling dips
through mulatto brawn
just passing ships
my aim is true
numb veil of spawn
in the mile-longclub
my time is short
abandon hope
in the ritual hub
here's to the shunt
in the mile-long club.
rub-a-dub-dub
in the mile-long club.
something hard
uh, beneath this vest
got a device
strapped to my chest
in the flesh
engorged
in sweet release, still
if i can't have you, then
no-one else will.
and, it's rub-a-dub-dub...
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i light two scented candles
to drown the bedspread out
turn the pictures on the mantel
of those who’d kissed this mouth
this carpet stain, that wardrobe door
and the tiny zeiss lens holds its stare
it's hard to frame a room so small
i'm on the screen
yet hardly there.
i allow myself the third bar
to keep away the cold
these lost words barely murmured
soft workings growing old
we stand before the stoma
seething in dot-crawl
binarise for the moment
in flesh
in whorish scrawl.
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5. |
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'Divine Does Detroit', the poster read
close-up of face mouth smeared red
her dulled doll-like eyes turned up into her head
she kept good pace sure laughed a lot.
found meaning in the money-shot.
sexblinkpink
lalalalalalalalala...
"a wet dream in celluloid", the critics had quipped. a pit of shadows in the shadow of pits. yet 'Deepface' was her revival hour
where she fluffed her lines yet garnered her powers
gideon shadows snuffing out the stars and did her best sha-la-la-la.
sexblinkpink.
then there's the one that wouldn't make the wall.
sometime in the future, no time at all.
promised the world and much much more. the faint whiff of cordite said it all.
the bullet whispered in,
her brains to the wall.
credits
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6. |
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7. |
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8. |
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i'm a beater of headboards
evener of old scores
Johnny got nothing on me
looking down, he plays no part
blessed by god
i'm
king of the tarts
from jizzmop @ the pay-to-view
to mumbling lines
ignored by you
couch your cast
for this huge bit-part
play that funky white boy
shoot that whitey funk, boy
for
the king of tarts
johnny, don't lose that smile
you're up in heaven now
johnny, don't touch that dial
walking on air
i'm the king of the world
the last enormous dancing bear
johnny had the last laugh after all.
we're into the red,
way off the charts
all hail
the king of the tarts.
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9. |
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there was a time
just out of spite
i’d throw rocks at the sailors
in doorways slumped
the whores they'd humped
drew sulphur breath
and waited
jesus dangles on his chain
hell glimpsed through steam
and windshield rain
'prepare to meet thy god', it says
before the neon melted
ra-ra-ra
on the reeperbahn
a kraut mask
for the peepshow haunts
suck marrow from the whalebones
grind to paunch
the lap bitch haunch
'neath guttering sodium halos
there’s nothing left but shoreleave drift
those chancers who'd accept a lift
to ride that woozy white-line
kiss like strangers
skipping storylines
to kiss like strangers
ra-ra-ra
on the reeperbahn
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10. |
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11. |
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12. |
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13. |
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14. |
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flow my tears
realignment surgery botched
all eyes pinned
on my barbie doll crotch
i realise, too late, i’m aligned all wrong
i hate you god
for these dreadful songs
my body haunting
his dreams
all along.
I’m on fire!
flow my tears
betray my genes
i’ll be your neuromancer
your dancing queen
your nemesis, or
something in-between
courting evil
in dank latrines.
i squat
over porcelain
like the freak that i am
mewl like a baby
make out like a man
our pissing games
how high can we get?
flow my tears
aim for the sky
but only get our shoes wet
when i get this stump working
gonna turn it on you
as the bruises turn darker
slowburningblue
la-la-la-la
pissing games
how high can we get
flow my tears
aim for the sky
we only get wet.
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15. |
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16. |
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17. |
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feels like a stranger laying hands
circling sticky sugar floors
skin tunes trickle
on demand
dumb blooms
in deep
sleep,
watery warm.
dubbed,
a stranger speaking tongues
through opiate castrati pall
become the creature in the kunst
lost in dots
in seething crawl.
a tingle in
the phantom limb
in the flesh
but not my skin.
fumble notgeld into slots
let pixels tumble into flesh
seems that i'm the stranger being led
a merry dance
in vhs.
i hold back but have no choice
now listen to my voice
ghosts for real
blood-line congealed
bath-house echoes
stranger still.
will you show me yours?
if i can't show you mine
gurgle angel songs
through spiralling pink foam?
the last days of testosterone
how time ran out
tore for you
a hole.
fainter now, my footprints in the snow
the last days of testosterone.
