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1. |
January
01:05
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I’m drowning out your memory with Neil Breen’s whole filmography, the whole 90-Day Fiancé, 100 glasses of rosé, pretending I’m a wiser bitch than one who’s set on getting hitched to some bald geek she met on Hinge, but I’m a loser and I’ll binge this shit until I lose my brain, until I plumb forgot your name like Kate Winslet and Jim Carrey. That’s my plan for January.
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2. |
Pitchfork 6.0
00:59
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My truck’s too tanked to even junk. My middle finger stinks of spunk. Your band of psych-funk freak-folk losers’ latest record fucking sucks. I blocked your ass on Twitter but I’m subtweeting your cock (unremarkable like stoner rock and soft as sidewalk chalk). So use it to knock someone up or eat a bag of dicks. The New York critics all agree: your prick’s a Pitchfork 6.0.
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3. |
V.H.C.
00:56
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Can you please stop being so kind? I’m going out of my mind, you know, and it’s harder to cling to my status quo of being a vitriolic hapless cunt when you’re unflappable & wonderful all the time. So I guess there’s one kind favor I’m asking you— can you please stop being so kind?
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4. |
Bravado Track
01:08
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You didn’t take me on to be your number one, because I was overqualified for the job. So enjoy your six through eights and your low turnover rate, because I have a PhD in being a boss.
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5. |
Tonight's the Night
01:09
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I've been listening to Tonight's the Night, my hands holding my head, wishing it was your hands holding me instead. It's been a long sleepless winter with nobody left in my bed; you know I've been waiting for you.
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6. |
Heart of Pyrite
01:51
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On the first of January, you say you don’t want to marry anyone as I stare down the sun. Somewhere past the Poconos you’re taking note of all my pros and cons as I cross Santa Monica. You need two weeks to figure out if she or I’m the one, so you drove down I-95 to get some thinking done on your own. And I’m on my own— there’s nobody at all; I’m on my own, sparring with the walls. I’m on my own— just me, my alcohol, and my iPhone, willing you to make your call. On the tenth of January— had a dream that you got married in New York, as I lie on the floor. Somewhere past the reservoir you’re listening to Harvest, looping “Heart of Gold” in that old car. You need two weeks to figure out if she or I’m the one, so you drove down I-95 to get some thinking done, but I don’t think you’re going to find the things you want to see, ‘cause anything you find out there comes at the price of her or me. (And you might find my heart gold-free.)
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7. |
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You loved me like a LARPer loves a video game. You chose an avatar and a user name and you came to love the universe in which we were engaged. You logged ten thousand hours on Nintendo Twitch, made yourself the master of the bait and switch by turning me from Princess Peach to budget bitch in the bargain bin. I apologize for opening an avenue through which you could alleviate your aging adolescent artless action plot. I’m sorry that you bought four walls around you that you can’t seem to walk out of since you won the crying of your estate auction lot. I hope you have a lovely life with thirteen kids who never find the cartridges you hid under your mattress frame. Thanks for playing Marvel Comics Mistress Game with me.
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8. |
Physical Specimen
00:44
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I found a physical specimen of yours in my underwear drawer, which feels like some little battle win, and a loss in the greater war.
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9. |
Love in Mind
00:41
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Babe, you’ve got to think of me with love in mind: we’ve got nothing to lose that we can’t get back again, and I know I’ve been quite unkind, but if you think about what a friend has said— maybe it was a lie.
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10. |
10
01:03
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You asked me to make a list, because none of my songs are nice; well, you know that I love your voice: how it holds me steady like a plot device and doesn’t disappear when your mouth leaves my ear. And you know that I love your hands, and your pituitary gland and its distributive appendages (despite what peer consensus is, I’d give yours 10).
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Katy the Kyng New York
Katy the Kyng is a composer and guitarist.
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