Blue Womb

by Beige Monk

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daneleoniak A fantastic concept album about literally summoning demons. This album hits some lovely, discordant, electronic sonic spaces, until it's drawn back from far out of this world by a steady stream of indie rock at its finest. Favorite track: Too Late.
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02:44
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07:00
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02:30

about

A story about a boy, a beast, and the pros and cons of escapism.

credits

released May 20, 2017

Written and recorded between August 2016 and May 2017.
All tracks written, performed, and produced by Aidan Haupt.

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license

all rights reserved

about

Beige Monk Atlantic Highlands, New Jersey

Music for the androgynous youth.

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Contact Beige Monk

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Track Name: Too Late
well, here we are
lying naked on the stadium floor
maybe i can figure out what went wrong

there are a thousand thoughts roaming in the back of my head
but i wasn’t given permission to see any of them
where can i find the administrator password to my mind
you know they killed a horse so i could be here today
just so i’d have some kind of shitty obligation to stay
i wish i wasn’t alive, but not as much as i wish they were dead
i remember what you told me, you said you pass by this street every day
but you never thought to walk down it
well i have, and it’s just a worthless dead end
backstage watching thoughts turn into dreams
i’m not sure if i’m meant to be in the scene
you know, looking back, before i told myself to stop doing it so much
i wasn’t really doing it at all

always captive, always pretending
ignore whatever i’m sending
don’t listen to anything i say to you
none of it is worth listening to
always pretending, always captive
ignore whatever happens
because tonight isn’t real, tonight doesn’t count
there isn’t really anything i couldn’t live without

i do, i am
acting defeated, refusing the treatment
acting defeated, refusing the treatment
i want to run
like a dog runs to his owner

it’s too late to settle for normalcy
by now i should’ve found diplomacy
i know, i know
to find the mirror with the clearest view
first you gotta change what isn’t clear about you
i know, i know
dogs biting the wrist of those who feed them
have conquered and taken from the fruits of men
i know, i know
Track Name: Truant
(jim steps into his room dressed in leather and a reversed cross necklace. today, he plays the role of a young occultist. tomorrow, who knows.)

i don’t want to know you, i just want to understand you
i don’t want to show you, i just want to reprimand you
all of the things i say to myself
i don’t believe them, i don’t believe them
everything i tuck away into the shelf
i’ll never need them, i’ll never need

i don’t want to know you, i just want to understand you
i don’t want to throw you, i still want to second-chance you
undermined and understated, masturbated for 7 hours
i know it’s hard to say

i don’t want to know you, i just want to understand you
i don’t want to show you, i just want to reprimand you
i always thought the image of myself
would smoke cigars
but upon closer inspection, it turns out
he just smokes cigarettes

i don’t want to know it, i just want to understand it
i don’t want to smoke it, i just want to second-hand it
i already came so far, but i thought by now i’d be a little bit farther than this
i know it’s hard to say

(jim has just finished etching the pentagram into the floor. he has some friends over for the occasion. they all seem disinterested. the ritual is soon to begin.)

something tells me it’s not normal to love satan
but too many opportunities were already lost flaking
it doesn’t matter that you do something good, it just matters that you do
that you do something at all
Track Name: The Summoning
spirit of silence, bring forth to me the one with fingers up his
arms that grow for miles and miles until they hit the edge of the planet
one and minus one, make your presence known let me feel the
vibrations of the mechanizations R O T A, wheel of fortune
know no other word
bring me to absurd
a lonely gift, hydration’s itch, a lovely

meeting with the man with twenty-
two heads formed in obtuse triangles
whose edge’s children make it
imperfect and still make it stronger
world made out from room
bring me to blue womb
bring me to blue

all i can say, it is vulgar
beaten and flayed like a farm bird
oh man this day’s been fucking weird
that’s all i can say

what intersects between the circle?
a birth defect, or maybe it’s some
kind of insect i’ve just never encountered
oh that’s what i’d like to believe

who are you? (you’re shouting madly)
did my message go through? (it has, sadly)
is this what came of the summoning?
this shit really works?

the message came in a little white box
it was light and it was bland with no ornaments on top
i should’ve known it would come some teeny-bopper like you
do you know what you sent me here for
do you even know my name or just wikipedia lore
have you tried the starter’s package have you seen the gore
you’re lucky that, if i’m honest, i’ve nothing better to do

uh
Track Name: First Lesson (Blue Womb)
unfair return
you there have hid
crawled in places wet and dim
(ha ha ha ha ha)
blue womb
(i dont feel like a person - more like, a poorly written cartoon character)


(jim walked up to the beast, and the beast put out his arm. it was covered in furry fingers that wriggled up and down its freakish length. jim touched the arm, and for a brief moment, he thought he could feel one of the fingers piercing his own. the beast said, “bare your stomach for me”. and jim bared his stomach. then, the beast touched the skin and a massive hole opened up, one that grew in size until it broke through to the other side of jim’s body. the beast reached his arm through the hole and reached upwards to let his hand rest between jim’s eyes. the beast began to speak. and this is what it said:)
Track Name: Honeymooning
there’s a place you spend your entire life
any form of escape is a prisoner’s knife
you think you control it, but really it controls you
you spend so much time adjusting your lens
but your body never really ends
it moves from feet to floor to feet again
oh, jim, in time
we’ll move your mind
just give the place

stare at the floor
i guess i never really thought it before
raise my feet
then put them down, and accept defeat
another day i'll make it real
love the world
love the mother market creature pearl
raise my flag
but don't tell them that i've been had
another time i'll make it real again

say hello
to somebody you’ve never ever known
raise yourself
throw away the entire shelf
gotta say it myself: i’ll never make it real, don’t need to ever make it real
love nothing
go ahead, don’t need a reason to sing
lie alone
lie to yourself, lie that you’ve carved out a home
just give the day, like a scientist i’ll tear myself apart
Track Name: Sylvan Road
a heightened sense of sight
and every other sense is horribly spiked
one can stare into the night
strange how you feel more when you see less

such a strange ritual
but i do it every day
it’s such a strange ritual
but i do it every day

it’s amazing what you can find
when you cut yourself off
alone, dark, outside

brotherhood between man and place
wipe off that look so far removed from your face
you don’t have to fake it anymore
the world is a real place
Track Name: Guillotine
say what’s real so i can feel good
is this the way things should be?
(it’s not)
Track Name: The Tower
i’m the flood
trying to portray the anima
find the blood
lost to rituals for my new god

so i summon forth the boastress
not knowing the correct dosage
trying anything as a substitute
for emotional closeness
accidentally unleashed
the creature picking at my teeth
my hands are tightly round my own neck
as he prepares for the feast

(oh, collapse
every revelation turns to ridicule the next day)

you’re my god, i suppose
but now all i want is to leave these clothes
i need to find peace in what i got, what we all got

light burns holes right through the walls
the tower is falling
god’s hand strikes, veiny and massive
the tower is falling
Track Name: White Gulabi
a golden haste
with red-bronze taste
white gulabi calls to me on this sylvan road to nothing

a wasted day
no other way
all i’ve touched and all i’ve lived is paper

in foreign plays
i’m called
i’m needed
white gulabi calls to me on this sylvan road to nothing