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18. |
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idling on the shoulder, friend
just to have you back again
i take you on the slick macadam
yet i don’t know you from adam
we play our silly games
but i’m not always the one to blame
give me back something i could never have
love me
jackass
don’t make me feel bad
he loves me, and
he loves me not
my stomach twists itself in knots
when we're finished i feel hollow
i pretend to leave
but in the truck
i follow.
i wallow
i crawl
from my beautiful stranger
we’re the red set
we’re the red set
what’s your name, sir?
are you from these parts?
are you prepared
to steal my heart?
beneath the shattered arcs
transfixed in bunny beams
and frozen scenes
dogging spots
for old has-beens
idling, on the shoulder, yet
crawling,
kerbcrawling
full blood for the half-breed
to the darkest parts.
we’re the red set
we’re the red set
or we’re dead set
on being the next
red set.
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22. |
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23. |
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24. |
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feels like a stranger laying hands
circling sticky sugar floors
skin tunes trickle
on demand
dumb blooms
in deep
sleep,
watery warm.
dubbed,
a stranger speaking tongues
through opiate castrati pall
become the creature in the kunst
lost in dots
in seething crawl.
a tingle in
the phantom limb
in the flesh
but not my skin.
fumble notgeld into slots
let pixels tumble into flesh
seems that i'm the stranger being led
a merry dance
in vhs.
i hold back but have no choice
now listen to my voice
ghosts for real
blood-line congealed
bath-house echoes
stranger still.
will you show me yours?
if i can't show you mine
gurgle angel songs
through spiralling pink foam?
the last days of testosterone
how time ran out
tore for you
a hole.
fainter now, my footprints in the snow
the last days of testosterone.
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25. |
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26. |
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27. |
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28. |
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29. |
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30. |
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31. |
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This is the ultimate edition of the 'Porno Karaoke' song cycle, including the singles 'Mondo Porno' + 'Fag Trucker' with ALL reduxes, remixes + covers and additional unreleased skin tune bonuses and demos.
PORNOGRAPHY
Pronunciation: /pɔːˈnɒɡrəfi
Definition of pornography in English:
noun
Printed or visual material containing the explicit description or display of sexual organs or activity, intended to stimulate sexual excitement.
Origin
Mid 19th century: from Greek pornographos 'writing about prostitutes', from pornē 'prostitute' + graphein 'write'. Harlot scrawl.
"With the whimper of an ageing pornstar, this Mangabros project ('Porno Karaoke') whispers into being, becoming the flesh of earthly delights (once again). Like dust, debris and detritus caught in time-ravaged celluloid porno frames, it sputters and spatters like 8mm and its worn-out soundtrack. This remains the ultimate pubic hair in the gate.
The pre-millennium tension of the first release - a batch of porno songs, "harlot scrawl", tall tales of love, lust and longing - has now been augmented and given extra length and girth (and staying power) with collaborations, exploration, remixes, re-interpretations by hand-picked band faves (Midwich Youth Club, Dandelion Set, [G]irl, Rachel Gaskin-Whitrod, AkA, Icicle Boy, Bedtime for Robots, Belial Pelegrim, Fred und Luna, Stripes, Pulselovers, Microchip Junky). What results seems a heady cocktail of acid and Viagra. Imagine the trippy dubbed-out Bristolian scene of the 90s fractured into something more warped, tribal and dystopian. It is a hazy chasmic chaotic collage of sextronica, hushed whispers, narratives, character pieces and porno beats.
Here there be horny daemons: Freudian musical nightmares, ghost stories of Hollywood freaks, a Porno song cycle (of the sex-fevered and lovelorn), disintegrating into orgasmic dance floor frenzy, glitchy micro-noise, 70s porno soundtrack, krautish neon wetdream pop, and ambient post-coital haze ... it seems that blue is the new black.
29 tracks of extraordinary sexual madness, and a dark masterclass of unclassifiable music that flits everywhere but fits nowhere. Risk your sanity and find a place on your hard drive, in your home (and heart) for this pulse of data and you will be rewarded many times over."
--Doncopolitan
released July 4, 2020
